#i’ll be over here walking behind you realizing i’m twice your width

[teethgnashing]

i need to stop talking abt body image issues with people who don’t have a double chin

[fatefulfaerie]

Coming Home After Being Away (I’ll Be Home)

Day Seven of the 12 days of Christmas prompts orchestrated by @zelink-prompts

Incarnation: Breath of the Wild 2 a couple years post-caves

It was easy for Link and Zelda to drift off into a sound sleep when enraptured in each other’s arms. They cooed peacefully where they lay, Link’s fingers entangled in Zelda’s shoulder-length blonde hair and his other arm secure around her waist.

Zelda had turned over in her sleep so that her pillow was Link’s warm chest, a habit so common that Link subconsciously wrapped his arms around her. The rising and falling of Link’s chest was a reassurance that, after all these years of being reunited, still relaxed her.

Link was breathing. Link was alive. Link wasn’t passed out in Blatchery Plains with no discernible sign of life. Link, her love, was right here and he was alive.

And thus the couple slept soundly, even as an intruder crept into the house like a dark shadow, careful to make no creak as the mysterious figure snuck up to the loft.

In the larger bed was, of course, Link and Zelda, yet the dark, sinister figure instead focused on the two tiny cribs by the window, the small bundles of life that slept just as soundly as their parents.

With a slither, a vicious sickle was unsheathed from it’s hilt, glimmering in the moonlight. The masked figure showed no mercy as he prepared to cut the newborn’s life short, and consequently move on to his twin sister.

The baby on the right stirred and, somehow sensing the threat to his life, awoke with screaming cries.

Link woke immediately, his eyelids peeling apart with reluctance before he sat up slowly. Yet as soon as he saw the Yiga hovering over his son’s crib, Link’s eyes widened and his heart lurched with panic.

“Hey!” He exclaimed as he lunged towards the Yiga, grabbing the sword by the bed. “Get away from my son!”

The clang of the sword meeting the vicious sickle woke Zelda, and yet she stirred much more gradually.

“Link,” she asked, half-asleep as Link battled the Yiga, crossing blades as Link forced the Yiga foot soldier downstairs and away from laying a hand on his children. 

Zelda opened her eyes slowly, realizing Link’s warmth was in the blankets she clutched and yet he was nowhere to be found, Zelda only seeing her own hand glide along the soft covers.

“Link?” She asked again with a creased brow, sitting up slowly and finally hearing the clamor of weaponry downstairs.

“Link!” She exclaimed as she hurried downstairs, her flowy white nightgown drifting smoothly and elegantly as she did. Link afforded a quick glance at Zelda as she neared the bottom of the stairs.

“Stay back!” He exclaimed, pushing back the Yiga before attempting a horizontal slice, but the Yiga disappeared in a puff of red smoke. Link looked around himself desperately for a reappearance when he heard the window of the loft completely shatter.

Both Link and Zelda were alerted by the troubling noise, rushing up the stairs to see no Yiga Clan member in sight and yet their daughter was nowhere to be found either.

Zelda was on the verge of a panic attack, her chest heaving as she nearly crashed into the desk behind her.

Link in contrast was on the verge of tears, fisting the hilt of his sword until it turned white. He soon realized he didn’t even have the time for his anger.

He quickly strapped on the sheath to his sword, securing the buckle and ties with fingers that moved so fast that they were messing up, but Link didn’t care to do it neatly.

Link picked up his infant son quickly and approached Zelda, whose gaze was a million miles away with panic.

“Zelda,” Link insisted. “Zelda, look at me. We don’t have time for this.”

He placed their son in her arms, Zelda not quite over her shock but holding him securely. Link placed a hand on her cheek.

“Take Elyjah and run as fast as you can to Fort Hateno,” Link said. “The soldiers there will protect you as you head to Kakariko. You will be safer there.”

Link gave her a quick peck on the lips as she nodded.

“I’ll get her back,” he said. “I promise.”

And before Zelda knew it, Link was a cloud of dust, darting out of their Hateno home in pursuit of the Yiga Clan member who meant to harm his daughter for her blood, that shared the blood of the hero and the blood of the goddess incarnate, and would surely reanimate Calamity Ganon with twice the speed.

Or worse, the Yiga Clan meant to avenge their former Master Kohga by killing the daughter of his “murderer”.

——————————————————————————————————

Link kept up his frantic run across the width of Hyrule, constantly on the Yiga’s tail at such a distance that the Yiga had only time to run with the infant. By this point, the Yiga Clan knew that crossing blades with Hyrule’s hero meant that they would likely never cross blades with anyone ever again. Over the years, they made innumerable attempts to assassinate Zelda, who carried the blood of the royal family of the former kingdom of Hyrule, or Link, who not only killed Master Kohga but, as increasing evidence suggested, was to marry Zelda and father children who also carried the blood of the royal family. Those attempts, however, failed again and again, Link being too great of a swordsman for the Yiga Clan to get anywhere near either them.

Tired of losing men and frankly at a loss, the Yiga Clan stopped. However, once spies confirmed that the former princess was indeed pregnant with twins, the Yiga Clan decided to wait until they were born. Once that occurred, and once Link and Zelda felt safe enough to let their guard down, the Yiga Clan would assassinate the infants. Only three weeks old, their lives were already in danger. 

And thus Link chased the Yiga who held his daughter all the way to their hideout in Gerudo Desert. He only got to the first circular room before he was surrounded by Yiga archers, arrows drawn and ready to release.

The Yiga foot soldier handed the bundle to a blademaster who stood across the room from Link. Link quelled the jolt of fear in his heart that came from seeing his daughter held by them and instead clenched his fingers tighter around the hilt of his sword.

He moved his arm in order to ready his sword for an attack, but he only heard the creak of bending arrows. 

Link took the auditory sign of threat seriously, sheathing his sword against his better judgement of his capabilities. Taking on all these Yiga was a type of chaos that would be messy, and thus too risky when his daughter was in the same room. Although Hyrule’s hero could take them on any day, creating a massacre and fighting with a sword in one hand and baby in the other arm was probably not the best idea. Link thought perhaps that was not this day, nor any day to come.

“Wait,” Link said as they were about to harm his daughter right in front of him, holding out his hands palm first. The Yiga turned their attention to him. “Hold on,” Link pleaded, as slowly and calmly as he could. “Please. Let’s just talk this out. I’ll give you anything for her safety. I’ll even give you my life.”

“We’re listening.”

“Kill me,” Link implored desparately. “Right here. Right now. I won’t put up a fight. You just have to promise to return her safely to my wife in Kakariko Village.”

“You would trust us to do that?” The blademaster asked, slightly surprised.

“You are still people,” Link reasoned, his arms lowering to hang by his sides. “I don’t see why you couldn’t be reasoned with.” Link gave a nervous chuckle. “I’m honestly depending on it.”

“Enough of this!” Another Yiga said, stepping forward. “Hylians don’t care about us! It’s a trick! He killed our Master and so many others. He saved Hyrule. I bet he’s leading us right into an ambush.”

“It’s not a trick,” Link said with shakes of his head. “It was only ever out of self-defense that I hurt your clan. Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone so far, but please let my wife and children live on. Zelda has already abdicated the throne. The kingdom of Hyrule is no more. Whatever grudge there is between us can be settled with my death at your hands.”

There was a silence that paused the conversation, a tentative silence that Link feared more and more. The chances were very slim that Link would get out of this, and yet he feared more for the tiny bundle in the enemy’s arms.

“You know not of the grudge you wish to settle,” the Yiga Blademaster said. “And yet you would give up your life to settle it. All to save your offspring.”

Link’s brow furrowed. Was this about more than just Master Kohga?

But Link was even more surprised at the Yiga’s first instance of mercy, the Blademaser walking forward slowly and gently returning the baby to Link’s arms. Link breathed a shaky sigh of relief feeling the warmth and yet did not understand the gesture. He looked up at the Blademaster.

“We know you could have taken us even with our archers at the ready,” the Blademaster said. “It is obvious you hold no ill will towards us. You only want your offspring safe and to live on past what was once the kingdom of Hyrule. Is this correct?”

Link nodded, slightly afraid of this odd behavior. 

“Then go and live,” the Blademaster said, Link’s lips parted. “We will not threaten your family any longer.”

But Link didn’t move, although in the back of his mind he thought he perhaps should have, should have gotten out before they changed their mind. The Blademaster had already turned around to head back into the hub of the Yiga Clan hideout.

“I don’t understand,” Link said, the Blademaster stopping in his tracks. “After all these years, you show me mercy in return for mine, but…how does that so suddenly erase your bloodlust? And how can your grudge have nothing to do with me if…if you tried to kill Zelda and I for years?”

“We assumed you were like your ancestors,” the Blademaster answered. “That you would villianize us and see us as a threat. You swore fealty to the kingdom that ruined us. That was enough for us to seek you out. We had to protect ourselves.”

“My ancestors?” Link asked. “What are you talking about?”

Another silence fell and Link started to regret asking the question. Had he pushed too far? Would they be angered?

“There is a tale among Hyruleans,” the Blademaster started. “Of when Sheikah technology was successful in defending the kingdom from Calamity Ganon. I gather you know it well. How did the story end?”

“The princess and the hero sealed away Calamity Ganon,” Link answered. “Because of the protection of the Divine Beasts and the Guardians. The calamity didn’t return for ten thousand years.”

The Blademaster gave a small laugh.

“Easy to write a happy ending when you are the victor,” he said. “But it seems Hyrule was too cowardly to truly detail what happened in the end.”

“Was Calamity Ganon not sealed?” Link asked.

“Calamity Ganon was sealed,” the Blademaster said. “Just as you described. Because of that, Hyrule saw a great era of prosperity. Sheikah technology was blooming and the Sheikah were very proud of their usefulness.”

“One day,” he continued. “Divine Beast Vah Naboris misfired. Because it was aimed at the castle, it devastated a portion of it, and killed the Queen. The King was furious and blamed the Sheikah. He banned all Sheikah technology, ordered everything to be buried and forgotten. The Sheikah were to make do in a small village to the east, in fact, soldiers forced them there. If any Sheikah refused these orders, they were imprisoned, some even put to death. And the Hylians, your ancestors, simply let it happen. Some Sheikah, knowing these dangers and angry against the royal family for their misplaced blame and their foolishness, disbanded completely, flocking to Gerudo Desert. You see, hero, the Yiga Clan are the descendants of those Sheikah, with every generation growing to hate the royal family more and more. For ten thousand years we have been festering, threatening each new member of the Royal Family.”

The Blademaster turned around to face Link.

“It’s easy to find someone new to blame,” the Blademaster said. “It took me until now to realize that we are just like that King and that you just want to move on. I think it’s time we do too.”

The Blademaster walked forward and as he did, he took of his red and white mask, Link’s eyebrows showing his surprise.

The man was likely in his late forties, his eyes sunken with fatigue, shadowed by the mask strapped to him his entire life. Link saw the rest of the Yiga do the same, as if on his command, even the younger ones looking incredibly tired, dulled red eyes and, upon removing their hoods, heads completely shaven.

“To moving on,” Link said offering his hand forward, his baby safe in the nook of his other elbow.

“To moving on,” the Blademaster repeated, shaking Link’s hand.

——————————————————————————————————

“What’s his name again?” Paya asked, smiling down at the little baby boy.

“Elyjah,” Zelda answered, and yet she didn’t look away from the hill leading down to the Dueling Peaks stable. Paya often tried to convince her to come in for a break, but Zelda had insisted on being ready for the very moment Link arrived ever since she did.

Paya looked up from the baby she held, concern etching upon her face at the way Zelda looked desperately at the road that lead outside the village.

“He’s going to be okay,” Paya assured her. “They’ll both be back safe and sound.”

Zelda shook her head as she looked over to Paya.

“I should have gone with him,” Zelda said. “I don’t know how much longer I can—”

Zelda’s voice broke as she began to cry, her hand going to her mouth and her eyelids clasping. Paya immediately embraced her with her free arm.

“There there,” Paya said. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Why is he taking so long?” Zelda blubbered. “It’s been days. What if he’s hurt? What if…”

Her words trailed away as she sobbed into Paya’s shoulder more, the Sheikah giving a small smile.

“It’s okay,” she said in a soothing voice. “You can just cry. That’s all you have to do right now. Just stay right here with me and cry.”

And yet the baby boy took the advice instead, starting to wail himself. Zelda’s crying turned into a chuckle as she withdrew, taking her son into her own arms and soothing him with a soft finger on his cheek and tears rolling down hers. Zelda gently bobbed him until he quieted down.

“He’s hungry again,” Zelda said, looking to exterior of Kakariko once more. “Wendie must be starving.”

Paya inhaled to assure Zelda that Link could likely purchase milk on the road, but Zelda interrupted her.

“I’ll feed him inside,” Zelda said as she headed back into Kakariko, Paya nodding before following Zelda’s stride.

“He has your eyes,” Paya said. “Green, as bright as yours.”

“Yes,” Zelda said looking down with a proud smile and a slight laugh. “Wendie got Link’s blue eyes. It really has been quite the miracle. I never thought it would come to this.”

“Come to what?”

Zelda lifted her gaze to Paya.

“Let’s just say that when I was sixteen, I didn’t like my knight attendant very much. If you told me back then that we would end up married with children in a small house in Hateno, I wouldn’t have believed it. I—“

Zelda was suddenly distracted by a skirmish they were approaching in the middle of Kakariko. Upon seeing Link’s horse, she took no hesitation running forward.

Link did the same once he saw her, them surging into a deep and desperate exchange of their lips.

“I’m so glad you are okay,” Zelda whispered as she withdrew. “You were taking so long that…”

Zelda’s gaze moved downward, crying tears of joy seeing her daughter Wendie sleeping in Link’s arms.

“Oh goddesses she’s okay.”

“Of course she is,” Link said with a smile. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s rescuing princesses.”

Zelda laughed.

“Link, she’s not a princess. We talked about this.”

“True,” Link said in replied. “But she’ll always be my princess.”

[xaviermayne]

My Brother's Favorite Toy: Part Two

"Get the fuck out of here," Grayson said, throwing his hand toward the door.

"Dude, I've got a raging bone—"

"I don't fucking care!" Grayson yelled, covering his face with a forearm. "I said get out of my room."

Ethan stood for a moment, shocked that Grayson made him work so hard for him, and then wouldn't at least let Ethan take care of his own need.

Once he got back to his room, Ethan's dick had gotten softer, and he was feeling too deflated to even try and finally knock one out. He thought about how Grayson looked after he came, the look of shame on his face.

Things didn't get much better. The next day, they had breakfast in virtual silence. Ethan finally tried to break the ice when he finished the last scoop of his avocado.

"Bet it took a long time cleaning up last night," he said.

"Ethan!" Grayson snapped. "We're not gonna talk about that, alright?" He glared straight into Ethan's eyes. "Like, ever. Got it?"

Ethan sat stoned-faced. How could they never talk about it? They had just permanently crossed a line as brothers. Before that, the gayest thing they'd ever done together was occasionally watch porn together, but only when they were both horny and exhausted from traveling, jerking themselves under the sheets, each in separate double beds in a hotel room.

It had to be talked about. But Ethan knew his brother. Sometimes Grayson just needed time. Ethan would just have to wait.

Later that morning, they were working out when Ethan suddenly realized he'd made a grave mistake. He still hadn't cum since last night, and Grayson was loading up the weights on the squat rack. Ethan was about to be forced to view his favorite in-person porno play out yet again in front of his eyes, with a level of horniness he didn't think he'd ever experienced before.

To make matters worse, Grayson was wearing a new pair of shorts that Ethan just knew was going to drive him crazy. Short red ones made of this clingy combed cotton, and Ethan swore they were at least a half-size too small.

Ethan tried to look away, but his eyes flicked back to his brother's backside as soon as he heard his brother grunt as he lowered himself down, the heavy barbell held up against Grayson's shoulders with his strong arms. As he bent his knees, Grayson's ass pushed out further and further, until Ethan saw the fabric of the shorts straining to hold in his brother's mighty ass.

Ethan felt like his body had just been tossed in an oven, with prickly heat all over him as he felt his dick swell again too. There was a pang of pain as his balls ached.

He worried he might even be hallucinating when he could've sworn he saw the outline of his brother's hole through his too-thin shorts. The same one he'd fingered last night.

Grayson quickly raised back up, then shrugged the barbell off his shoulders, and the weights slammed to the floor, quaking their gym. Ethan was shocked. "Gray, are you okay?" Ethan asked. "That could've gone straight through the floor, bro." Grayson turned around, glaring at this brother.

"Are you okay, Ethan?" Grayson asked in a mocking tone. Then he pointed below Ethan. Ethan looked down and saw what looked like— yep, that was his precum on the floor. He'd been so entranced that he hadn't realized his growing dick had snaked its way through his boxer briefs, the head drizzling precum as it rested between his thigh and shorts.

"Oh, fuck," Ethan murmured.

"You're fucking disgusting, Ethan," Grayson said. Ethan could see the repulsion in his brother's eyes. A vein on Grayson's neck had popped out, and Grayson walked toward Ethan, his muscles juiced up from the set. For a moment, Ethan was legitimately scared of what Grayson was about to do. "We're brothers, Ethan. It's not just gay, it's incest. That fucking illegal. And even if it weren't, like that's just fucking weird, bro. I'm working out and you're literally cumming on the floor, which I hope you're gonna clean up by—"

The adrenaline pumping through Ethan gave him a sudden burst of confidence. "Bro, shut up, you're literally the one who made me fingerbang you last night."

Grayson grimaced at "fingerbang". "You're the one who broke my fucking dildo, bro!" Grayson screamed at Ethan, leaning in his reddening face until Ethan could feel flecks of spit hit his cheeks. "You used something that'd been up my ass, Ethan! You're a fucking freak!"

Ethan was actually trembling now, although he was trying his best to hide it. The brothers had promised to never punch each other, but with all the blood and testosterone flowing through Grayson right now after his workout, Ethan really couldn't be sure.

Suddenly, Grayson pivoted and walked over to one of their weight benches. For a split second, Ethan thought maybe Grayson would just continue with his workout to get out his aggression out. But then, to Ethan's surprise, Grayson pulled down his shorts and underwear. Ethan stood in stunned silence, his mouth agape, as Grayson stepped out of them and laid face-down on the wide, black leather bench. Grayson pushed back his dick and balls so he could lay entirely flat, and then let his legs dangle off the sides. He turned his face away from Ethan.

"W-what are you doing?" Ethan stammered quietly.

"You're gonna fuck me," Grayson said, his voice echoing around the gym. "If you're such a freak and want to fuck your brother, let's just do it and get it over with. Then you can finally be fucking satisfied and we can never talk about this again."

Confused and suspicious, Ethan walked slowly over to Grayson. He wanted to ask more questions, but the sight of his brother's plump buns stupefied him once again, with his cock quickly pulsing back up to full wood. Meekly, Ethan squatted down to part his brother's cheeks. When he did, he was intoxicated by both the sight of that tight pink hole, now in the daylight, and the special brand of sweaty musk that Ethan could smell from his brother's exposed crack.

"Two rules: go slow, and don't cum inside me or I'll rip your fucking dick off."

"Kay," said Ethan. Ethan hocked and spat a loogie on his brother's hole, then began fingering him just like last night. This time, Grayson stayed completely silent. But Ethan knew he was doing good work when he found his brother's spot, and Grayson's dick, pinned back against the leather, started to grow.

For always looking so tight, Ethan was surprised how quickly Grayson was opening up. He figured last night probably helped stretch him. But Grayson's hole didn't even twitch once, which made Ethan think his brother wanted it a little more than he let on.

When Ethan finally got a third finger in, and Grayson's dick was throbbing, a bead of precum glistening in his slit, Ethan pulled down his shorts and underwear, kicking them off. His dick swung round, he didn't think he'd even been harder. He spit twice in his hand and then palmed his dick, making sure every inch was glistening.

Ethan had to smirk when he finally felt the tip of his head press against his brother's warm entrance. He pushed, and his smirk spread into a wide, silly grin when he saw the full tip disappear inside Grayson's muscular ass. But that was the easy part.

The twins both had what they referred to as torpedo-shaped dicks. Rather small heads, but the shaft quickly flared out to their full widths, then sloping back down to normal once you got to the base. So Ethan knew the hardest part was yet to come.

He pushed gently, and surprisingly Grayson didn't seem to mind. In fact, he could've swore he saw Grayson's dick throb hard a couple times right after. When he started really pushing in, though, is when Grayson started to groan with discomfort. Ethan stopped, letting his brother's already-stretched ring adjust to his girthy cock.

When he was sure Grayson must be ready again, he started squeezing in further. Grayson's groan quickly shot up to a yell. "Ahh, fuck! Go slow, what did I fucking say?" Grayson yelled.

"I am going slow!" Ethan shouted, though he knew that wasn't true. He was so impatient to pound away. Then he leaned his head forward and let another mouthful of spit drop onto where Grayson's hole was puckered around his pulsing dick. Then, after a few more moments, slid more in.

Grayson groaned dramatically, slamming a fist into the bench, but the extra spit seemed to help, as Ethan was able to squeeze in the full width with little protestation from the coiffed-haired cutie.

Ethan pulled out a bit carefully, then pushed back in. Grayson stayed silent.

"You're taking this like a champ," Ethan said.

"Shut the fuck up," Grayson said through gritted teeth.

With his next pump, Ethan went a little bit further. Suddenly, he saw Grayson's expression seem to light up in the mirror facing the bench. That's the spot, Ethan thought, remembering a similar expression on his brother's face last night. He pulled out and in again, and he could've sworn he heard a tiny moan croak out of his brother's throat.

Newly confident, and desperate to get his full dick in, Ethan dared to go a bit deeper. Yep, that was a moan, Ethan thought, as Grayson slapped a hand against his own mouth, then buried his face in the bench. Ethan began building a rhythm, plunging his big dick in and out of his little brother. Not his entire length, though, since Ethan wasn't sure how deep you could even go in a guy's ass, and he didn't want to push his luck, as he could hear Grayson's muffled moans and knew his bottoming bro was enjoying that big torpedo middle pressing against his p-spot.

Pumping away, Ethan suddenly felt that tingle behind his balls, and he had to stop mid-thrust. Don't cum, don't cum, don't cum, Ethan thought frantically. He remembered the one thing that always helped him not prematurely ejaculate.

Womp womp womp, Ethan sang in his head. Yeah-ee-ah-ee yeahh! It was the old James Charles meme. Womp womp womp! The vision of James's ghostly face attempting to sing worked once more. The need to cum passed.

Pulling back before another thrust, Ethan looked down and saw the lips of his brother's ass pussy puckered around his cock. He was stretching Grayson out so much, it was like Gray's ass was trying to suck his cock whenever he pulled out some.

He pushed back into Grayson's warm, wet, velvety ass, and then continued to pump. At one point he repositioned his foot, causing his dick to tilt down a bit more, and then Ethan could've sworn he started hearing his brother utter little high-pitched "uhhhn" sounds with every pound. Encouraged, Ethan tilted his hips down a little bit more, to where his iron missile was pile-driving nearly straight down into Grayson's ass. In the mirror, Ethan saw Grayson's handsome head suddenly shoot up from being buried in the bench. Grayson's eyes were rolling back into his head.

Ethan kept his rhythm. Looking down, he saw Grayson's ring suddenly clamp down a bit on Ethan's dick. Ethan grunted from how good that felt, then Grayson's ass widened back out. Then Ethan saw Grayson's balls pull up a bit, and Grayson's bulbous prostate, bulging out between his hole and his balls, pulsed hard, almost seeming to squeeze.

Suddenly, a hot white load of cum rocketed out of Grayson's red, rock hard dick. It shot between Ethan's thrusting legs and Ethan heard it splatter behind them, all over the chest fly machine. With another pile-drive, Ethan watched Grayson's prostate squeeze hard again, and a split second later another big load shot out.

Holy shit, Ethan thought. I'm milking him with my fucking dick.

Piledrive after piledrive, Grayson's cock blasted load after load. Clearly his balls had managed to restock overnight. Obsessed with the control over his brother's pleasure, Ethan couldn't help himself from keep going. And though the bulb of Grayson's prostate kept pulsing each time, the loads eventually got smaller and smaller, until it seemed as if Grayson was stilling cumming, but had actually run out of cum. His dick would still quiver as if it were shooting, but it was just blanks.

God, I milked him completely dry. Suddenly something primal kicked into Ethan. He looked up at his brother with his eyes still rolling back, his mouth agape. Ethan felt that warm tingle, but even the meme couldn't help him now. He was in animalistic breeding mode now. With a loud growl, Ethan felt his aching balls seize, and he finally pounded his giant saved-up load inside his brother's ass. Something inside Ethan made him want to breed his seed, as far deep as he could. He heard Grayson grunt in pain as Ethan forced the last inch of his dick in, and sprayed a couple more shots inside.

Breathless, the intense warmth of the orgasm slowly cooled out of Ethan's body. He collapsed on top of Grayson, his dick still balls-deep. Ethan's ballsack loosened and drooped on top of his brother's, which flanked Grayson's softening dick.

Ethan smirked to himself, thinking, Now it's really gay, because our balls touched.

"Ummm Ethan?" Grayson asked, his voice strained.

"Yeah, Gray?" Ethan replied, expecting him to say something like, Get the fuck off me.

Instead, Grayson lifted his head, his brow furrowed, and demanded, "You didn't just shoot YOUR FUCKING LOAD IN ME, DID YOU?!"

Ethan gulped.

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 13

Previous: Codename The Mochi of it All 

Pairing: Lee Euna X Min Yoongi, Lee Euna X Kim Seokjin, Jeon Jungkook X OFC

Genre: Angst, Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2.2k 

Warnings: Swearing 

Summary: Lee Euna returns to identify a mystery man and put another name on the list. 

Justifying Jimin 

Present Day

          The light is a speckled mess as it attempts to stream through the stained-glass windows arched above the rattling glass below. The warping wood welcomes the reprieve from winter, early spring seeping in through the pollen in the air. I’ve been working with Lee Euna since around Christmas and she continues to pay far more than is necessary. I’m not complaining, upgraded computer, new camera, better security, I can now afford HBO Max and Hulu and Netflix at once. It’s wonderful, no scraping by. My savings account has even been growing, something I didn’t think would happen until I at least solved my first murder. Catching cheating spouses is lucrative, but not enough that I can afford rent in two places.

         The point being, bless Lee Euna and her money. I sleep just fine with it in my bank account. Though I’ve yet to determine if I’m sleeping fine because Jungkook’s holding me, pulling me into his orbit, securely protecting me from my deepest fears, or because I’m no longer stressed about making ends meet. Having him around… it’s stupid. It’s, I’m trying to work on valuing my feelings, all of them, and while I find romance stupid, it’s so comforting sleeping next to someone you care about. The way his lips slightly part, the soft curl of his breath, his hair cascading over his cheek, an arm always wrapped around me, or his hand holding mine.

         I don’t know what I thought it would be like, having someone consistently in my bed, looking out for me, caring when I let the cucumber turn to mush inside my refrigerator, asking if I’ve drunk all my water for a day or encouraging me to go to bed before 11PM. It’s an odd thing, falling in love with someone. I am, falling, I think, not that I’ve said as much. There’s a certain amount of pride, in keeping your growing feelings of adoration to yourself, of sorting them before sharing them, nurturing them in silence. I do hate how integral he’s become in my life… It hasn’t been long, but in the pit of my stomach, all I can feel is a growing blossom of hope, waiting to bloom.

         It’s an odd thing, knowing Jungkook is lying to me about something, and not being able to confront him about it. Sitting in my office, patiently waiting for Lee Euna, I’m staring at a list of facts I’ve written down.

         Taehyung and the mystery man know Jungkook, now I don’t know how they know him, or why, or if they’re old school friends or poker acquaintances. Jungkook doesn’t play poker, so maybe basketball buddies. Or lost friends from childhood, bonding over their heritage and shared experiences of hating their 4th grade teacher. The important fact is that they recognized him by name. The look they exchanged, the way their bodies shifted, it would be wild to have behaved that way and not know of Jungkook. There’s no possible way they could’ve been thinking of a different Jeon Jungkook.

         All these ‘facts’, lead me to a central question that I don’t know how I feel about, or what I’m going to do about, but it still remains: who is Jungkook?

         “Ms. Y/N, good afternoon,” Euna says walking through the door of my office. I glance at her and smile.

         “Good afternoon, can I get you anything to drink?”

         “Mm, do you still have that water I like?” She sits down, crossing her ankle behind the other and waits.

         “Yes, I do, Pellegrino, lemon or regular?” I offer.

         “Lemon please,” She responds, she only ever drinks lemon.

         “Here,” I hand her the bottle and watch as she patiently opens it, letting the few bubbles escape before placing her lips to the top. “I have good news, and bad news.”

         “Oh? Let’s start with the bad,” She’s curious, her brow lightly furrowing, concern in her eyes as they move across my desk looking for a sign of what’s to come.

         “I’ve found a few men who seems to know Taehyung. The problem, is that I don’t know who they are.” I tell her plainly.

         “Oh, that is a problem,” She sits back in her chair, brows creasing deeper.

         “I have photos and am trying to run it through the system,” I tell her, “But,          I don’t know if I’ll find anything. It was almost impossible to track down Seokjin, and I had to call in a favor just to get any intel.”

         “Can I see them?” Euna sets her drink down on the end table and leans forward. “Maybe it’s someone I know? That will make less work for you, right?”  

         “Well, that leads me to my next bit of news,” I inform her.

         “The good news?” She isn’t hopeful, I can tell from her tone. She should be hopeful, I mean, I’ve done a decent job in not a lot of time.

         “Yes, I found Seokjin and Taehyung,” I turn on the extra monitor and the photos appear for her to look at, hoping she can make sense of the mystery men. I prefer to use digital photos instead of the standard print, less chance of blackmail on the part of the perpetrator. It also provides additional income when someone comes back a year, or a few months later to get prints for their lawyers.

         In this moment, however, Euna isn’t nodding in contentment at my amazing photography skills, she’s in shock, mouth open, eyes wide.

         “Jimin,” She whispers.

         “Yeah! Is he the Jimin on your list?” I ask, confused.

         “He’s my brother’s fiancé,” She whispers, eyes scanning the photos of Taehyung and Jimin.

         “Is or was?” I push.

         “How do they know each other?” She asks instead.

         “I don’t know,” I tell her, lying in this business gets you nowhere, fast.

         Picking up another photo to compare, “How much will it cost to find out?”

         “I don’t know, it’ll take more time for sure, maybe another month or two. I’m still putting out feelers for Min Yoongi,” I inform her. “Then there’s the question of how all of them are connected, if they are. I have a slight lead on Jung Hoseok, he’s been out with Taehyung once or twice, and I guess, until today, not much on Park Jimin. There’s one other man that Taehyung goes to dinner with, but I don’t know who he is.”

         “Yoongi will be easy to find, though, right?” She asks me.

         “I would assume so, but I had to call in a favor to find Seokjin,” I reiterate.

         “Jimin was with Tae?”

         “What happened between your brother and Jimin?” I redirect.

         “He, they, fuck,” She swears, slamming her hand on her the table before turning her back to me and pacing the width of my office. “They were engaged and on the night of their engagement party, Jimin disappeared. No note, no call, nothing. Changed his cell number too. Wiped his social media. Jun-Seo couldn’t find him at his job, couldn’t locate him through his parents. Their friends didn’t know where he was.” Euna sits, taking a long swig from her Pellegrino. “It was as if he never really existed, Seo felt like he’d been in some dream that he’d magically woken up from to realize his life was a nightmare. He didn’t sleep for weeks, went on benders, became Dae’s henchman.”

         “Wasn’t he already?” I question.

         “Yes, but he was at his beck and call, for, what, six months or something? He’s started returning to his old self, but he’s never going to get over Jimin.” Euna takes another sip, hiccupping gently before screwing the cap back on.

         “Does Seo want revenge?” I ask.

         “Is it your job to know?” Euna snaps.

         “No, I guess not,” I shrug.

         “Jimin’s in town? For good?” She’s calculating, pupils contracting, irises moving from picture to picture.

         Tilting my head, I tell her, “I don’t know about that.”  

         She glances up at me, looking me dead on, “Will you find out?”

         “Sure, but it’ll cost. Your list keeps growing,” I pull out the handwritten list she’d made me for our first meeting.

         “Who’s on it again?”

         “Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung,” I recite, pretty names for prettier men.

         “And that other guy Taehyung hangs out with, I want him too,” Euna absentmindedly flings her hand in the general direction of her original list.

         “Okay,” I say, moving the note to jot a few words down on another piece of paper.

         “I’ll add an extra, what, two grand to your weekly? Can that move this along?” She’s refitting her sunglasses over her eyes, but I catch the glimmer of tears coating them.

         “Yes, it can. I’m going to have to work my –

         “Do whatever you have to,” Euna stands, grabbing her purse and pauses to look at the photos again. “When someone breaks your heart, destroys your world, well, wouldn’t you want revenge too?”

           Lee Euna leaves, a comment about her returning in two weeks for an update that I acknowledge with an “okay!” to hide how overwhelmed I am. The list is supposed to be getting shorter, not longer, and yet I’m sitting here, a few months in, with more people to find. Granted She just added more money to my fee, real money, tangible, squirrel away for when I’m back to hunting cheaters and abusers, money. But how am I going to find men who clearly and aggressively don’t want to be found? Not to mention the notes in my car, the connection to Jungkook and the very real chance that Euna’s revenge could very well be dangerous.

           I pick up my phone and dial the third number I have memorized, though Jungkook’s is slowly becoming #4.

           “You’ve ran out of favors, Y/N,” C says, tutting her teeth.

           “I’m not calling about a favor, I’m calling because I need advice.” I correct her.

           “What?” She’s curious, I can hear it in the lilt she uses for emphasis. Sisterhood allows you to notice those things, a life lived together means she can tell how frustrated I am.

           “It’s taking forever to run these pictures through the system. I’ve searched social media, I’ve combed local yearbooks and university graduation lists, and I cannot find these men. Either they’re –

           “Either they’re hiding and have scrubbed their existence from the web, or they are using fake names.” C answers, she hates when I call on her lunch break to talk shop, but she always answers.

           “How would I know?” I let out a frustrated growl that she chuckles at.

           “Isn’t that part of your job?” She snorts.

           “No, I know. I ran their names against Lee Enterprises rosters, and a few came back with different last names. Enterprises doesn’t post company photos so all I have to match them with are the names and photos Euna has given me. Which is minimally helpful. Seokjin wasn’t lying, his name was the same, but Taehyung’s isn’t Kim Taehyung at the library, but it’s him,” I explain.

           “Someone’s lying, either the men or Euna,” C deduces.

           “Could this be bigger than what Euna is asking for?” I ask the question that’s been stuck in my mind for days.

           “As in a larger group?”

           “Yes, as in a larger play in the works, a government agency, Interpol, Mafia, someone who’s out of my jurisdiction,” I clarify.

           “Lol, Interpol is the British Mafia. That’s funny. Truly, it could be, but how would you know?” She inquires.

           “We’ve had this conversation before,” I remind her.

           “True, but you process best when you speak through your problems,”

           “Also true.”

           “You’re on the right track, trust yourself, Y/N. Did you figure out if that Jimin was the same-

           “It is,” I interrupt.

         “What’s his deal?” C inquires.

         “Broke her brother’s heart,” I confirm.

           “Dae-Seong is gay?” She’s shocked, I roll my eyes.

           “Other brother,” I correct her.

           She hums. “Oh, he seems fluid? Is that the correct phrasing?”

           I snort, “Yeah, we’re all fluid technically,”

           “Mmm, speaking of-

           “Speaking of, if this was part of something larger, and you knew, would you tell me?” My voice is soft, C doesn’t know about the notes in my car, and she doesn’t need to.

           “If I could, if I had any information or anything, I would,” She promises.

           “Thank you. Love you, mean it,” I say.

           “Love you, mean it,” She answers.

           Finding Jimin was just a fluke, a one off, a bit of luck. He was with Taehyung in a genuine friendly engagement. They weren’t expecting me, I wasn’t expecting them. But the rest of these men? Jung Hoseok shows up here and there, nothing recent, no phone number or Facebook page with activity after 2015. Min Yoongi, well, Park Yoongi, shows up on the database, but when I look at the one photo of him, he is not the same man that Euna swears he is. The cherry on top of that is the last man to appear occasionally with Taehyung.

           Altogether, that’s six men. I’ve found three, which I guess should make me a glass half full kind of optimist. However, one was pure luck. The other was secrets from my sister and dumb luck, and the third? Child’s play. So, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, and Mystery Man, who are you, and what have you done to Lee Euna?

Next: Codename Love Reimagined 

[watch-grok-brainrot]

Striving for Humanity

Thanks to @merelhyn for 1) this post, 2) having a conversation with me about it at an ungodly hour, and 3) reading the story over before me posting. I shoved a lot of head canons into the story. I guess I’ll ramble at the end about some of them. I can’t think of any content warnings? If you see one I need to mention, please let me know so i can put it in the tags. :)

------ 

覆載群生仰至仁，發明萬物皆成善。

“Through the years, living things strive for humanity; Since their creation all things improve.” -- opening poem of Journey to the West by Wu ChengEn

Jiang Cheng felt a shift in his bed and suddenly Wei Ying’s voice sounded by his ears. “Jiang Cheng! Jiang Cheng! Wake up!”

“Go away. It’s too early,” he turned to go back to sleep. Why was Wei Ying awake at this time?

“But Jiang Ch~eng! It’s important! I think my golden core formed!” Wei Ying said in a hushed whisper as he shook the other boy. 

Jiang Cheng bolted up. “What? How? I work so much harder than you! Have you been practicing without telling me?”

“Not on purpose! I mean, I don’t know!” Wei Ying waved his hands defensively. Then he paused and added, contemplative and thoughtful, “Well, I guess when I’m swimming in the lake, part of me is thinking about how spiritual energies feel.The way the water covers my skin and how my spirit and meridians respond. I like the way the energies feel when I move through the water and when I direct my Qi flow into the water. When we eat Shijie’s soup, I like the warmth of it going down my throat and I imagine the calming spirit from the soup seeping into me. I think I’m always looking for how our Qi interacts with us. Do you not do that? I just assumed you did.” 

Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened. He spent all his free time working on his spiritual energy but he definitely didn’t work on it while eating or playing or swimming. Wei Ying’s approach made so much sense! If only he shared earlier. Annoyed, he punched Wei Ying in the chest, “What? No! I’m too busy trying to keep you from getting into trouble! And I can’t think over your incessant chatter anyway!”

Wei Ying allowed himself to flop backwards from the punch. “Do you want to feel for it, Jiang Cheng? I want to see if you can tell I’ve changed.” He offers his wrist to the other boy. 

Jiang Cheng reached out and set his middle three fingers on Wei Ying’s wrist. He found the other boy’s pulse and followed the energy flow up. Sure enough, there was a small seed in the center of Wei Ying’s chest. It pulsated in synchrony with Wei Ying’s heartbeat, sending out small waves of energy. Jiang Cheng withdrew his hand, sighing. 

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying said, excited. “If I got mine, I’m sure you’ll end up with yours in a few days! You’re never actually behind. Not when it matters. And plus, you work so much harder than I do!”

Jiang Cheng scoffed. “I know I do. It doesn’t make sense that you get everything first and you seem to be slightly better than me.”

“Don’t be jealous! It’s just because I got used to thinking on my feet on the streets!” Wei Ying said, trying to diffuse Jiang Cheng’s jealousy and insecurities. “It’s not like a day or two will matter in the long run anyway. It’s so tiny right now. It’s about the size of a lotus seed, I’d say. Maybe when yours form it’ll be the size of our spirit bell! And if you form yours in the next five days, you’d still have gotten a golden core at a younger age than me. I am your Shi-ge for something, remember? ”

Jiang Cheng pushed Wei Ying off the bed. “Well, Shi-ge, I guess you’ll have to help me get mine soon! Let’s go train!”

He jumped out of bed, stretched briefly, and ran into the courtyard. Wei Ying quickly followed.  

~~

Seven days later, Jiang Cheng woke up with a golden core. The two of them immediately found Jiang Fengmian to ask for courtesy names and swords. 

“Dad! I have a golden core!” Jiang Cheng yelled down the hallways of Lotus Pier.

“Uncle Jiang! We both have golden cores!” Wei Ying’s voice joined in. 

Jiang Fengmian put down his brush and looked up from his work. “Come here, let me feel.” Both boys rushed up and offered their wrists. He tested their cores and found two small lotus seeds beating with youthful vigor. He smiled. “Very good.”

“So how do we pick a courtesy name? And what do we need to do to get a sword?” Wei Ying asked, words tumbling from his mouth without pause. “Do we have to find the materials? Do we have to forge it ourselves? Is there a trial or a test? Will we have to infuse it with energy from our golden core before it can be forged?”

Jiang Fengmian placed a hand on Wei Ying’s head to calm the boy. Then he placed his other hand on Jiang Cheng’s head and said, “Per Jiang family traditions, you must determine what is most true for yourself. Pick names and sword components from that. The best swords develop spirits. It would be wise to give them a vessel that resonates with your morals and your identity. We can pick your courtesy names after your swords are forged. Now go, and present something for me tomorrow.” 

Both boys nodded solemnly, gave each other a grin, and ran out of Jiang Fengmian’s study.

~~

After meeting with Jiang Fengmian, Jiang Cheng ran to tell Yu Ziyuan his news. Wei Ying, not wanting to incur the woman’s wrath, decided to take a walk instead, his Uncle Jiang’s words echoing in his ears. He had a lot to think about. 

Wei Ying’s father was a servant to Uncle Jiang. A close friend, but still a servant. He had no status. And Wei Ying’s mother was as elusive as her name indicated. He never got any stories about her, though he asked. Where, then, was their child’s identity rooted? How, from a lack of identity, can Wei Ying figure out the sort of vessel that would fit his sword? 

Lost in thought, Wei Ying wandered out of Lotus Pier grounds. His feet carried him to the first tree he climbed after arriving at Yunmeng. Perhaps only a couple decades old, the tree stood in a clearing. Wei Ying walked up and put his hand on the tree, “Hey old friend. I’m surprised I’m here again. I don’t have anything sad to say to you today. I guess I’m just here to think.” He walked around the tree a few times, fingers trailing along on the trunk.

You came to me that day. I realized, when you touched me, that you had changed. As you walked around me and spoke to me, I knew you would leave me one day. You who I’ve always known. 

Wei Ying grabbed onto the lower branches and pulled himself up. The large leaves batted him in the face. Wei Ying laughed and climbed higher. A few minutes later, he had gone as far as he was willing to climb. The leaves did a good job of hiding him but he could see out and watch Yunmeng. He sat down and leaned against the main branch. The familiar shape of the boughs brought back familiar feelings.

Your tears were what woke me. I heard you cry and tasted your anxiety and fear. I watched you fall. I was powerless to protect you. After you and the larger child left, the blood you spilt seeped down and I took it in. The earth did not deserve any of you. 

This was the first tree that he had climbed when he arrived at Yunmeng. That was the night he became friends with Jiang Cheng. That was the night he first tasted Shijie’s Lotus Root and Pork Rib soup. 

I watched you grow, your spirit bright and strong. Your laughter felt like sunlight. It grew my spirit as sunlight grew my body. Your cries hurt like passing storms. But weathering them made my spirit stronger. I swore to shelter you. 

This tree has been his safe haven when Madam Yu got mad, when local dogs chased him, when he wished he could remember more about his parents. He remembered climbing the tree, hiding in the tree, crying in the tree, and falling from the tree when he inevitably fell asleep.

You fed me, unknowingly. I drank in your tears. From them, I learned of human suffering. From them, I understood loneliness, insecurity, and pain. How does one so small feel so much?

Wei Ying put his hand on the tree and channeled some of his spiritual energy into the main branch. “You’re as much part of me as you’re part of Yunmeng, aren’t you? I can’t believe you’ve been here with me through everything." 

Either by his words or by sheer coincidence, he heard a crack and saw a lower branch about the thickness of his upper arm break and fall to the ground. His eyes lit up and he patted the trunk twice. “Of course, you and I are the same here. Thank you old friend.”

I could not tell you not to go. So I did what I could. I went with you.

Wei Ying climbed down and picked up the branch. It was about a meter and a half long and four to five fingers width in diameter. The break was surprisingly smooth and the wood was much less wet than he expected. He smiled. This is exactly what he hoped to find.

~~

Jiang Cheng presented Jiang Fengmian with four aspects for his sword design: two metal sculptures, one of a snake, one of a toad, a jar with five centipedes, and a jar of purple pigment. “Father, I present to you the elements for my sword. First, the purple is Yunmeng. My future responsibility and my family. The other three objects represent three of the five poisons. As I am the son of Mother, the Purple Spider, and you, the Water Scorpion, I thought it would be only fitting for me to take the other three. I come from you, I hope to take the best of you two and become more. Furthermore, it will only do me good to remember the three poisons of Buddihst teachings. Calling my sword Sandu will remind me of both my roots and my faults.”

Jiang Fengmian nodded approvingly and Jiang Cheng beamed. Jiang Fengmian then turned to Wei Ying. 

“A-Ying, what did you choose and why?”       

Wei Ying thought about Jiang Fengmian’s question and offered two answers. “I chose wood because it represents what you have done for me. Prior to being taken in, I was but 不材之木，無所可用 (wood that cannot be crafted, useless). Your raising me made me what I am today. I want to have a wooden sheath and hilt to remember from whence I came. I also believe trees, like lotuses, reflect the Yunmeng Jiang motto. 禽獸固有群矣，樹木固有立矣 (birds and beasts gather in flocks and herds; the trees stand in place). Trees know their lines and what they will bend to and what they will weather. We also know our moral lines and stand by them. Holding a sword made of such, I hope to do the same.”

“What about its name?” Jiang Fengmian prompted. 

Wei Ying fell silent. In his head dozens of names flew by. He dismissed all of them as unworthy of his sword. Finally, Wei Ying looked up and blurted “Suibian. Whatever you want to call it, Uncle Jiang. Suibian. I defer to your wisdom.”

Suibian. Whatever. These two characters that tumbled from your lips I knew to be truer than anything anyone else could say. I wanted no other name. It reflected your spirit. It reflected my will. How could you suggest anyone else try to name me anything else?

~~

As my body plunged into fire, I clung onto your words. Whatever. I insist on whatever. The flames roared around me, trying to force me docile. I screamed back my desires. I have will! I choose this! Finally the flames yielded and I molded them for my own use. I will be your whatever, as long as you let me stay by your side.

When the swords left the forge, both boys eagerly grabbed their weapon. 

Jiang Cheng’s Sandu held the poisonous motifs -- snakes intertwined to form the cross guards and a toad sat atop its hilt. The five entangled centipedes were embedded in Sandu’s heart. The sheath’s Yunmeng-purple surface displayed a snake skin texture. The sword epitomized a deadly elegance befitting the Yunmeng heir. 

Wei Ying’s sword was a masterpiece of intertwined metal and wood. The hilt seemed to be of plain wood, yet it conformed to Wei Ying’s grip as if it were whittled for that sole purpose. The metal rippled around the sheath, wrapping around the wood like the waters of Yunmeng wrapping around Lotus Pier. Upon the wood of the sheath were engraved the characters 随便 (Suibian.) 

---

Notes:  

1)  So, per traditional chinese medicine, the spider is not one of the five poisons. There’s a salamander/lizard instead. I believe it has to do with what you use to make extracts/tonics. However, in many Wuxia novels, the reptile is replaced with spider... and for my motif, i went with the spider. CQL is a very wuxia heavy xianxia show anyway. :)  

2) We know NOTHING about the parents so i made up the thing about Jiang Fengmian’s moniker. It sounded cool to me. That way he gets to be a poison. It rounded out 5 with Sandu and JC’s sense of family and duty. The water thing was just being from Yunmeng. 

3) Per CQL aesthetics, the golden core is separate from the dantian that Wuxia talks about. I’m making that assumption here.

4) Once i learned courtesy names were given historically at a later age, it really bothered me. Since i figured it’s a coming of age thing, I started headcanoning courtesy names were given at the same time as when the golden core formed. That would explain why wwx, jc, lwj etc have courtesy names so young. 

5) If you paid attention to CQL, you’ll know i framed the tree as a young Yao to start and then it shoved its spirit into the branch which i guess would make it a Guai. I don’t know if that even works... but if monsters can eat spiritual cognition, what’s to say wwx’s tears etc didn’t wake up a little creature. It would explain Suibian’s loyalty that @merelhyn referred to in her post. If the wood/tree imprinted on WWX even before it became Suibian... then of course it would seal itself and of course it would have the words carved even if WWX wasn’t a ancient cultivator. 

6) I really like the idea of WWX’s bendy flexible brain just finding ways to cultivate 24/7. I wanted to share it so tada. you get that here too.

Ok. that’s it. oooof. if you’ve stayed here this long, thank you for reading! <3  

[insomniasix]

Chapter VII: Party of Four (Three) - Part II

Previous

@mzargentum​

 “Let’s do it!”

“Aren’t we eager.” Noctis laughed at his friends words, as well as his cheeks turning a light shade of pink every time Aranea made a step closer to the blond.

“Those guys your friends or something?” Prompto asked, head turning slightly to look at her.

“You appear to be on good terms.” Ignis agreed.

“Who? Biggs and Wedge?” the names caught Six’s attention, eyebrows frowning a little at the sound of them, an old memory making its appearance inside her mind before Aranea continued, “They’re more ‘subordinates’ than they are ‘friends’, but I trust them all the same.”

“Hm?” Noctis noticed his Glaive’s expression, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Six answered, drawn back to the here and now, “I used to know a couple of people by those names.”

“Old friends?”

“Yeah… feels like a lifetime ago.” she smiled before continuing on.

“Man, how far does this go?” Prompto sighed, already tired of going down the stairs.

“Yet a ways still.” Ignis answered, fixing his glasses at the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, finally! Man I thought it’d never end!” the blond was happy to see flat ground once again, “The people here. They must’ve been fit.”

“Keep that in mind for when we get out of here, sunshine.” Six laughed at his exasperated sigh, “We’ll have to go up again to get out.”

“Oh, man… Huh? Er… who left the lights on? Maybe the owners are still home?”

“No?” a shiver run down Noctis’ spine at the idea, the feeling showing in his voice.

“Keep your cool.” Six calmed both of them, “You’ve got this.”

“I doubt we can expect a warm welcome.” Aranea was ready for anything that would jump out of any corner.

“Indeed. Stay sharp.” Ignis agreed.

“You think it’s an ambush?” Prompto’s voice still trembled a little at the thought.

“Perhaps.” the Advisor stated.

“Of course.” Six sighed at the sight of the aforementioned ambush as half a dozen Skeletons appeared around the corned in the room they had just walked in.

With the combined skills of everyone and a couple of high jumped attacks from Aranea, the deamons were dealt with quickly.

“Damn you’re a badass, Aranea.” Prompto complimented, but the commander seemed unimpressed, “Aw, thanks.”

“Oh, man… all of these rooms.”

“Hey, don’t wander off!” Noctis scolded the blond before looking at his Glaive, her eyes already hopping from one opening to the next.

“This way.” Six instructed, moving with confidence through one of the four halls around them.

“This place has seen better days.” Ignis eyed the cracks in the walls and ceiling.

“So basically, it could fall on our head without warning?”

“There will be a warning, sunshine, but you’ll have to stay close to listen to it.”

The next room was something out of a dream. Like an inverted picture, there was water above their heads where the ceiling should be and above that… fish; swimming around like in a pond.

The whole company stopped dead in their tracks to stare up in awe.

“Beautiful beyond words...” Ignis was the first to speak.

“Look up!” Prompto gawked, tagging on Six’s elbow and pointing up with his finger before reaching for his camera, “Wait, what? Does this mean we’re underwater? Whoa. There’s even fish!”

“The hell is this place?” Noctis joined in, lips parted as his eyes wandered.

“Can we truly be submerged?” Ignis looked at his friend for answers but she only winked at him, smile stretching on her lips. She wasn’t going to answer.

“It does seem harder to breathe.” Prompto gasped.

“It’s not, Prom. Don’t loose your head.” The Glaive finally spoke, giggling at his imagination.

“Gladio is seriously missing out.”

“Probably not his thing.”

“Now, now,” Ignis half-scolded the two, “you can never tell.”

As if by the sound of his name, Six felt a burning sensation, sliding across her torso, clutching onto her shirt and trying not to make a sound in order not to worry the others. Aranea was the only one to catch up on it while the others kept talking and moving ahead.

“You alright?” she asked, making her way closer to the Glaive. A hint of worry behind her words.

“Yeah, I’m good. It’s over now.” Six smiled warmly, her mind traveling to Gladio. Could it be he got hurt? It was the same feeling she got when he acquired the scar on his face.

“Above us!” Now was not the time!

After taking care of the deamons falling from above, the company followed Ignis to a narrow ledge, with Six and Noctis going first before it was Prompto’s turn.

“Can I just-”

“It’ll hold you, sunshine.”

“Famous last words.” Ignis teased before leading the blond and moving after him.

“Really?” Six laughed at him, teasing Prompto had become a fun way to calm him for the Advisor.

“Could not help myself.”

Every way they went, every hall they passed and every corned they turned the deamons kept appearing and attacking, making finding their way around the dungeon’s tunnels take longer that they would’ve liked.

“Deamons.” Aranea sighed, “’Till death do us part.”

“Practicing your vows?” Six commented, making the commander huff a laugh, “The army swore their oaths a long time ago.”

“What does the empire seek here?” Ignis joined their conversation.

“Specimens- and we’re stuck harvesting them.”

“Specimens?”

“Deamons.”

“So what’s all this about the army and deamons?” Prompto butted in as well.

“What do you think it is?” Aranea raised her eyebrow at him.

“Nice! I love guessing games.”

“Turns out the empire makes weapons out of them.” she finally gave in.

“Weapons?”

“Yeah. I’m sure you’ve seen your share by now. Something not quite right with the empire lately.”

Six immediately thought of the Diamond Weapon back at the outskirts of Insomnia. “It’s not just lately.”

“True. Maybe it’s time I left.” the commander sighed.

“Really? What would you do if you left the army?” Prompto asked with great interest.

“Whatever I want. I was a mercenary once. Maybe I’ll round up my men and hunt deamons for cash?”

“That’s a… heck of a plan.”

“It beats working for the empire, any day.” Six thought out loud, eyes looking forward.

“What about the empire strikes you as ‘not quite right’?” Ignis was the one to lay the question this time.

“The emperor and new high commander, for starters.” Aranea answered simply, “Then there’s that charmer of a Chancellor. I really can’t stand that guy.”

“That makes two of us.” Six laughed.

“Three.” Noctis was heard again after a long while.

“Could’ve fooled me. He seems to be quite… fond of you both.” her words made the Prince and the Glaive exchange a couple of disgusted looks.

“Is it safe?” Prompto scanned the room of bridges, seeing as at least one of them seemed broken.

“Not everything is gonna-” Noctis’ sentence was cut off by his fall. Their weight bringing the bridge he walked on down, along with his Glaive, arms already around him, protecting his head. “Shit!”

“Are you alright?” Ignis yelled down before following. The height wasn’t that high so everyone landed safely.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Noctis looked once at Ignis and twice at Six, sweat covering her eyebrow as the pain in her chest hadn’t calmed yet, “Are you-”

“That way.” the Glaive pointed, not meeting his eyes.

“How can you tell?” Prompto asked, completely unaware of his friend’s realization.

“It’s the only way?” Six laughed, showing him how the rest of the doorways were shut.

The blond rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment, chuckling awkwardly before following her.

“Smell that?”

“Smell what?” Noctis answered his friend casually.

“Treasure. The nose knows, dude.”

“Did your nose know about that?” Six warped, attacking the deamons in front of them as the rest followed suit.

The company made their way back to the top, the hall leading to the treasure room quickly blocked by an Iron Giant, driving his gigantic sword down on Noctis before Six covered him, the bridge under them breaking on impact.

“Here comes the big one!” Prompto yelled, making his way down to cover his friends, followed by Ignis and Aranea.

“Right on cue.” the Adviser helped the Glaive up, eyes silently asking if she was alright to move on.

“Saw that one comin’.” she nodded, attacking the Giant alongside Noctis and Aranea while Ignis and Prompto cleared out the minor deamons gathering around, “And it’s got friends!”

Just like with the machine at the Imperial blockade, Six ordered Noctis and Aranea to attack from above, all three attacking at once and bringing the beast down with hits on its shoulders and spine.

“How’s everyone?” Aranea asked as the Giant faded into smoke.

“Good.”

“How about you?” Prompto asked.

“Just chipper.”

“So tired.” Noctis sighed.

“Stomach’s rumbling.” the blond agreed with his friend’s mood.

“Come on.” Six answered, her own tiredness showing in her eyes, “We still got a ways to go.”

“Agh, never too many stairs.” Prompto let his head fall backwards, getting tired just by looking at them, before signing and making his friends chuckle, “Stairs they go on, forever they go on, on and on and on...”

“He’s gone.” Noctis laughed.

“A way across.” Ignis commented once they had finally left the labyrinth behind them. The water above their heads being the only clearing they’d seen in a while.

“Let me guess… we cross.”

“Good idea.”

“I get you’re tired.” Six placed her hand on the blonds shoulder, making him look at her, “But treasure is just up ahead.”

“It is?” his eyes sparkled up a little at the thought, making the Glaive chuckle before pointing at her nose and repeating his own words, “The nose knows, dude.”

“Ooh, spacious.” Prompto commented on the width of the enormous hall in front of them after they made their way out of yet another set of crossroads, “There’s soooo gonna be a big nasty here.”

“There is.” the Glaive’s voice was calm, even though her katana was already summoned and unsheathed.

“How do you-”

“I see it.” she used the edge of her sword to guide everyone's eyes at the Quetzalcoatl. The flying reptile making everyone on its sights and crushing down behind them with a loud roar.

“What’s our plan, Six?” Noctis ordered, weapon at the ready.

“Forget about lightning! Iggy, ice. I need you to-”

“But of course!” Ignis accepted her orders before she even had time to finish them, instructing Prompto to follow him with his gun so they could keep the beast from flying around and avoiding the rest of the party’s attacks.

“Noct, Aranea, with me. We break its wings keep it down.”

“Right.” the two nodded, getting ready to follow the plan.

“Keep moving! Don’t let it target you with its beak and if you feel the hair on your neck stand run away! It will use lightning!”

“Got it!” Noctis yelled before warping first, landing the first blow.

Everyone followed the Glaive’s instructions, Ignis using Blizzara spells to freeze the beast’s wings as Prompto kept shooting it in the face, disorienting it. Aranea made her way to the back, noticing how the monster was slow to react from a hit from behind and Six, with Noctis’ help kept warping around, hitting specific spots on the beasts wings until it couldn’t fly around any more.

Aranea was the one to have the last hit this time. Using her technique. High jumping in the air above it and bringing her lance down with extreme momentum, killing the beast instantly.

“Woohoo! We’re alive!” Prompto jumped, following Ignis to the rest of the company, “Let’s celebrate by eating something dead!”

“Not too shabby.” Aranea congratulated the company for their skills and team work.

“Hey,” Six breathed, energy drained by the overuse of her warping skill, “Check this out.” she got down on one knee to grab it. The Mythril ore shining brightly in her hand as she threw it up and caught it again mid-air, “Got it.”

“That concludes our business here.” Ignis smiled at her tired state, passing her an ether potion, so she could calm down a little faster before they had to make their way back through the ruins.

“Say, commodore...” Six spoke after breaking the vial.

“Aranea.” the commander corrected the Glaive.

“You said the empire uses deamons to make ‘weapons’?”

“Listen- you’ve seen Magitek troopers, right?”

“MTs.” Noctis joined in.

“They’re born from daemons, in a lab.” Aranea explained.

Six’s heart fell to the floor. Eyes darting to the blond in her care. Mind running back to the first time she laid them on him. Running back to the day she and Cor saved him… got him to Insomnia.

Was t-

“Born from deamons...” Prompto cut her thoughts in half as he spoke, repeating Aranea’s sentence.

“Darkness is coming. If I were you, I’d watch my princely ass. Uh… ‘Kingly’ ass.”

“Will do.”

Next

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 18

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

—

The limo ride back to the townhouse was quiet; with Clara and Danny going home directly from the event it was just the two of them.  It was only a twenty-minute ride, but Rose still kicked off her heels to give her feet a break before Malcolm was even fully in the car, so that by the time he was settled she could scoot right into his side and relax.

“Hello,” he murmured, hesitating before putting his arm around her.

“Hi,” she sighed in return, resting her head on his shoulder.  After a minute, she laid her arm along the length of his thigh, ostensibly as the only comfortable place for it, squished between them.

He didn’t object.

Watching out the window as London passed by, Rose tried to control her nerves and mentally rehearse how this would go.  Ideally he’d try something himself and save her the trouble, but somehow, she didn’t think so.  That wouldn’t be like him, to take charge – not with her.  It would be much more his style to let her come to him, and she was praying that was the case here.

She didn’t know what she would do if he turned her down.  I don’t want to go back and live with my parents.  Maybe Clara will let me stay with them – it is my flat.  Either way, it would be humiliating.

A tentative brush against her knee made her look down to find Malcolm’s hand awkwardly hovering over it, as if debating whether or not to set it down.  Checking his expression, she found he was firmly staring out the window, a bit too intensely to be natural.  Licking her lips, hope flickering inside her, she used her free hand to gently press his down onto her knee before removing her own quickly.  His remained still for long moments, before the thumb began to gently rub back and forth, much as it had moments before she’d announced their ‘engagement’.  Was that already a month ago?  It felt like a lifetime had passed since then.

Taking a deep breath, she moved the hand on his knee until it bumped his on hers, slowly encouraging it to flip.  Once it did, she laced their fingers together, but loosely, so he could pull away if he so wanted; instead, he squeezed her hand.

This might actually happen, she realized with a jolt, equal parts panic and anticipation racing through her.  It would be the culmination of five years’ worth of fantasies and daydreams, of hoping, wishing, wanting, and now that it was here (maybe), standing on the precipice, she saw that if she dared, if she jumped, it would be an awfully long way to fall if he didn’t catch her.

No, she told herself firmly, as her thoughts started to spiral.  This is no time to chicken out.  You have to see this through.

“Rose?”

“Yes!”  She startled, gaze snapping up to meet his amused and somewhat curious look.  “Sorry, what?”

“We’re here- home.”

Home.  “Right.”

She put her shoes back on while he got out, before sliding over to the door and making sure she had everything.  He held out a hand to help her out, and she took it, breathing deeply.

Showtime.

-

Anticipation tingled on Malcolm’s skin like electricity, building up to a steady hum.  Change was in the air, and if he was reading the signs right, his wildest fantasy might soon be coming true.

While he had been firm in his resolve of not allowing anything to happen between them, in the end that had only lasted a handful of hours, right up until he had woken up in the middle of the night on the sofa, spooning Rose.  She’d been pressed tight against him, and there had been no way to hide his physical reaction to her closeness.  His heart had almost stopped when she’d awoken, and he’d barely been able to maintain a convincing level of unconsciousness as she’d rolled her hips back into him once, twice, three times.  And he knew for sure that she was awake, was conscious of her actions and his reaction, because she’d whispered his name.

The fact that she hadn’t frozen, or tried to get away, or for that matter run screaming, had instead chosen to press closer, gave him hope.

He was tired of denying himself happiness, tired of punishing himself for a failed marriage the one who ruined it felt no guilt over.  If Rose wanted him, well…

Almost on autopilot he led her into the house, suddenly nervous about what would happen next.  Would she make a move?  Did she expect him to?

“Nightcap?” he offered, once the door was locked behind them.  “Or do you want to go to bed?  I mean- are you tired?”

“I could go for a drink,” she agreed, lips twitching upwards.  “Sure.”

Moving his hand from it’s relatively-safe place on her fabric-clad hip he took a chance, finding the smooth, warm skin of her bare back and guiding her that way into the library.  Leaving her to settle where she wanted, Malcolm headed for the drinks cart, pouring them each two fingers of scotch.  Over the past week it had become their routine to end the evening with a glass in here.

He didn’t want the evening to end here.

Turning, a glass in each hand, he found her sitting just right of center on the sofa, looking perfectly elegant and relaxed, as if she spent every night in an evening gown.  “My lady,” he offered her one, which she accepted with a grin as he sank down next to her, side by side, flush against each other from knee to hip.

“Why thank you, my lord,” she countered, in what had become a running joke between them.  “Too kind.”

They clinked glasses, taking a small sip.

“Tonight was perfect,” he told her seriously.  “You make pulling this together look effortless, but I know how hard you work on it all year round.  Brava.”  He lifted his glass slightly in a little toast.  Grinning, cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink, Rose ducked her head.

“Thank you.  It did go well, didn’t it?  And we raised a fuck-ton of money, too.  But this wouldn’t happen without you, and Wallace, and the Estate, so… here’s to you too,” she toasted back, pausing before letting their glasses touch.  “Hang on, but the reason there will continue to be this Gala is because of me,” she teased, tongue peeking out the side of her mouth from between her teeth and making his trousers tighten.  “So, yes, another toast to me, I think.”

“I’ll most certainly drink to that,” he murmured, voice somewhat lower than he’d strictly intended, but not sorry as she gave a little shiver in response, leaning into him.  “And especially to you in that dress.”

“Mum called me a tart,” she snickered.  “She said that dressed like this, I might as well hang a sign around my neck and say I’m open for business.”

He barely managed to stop himself from asking any sort of follow up question, taking a long pull off his whisky instead, almost choking on it when Rose’s palm settled on his upper thigh, fingers spread across the width of it, the very tips of them dangerously close to a specific area.  Be cool, be cool.  You’re not fifteen.  Don’t embarrass yourself.

“Well, thanks for the drink, but I think it’s time for bed,” Rose sighed, rubbing gently at his leg.  “Walk me up?”

“Of course.”  Taking the empty glasses back to the cart for the cleaner to deal with tomorrow, he used the momentary privacy of his back to her to adjust himself.  “Ready?”

-

They took their time climbing the stairs, his hand once again in the small of her back, fingers unable to stop themselves from rubbing circles on her skin.

He wondered if she would object if he moved his hand down to her bum.

Something told him she wouldn’t, but he didn’t try.  Maybe next time.  Let’s see how tonight goes.

All too soon they reached her bedroom, pausing there.  Rose leaned back against the door, and he tried not to look at how it accentuated her curves.

This was it, the moment, his one chance, and he couldn’t make himself do anything.  Say something, kiss her, what are you waiting for?  Look at her!  She’s practically begging for it.  That was true; she was oozing sex appeal, and he wanted to take her then and there.

Instead, he said, “This is you.”

She knows that, moron, it’s her room.  That the best you’ve got?

“It is,” she replied, breathless, reaching out to toy with the buttons on his shirt; he instinctively moved closer, which was apparently what she wanted by her little smirk.  “So…”

“So?”

Her chest heaved, and he couldn’t imagine how she could possibly be breathing in a tension-filled moment such as this.  “Here’s the thing…  I could use a hand.”

“Oh?  How so?”  All of his blood was rushing south, leaving his brain all but empty, which actually made it easier – raising one forearm, he braced himself on the door, bracketing her against it, not close enough that they were touching, but certainly invading her personal space.

“I need help undoing the dress.  The back, I mean.  It’s too intricate to do by myself.”

Malcolm blinked; he’d spent most of the night studying the back (and front, and sides) of the dress, and as far as he could tell, the only zipper was at the small of her back going down, and the top could practically be peeled off.  (He’d done it a dozen times in his mind, several of them notable for the use of his teeth.)  “You do?”

Cheeks pink and eyes hooded, Rose nodded slowly, fingers now trailing up and down the row of buttons on his dress shirt.  “I do.  And, obviously, in return, I’d be happy to help you out of your tux.  Fair is fair, after all.”

Holy fuck, she is coming onto me.  Say yes, say yes, say yes.

“I live to serve,” he managed, lowering his head towards her.  “Anything you want.  Need.  Desire.”

“I might have quite a long list,” she whispered, hands moving to his hips and pulling him closer.  “Is that okay?”

Dipping his head further he nuzzled his nose against her temple, unable to believe this was happening, happiness and shock running rampant through him.  “More than, I insist.  In fact, you should check it again, make sure it’s comprehensive.  I want to thoroughly satisfy it.”

Rose whimpered, and his lips kissed their way down to the corner of her mouth, waiting there, resting there, for her permission.

“Is this what you want?” he whispered against her skin.  “Am I understanding properly?”  He kept his tone serious and quiet, wanting to make sure she knew this wasn’t part of whatever game they’d stumbled into.  “Rose, tell me to go away and I will.”

She turned her head slightly, soft lips grazing against his own.

“Malcolm,” she sighed, “take me inside.”

“Are you sure?”

Her right hand slid around to his belt buckle and down, her words as clear as her actions.  “Yes.  I’m sure.”

She opened the door, and they went inside.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Image is Sweet (M)

Author: @kpopfanfictrash , as part of The 7 Society, a series with @underthejoon.

Creative Content Contributor: moodboard by @baebae-goodnight (WHOSE MOODBOARDS INSPIRED THE WHOLE THING)

Rating: 18+ (explicit sex)

Warning: threesome, semi-public sex, sensory deprivation, dirty talk, rough bj

Word Count: 16,700

Summary: Park Jimin, star lacrosse player, always in the library, loves volunteering and carrying grocery bags for grandmothers. If he continues this way, he’ll inherit the entire family fortune. Unless, of course, you find out what he’s like behind closed doors. [ THIS IS A REPOST ] 

• JIMIN •

Staring out at the water, Jimin’s hands grip the railing. The metal is cold beneath his fingers, the first tinges of fall in the air but still, he doesn’t head back. Though the night is frigid, it’s at least ten degrees warmer than the gazes inside and Jimin just can’t bring himself to enter. Exhaling gently, Jimin brings his glass to his lips. Champagne, from a region in France Jimin has never visited but the label was expensive, and that’s all that matters.

The ocean before him is calm, belying chaotic nature beneath. Wind whips Jimin’s hair, flaps the lapels of his jacket to strain at his buttons. Jimin keeps drinking, relishing in the first time alone he’s had to himself all evening. The deck around him is quiet, marred only by the sounds of thumping bass and laughter from behind.

Right now, Jimin’s thoughts are blank – carefully so. If he thinks about things for too long, his musings take on a dangerous shape, and Jimin is not dangerous. At least, that’s not who he is to the public and that’s all that matters. Jimin is the bright star of campus, the beautiful golden boy whom everyone loves. He would never do anything bad, an image he’s worked tirelessly to protect.

Image. Jimin’s grip tightens on his glass because if there’s one things his father taught him, it’s image. Image is everything, more important than truth because image is the thing that the public believes. In a face-to-face conversation, 55% of communication is relayed through body language; another 38% through tone and a measly 7% through the words that you say.

Which means that if you look and act the part, the battle is already won. Taking a casual sip from his drink, Jimin contemplates its depths. His father has taught him other things, to be sure – how to smile, digging the knife in someone’s back; how to breathe through the pain that you cause; how to sleep after winning a battle the wrong way.

Jimin has never been good at any of these things. He’s good at image though, so this is what he clings to and keeps his father at bay. So long as Jimin acts the part, his father leaves him well enough alone. Until he graduates University, that is and becomes the Park family heir. Swallowing the last of his glass, Jimin stares out at the ocean and considers dropping his glass overboard. It’s something his father would do, certainly – no one here would notice, no one here would care.

Jimin doesn’t do it in the end, he simply turns away from the night to walk inside. Placing his glass on a passing waiter’s tray, he smiles genteell and the man nearly stumbles. It’s not an unexpected response and Jimin continues on his way; his entrance draws stares from the rest, though this is also nothing unusual. Everyone knows Jimin, though none will say this out loud. Such a thing would be uncouth, distasteful but at the same time, everyone must know who he is.

The party at the front of the boat is loud, yet controlled; no one is puking, no one is grinding to the beat of the music. The front is nothing wild, nothing racy – the lighting here is dim, décor kept elegant and there’s nothing to detract from his golden image. Jimin keeps his expression carefully neutral, walking to the back of the boat because the image of the front is much different from reality.

Winding his way through the party, Jimin smiles and laughs with the others. He needs to be seen, needs to be heard before he disappears for the night. This is where Jimin excels though, always careful to check the boxes of image before giving in and ruining it completely. He knows how to be charming, how to be polite, how to call a person by name and have conversation topics ready. Business, leisure; it all comes easily to Jimin, all blurs together until he’s dizzy from more than the champagne.

Once he’s past the length of the crowd, Jimin hovers at the back of the boat until no one looks and then he slips out in the hall. Fairly standard in design, spanning the entire width of the boat and meant to take guests from one deck to the other. Midway down there’s a door, one Jimin stops before to glance furtively either way. Once, twice, he raps on the wood.

There’s a pause, a long moment where Jimin once again glances sideways – then the door cracks open.

“Password?” a stranger drawls.

Jimin rolls his eyes, shifting his weight. “Let me the fuck in, Taehyung. I recognize the sound of your voice.”

“Ha! You won’t get me with that one, potential imposter! Password, or I’ll make you walk the plank.”

“Dulce,” Jimin murmurs, glancing up at the ceiling, “periculum.”

Danger is sweet. Taehyung doesn’t respond to this at first, pushing shut the door to swing fully open. “Correct!” he crows, lifting a glass of champagne. “Welcome to the back of the party, Park.”

Stepping inside, Taehyung shuts the door to seal them off from the rest of the boat. He grins at Jimin’s appearance, smelling strongly of champagne and cologne – both of which likely cost more than the crystal glass he holds in his hand. Straightening his jacket, Jimin glances past Taehyung down the hall. “Did I miss anything?” he inquires, nearly yelling to be heard over the music.

Taehyung shakes his head. “Not much,” he allows, falling into place beside him. “Some girl dared Jennie to butt-chug a fifth of vodka. She might do it, that’d be entertaining.”

“Butt-chug?” Jimin repeats, somewhat appalled. “So, what – she’s just going to strip, and someone will pour vodka up her ass?”

“I’m as intrigued by it as you are,” Taehyung grins, shoving a hand through his hair. Wavy strands fall around his face, prompting the stares of onlookers. “I don’t know if I’ll be turned on or completely disgusted. Bit of both, I imagine.”

Laughing at the image, Jimin continues down the hall. The space opens out at the back of the ship, night sky above them dark and speckled with stars. The breeze is heavy, laden with salt and the scent of alcohol below. Jimin stares into the crowd, gaze as unfocused as his thoughts. When Taehyung lazily presses a glass to his hand, Jimin accepts it without question.

People tend to be confused, when they first realize Taehyung and Jimin are friends. Perhaps friends is the wrong word; the two are really more like brothers. There’s Jimin, campus golden boy; star of the lacrosse team and eventual inheritor of the Park family business. Then there’s Taehyung; as shadowed as Jimin is light, the caustic recklessness to Jimin’s cautiousness. Taehyung is the dark horse of his family, a man who couldn’t care less about the wealth and prosperity he does have; only insomuch that it gets him places.

At least, this is Taehyung’s appearance but like most things, image is not what it seems, and Taehyung is no exception. Jimin and Taehyung have been friends for longer than he can recall, to the point where he’s more like family than anyone else in his life. Stopping that thought, Jimin drains the rest of his glass. It’s not worth thinking about.

Continuing his scan of the party, Jimin feels his vision dulled by alcohol. It couldn’t be anything more than that, couldn’t be this dark, empty hole which eats him alive. It’s a daily reminder that his life is meaningless, that he is a shallow image of nothing and all this could disappear overnight. The thought is too dangerous for a party like this, so Jimin searches aimlessly through the crowd for a distraction.

He finds one in the shape of a girl by the bar with the largest tits and smallest waist Jimin has ever seen. Seeing Jimin staring at her, she arches a brow in a way which makes his cock stir in his pants.

Taehyung turns, seeing what he’s looking at. “Nice,” he snorts. “That girl is fun, freaky as hell – I hear she’s down for threesomes, but I was too drunk that night to ask.”

“Hm.” Jimin considers, bringing his glass to his lips. “How long ago was this?”

“Dunno. Last year, I think?”

Nodding, Jimin breaks eye contact and turns. Anyone Taehyung thinks is freaky definitely is, which has him interested but the party is only beginning. Jimin is here for the long haul, he likes having options and that girl is only one of them.

Taehyung exhales, shifting closer. “Incoming,” he mutters, drawing Jimin’s attention to the hall they just exited.

Glancing over his shoulder, Jimin nearly groans out loud. Of course, Seokjin is here – this is a party, after all. He looks immaculate, brushing non-existent dirt from his sleeve as he walks; dark hair pushed back from his face to reveal deep eyes and full lips. Seeing Jimin standing before him, Seokjin’s face darkens as he walks closer.

Though everything about Seokjin is poised, his eyes remain steely. “Park,” he drawls, coming to a stop.

Jimin takes a sip from his drink. “Seokjin,” he returns, inclining his head.

Seokjin’s two cronies stand on either side and it’s not Jimin’s imagination, that the music is now lower. The song switches to something softer, something with less words and Jimin knows it’s so they can be overheard. The Parks and the Kims, an age-old rivalry which goes back decades, to some business deal or personal matter which went desperately sour. It’s been so long, no one really remembers the real reason.

Seokjin scans Jimin, landing on his face. “Didn’t know you’d be here,” he states, lifting a brow. “I thought this was a more exclusive event.”

Jimin stares. “You didn’t think I’d attend my own party?"

For this is his, after all – Jimin’s end-of-summer celebration, the last hurrah before the last year of school.

Seokjin looks around him, in mock-surprise. "Oh, this is your party? I get so many invitations during the week, it’s hard to keep track.”

“Must be difficult,” Jimin deadpans. “Not knowing how to count to one.”

When someone snickers below, Seokjin scowls. “Just stay out of my way,” he mutters, shoving past Jimin as he walks away.

Jimin waits until he’s gone, Seokjin’s two henchmen soon following. Taehyung winks at them both, blowing one a rather lazy kiss and, stifling a grin, Jimin turns around.

Jimin: hey, sorry about the diss [12:04 AM]

The reply from Seokjin is instantaneous.

Seokjin: you twat!! I’m supposed to keep a straight face during our arguments haha I nearly lost it [12:05 AM]

Grinning, Jimin slips his phone back in his pocket and turns back towards the party. Just another example of the hypocrisy of their world – on the outside, he and Seokjin are enemies but in real life, they’re friends; to the point where this entire thing is ridiculous, though try telling that to their parents. Parks and Kims don’t get along, end of story.

Taehyung yawns by his side. “Well,” he drawls, dropping the cherry from his drink over the railing.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” Taehyung calls, without bothering to look. “I’m gonna go find someone to fuck. See you later, Park.”

With that he leaves, giving him a small salute before sauntering off down the staircase. Jimin stares after, sipping from his glass before following. The party is crowded, more so than Jimin thought it would be – he wonders absently about crowd limits before pushing the thought from his mind. He pays people to worry about things like that.

Winding his way down the stairs, Jimin heads off in the direction of the bar. Another drink would be nice and there’s still that girl from earlier, the one with Taehyung’s kink seal of approval. Jimin isn’t really looking where he’s going, isn’t listening, until –

“CANNONBALL!”

His gaze snaps up, whirling in time to avoid the giant wave of water which crashes over the deck. Several girls shriek, soaked to the bone – hoots and whistles soon follow, much to Jimin’s annoyance. Exhaling, he shakes water from his hand, wringing his sleeve as he turns and nearly smacks into someone.

“Fuck,” Jimin yelps, grabbing your elbows to keep you from falling. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking. Are you okay?”

Groaning, you stare down at the entire glass of wine you’ve just spilled on your shirt. “Shit,” you whisper, not looking up. That will stain, but that’s not your biggest concern. Your biggest problem is that this is Park Jimin, and he can’t see your face.

Staring at the top of your head, Jimin’s gaze remains slightly unfocused. He’d like to help, but you keep refusing to look at him and he can’t tell if you’re pissed or not. “Are you okay?” he repeats, leaning in – only for you to spin abruptly away.

“I’m fine,” you call, waving a hand over your shoulder. “Just – keep on walking, okay?’

Then you’re gone, disappeared into the crowd and Jimin is left staring at nothing. He blinks, something stirring in his half-drunken state, but he can’t find it in him to care. If you don’t want his help, he’s certainly not going to force you to take it. Jimin is no one’s white knight, he’s not going to chase after you like a psycho. Returning to his walk through the crowd, Jimin finds his original destination and it doesn’t take long before you’re pushed from his mind.

When he’s next to the girl, he finds that she doesn’t play games; which is somewhat disappointing until she whispers, "fuck me,” into his ear and Jimin’s cock twitches in excitement.

“Let’s go,” he grunts, grabbing her hand to pull her straight through the crowd. One of the best parts of throwing this party, of owning this ship is he knows the layout of the halls – knows the best places to sleep and to fuck. Jimin brings the girl onto the dance floor, turning around to ask, “Just you?”

Her eyes darken. “Who would join us?” she murmurs, and it doesn’t take long before another is found.

Jimin has the ability to draw people in, with his wavy blonde hair, thick lips and his smile. Just a few, whispered words about what he’d like to do with said lips and the second girl is agreeing, following the two of them back. Time is a bit fuzzy, thanks to the alcohol, but it can’t be more than five minutes before they’re naked on the bed.

Jimin pauses, draining his drink to place this on the counter. “I’m going to be rather demanding tonight,” he informs, unbuttoning his cuffs. “Is that alright, ladies?”

They nod, already shifting with anticipation. Asses pressed to the sheets, chest arched on the wall, Jimin stares lustfully at the curves of their breasts, peaks of their nipples, the swell of where their thighs meet.

“Kiss her,” he murmurs, undoing a button.

The first girl nods, turning to open the other’s mouth with her own. The second is hesitant, has likely never done anything like this before, but it only takes a few moments before she’s melting into her touch. Her hands slide around the other’s waist, eagerly brushing nipples until they become hardened peaks.

Jimin just smiles, dropping his shirt on the ground. “Good,” he announces, bringing their attention to him. “What lovely lips you have, sweetheart,” Jimin informs the second, walking closer. “I’d love to see them wrapped around my cock.”

The girl’s eyes widen when she nods, scooting closer as Jimin kneels on the bed. Her hands reach quick for his belt, Jimin’s eyes meeting the gaze of the other to gesture lazily forward. Hands sliding into her hair, his mouth opens hers; tongue pushing lazily into her mouth while the other girl’s hand finds his cock.

“Ah,” Jimin exhales, thrusting into her touch. “That’s it, baby, put my dick in your mouth.”

Whimpering, the girl shoves his pants down his thighs and bends on the bed. Jimin hisses when her lips find his cock, wrapping around him to slide slowly upwards. She’s good, enough that Jimin nearly forgets himself for a moment. His eyes flutter shut, only to snap open and focus on the other.

“Come here,” he demands, pulling her into him. Jimin’s hands drift down over her body, brushing her breasts and between her bare legs. Slipping his finger inside, he fucks the girl slowly – listening to her moan and adjusting his rhythm. He grips the other girl by the hair, pulling her onto his cock.

Thrusting, he relishes the sound of her gagging before pulling away. “What about your friend’s cunt,” he murmurs, kissing the first girl’s neck. “Don’t be stingy, let her have some fun.”

The girl obeys, sliding her finger into the second – the girl gasps in response, eyes wide around her mouthful of Jimin’s cock. “Oh,” she moans, sliding off with a pop.

Jimin chuckles, stroking over himself slowly. “This is your first time with a girl, isn’t it?” he asks, watching her be fingered from behind. She nods, eyes fluttering shut with arousal. “Mm,” Jimin sighs, “then we better make tonight enjoyable, yes?”

Moving closer, his hands cup her breasts and she moans. “Will you fuck me?” she asks, breathless when he starts to play with her nipples.

“Later,” Jimin agrees. “Later, you can bounce on my dick while your friend rides my face – how does that sound?”

Nodding, she eagerly presses her ass into the other girl’s hand. “Yes, please.”

“Ah,” Jimin exhales, tugging her nipples between his fingers. “Good girl. I’ll eat you out, if you keep talking like that. Would you like that? Do you want me to lick your sweet, little pussy?”

“Yes,” she chokes out, nearly moaning the word.

“Good,” Jimin nods, cock hard with excitement. If her response is anything to go by, this night will be fun.

Just like the last night, and the one before that. Something dark and hollow settles deep in his chest; at least, until the girl takes his dick once more in her mouth. “Ah, shit,” Jimin hisses, head thrown back in response. “Keep going,” he grunts, until all his qualms fade away.

Walking across main quad, Jimin pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up. It’s cold this morning, almost as though his end-of-summer party called things into motion. Adjusting the buds in his ears, Jimin turns up his music and squints into the fog. It’s early, well-within the hours before the rest of the campus will be awake. The grass squishes beneath his sneakers, mist rising to bleed into the air.

Jimin is hungover. Last night was fun, but it left him with a headache of monumental proportions; along with dry mouth which has him wanting to die. Not that it matters, he’ll be expected to suck it up at practice; Jimin is captain, meaning he’s always on form. This morning he’ll lead the drills, lead the laps and the strength training and the exercises; which to be honest, sounds like torture. Taking a long sip of his coffee, Jimin attempts to regain some resemblance of energy.

The sandstone of the lacrosse stadium is now visible, rising in the air the closer Jimin gets. He blocks out the sight, concentrating instead on finishing the last of his coffee. It may be dehydrating him, sure, but without it, he’s dead.

“Park Jimin?”

At first, Jimin doesn’t hear. He nearly walks past you, too absorbed in his music – but then he sees you, standing framed in the arch of the locker room and it’s such a strange sight, that he comes to a halt. Feet stumbling to a stop, Jimin glances at you from the sign overhead.

“I’m not still drunk, am I?’ he mutter, lifting a hand to his eyes. "You’re female, and that’s the guy’s locker room.”

Rolling your eyes, you step free from the sun and Jimin sees you clearly for the very first time. As far as first impressions go, it’s not a great one. You’re dressed in a lumpy cardigan, buttoned up over your boobs, paired with brownish colored pants and loafers. Actual loafers, and stifling a smile, Jimin takes a sip from his cup.

You don’t seem concerned with your appearance, walking until you’re standing underneath his nose. At least you smell nice, Jimin decides. “You are Jimin, aren’t you?” you query, squinting up at him. “I didn’t get the wrong name, did I?”

Jimin blinks, looking around because in his years of experience, people tend to know who he is. “Uh, no?” he responds. “You got the right name. What is this? Are you writing an article for the paper, or something?”

Blood drains quick from your face. “Who told you?” you snap, whipping around. “Was it Marcie? God, she can be such a blabbermouth, I swear that’s the last time I tell my editor anything, I –”

“Uh,” Jimin reaches out, tapping the notepad you hold. “Lucky guess, Sherlock. You’re holding a notepad, there’s a camera bag slung over your shoulder and we’re standing in front of the lacrosse stadium. I figure you’re doing a sports story, or something.”

“You’d be the Sherlock,” you respond, automatic.

“Huh?”

“If you’re the one deducing something,” you explain, rummaging around in your bag, “you’d be the one called Sherlock.”

Jimin just stares at you, since you’ve ignored everything else he just said. “Um. Can I help you?”

“Yes,” you nod, finally finding your pen. “Right, yeah.” Jimin leans in to look at your notebook – only for you to snap the book shut, inches away from his nose. “No looking,” you frown. “I don’t read your secret, uh, lacrosse notes – do I?”

Jimin nearly chokes. “Lacrosse notes? I take it you’ve never seen a lacrosse game –”

“Y/N,” you supply. “And no, I haven’t. Am I missing out?”

“Well.” Jimin fights back a smile, unsure if he should be amused or offended by this entire interaction. “Seeing as I’m the team captain, I’m obligated to say yes.”

“Obligated,” you return, arching a brow. “Meaning, you don’t want to?”

Jimin just shrugs, taking another sip of his coffee. “Is this part of the article you’re writing?”

“Oh. No, not really.”

Though Jimin waits, you don’t explain further, and he watches with interest as you push a hand through your hair. The color catches the light, strands shining where they fall and Jimin has the sudden, strange urge to touch. His hand is half-raised before he can stop himself, to which Jimin quickly changes into a fix of his own hair. Odd. Now that he looks though, he can’t help but admit you are attractive. You are dressed like an idiot, yes; a bit abrasive, sure, but pretty.

Swallowing, Jimin is uncertain why he finds the fact so unsettling.

“Well,” you hesitate and, for the first time, you seem awkward. Wrapping both arms around your notebook, you stare. “I need to talk to you. In private.”

When you tell him this, Jimin’s stomach sinks in response. Of course you do. In his many years of experience, people only tend to say this when they want one of two things. One, they want a favor from Jimin; or two, they want a favor from his family.

Expression darkening, Jimin moves to walk past. “Ah,” he exhales, draining the rest of his coffee. “I’m already late for practice, actually. Sorry.”

“It’s about the 7.”

Stopping suddenly, Jimin freezes. He doesn’t move, not when you walk around him to face him, nor when you appear several inches away from his nose. Now you’re the one squinting up at him, like you have a bug in your eye.

“I,” Jimin frowns in response. “I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Inside though, he’s buzzing – even more than before because fuck, no one is supposed to know about the 7. What’s worse, no one should ever connect him to the 7 because Jimin isn’t even a part of the Society. Not yet, anyways.

Eyes darkening, you hold your pen like a sword. "I don’t believe you, rich boy.”

Keeping his expression carefully blank, Jimin swats your pen away. “Believe what you want,” he snorts. “It doesn’t matter what you believe, what matters is what the public believes. You have no proof, you’re just giving me reactionary statements.”

Somewhat confused by his response, you frown. “I think others will believe me, once I publish my account of the party.”

Something leaden sinks into Jimin’s stomach, realizing why you seem familiar. You were at the party, the one he spilled his drink on that night. Even half-drunk and having never seen your face, Jimin recognizes your shape. Mouth suddenly gone dry, Jimin lifts his cup to his mouth before he remembers it’s empty. On the inside he’s sweating, though he fights to remain calm.

“The party?” Jimin repeats, unconcerned. “The one on the boat? I remember you. What of it?”

Though you seem surprised by his admittance, you take a step closer. “This,” you insist, thrusting out your hand to give Jimin a paper. His hand closes around it, automatic. “I need to talk to you about this photo,” you inform, before pulling away.

Jimin tilts his head, taking the paper without opening it. The weight is heavy, creased down the middle and Jimin slips it into his pocket. “I don’t know who you are,” he responds to you, quiet. “And I don’t know who you think I am, but you have the wrong guy.” When Jimin turns to leave, you snort and he looks back over his shoulder. “Something funny?”

You’re pissed. That much is obvious, from the set of your mouth walking towards him. “Don’t think you’re so mysterious,” you huff, poking him square in the chest. “I have copies of that photo and I will print it with my story if you don’t meet me to talk. Just because I’m a girl,” you blurt, voice rising at the end, “doesn’t mean I won’t take you down!”

Jimin arches a brow. “An intriguing proposition.”

“Oh, lord,” you wince, jaw clamping shut as you turn away from his gaze. “Think whatever you want. I’ll wait, Jimin, I have nothing but time.”

Lips pressed together to keep from laughing, Jimin watches you go. He assures himself that there’s nothing to worry about, he’s untouchable. Nothing really happened on that boat, nothing multiple witnesses wouldn’t support Jimin on, anyways. Then Jimin lifts the paper, opening the fold.

Before him, the world seems to tilt, his gaze wavering with nausea while Jimin takes in the image. It’s a photo, one of him at the party and he’s not alone. Jimin is leaning on a bar, talking to that girl and – oh, fuck. Jimin shoves a hand through his hair, realizing what’s on the counter between them.

Cocaine. Pure, white powder that’s blatantly obvious, and Jimin wonders how he missed it that night. Someone must have been there before them, left it out because the powder’s half-gone, white lines clear as day. Staring down at the image, it almost seems to blur and Jimin realizes he’s done for. If this photo got out, it would ruin him.

Jimin’s entire life is built around image, around being this perfect man whom everybody can trust. A scandal like this would ruin his credibility, which is the only thing of value he can give to his family. Crumpling the image in his fist, Jimin turns around towards the building. Barely aware of what he’s doing, he walks angrily inside and tears off his sweatshirt. Tossing this into a locker, he changes quickly because he’s already late and when he jogs out on the field, Jimin’s lips are set in a line.

He can’t get the photograph out of his mind, that damn photograph with one line of writing at the top.

Coffee Bean. Wednesday night, 7:00 PM.

It’s exactly seven, when Jimin enters the coffee shop. He spots you right away, seated at the table next to the kitchen – you’re fiddling with the straw in your drink, some iced coffee Jimin has no idea the name of. Whatever you’re drinking, you seem nervous as you sip, which gives Jimin a small amount of satisfaction shutting the door. Clearly, this isn’t your normal method of information gathering.

This is something he can use, later.

Walking inside, Jimin can’t help but think about what’s at stake – his reputation, for one; a potential membership with the 7, for another. The 7 Society. An infamous organization at the University which few, if any, can definitively speak on. Jimin isn’t a member, not yet but there’s always a very small pool of candidates and he’s definitely one of them. If this article runs though, he won’t be anymore.

Pulling out a chair to sit down at your table, Jimin says nothing when you jerk back in shock. It’s oddly endearing, how startled you look. Here you sit, blackmailing him with the nerve to look embarrassed. Dressed in another one of those cardigans, at least this one remains mostly unbuttoned and Jimin is about to comment on this fact when, he remembers why he’s here.

Lacing his hands on top of the table, Jimin cocks his head to one side. “Hi,” he greets.

Though you don’t respond, your eyes lower to his clothes. “Did you run here?” you query.

Jimin frowns. He knows what he’s wearing – a thin, black hoodie and sweatpants, straight from his locker. “Yeah,” he nods. “You didn’t give me much of a choice on the time. Not like I could text you or anything, so I literally ran from practice.”

“Oh,” you respond, somewhat embarrassed. “I see.”

Jimin lets the silence grow, not wanting to make things easier. You were the one who started this, are the one threatening him, which means you can speak first. On the table between you, your fingers trace over your notepad and Jimin’s gaze follows the motion, wondering if you ever leave it behind. It’s strange, to write free-handed, isn’t it? Jimin doesn’t really know, never having been a writer himself.

There’s something delicate in your motions, almost nervous and Jimin feels himself softening, despite himself. “So,” he exhales. “About the photo.”

You look up, relief clear on your face. “Right,” you nod, exhaling. “I’m sorry about that.”

That’s not what Jimin expected. “You’re sorry?” he repeats, somewhat incredulous.

“Yeah,” you agree, biting down on your lip. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this…”

“You didn’t mean to blackmail me.”

Gaze sharpening, you frown. “I’m not blackmailing you.”

“Oh?” Jimin leans in. “Then what do you call it? There’s a compromising photo of me that you’re going to release to the public unless I do what you want. Blackmail.”

Dipping into a scowl, you lean closer as well. “Like you’re so innocent. Park Jimin, handed the world on a silver platter, given every opportunity money can buy. Just because you fucked up,” you hiss, “and I have a photo of it, doesn’t give you a right to be upset. You did something wrong! You deserve to be called out.”

“Except you’re not,” Jimin points out. “You’re offering to push this under the rug if I help with your story. Blackmail.”

Staring for a moment, you let this quietly sink in. “Whatever, call it what you want. I actually,” you sigh, drumming your fingers on the table, “was trying to get an interview with Taehyung on the boat. With his family history, I figured he’s a shoe-in for the 7. Then that photo happened and, well,” you wave a hand, “here we are.”

“Gee,” Jimin drawls. “I’m flattered to be your second choice.”

Eyes narrowed, you seem about to respond when someone bumps into you from behind and nearly spills a drink on your head. Jimin’s head snaps up, narrowing in on the offender and he frowns, recognizing no signs of remorse.

Unable to keep his mouth shut, Jimin coughs. “Professor Nam,” he greets, draping one arm over the back of his chair. “What a surprise, seeing you outside of the classroom.”

The man stops. “Jimin,” he blinks, shaking hair from his gaze. “I didn’t see you there. How are things, how’s the grading coming?”

Though Jimin’s smile tightens, it doesn’t waver. “The grading is going fine, thank you,” he nods. “How’re Lucy and the kids?”

“Good, good,” the man drones, absent-minded. He glances at his Cartier watch, nearly spilling his coffee once more. “Same old, you know.”

The man has yet to acknowledge your presence, despite having nearly soaked you twice now with coffee. “I really don’t know,” Jimin responds blithely, causing you to snort in response.

Professor Nam looks down at you, brow creased in disapproval. “Well,” he exhales, switching his coffee to his other hand. “I’d better get going. See you in class, Jimin,” he nods, walking away.

Jimin watches him go, shop door opening and shutting. “Prick,” he mutters, gaze unmoving. “I TA for that guy, he’s a real piece of work. Anyways,” he states, returning to you, “we were discussing your blackmail.”

Before, you were feeling almost grateful – that guy was being a dick, and Jimin didn’t approve – but now you remember why you’re here. “I’m not blackma – ah, fuck it,” you sigh. “Call it whatever you want, Jimin.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Jimin grins, lacing both hands behind his head. “Alright, spill. Tell me what you know about the 7 and what you want from me, in return.”

“What I want from you in return,” you repeat, mulling over the words.

Jimin just watches, staring at the dimple furrowed between your brow. Oh, fuck. Jerking himself backwards, Jimin pointedly looks away. You’re blackmailing him, for god’s sake. He shouldn’t be thinking about dimples anywhere on your body but then – oh shit, your body. Folding both arms across his chest like a shield, Jimin glares.

“So,” you exhale, pushing both hands through your hair. Strands fall around your face like weapon, a crazy pattern matching the one on your sweater. “There’s this secret 7 Society, made up of seven men, all varying ages but from the same incestuous families.”

Jimin nearly chokes. “Incestuous?” he coughs.

“Oh, you know,” you respond, rolling your eyes. “It’s all the same people in these things, the same well-to-do –”

“Well-to-do?”

“Well-to-do families,” you continue, as though uninterrupted. “The ones who came over on the Mayflower, or some shit and think that because of this, they can buy your ass – or, well, they can try.”

Despite himself, Jimin smiles. “That’s an interesting theory.”

“Right?” you respond, not seeming to catch onto the sarcasm. “Anyways, the 7 Society are a bunch of rich, elitist dicks who think they own the word and do terrible things because of it. I want to write this story,” you inform, sitting up straight. “I want to expose them. The Society has this reputation for corruption, scandal, blackmail –”

“Oh, the irony,” Jimin grins.

“Shut up,” you scowl, shaking a finger in his general direction. “This is different, I’m doing this for the betterment of society – you just fuck around with people because you can.”

“The betterment of society?” Jimin blurts, unable to contain his laughter. “That’s rich, coming from you. You’re getting nothing from this, right? No job offers, no magazines calling for you – no money, no fortune, no fame,” Jimin ticks each one off on his fingers. “Just face it, Y/N,” he shrugs. “You’re no better than I am.”

Your fingers still for the first time and Jimin sobers, seeing how his words have affected you. You’re not better than him, not in this, which you seem to have realized. Mouth snapping shut, you sink low in your seat and Jimin begins to worry you’ve lost all ability to speak.

“Let’s just say,” he starts, giving you a break. “Let’s just say that you’re right, for a second. Say I’m involved with this mysterious society – what then? This is all just gossip, hearsay. The University won’t print it, not without proof.”

“True,” you croak and, seeming to recover your resolve, you stare down at your notes. “That’s where you come in.”

Glancing sideways, Jimin looks out the door of the coffee shop. You think he’s one of the 7, he realizes – either that, or you just don’t understand how the Society works. There are only 7 members at any given time and only when you’re a member, do they let you in on their secrets. Jimin knows only rumors right now; rumored names, rumored happenings and rumored information. As far as the truth goes, Jimin won’t be much help.

Some people say being a part of the 7 grants access to wealth. Others say there’s women, there’s drugs, or there’s gold. Jimin thinks that the answer is simpler. It’s power, that’s all. It’s fear of the unknown, the men in the shadows and it’s the prestige of being exclusive and elite, that’s all.

Tilting his head, Jimin examines your face. “And how would I help? What, specifically, do you need from me?”

“A story,” you respond.

Jimin can’t help but admire the way you speak. There’s fire in your eyes, venom to your words and Jimin is certain he’s never felt so strongly about anything in his life. Certainly not about his work, nor his school, nor any one person. The closest he’s come to feeling this way is about lacrosse, but even that was before his father mandated he play for his image.

“A story,” Jimin repeats. “I could help you with that.”

Though you’re shocked by the agreement, you attempt to play it off as nonchalance. "Ah, okay,” you shrug, nearly missing when you lean one elbow on the table. “That’s great.”

Jimin looks away from you, smile fading. “After all, I don’t really have a choice – do I?”

Wincing, you look down. “I – well…”

“It’s just.” Jimin leans in, until his face is too closer. “You want to be a journalist, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then,” he continues, “do you really want this to be your start? A story you got through blackmail, filled with lies and halfway research. If you don’t go about things the right way, are the results really worth it?”

Something flickers in your gaze, flaring to life. “The right way,” you repeat, the words quiet. “My entire life, I’ve gone about things the right way and look where it’s gotten me. Look where it’s gotten my mother,” you exhale, “who works three jobs and never has time to do anything else. It’s easy to talk about the right way when all you have are options. It’s harder, when you work as hard as I do and still have nothing to lean on.”

Every word you say is a dagger, thrown with the precision of an assassin. Jimin’s stomach sinks because you are correct, he has every opportunity to do the right thing and he rarely does. You are also wrong though, because Jimin doesn’t have every opportunity, just certain ones. There are some parts of himself he’s sacrificed, some things he’s given up to maintain this image. Jimin has seen things, done things, hurt parts of himself which should never be touched. Yet still, he can’t say that you’re wrong.

“I didn’t say don’t write it,” Jimin exhales, placing his hands flat on the table. “I just think things are more complicated than you think they are.”

You hesitate at this response; just for a moment, but it’s there. Jimin sees your uncertainty and knows he can exploit it, but the funny thing is, he doesn’t want to. Your words leave him hollow because, even faced with the prospect of nothing, Jimin finds he doesn’t care. If he woke up tomorrow and everything – the cars, the boats, the booze and the 7 – even if it all disappeared, Jimin wouldn’t care.

His father would, though; which is why you should worry.

Jimin shakes his head. “Y/N. You said it yourself, these are some of the most powerful men in the world. If you expose them as part of the 7, do you truly not see the danger?”

Running your finger over the spine of your notepad you nod. “I see it,” you agree. “I see the danger. What kind of a journalist would I be, if I avoided things because I was scared?”

When you say this, Jimin stares because he’s never known such conviction in his life. “I suppose,” he murmurs, gaze flickering. “How do you want me to help, then? That photo can’t be seen by the public, I can’t allow it.”

Once more, you seem guilty. “Yeah,” you mutter, looking away. “I guess. Listen - can I ask you something?”

“Might as well,” Jimin shrugs. “I don’t see how this could get any worse.”

Shooting him a glare, you let your hands fall to the table. “Why do you do it?” you ask, genuinely confused. “I don’t understand. You seem to have everything, everyone loves and admires you. Why would you throw it all away, on something like drugs?”

Jimin stares at you for a moment. “Y/N,” he responds, eyebrows raised. “The drugs in the photo aren’t mine; you know that, right?”

For a moment, you’re flummoxed. “I – what?”

Jimin nods. “I don’t do drugs, Y/N. Do I fuck around a lot? Sure. Am I a mild alcoholic? Maybe,” Jimin shrugs. “But the hard stuff, not for me. Like you said, I have a lot to lose and with my family, image is everything.”

His words are laced with meaning, so much so that you stare. “So,” you start to say, before stopping. “The photo…?”

“Isn’t true,” Jimin answers.

This seems to floor you, based on your expression and while you’re sitting there, silent, Jimin pushes himself to stand. “I have to go,” he explains, sliding his bag over his shoulder. “Homework and stuff.”

You nod, still dazed by his confession. “Right. That makes sense.”

Jimin waits, certain he could say just about anything right now and you’d agree. There’s this look on your face, the knowledge that you’re blackmailing for something he didn’t even do. It seems to have crossed a line for you, one which wasn’t there before.

Finally, you look up. “Alright. Thank you,” you respond, fingertips white while clutching your notebook.

Jimin softens, and he’s not sure why he does what he does next. “Y/N,” he states, waiting. “Just because something seems perfect, doesn’t mean that it is. Images can be deceiving, you know – I wouldn’t take too much stock in mine.”

You nod, wanting to respond to him but Jimin is already turning away. He slips headphones into his ears, ignoring the pounding rhythm of his own heart and it isn’t long before he’s gone, leaving you sitting alone at the table, wondering what the hell just happened.

• Y/N •

One week later, you’re still wondering.

Lying flat on your back, one arm is flung over your eyes while you attempt to sort through your thoughts. It’s been days, days since meeting Jimin and everything went to hell. You need this story, that much is certain. The time you’ve spent on this paper has taught you lessons in seniority, in tenure, in what it takes to get noticed.

You need the 7 Society, need the hook their name gives. It’s going to be your entryway, a story which will lead you to bigger and better things but in order to get there, you need a foot in the door. That, in addition to the teeny, tiny fact that you already told your editor. Groaning, you flop onto your stomach. Lip held between your teeth, you skim through your notes. It’s been days since you looked at them, really looked because each time you do, you get a little bit nauseous.

This isn’t how things were supposed to be. You and Jimin were supposed to meet, he was supposed to be a dick and you were supposed to force him to help you. Instead, he was nothing like you thought he’d be – maybe a touch arrogant, bit hard to read but overall, he was nice. Snorting out loud, you bury your face in the sheets. You’re lying, plain and simple because Jimin was interesting, intelligent and weirdly enough, seemed to get you. It’s enough that you can’t stop thinking about him, which is the other problem.

It’s all part of his appeal, to be honest and staring down at your notes, you try to make sense of it all. Park Jimin, twenty-two years old, heir to the Park family fortune. His father is the CEO of one of those giant corporations, the conglomerates you’re always surprised to find own both your favorite organic conditioner and the DEET bug spray you protested.

The pages of your notebook are crammed with information, alternating between photos and notes, pictures of the party and observations you made. Even that night, when Jimin bumped into you and spilled your drink, he was entirely apologetic. He said he was sorry, was trying to say more when you abruptly left. The moment replays in your mind, staring down at your notes.

Jimin is a bit of a contradiction. He didn’t seem upset by the photo, making it seem like he doesn’t care about your story. Or maybe he does, and he’s cocky enough to think you can’t touch him. There was the one comment he made, about the men in the 7 being the most powerful in the world. A chill goes down your spine at the thought, since although this might be a deterrent to some, if just spurs you on.

All your life, you’ve hated men like this. Men who can crush, who strangle the happiness out of others for the sake of their own. You know men like that on the paper, at your job, men who ran your after-school care programs and looked the other way while boys had their fun. Men who left your mother when you were little, who taught you to be self-sufficient at a very young age. It’s men like this who fuel your anger, which is part of the reason you want to write this story.

It’s all fake, though. The photo isn’t real, and you can’t help but feel torn by that fact. Jimin doesn’t deserve to be hurt like this, not when he’s done nothing wrong and, shutting your notebook, you lower your head to its cover. You can’t do this to him, you can’t. Though Jimin might be spoiled, smug and a little bit arrogant – he’s not a bad person and realizing this fact, you roll onto your back. This will make you very unpopular with your editor, might even get you kicked off the paper.

It’s a lesson in professionalism, you suppose. Vet your sources, always be certain there’s substance before you announce a story. It’s crappy to learn this through trial and error, and you close your eyes at the thought.

When there’s a knock on your door, you turn your head on the bed. It’s past 8:00 PM, you’re not expecting any company and as you stand from your mattress, they knock again.

“Coming,” you call, padding over to the frame and when you fling open the door, you freeze. “Jimin?”

He stares back, looking woefully out of place in your dormitory hall. “Can I come in?” he asks, peering over your shoulder.

You stand there for a moment, trying to reconcile the sight of him before you shake your head quickly and step aside. “I guess?” you respond, brow creased with confusion.

Jimin walks forward, shoulders brushing for you to fight back a shiver. Weak, you tell yourself, as you shut the door and turn, only to stare at the sight. It’s strange how not strange it is, seeing him there. Jimin fits in your room. When you talked to him before – in the coffee shop, outside the lacrosse stadium – you were very aware then, of who he was. He was Park Jimin, of the Park’s but here in your bedroom, he seems more like a guy.

Then he turns to look at you. Right, a fucking beautiful guy.

“So,” Jimin exhales, shifting his weight backwards. A backpack is slung over his shoulder, he’s wearing a white t-shirt and jeans which both likely cost more than your computer. “You live on campus?”

“Yeah,” you nod, watching him sit on your mattress. Jimin bounces for a second, touching the squishable hedgehog resting on your pillow. “Why?” you ask. “Do you live off?”

Jimin nods, looking at you. “Yeah, since sophomore year. I uh, may have been asked to leave campus.”

“What?” Crossing your arms, you fight back a smile – Jimin’s gaze follows the motion, though you try not to notice. “What did you do?”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Jimin grins, leaning onto his hands. “This senior RA thought I slept with his girlfriend, or something.”

“And?” you prompt. “Did you?”

“I thought they were broken up!” Jimin complains. “How was I supposed to know she was lying?”

Leaning your shoulder to the wall, you look up at the ceiling. “I don’t know, maybe you could have just not fucked your RA’s ex?”

“But where’s the fun in that,” Jimin whines. “She was hot, I was there. Your classic rom-com situation.”

“That’s not,” you stop, shaking your head because it’s not worth the effort. “Nevermind.”

Jimin looks around the room, shifting on top of your bed. Your gaze drops to his legs, which was a mistake, because fuck. He’s pure muscle, from the curved tops of his thighs to those slender hips and shoulders. When your gaze reaches his face, you realize he’s staring as well but rather than be embarrassed, it only makes you more curious.

“Why are you here, Jimin?” you ask.

His hair looks soft, curled against the nape of his neck, in contrast with his body. “I haven’t forgotten about my promise,” Jimin shrugs. “I said I’d help with your story and I can’t imagine you’re giving me much time. All good con artists have a timeline.”

“I’m not a con artist,” you scowl and Jimin grins, taking way too much pleasure in your annoyance. “I just want to tell people the truth.”

His smile lessens, somewhat. “Oh? Does one truth cancel out the other, then?”

You fall silent, because you don’t have an answer to this. Except that you do, and it doesn’t. You won’t write the story like this and you mean to tell him that – but then Jimin stands from your bed. Adjusting the bag on his back, he closes a zipper that’s come undone as he walks.

He comes to a stop before you. “I’ll help with your story, but I want something in return.”

It’s the first time you’ve seen a glimpse of the man people are afraid of. Park Jimin, the infamous Parks, who take what they want and don’t apologize for the action. There’s a hardness to his tone, certain ice in his gaze and you realize Jimin could be dangerous if he wanted to be.

“What do you want?” you ask, lifting your chin.

“My name left out.” Jimin’s jaw tightens. “Along with my family’s name. No one can ever know I was your source, no one can ever trace this back to me. Promise me this, it’s important.”

Slowly, you nod. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Jimin repeats. He clearly thought he’d have to convince you, thought you’d put up a fight, because having an unnamed source is much harder to verify. “Just like that?”

You wonder if you should fight him more on this, but you simply uncross your arms. “Just like that. I’m a very reasonable person, Park Jimin.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Oh, I’m sure. You know,” he muses, walking closer, “it’s strange to hear my full name on your lips.”

“Oh?” He stops, much too near to your frame, but you find yourself unable to move away. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, gaze dropping. “It seems formal, and there are more... informal things I’d like to do to you.”

Your eyes fly open. “W-what?” you stammer.

Jimin smiles, absently. “I shouldn’t like you, should I?”

“I – what?” you repeat, dazed by the implication.

Jimin takes another step closer. His brow furrows. “By all accounts, I should hate you. You semi-stalked me,” he points out. “You took a photo of me in a compromising situation and are using said photo to blackmail me. Not to mention, you’re somewhat abrasive and strange,” he nods. “I should really dislike you.”

Staring back at him, something stirs in your stomach. “But,” you breathe, uncertain what you’re doing, “then... are you saying you don’t?”

Jimin’s eyes glint. “I should dislike you, since you’re threatening everything I have, but that’s the thing – I don’t really care.”

Head spinning, you realize you were right about one thing, when his hand encircles your wrist. Jimin doesn’t care about the life he has, he doesn’t care if your article takes it all away from him. The underlying reason for this intrigues you, but that question will have to wait until later.

“The only reason I care about what you write,” Jimin continues, “is because I know others will care. There are powerful members of the 7, powerful people in my family who want – no, who need – me to be a part of it. Those are the people you should be worried about, not me.”

His words leave you speechless, which is a rarity. Jimin wants you to stop writing because, what – he cares? The thought is foreign and yet, the gaze he’s giving you right now is sincere. It sends you reeling, tangles your thoughts because you keep reminding yourself this isn’t real. This is what Jimin is good at, manipulation, you’ve learned that from your research but still, you can’t help but believe him.

After all, you are still manipulating him, too. Despite your earlier convictions about the decision to pull the story, you haven’t told him.

“I should hate you, shouldn’t I,” Jimin finishes, quiet.

He says this as a statement, but you see his hesitancy and it’s this, more than anything, which throws you. Jimin always seems so sure, like he knows who he is but now he’s staring with more than a little confusion. You two might attend the same school, but before this you existed in separate worlds. His world is one of parties, expectations and duty – before you met, you thought that you hated him. When you did meet, Jimin probably hated you.

Now, though – you suck in your breath, because Jimin’s fingers are tracing gentle patterns on your wrist. Lately, writing has been hard for you. It’s been more work than fun, it’s been about proving yourself to people who don’t matter and lately, you’ve started to wonder if it’s worth it. It’s been so long you’ve worked for the same dream, that sometimes you wonder if you’ve given up too much. Three relationships, all since college and each one failed, for the same reasons. You were never there, never available and each one said you loved your work more than them.

Looking up at Jimin, you see parts of yourself. He has this drive, this ambition to be the best but lacks conviction, something to believe in. As his fingers curl about your wrist, anchoring you closer, it’s alarming how easily his shape seems to fit.

This is when you should tell him, but you don’t. “You should hate me,” you agree. “If you just look at the facts, I’m not a very nice person.”

“Nice,” Jimin exhales, corner of his mouth lifted. “I haven’t heard that word used about me in a long time.”

“I guess we’re the same, then.”

Jimin doesn’t look away. He uses his gaze like a dagger, dragging up the length of your body, caressing your throat. “I guess so,” he acknowledges. The moment lingers, until Jimin shakes his head. “Saturday,” he affirms, letting go of your wrist. “Saturday night, 10:00 PM. Meet me at the side of Capital hall and I’ll hold up my end of the deal.”

“Saturday,” you agree, too distracted by the ghost of his hand on yours. “I – yes.”

Jimin nods, brushing past to open the door. He doesn’t wait for a response, glancing over his shoulder while leaving. “See you then,” he winks, slipping out in the hall.

It’s several minutes before you come back to your senses and when you do, you realize you never told him. Jimin still thinks you’re writing the story and you have no way of telling him otherwise. Aside from meeting him this Saturday night.

It’s unnerving, how much it excites you and when you fall asleep that night, it’s to dreams of strangers and darkness.

Saturday night is clear, if chilly. You stand shivering beneath the boughs of an elm tree, wondering if this was all a mistake. Maybe you misread him, in your room and at the café – worse, maybe Jimin intended you to misread him and this is all a game. He could be setting you up, with no intention of helping and taking a deep breath, you force yourself to stay calm. There’s no reason to freak out.

You shouldn’t feel conviction for a man you don’t know but for some reason you do. Against all better judgement, you trust Park Jimin. Still, the hour is late, the weather is cold and you find yourself wishing you’d brought with you a jacket. Any sort of jacket would work, but you had nothing to match this dress that’s not yours.

It’s Nivea’s, a girl on the paper you get lunch with occasionally. Late last night you showed up at her door, realizing belatedly most people go out on a Friday. She answered the door though, flinging it open to seem somewhat surprised by your presence.

“Y/N!” Nivea smiled, gaze traveling past to the hall. “What’s going on? Did I leave something behind at the paper?”

Cheeks flushed, you realized you might have a problem. If the most logical explanation for your visit was Nivea leaving something behind at the paper, you clearly needed to leave the place more often. “No, no,” you shook your head. “Nothing like that. It’s just – ah, this is awkward, you see…”

When you trailed off, Nivea arched a brow. “Want to come in?”

“Yes, please,” you exhaled, stepping inside.

It only took a few minutes for the story to come out. You liked this guy, he was always well-dressed, and you had nothing to wear on your date. Of course, this wasn’t the real story, but you could hardly tell Nivea the truth. Her eyes lit up was you spoke though, and by the end of your sentence she was clapping her hands.

“Of course!” Nivea gushed, flinging open her closet. “I love to play fairy godmother, it gives me everything I love; fashion, plus an insane amount of control. Let’s see,” she tutted, pulling out a dress to examine. “Pink? No? I’ll admit,” Nivea laughed, rummaging in the back. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to overthink what to wear on a date.”

“I’m not, really,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don’t know, I kind of want to surprise him.”

“Hm.” Nivea stared, squinting. “Well, can’t argue with that. Turn around,” she motioned, and the night flowed from there. Two hours later, you were leaving her room with a dress, red lipstick and a promise to take pictures.

A promise you’ll unfortunately have to break but there’s also the lunch date you made for Monday, one you’re determined to keep. It’s been too long since you hung out like that, you’ve been so caught up in work and the paper that somewhere along the way, you forgot to have a life.

You’re wearing Nivea’s dress, standing beneath the giant elm tree and slowly freezing your ass off. Earlier you tamed your hair into submission, arranging it to flow in gentle curls down your back. You even managed to squeeze into this dress, the more modest of Nivea’s options – though even this shows more skin than you’re used to. The hemline is mid-thigh, with a scoop neck and low back which need constant adjusting.

You’re so concentrated, you don’t even notice when Jimin taps you on the shoulder. “Hey,” he greets and the moment you turn, his eyes widen with shock. The awe disappears quickly, smoothing out in a smile but his lingering look that he gives you sends sparks zipping over your skin.

“Hey,” Jimin blinks, repeating himself. “Hi.”

You smile, because in the entirety you’ve known him, Jimin has never fumbled for words. They’ve always come naturally to him, but right now appear to be absent.

“You look nice,” you say because he does, this is true. Jimin is wearing an all-black tuxedo, blonde hair pushed back from his face in devastating fashion.

He arches a brow. “What, this old thing?”

“Old,” you scoff, scanning his torso. “I will give you one hundred dollars, if you tell me you’ve worn that before.”

“To quote Kim Seokjin,” Jimin sighs, offering you his arm, “anything off the rack is already old.”

“Who’s Seokjin?”

Jimin laughs, pulling you close as he walks towards the hall. “Please, say that to him.”

Capital hall is a stately building, looming high while you reach the side door. Craning to look over your shoulder, you come to a stop beside Jimin. “Uh,” you blink, when he knocks on the door. “Jimin, I think this is a side entrance. I saw people going in over th –”

The door creaks open, only a crack. “Password?”

This silences your response, glancing wide-eyed at Jimin. It shouldn’t shock you, since there was a similar set-up on the boat but then, you doubt you’ll ever get used to this sort of thing.

“Luceo non uro,” Jimin answers.

The door closes before you, sounds of unlocking within.

Turning your head, you take in Jimin’s profile. “What does it mean?”

He remains facing forward. “I shine, not burn. My friends are going through a Latin phase,” Jimin grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“I shine, not burn,” you repeat, while the door swings open. “I like it.”

Jimin enters the doorway, leading you on. “Do you?” he muses. “You’re easy to please, once you get past the whole blackmail thing.”

“Jimin!” you hiss. Glancing sideways, it appears no one heard and you slowly relax into the crook of his arm.

Door thudding shut, Jimin leads you down the hall. “Kidding,” he grins, face half-hidden by shadow. “At least you have something you’re working towards, which is admirable. That’s more than can be said of me.”

He stops before the next set of doors, one hand resting on the handle and without stopping to think, you lay your hand over his. “Jimin,” you state, while he looks up in surprise. “You have more to offer than you think you do.”

Jimin just stares. “I didn’t think you saw me like that,” he murmurs, bending so that some hair falls into his gaze. “I thought I was ‘just another rich asshole, screwing my way to the top’?”

The hall around you seems to fade, heart thrumming much too loud in your ear. “You,” you exhale, licking your lips. “You read my notebook?”

For that’s what he just quoted, a private observation from the party when you saw Jimin disappear with those girls. You wrote that note quickly, didn’t tell anyone – and slowly, understanding dawns. That day in your room, when Jimin stood up from your bed, he was zippering his bag shut. He must have grabbed your notebook and though you kind of want to yell at him, you also kind of want to laugh. It was a ballsy move, that’s for sure.

Jimin’s eyes glimmer. “What a terrible invasion of privacy, I know,” he deadpans. “I suppose you’re not the only one with leverage now.”

Staring back at him, you fight your smile. "Huh,” you return, facing forward. “An interesting observation. Lead the way, Park.”

He grins, taking your elbow to push open the doors. You should be angry, should be furious but instead, you find yourself feeling somewhat relieved. There’s some embarrassment, sure, because your observations were less than kind but mostly, you feel relief. You may have been the bad guy before, but now you’re even.

Walking through the doors, all thoughts of the notebook fall quickly from mind. The room around you is beautiful and though you’ve been in Capital hall before, you’ve never seen this. “What is this place?” you ask, twisting around to look.

Jimin continues to walk, leading you through the shadowy bodies. “Cope and Stewardson,” he nods at the ceiling. It’s intricately carved, spiraling out to reach etchings on the walls. “A Philadelphia architecture firm known for classic, Gothic architecture style exemplified throughout many East coast collegiate campuses. The ceiling was a surprise, a gift from one of the architects to the Dean. Rumor has it,” Jimin continues, winding his way through the crowd, “he was in love with him.”

“I see,” you whisper, staring up in awe. “Why is this room kept a secret? I’ve been here many times, but never heard it discussed.”

Jimin’s answering smile is wicked. “It’s amazing what money will keep hidden, isn’t it?”

“Prick,” you mutter, much to Jimin’s amusement. The room is beautiful though, as is the crowd and not for the first time, you’re grateful for Nivea’s help. In a room full of strangers, at least you don’t stand out. Or, this is what you’re thinking until Jimin leans in.

“People are staring,” he murmurs, pulling you closer.

“Oh?” you blurt, looking up in alarm. “Why, because they don’t know me? How can I fix it?”

“Well,” Jimin sighs. “You could start by not having dressed like that.”

“Like what?” you hiss, glancing sideways.

Meeting Jimin’s gaze, he smiles. “Like the most beautiful woman in the room.”

There’s a pause, while his words sink in – you let yourself bask in his glow, allow yourself to fall headlong into his gaze, before forcing yourself away. “Do you find,” you comment, continuing to walk, “that pretty words tend to get you what you want?”

Jimin follows you, laughing. “Usually,” he admits. “Though admittedly, this doesn’t seem to be the case with you.” Coming to a stop at another door, he looks your way. “After you.”

The doors are heavy, solid oak which take a moment to open and once you do, you find yourself facing a library. You hear, rather than see when Jimin shuts the doors behind you; the sounds of the party are cut off abruptly, leaving you in silence and taking a step, you turn around in a circle.

“Lovely,” you breathe, because it is. The books are hidden, kept here to keep students from touching – which, naturally, makes you want to run your hands all over them. When you glance over your shoulder to look at him though, you find Jimin still hasn’t moved. “Where are we?” you ask.

“Rare books library.”

“I see,” you nod, returning your gaze to the tomes. “And why are we here?”

Jimin regards you thoughtfully, biting his lip. “Well,” he sighs, pushing himself off the door. “You said you wanted a story, I’m here to deliver.”

Your heart sinks at this, because it’s no longer what you want. Somewhere along the way, you stopped caring about how Jimin can help you and just wanted to be near him. That’s why you didn’t tell him about the story, you realize. You wanted to see him tonight, wanted to keep seeing him, no matter the cost.

Jimin stops before you. “I have something to show you,” he confesses.

A shiver goes down your spine. “What?”

Lifting a finger to his lips, Jimin indicates silence before grabbing your hand to tug you sideways. You would protest but frankly, you enjoy the feel of his hand on your skin. His warm fingers wrap in yours, sending a shock up your spine.

Winding his way through the stacks, Jimin leads until you find yourself wishing you’d brought a ball of twine. “Where are we going?” you groan, as Jimin turns to face you.

He arches a brow, unamused by your impatience. “Sh,” he repeats, before turning around. He continues, leading you forward until the two of you reach the end of a hall. There’s nowhere to continue, except for the door on your right.

Jimin stops, glancing down the hall to return to you. “Take out your phone,” he instructs, barely audible.

“Why?” you whisper, but obey all the same.

“Just look,” Jimin murmurs, placing his hand on the knob. He twists silently, pushing open the door to ensure ensuring nothing squeaks. When it’s open a rack and you can see what’s inside, it’s a difficult thing to stifle your gasp of surprise.

Professor Nam. You recognize him from your run-in at the coffee shop, but you would have known him before. Jimin might be his TA, but Professor Nam is well-known on his own. He’s the owner of several large publishing companies, an incredibly powerful man both at the University and outside it. Right now, though, the sight of him just makes you sick because kneeling before him is a girl. Not just any girl, one you recognize as a freshman on the paper. You can’t recall having spoken, just that she seemed kind of young and naïve. She doesn’t seem this way anymore, with her mouth wrapped around his dick.

Almost on auto-pilot, you press the capture button. Barely aware of what you’re doing, you document the scene and stumble away from the hall. Jimin is right, this is a story and – more than a little nauseous at the fact – you turn yourself away from the sight. Jimin closes the door behind you, following when you start to walk away. You keep on walking, completely silent until reaching the first room that you entered and then turn, shoving Jimin’s back to the wall.

“What the hell,” you hiss, inches away from his face. “Why bring me here, what was that?’

Jimin allows himself to be manhandled, though his eyes narrow in response. "It’s the story I promised,” he returns. “That’s it.”

Slowly, you release him, taking a step back. You understand now – Jimin promised you a story, not your story, not the 7 Society. He just promised you a story, and he delivered. Jimin is right, the 7 Society is a fluff piece at best, unless you can piece together the corruption and greed which surround it. You can’t right now, meaning it’s unsubstantial. This story though, there’s clear proof of misconduct.

A professor, sleeping with his student. Glancing down at your phone, you begin to realize the implications. “You lied,” you reiterate, unsure why this keeps sticking in your throat.

Jimin’s gaze softens. “I couldn’t let you run that story.”

All his reasons come back, the most striking of which was the story was dangerous. In his own, weird way, Jimin tried to protect you. He knows this world better than you, and he knows what would happen if you wrote that story.

“I wasn’t going to write it,” you shoot back, uncertain why you care. It hardly matters, but you need him to hear. “The article, I mean, I wasn’t going to write it. You were right, blackmail isn’t how I want to start my career.”

Refusing to look away from you, a muscle in Jimin’s jaw ticks. “Oh?” he responds, taking a step. “You expect me to believe that? Your words don’t really line up with your actions, Y/N.”

“I,” you hesitate, unsure what to say. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I meant to, when you came to my room but, I don’t know – I just didn’t.”

You realize how close he is now, how little space there is between you. The tips of Jimin’s shoes brush yours, lips within kissing distance of your own.

“Putting all that aside,” Jimin allows. “You have your story. Professor Nam has been fucking that student all semester, she currently has an A despite turning in zero homework assignments. It’s a great story, Y/N, you have to admit.”

“It is,” you admit, dropping to a whisper. “How did you know?”

“I TA for him,” Jimin reminds. “I noticed the discrepancy in her grade but when I tried to fix it, Professor Nam changed it back. I figured it out later, overheard them planning to get together tonight.”

“I see,” you respond, staring back. It’s true, it’s the perfect story to get your foot in the door; if Jimin can give you proof of missing grades, it’s undeniable evidence. “But… why?” you ask, your confusion growing. “Why are you helping me?”

Jimin shrugs. “A blackmailer is more likely to agree to a win-win scenario. This way, everyone goes home happy; you get your story, my name remains clear. Is there a problem with that?”

“I,” you pause, gaze flicking down the hall. “It’s not entirely win-win. Professor Nam will lose his job, it will hurt his wife and daughter.”

“Ah,” Jimin responds, words tight. “So now you’re concerned about his feelings.”

The implication being that you don’t care about his own and, chin jerking up, you take a step forward. “Listen,” you huff. “I already told you I wasn’t writing the article. Why do you think I didn’t notice my notes had gone missing? It’s because I haven’t been looking at them, I’ve been avoiding the story!”

Pausing, Jimin seems taken aback. “That’s true,” he muses. “You seem like the type of person to notice their notes are gone.”

“Believe what you want about me,“ you snap. “I know the truth and I wasn’t going to write it. If it makes you feel better, if it helps you sleep at night to imagine me the villain, then by all means –”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jimin interrupts, stopping your rant.

Stumbling to a halt, your chest rises and falls. “I – what?”

Sensing he’s hit upon something important, Jimin tilts his head to one side. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t writing the story, Y/N? Why keep up the charade?”

Unable to come up with a suitable response, you blink. “I – because, I don’t know.”

“You don’t?” Jimin considers. “If you tell me, I’ll tell you why I helped you find another story. You know, instead of just threatening you.”

“There was another reason?” you respond, barely able to concentrate with him so close. He seems earnest, though and for some reason you think back to the moment in your room, when he said that he liked you.

“I should hate you, shouldn’t I?” you whisper, eyes dropping to his lips.

The corner of Jimin’s mouth lifts. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Well,” you exhale, startled when his hands find your arms. “You lied to me, stole from me, took the story I wanted to tell and replaced it with another. That’s just for starters.”

Jimin’s hand skim your arms, lifting into your hair. “Borrowed,” he corrects, smile flitting over his lips. “Borrowed your notebook, with every intention of returning. I just wanted to see what you wrote about me.”

“Oh?” you ask, hypnotized by his touch. “And what did you find?”

“I found out that you hated me. At first,” Jimin adds, a caveat.

“I should still,” you return, just as softly.

“And do you?”

“No.”

You don’t know who moves first, you or Jimin, but somehow his hands are fisting in your hair, while your lips bruise between his. His kiss is desperate, catastrophic and you feel yourself careening over an edge but can’t find it in yourself to care. Your hands clutch hard at his waist, just as consuming as he.

His words are muffled, pushed between teeth and tongue. “Y/N,” Jimin groans, “I want,” his thumb brushes your collarbone, “you,” he inhales, “so fucking badly.”

“Ah,” you moan, unable to think around the press of his lips, “same.”

“Good,” he grunts, hands sliding down to your hips. “Turn around. Face the wall.”

You obey, touching your hands to the panel while Jimin steps up to press himself from behind. His fingers trace your arms, sliding down to your front. “I meant what I said,” he murmurs, lips brushing your shoulder. “I’m not nice, Y/N, I never have been.”

“Oh?” you shiver, when his fingers dip lower. “You think I was lying?”

“No,” Jimin agrees, pushing the silk of your dress between your legs. His fingers brush over your sex, teasing in slow, gentle circles. “It makes me feel better, for all the awful things I want to do with you tonight.”

There’s not time to respond, before he flips you over and your back hits the wall. “What do you want me to do?” you breathe, staring up at him.

Jimin’s answering smile is angelic. “Where’s the fun in telling?” he murmurs, fingers sliding low to your wrists. “Come on,” he exhales, pushing open the door to the main room. “I want you naked in my bed, and I won’t be kept waiting.”

Rolling your eyes, you let yourself be pulled. “Won’t be kept waiting,” you repeat, while he leads through the party. “We’ll see about that.”

Jimin stops abruptly, pulling you to him. “You would do that?” he purrs, all silk and sweetness. “You wouldn’t be so cruel, would you, Y/N?” His fingers drift down to your sides. “You wouldn’t be so cold.”

All retorts die when Jimin spins you, hungry lips crushing to yours in a kiss. He coaxes you open before him, hands sliding lower to cup your ass. “Come on,” Jimin exhales, breaking away and re-grabbing your hand.

Though you scowl, you follow because fuck, is your heart racing. The other people in the room are barely visible, too focused on the sight of Jimin’s ass in those pants, his right hand in yours and the next thing you know, you’re standing out on the curb, Jimin beside you, squinting down at his phone while slipping one arm around your waist.

“Two minutes,” Jimin announces, looking up. “Greg is completing a ride nearby.”

“Greg?” you echo. “You ordered an Uber? Huh. I would’ve thought Park Jimin had his own, personal driver.”

Grinning, Jimin drops his phone into his pocket before removing his jacket. “It’s an Uber Black, if that helps.”

“Kind of.”

Shrugging his jacket onto his shoulder, Jimin just smiles when the black Mercedes S-560 rolls up to the curb. He steps forward first, opening to door to allow entrance and once you’re settled inside, Jimin follows. “Park place,” he announces, at the driver. “How are you doing tonight, Greg?”

The man – Greg, presumably – nods in hello. “Not too bad, yourself?”

As the car pulls away from the curb, Jimin gently lowers his jacket over your lap. “Not bad at all,” he answers, fingers drifting along the edge of your knee. “Busy night, tonight?”

When the driver responds, Jimin’s hand slips under his jacket. Your eyes widen, realizing what he’s doing; your dress is already half-bunched at your waist, lifted and scrunched from climbing into the car. Jimin’s fingers move gently, coaxing your legs apart on the seat and you squirm at the touch, biting down on your lip when his thumb brushes your panties. Hearing the noise you make in your throat, Jimin turns his head in disapproval.

Leaning in, his lips touch your ear. “No noise,” Jimin whispers, “or I’ll stop. So,” he announces, smiling at the front. “What’s the strangest thing that’s ever happened in your car?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen…”

Pulling your panties aside, Jimin slips a finger in between your legs – his jaw slackens, at the touch of your arousal. “That so?” Jimin manages to respond, though the sound is strangled. Turning to look at you, his gaze burns while his hand slides lower, ghosting over your slickness.

Trying not to whimper, you shift your hips on the seat. Up ahead, your driver is going on about the time some girl puked in his car, and Jimin takes as his opportunity to slip a finger inside. Clasping one hand over your mouth, you stifle a groan when he curls his digit upwards.

Arching his brow, Jimin continues to watch. “God, what a mess,” he sighs. “That must have been incredibly frustrating.”

The driver agrees and Jimin starts to rub gentle circles on your clit. Fuck, you mouth, head hitting the seat while your hips rock into his palm. Jimin smiles at the sight, sliding his finger in and out while continuing to make pleasant conversation with the driver. You grab onto his knee, squeezing tight for each stroke that he makes and Jimin slows himself marginally, languidly exploring your body. His fingers trail around your entrance, up your cunt, until your entire body is shaking and you can’t help but moan.

Jimin’s withdrawal is abrupt, sinking back on the seat. “Disappointing,” he remarks to the driver, though he’s looking at you. As you continue to watch, Jimin brings a glistening finger to his mouth and sucks. “You must have been close,” he comments, sliding the digit from his mouth to look forward.

“I was,” Greg laughs, continuing to drive. “Honestly, I nearly –”

Eyes narrowed, your gaze drifts from Jimin’s smug expression downwards. He’s half-hard, straining against his pants, a fact which makes you smile. At least he’s not entirely unaffected by the situation, judging from the state of his hard-on.

“Anyways,” the driver continues, car pulling to a stop. “Thanks for riding, you two. Your place is on the right.”

Jimin nods, tugging your skirt down with agile fingers. “Pleasure’s mine,” he allows, pushing open the door. “Y/N, are you ready?”

Still glaring, you tug your dress lower while scooting outside. “I’m fine,” you huff, stepping out on the curb. The air outside is chilly, enough that you’re shivering before Jimin places his arm around you again. He leads you into his building, waving to the doorman and walking you back past the mailroom.

Inside the elevator, Jimin stops beside you. “Did you enjoy that?” he murmurs, continuing to face forward. “Did you like being fingered in public like that, Y/N?”

“Yes,” you whisper, cheeks enflamed at the thought. “I liked it a lot.”

“Mm,” Jimin sighs, satisfied. “I thought you would. I think you’ll like a lot of things we do tonight, Y/N.”

“What,” you pause, licking your lips. “What sorts of things?”

Jimin just smiles. “Tell me a fantasy you have.”

Heat spirals through your core, wicked and wanton. “I don’t know,” you whisper, eyes wide. Truthfully, you have a lot of fantasies but haven’t ever voiced them out loud. No one’s ever asked before.

Seeing your expression, Jimin turns. “Hey,” he murmurs, coming to stand before you. “Don’t worry. I promise I won’t do anything you don’t ask me to.”

Staring back, his gaze is calming enough that you blurt, “Sensory deprivation.”

Jimin’s gaze darkens. “Oh?”

Rather shakily, you nod. “I – blindfolds and uh, other things.”

“Hm,” Jimin muses, his smile delicate. “I know.”

Then the elevator chimes, doors opening as Jimin takes your hand and pulls you out in the hall. His apartment is at the end and as he opens the door, you can’t help but stare. It’s a surreal moment, watching Jimin flick on the lights, dump his jacket on a chair, toss his keys on the counter.

The apartment is spacious, full of dark wooden floors and floor-to-ceiling windows. It lets in the night, lighting the place with cityscape and moonbeams. The apartment itself is sparse, elegantly designed in shades of charcoal and blue – it fits Jimin, somehow and when he notices you staring, he comes to a stop in the kitchen.

“Something wrong?” he asks, rolling up a sleeve.

“I was just thinking,” you hesitate. “It’s strange that I’m here.”

Jimin is quiet for a moment, leaning both hands on the counter. “Why, because of how we met?”

“Well,” you pause, then nod. “Yeah, kind of.”

Without removing his gaze, Jimin walks around the counter. “I guess,” he admits, stopping before you. “Everyone’s story has a beginning – but that’s hardly the most important part.”

The corner of your mouth twitches, since it sounds like something a writer would say. “I suppose.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” Jimin admits, “but that goes without saying. I find you interesting,” he amends, cocking his head. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Wow,” you respond dryly. “Thanks.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Jimin laughs. “You were right when you said I’m surrounded by opportunity. I’ve never gone hungry, never had to wonder where the rent money was coming from. Even with that though, I’ve only ever had certain kinds of opportunities – not particularly moral ones, at that.” Falling silent, Jimin seems to remember. “I did a lot of things which left me hollow. But,” he continues, “this was before I met you.”

You have nothing to say to this, since it’s too strange to consider yourself an influence. You, an influence on him. Jimin reaches out for your hands, seeming unable to keep from touching you, his fingertips sliding up the expanse of your skin.

“You care about your writing, your stories,” Jimin continues. “I’m not sure I’ve ever cared about anything the way that you do. I want to,“ he hesitates, glancing up. "I care about you. And I don’t want to analyze that fact.”

The air between you thickens, silent but for the sound of your breath and the tick of his clock. “Kiss me,” you whisper, tilting up your chin.

Jimin doesn’t hesitate, lips descending as his arms wrap greedily around you. He pushes you back against his counter, hips digging to yours while his hands slide into your hair. Jimin isn’t gentle with his kiss; he demands what he gives, and what he gives you is fierce. The moment he pulls back for air, you undo the straps of your dress.

Gaze heated, Jimin’s pupils dilate at your exposure. “Fuck,” he mutters, dragging his gaze back to yours. “My room, now.”

When you nod, he grabs for your hand and tugs you off down the hall. “This way,” Jimin murmurs, leading you inside a room on the right and shutting the door behind you.

His bedroom is the same as the rest, decorated in shades of smooth wood and glass. When you turn to look at him, Jimin is already removing his tie and, while you continue to watch, he unbuttons buttons of his shirt until it falls to the floor.

Walking towards you, Jimin keeps his pants on. “Do you still want this?” he asks, sliding his tie between his palms.

“Yes,” you exhale.

“Good.” Jimin looks at the foot of his bed. “Sit.”

Heart racing, you move to lower yourself to the mattress – palms lying flat on the bedspread until Jimin follows to lower one knee on the sheets. His first kiss is gentle, a molding of mouths until you grow hungry and a soft moan escapes. Jimin breaks away at the sound, descending your neck to tug at your bra.

“Ah,” you gasp, when Jimin undoes the clasp. “Jimin.”

He continues, mouth closing around your nipple while you reach for his pants. He slaps your hand, pushing you back on the bed and straddling you fully. Continuing to kiss, his fingers trace over your nipples until you’re arching against him and then he pulls himself away.

Jimin reveals the silk tie in his hands. “Yes?” he affirms.

You nod. "Please.”

Inhaling, Jimin lifts your head to gently tie the fabric over your eyes. It shuts out the room and when you can’t see a thing, his lips slowly descend your body. Mouth trailing your chest, his thumbs brush over your skin while his lips find your legs. At your panties, he stops and you feel Jimin’s weight lift from the bed.

He must kneel because his hands return at your knees, pushing your legs apart on the floor. “Fuck, Y/N,” Jimin moans, bending until his lips touch your thighs. His mouth ghosts over your panties, not pulling them aside. “You look so beautiful.”

“Jimin,” you whimper, arching your back. “I need more.”

Chuckling, he pulls your panties sideways. “Too bad you’re not the one in charge, hm?”

It’s unexpected, the suddenness with which he yanks your panties down. Cold air touches your legs, until his mouth closes hot on your sex. You gasp, arching upwards while Jimin’s hands pin you flat to the bed. “Fuck,” you choke, when he slips in two fingers – the sensation is unbearable, after so much denial.

Jimin softens, giving slow licks to your clit while his fingers curl upwards. He pushes your hips down, spreading your legs to draw noise from your throat. “Jimin,” you gasp, grinding your hips into him, “don’t stop.”

Lips curving into a smile, Jimin nods. His nose brushes your clit and then he’s sucking, fingers plunging back inside you.

“Jimin,” you gasp. You attempt to ride out the rhythm but it’s hard, without seeing what he’s doing. He keeps changing the tempo, alternating in a way that’s driving you crazy. He brings you to the edge, over and over until your entire body is shaking with need.

“Not yet,” Jimin muses, at your expression. He slides his fingers out, using them to circle your already wet clit. “You don’t get to come, not yet.”

Still unable to see him, you feel his lips brush your hip, drifting higher until he comes to a stop at your mouth. “Will you be a good girl,” Jimin purrs, “and help me, Y/N? Will you take my dick in your mouth?”

Mouth watering, you nod; Jimin exhales in approval before unbuckling his belt to drop this onto the floor. The bed dips when he rejoins, kneeling on either side of your chest. His cock first touches your cheek, smearing pre-cum to your lips before you open your mouth to take him inside.

Jimin hisses, seeing your lips wrapped around his cock. “Shit,” he moans, jerking up when you suck.

It’s different like this, both your arms pinned by his thighs and unable to move. Hollowing your cheeks, you take him further and when Jimin thrusts into your mouth, he makes a groan of approval.

“Shit, baby,” he pants, hands dropping to your hair. He must be curved over your body, hips thrusting into your mouth while his hands grip the sheets. His cock is so deep, hitting the back of your throat for your eyes to mist with tears. When one slides down your cheek, Jimin catches it with his thumb. “Too much?” he murmurs, forcing himself still.

Though you shake your head no, Jimin slides himself out with a pop. “No,” you gasp, able to speak but Jimin just tuts.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, bringing his hands down your front to open your legs with one hand. “You’re already so swollen, baby, I just want to fuck you.”

“Oh,” you exhale, squirming beneath him. “Yes, please.”

Jimin chuckles at your response. “That’s it, baby,” he muses, lifting you higher on his bed. “Why don’t we remove this blindfold, hm? I want to see you,” he confesses, hands gently working the knot.

When the room comes into view, silk dropped from your eyes, it’s hard to concentrate because Jimin is kneeling, cock hard and glistening with your saliva. It makes you want him in your mouth, but you forget this entirely when you look over the rest of him. Every inch of perfection, from Jimin’s long, lean muscles to that blonde hair falling into his gaze.

Catching you staring, Jimin smiles. “Believe me,” he murmurs, dragging a finger up your sex, “the feeling is mutual.”

Bending to his end table, Jimin grabs a condom from a drawer to tear open the foil. He rolls this onto himself, hand stroking swiftly down the hard length of his cock. Watching him do this, you find you can’t look away.

Jimin sees where you’re staring. “Masturbation?” he asks, reaching our for your hand. Bringing your fingers to your clit, he rubs slow, gentle circles. “Mm,” he notes, seeing your eyes darken with pleasure. “Maybe next time, baby. Right now, I’m impatient and want you to lie on your front.”

Nodding, you roll over and once you’re in place, Jimin straddles you from behind. With your legs pushed between him, it’s nearly impossible to move and Jimin brings his hand to your ass. “Ah,” he exhales, grabbing hold of his dick to slide up and down your opening. “Such a tight pussy, Y/N. Do you want me? Tell me how much.”

“So much, Jimin,” you groan, pushing your ass into his hands. “Please, fuck me.”

“Good,” Jimin agrees before entering you in one, smooth motion.

He fills you entirely, making you gasp – your back arches, at the sudden feeling of fullness. Grabbing onto your hips, Jimin stills and you realize he’s thrown off as well when you hear his breathing. “Fuck, Y/N,” he gasps, grip near-bruising. “You’re so tight. Fucking amazing, the sweetest pussy I’ve ever had.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you retort, though you’re unable to keep still when he slides back inside you.

“I do,” Jimin grunts, thrusting again, to make both of you groan. “This time I mean it, though.”

“Ah,” you gasp, when he slams into you once more. “Excuse me, if I don’t believe you.”

“Oh,” Jimin chuckles, bending forward. “Believe it, baby. I’m about to fucking come, that’s how tight you are – tell me something unsexy. I need it, I swear.”

Squeezing your ass, he slowly withdraws, only to slam back again in a now-punishing rhythm. “Ah,” you moan, closing your eyes. “My closet is full of cardigans.”

“Not helping,” Jimin groans, “all I want to do is tie you up with one. Fuck you senseless, and leave bite marks on your inner thighs.”

His words leave you gasping, hands fisting in the sheets. “This is my only thong, everything else is high-waisted!”

“But,” Jimin murmurs, spanking you roughly, “what an ass beneath them. Not working, Y/N.”

“I,” you moan, when he tugs on your hair and starts fucking you – hard. “I masturbated to you, that night on the boat.”

Jimin’s hips stutter, resuming their motion. “Y/N,” he hisses, “that’s so fucking hot – that’s the opposite of what I asked.”

Turning around to look at him, you meet his gaze and smile. “I mean it,” you respond sweetly. “I didn’t even wait until I got home, I just found a bathroom stall.”

Jimin’s hair falls damply into his gaze. “Fuck, Y/N,” he grunts, grabbing hold of your ass. “That’s so hot – I’m,” he breaks off, cock hitting your walls in thrust after thrust. His hips leave you trembling, shaking beneath him while your clit slides over the sheets.

The sensation is too much, you’re already half-gone and when Jimin chokes out your name, you come apart in response. It seems like ages before you come down, before he pulls out of your body and rolls off the bed. Jimin exhales, gently sliding a hand up your leg before retreating to the bathroom. Falling onto your side, you curl up in his sheets and wait for him to return.

Jimin reenters quickly, pausing in the door. “Do you,” he hesitates, almost unsure. “Do you have anywhere to be tonight?”

Staring back, your heart starts to sink. “I,” you swallow, trying not to show your uncertainty. “If this was just sex, that’s fine, Jimin. I can leave if you want, don’t dance around the question.”

Jimin’s eyes widen. “No,” he responds, oddly insistent.

“No?” you repeat.

Jimin shakes his head, crossing the room to stop at the side of his bed. He’s naked, a fact which should be awkward, but somehow isn’t. “I don’t,” Jimin hesitates, squinting down. “I’m not the type of guy who has girls stay the night.”

Heart sinking, you begin to feel naked – of course, you misunderstood him. That wasn’t a no, stay; it was a no, don’t get the wrong idea. This was just sex, and of course you should leave. Glancing around for your clothes, you remember they fell in his kitchen but when you try to get up, Jimin grabs for your hand.

Staring at his fingers wrapped in yours, your brow furrows in response.

“Sorry,” Jimin winces. “That came out wrong again. The last time a girl stayed at my place, I was probably wasted. I’m not drunk now though, and I want you to stay.”

His expression looks pained, but you imagine this is because this is the least eloquent Jimin has ever sounded. “Are you... sure?” you ask, fear uncurling in your stomach.

Jimin nods. “I’m sure.”

Warmth settles over your body, as you nod. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

Jimin smiles. “Okay,” he grins, turning away from the bed. Walking over to his dresser, his dick swings and you snort into your hand, stifling a laugh. “I wouldn’t laugh, Y/N,” Jimin calls back. “That dick was making you see stars a few minutes ago, it can do it again.”

Grinning, you scoot back on his bed. “I’m counting on it,” you inform, catching the t-shirt he throws at you. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Jimin grunts, shimmying boxers up his thighs to return to the mattress. “Scoot over,” he whines, pushing your hip. “That’s my spot.”

“Your spot?” you laugh, though you move. “Your spot is in the middle of the bed?”

“Yeah,” Jimin grins, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “So’s yours.”

“Oh, the cheese,” you complain, though you’re smiling.

Jimin’s arms tighten, pulling you closer and it isn’t long before you’re both fast asleep.

• JIMIN •

Waking the next morning, Jimin sees his phone vibrating on the nightstand. It’s too early to be up and, cracking open one eye, Jimin’s plan is to ignore it until he sees the name of who’s calling. Taehyung. Knowing Jimin’s best friend, he could be calling from jail, so Jimin rolls reluctantly from bed to grab for his phone. By some miracle, you continue to sleep – Jimin smiles at your shape before disappearing into the hall.

“Hello?” he whispers, not wanting to wake you. Last night was the best night of his life and fuck, if Jimin is going to screw that up now.

Taehyung snorts. “Why’re you whispering, man? Sneaking out of someone’s apartment?”

“Uh,” Jimin mumbles around his yawn. “Yeah, something like that. What’s up?”

“You hear about Professor Nam?”

At the name, Jimin glances over his shoulder. “No. What about him?”

“Well,” Taehyung drawls, clearly enjoying the drama. “Rumor has it, the editor of the school paper has a scoop from a writer. Nam was boning some freshman, got caught on camera and it seems clear he’ll be fired. Terrible situation, just awful.”

Jimin stands frozen; he nearly laughs out loud, once he realizes what’s happened because fuck, when did you even have time to send an email? Smile growing, Jimin realizes dating you won’t ever be boring. “Huh,” he shrugs, aiming for nonchalant. “What a bummer.”

“A bummer,” Taehyung repeats, stifling his chuckle. “You know who Nam is, don’t play dumb, Jimin. He’s one of the 7 and if the scandal breaks the way I think it will, he’ll be kicked out. Which means a new member of the 7 will be inducted.”

Jimin’s jaw tightens, in response. “I guess,” he responds, stomach twisting with guilt. “Didn’t think about that.”

“Oh, shut up,” Taehyung scoffs. “If Nam is out, we all know who’s next on the list.”

Jimin doesn’t respond – he doesn’t need to, they both know it’s him.

“Anyways,” Taehyung coughs, as horns honk in the background. “Just wanted to call and congratulate before the Society gets off their fat asses and tells you themselves. Cheers mate – hope someone sucks your dick good today.”

Before Jimin can even respond, Taehyung hangs up the phone. Setting the device on the counter, Jimin lowers his face to his hands. It seems his calculation is true, Nam was a part of the 7. Jimin had his suspicions before but he was not certain. This was a large part of the reason he pointed you in Nam’s direction. His father will be pleased, to have Nam kicked out and a spot open up. Now, though – Jimin’s stomach sinks, as he realizes the coming implication.

Nam is out. Jimin is in.

As though on cue, Jimin’s phone rings on the counter.

“Hello?” Jimin answers, staring out the window.

“Park Jimin, welcome to The 7 Society.”

[ Master List ]

© kpopfanfictrash, 2018. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[walkerismychoice]

Defensive Driving (Colt X MC)

Book: Ride or Die

Pairing: Colt Kaneko X MC (Gabi Santos)

Rating: PG-13ish

Summary: Colt isn’t about to let Gabi participate in the big job without some additional driving lessons, but that might not be his only motivation for offering to teach her.

Word Count: 1923

Tag List: I’m not even sure who wants to be tagged for this pairing, so let me know if you want to be added. @tmarie82 @choiceswreckedme @debramcg1106 @boneandfur @lizeboredom @i-miss-trr @alegria1580 @mfackenthal

Colt leans against the side of Gabi's car, arms crossed, with that same smug look that gets under her skin every time. "Okay, Gabi, if you are going to insist on doing this, I need to take you out for another driving lesson first."

Gabi rolls her eyes. "I passed my driver's license test with flying colors, as you know. Is this just a lame excuse to get me to hang out with you again?" As much as he infuriates her, she finds some strange satisfaction in their witty banter. She gets the feeling that he’s used to girls falling all over themselves for him, not that she’s paid much attention to the whole handsome, dark and broody vibe he’s got going on. She’s here for Logan, even if he doesn’t seem to want her here right now.

“Oh, Gabi.” Colt laughs and shakes his head. “I know you’re smarter than the average eighteen-year-old, but you are just about as naive as they come. Did you already forget what happened in the parking garage? You think you are ready for anything that could happen?”

God she hates when he’s right, but she could do without his condescending tone. “Like you are so much older and wiser than me.”

“I may not be much older, but I’m much more streetwise. If you don’t want to do this, I have better things I could be doing with my time. I just don’t need you messing this up for everyone, so if you are still in, let’s go.” Colt opens her driver side door and waits.

Gabi looks at the stairs leading to Logan’s loft where he stormed off some time ago. She wishes it were him taking her out for lessons, but the more she’s tried to be a part of all this, the more he’s pushed her away. Maybe if she can prove to him she can handle it, he’ll change his mind. “I don’t know how much more we are going to accomplish in one lesson, but if it makes you happy, fine.”

Gabi gets in the driver seat and Colt grabs several orange traffic cones and puts them in the backseat before sitting next to her in the passenger seat and punching an address into his phone’s GPS. Gabi follows the directions and a short while later they arrive at an abandoned factory with an enormous empty parking lot. There’s a few street lights around the perimeter, but other than that, its fairly dark. 

Colt gets out of the car and sets up a narrow corridor of traffic cones behind her car spaced several yards apart, about the length of football field in total, and then gets back in beside Gabi. “We are going to focus on defensive driving today. If all goes well, we’ll get out of there undetected, but if any obstacles come up, you need to know how to get around them, so to start, back up between the cones all the way to the end.”

The width of the corridor is barely enough to clear her tires. Gabi checks her mirrors and then looks over her shoulders down the middle of the path. She steps on the gas and is pleased with herself as she gets through the first and second set of cones without running them over.

“Stop!” Colt commands. “I hate to break it to you, but if you have someone after you, five miles per hour isn’t going to cut it. I want you going at least sixty by the time you reach the end. Start over.”

“I was just warming up,” she lies. It was taking all her concentration to stay in a straight line that she hadn’t even given a thought to speed. She sets herself up again and then pushes down on the pedal, quickly gaining speed but running over the second set of cones. “Oops.”

Colt presses his lips into a thin line. “And that’s where you would have been caught already. Start again.” Gabi tries over and over, making it a little further each time before she veers off course, but Colt still isn’t satisfied. “Maybe if I go stand at the end, the thought of hitting me will be motivation enough.”

Gabi laughs for the first time all night. “As obnoxious as you can be, I don’t want to plow you over with my car...most of the time.” 

“Maybe I need to try harder then.” Colt smirks and something about the way his eyes flicker in the moonlight makes her feel a certain way she doesn’t want to feel about him. He can be such an arrogant asshole, but when it’s just the two of them, he seems to forget every so often he’s trying to shut everyone out, and lets the real Colt slip through.

Gabi’s more determined than ever this time, not just to prove to Colt but to herself as well that she can do it. She focuses on keeping the wheel steady as she looks back and goes. Her heart races as she gets closer and closer to the end, afraid to mess it up at the last second. When she cleanly sails through the last two cones, she is so excited she almost forgets to put the car in park. She leans over and hugs Colt before quickly retreating as heat rises in her cheeks once she realizes she got swept up in the moment. "Sorry, I got a bit carried away there."

"That's twice tonight. Keep doing that I might think you are starting to like me or something." She still detects a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but his smile seems genuine for once. 

The possibility of Colt wanting her to want him shouldn’t give Gabi butterflies, but it does. She looks straight ahead out the windshield to avoid giving herself away. “Alright then, what’s next?"

Over the next couple of hours Colt sets up several obstacles and scenarios, teaching Gabi how to maneuver around each one. There are a couple spin outs and traffic cone casualties, but for the most part, she thinks she's done well and feels much more prepared. 

It’s dark and nobody is around once they get back to the shop. “Shit. I didn’t realize how late it was again. I’ve gotta get home before my dad gets home from work.”

“I’ll take you,” Colt offers.

“No, that’s okay. I can walk.” Gabi doesn’t know why she’s saying no when she wants to say yes, but she still never wants to give in to him no matter what it is. 

Colt lets out an exasperated sigh. “You know, if I offer to do something nice for you Gabi, you can just say yes for once. You don’t really want to walk home alone at this time of night, do you?”

Gabi shakes her head. Of course she doesn't, nor does she hate the idea of him taking her. “No I don’t.”

“That’s what I thought.” Colt grabs an extra helmet, handing it to her. 

“Oh,” Gabi tentatively takes the helmet. “I didn’t know we were going to ride that.”

“Don’t tell me you are surprised by this, Gabi. If you know anything about me by now, you know I only drive cars when absolutely necessary. Now I can show you why.”

“I guess,” she replies nervously, all the horror stories her father has ever told her about motorcycles swirling around in her head. “But please be careful.”

Colt swings his leg over the bike and turns back to her. “I know it’s your first time. I’ll go easy on you.” He winks at her before he turns back around. She knows he’s talking about the motorcycle, but the innuendo makes her blush instantly. She quickly puts her helmet on to cover it up and climbs on behind him. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands. Is there somewhere to hold on? That doesn’t seem to be the case so she timidly puts her hands on either side of his waist, and Colt Chuckles. “You are going to need to hang on much tighter than that.”

Gabi scoots up further and slides her arms around Colt securely. His leather jacket rides up just enough for her to feel his taut ab muscles through his grey t-shirt. She's close enough to smell the leather mixed with his earthy scented shampoo. Of course she's always found him attractive, but taking him all in like this is almost overwhelming and she hopes if he feels how fast her heart is fluttering in her chest, he assumes it's just because she's nervous about the ride.

Colt Rev's the engine and takes off through the open garage door. The jolt's enough to make her feel unsteady and she holds onto him for dear life. He rounds the corner right away and she just about panics, feeling like she's going to slide right off, but she doesn't as Colt smoothly steers back upright. It feels like they are going really fast but when she checks the speedometer, he's going just about the speed limit and she knows it's only for her sake. Once her body decides she's not going to die and returns to its normal state, she actually starts to enjoy herself and can see why Colt likes it so much. All the cliches are true, and it's a sort of freedom and exhilaration you just can't get driving a car.

Colt must notice her hold on him loosening as she relaxes because he starts to pick up speed little by little as if waiting for her to react, but she doesn't. She feels safe with him. He misses a turn, but he's got her address typed in, so she assumes he's taking a voluntary detour to prolong the ride, and she's not going to complain. Even if she did get lost with him, at this point she wouldn't mind.

Despite taking the long route home, the ride is over all too soon. Colt stops in front of her house and they both dismount and take off their helmets. "You didn't hate that at all, did you?" Colt asks with a knowing grin on his face.

"I won't be giving up my four wheels for two any time soon, but I can see the appeal now." Gabi bites her lip, realizing how uncomfortably close they are standing to one another.

Colt lifts a hand to her face and gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She holds her breath as his fingers slowly trail down the back of her neck sending shivers down her spine, but then he swiftly pulls his back, clearing his throat. "Your, uh, hair was all messy from the helmet."

She's almost certain he was about to kiss her before he changed his mind, and she's both relieved and severely disappointed that he didn't. It felt right in the moment, but now she's thinking of Logan. He's told her to forget about him, but she know that's not what he really wants. But what does she want? "Thank you. And thanks for the ride...and the lessons."

Colt gives her shoulder a squeeze. "Just don't go telling everyone how charitable I've been. We wouldn't want them thinking I've gone soft."

Gabi laughs. "We wouldn't want that now, would we? Goodnight, Colt."

"Goodnight, Gabi." Cold puts his helmet back on and rides off, the sound of his motorcycle trailing off in the distance as she goes inside to get whatever sleep she can before the morning comes.

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter thirty-eight (mother lovin’ bones)

“The events my death brought were merely the bones of a body that would become whole at some unpredictable time in the future. The price of what I came to see as this miraculous body had been my life.” -Susie, The Lovely Bones

After dinner, Candace had taken us outside to her cute little black car with a Yellow Submarine sticker in the back window. Lars had covered for the both of us before we got our check, saying we had taken a bus from Oswego to Syracuse but we had no idea what was the time. Turned out, it was still early: about seven o'clock. But she offered to take us back home given she needed to be away from the City for a while. It was an offer neither of us could refuse so we climbed into the car, myself in the front next to her and Lars right behind me, and headed off to the shores of Lake Ontario.

The car is warm and dry, and the seats are soft.

All I can think about is how much I'm going to try to have to get her in touch with herself. She's got her fingers wrapped around the edge of the steering wheel: those knuckles are poking out towards me, and the light from the highway is shining onto her bones. I don't know why I'm feeling an itch to kiss her hands, but I want to.

I wonder what she could be lying to us about with those scars, like I wonder where they came from. I hope nothing serious.

But I have it in mind, though. He performed surgery on her. But what kind of surgery? It's got me hung up a bit. And after seeing their house back in Boston, it makes me wonder how he did it much less even do it in the first place.

I nibble on my bottom lip once the first sign for 'Swaygo enters our view. That tugging sensation in the pit of my stomach has turned into butterflies. I'm nervous. I wonder what she's gonna do. I wonder what she wants me to do. I wonder what I'm gonna do.

And at one point, I realize that Lars has been dead silent this whole time. He hasn't even asked her what she's lied to us by omission about. Then again—

I glimpse over my shoulder at the sight of him back there with his feet up on the door handle behind me and his head leaned back into the corner next to the door. He's asleep.

Okay, I'm really nervous now.

Lars fell asleep and I'm alone here with a girl who wants me to give her what for when we're back at my place.

“Okay, so where do you live?” she asks me once I recognize the outskirts of town.

“A little apartment complex—don't worry, I'll guide you there.”

I'm almost put on autopilot as I show her the way to my place. I look up to the sky, to the sight of the orange clouds blanketing the sky. It's definitely going to snow, I can say that for sure now. Soon, I spot the complex and she pulls into the driveway. She turns the corner to behold the sight of my car all by its lonesome under the protection of the garage.

And she takes the spot right next to it.

“You know, that's my car,” I tell her as she tugs on the parking lever.

“That's your car?”

“It's a piece of crap, but yeah. That is definitely my car.”

She switches it off and I turn my head to the back seat again. I unbuckle my seat belt to better reach him.

“'Ay—hey, wake up. We're here.”

He stirs and his eyes pop open to look at me. He then rubs his eyes and lowers his feet from the door handle. Candace climbs out first and I follow suit into the cold moist night. Lars slides out of the back seat and stretches his arms over his head.

She locks the car and that's my cue to lead them both back to my place. I search for my key in my coat pocket once my door comes within our sight.

I unlock the door and we step inside of my cold apartment. Lars lingers there in the doorway with her while I round the couch to turn on the light on the other side of the room. Golden light bathes over us and she gasps.

“My goodness,” she scoffs at me; Lars shuts the door behind them and strips off his coat.

“Yeah, I know,” I assure her. “I live alone but—this is home to me.”

“No, I mean, there should be a lamp here next to the door. You know, so you don't have to walk all the way over there to turn on the light.”

“Uh—that, too. Would you like something to drink?”

“Just some water. Unless you have something else.”

“Joey doesn't drink,” Lars tells her as he offers to take her coat and her purse.

“Oh! Well, more power to you, Joey.”

I pass them and head into the kitchen for a clean glass and some fresh water for my guest and our chauffeur. We still have yet to figure out the secret behind those scars on her body.

Both she and Lars are silent as I return to the front room with the glass in hand. They've taken their seat on my couch; I round the side of the couch and hand her the glass with both hands.

“Oh, thank you, Joey.”

“So what do you think we should do now?” Lars asks both me and her.

“Well, there's four hours left in the year,” she points out. “Let's make the most of it.”

He yawns as she takes a drink. I'm standing there with my arms down by my sides and I want to do something with them.

Lars looks beat, like he's about ready to fall asleep again.

“Happy birthday Scott,” he says aloud.

“Oh, yeah, that's right!” I recall. “Today was Scott's birthday… I hope he had a good day.”

Lars rubs his eyes and groans in his throat.

“The two of you don't mind if I fall asleep here, do you?” he asks us: he's weary, I can tell.

“Not at all,” Candace assures him.

“Nah, man,” I join in. “If you're tired, you're tired. Go right to sleep.”

He yawns again and Candace stands to her feet so he can stretch out his legs. Once he's got his boots off, he does just that and yawns again. He rests his head against the arm of the couch, and I fetch the blanket for him again, and I lay it over his body.

“Bitch slap me if something happens,” he tells us, snuggling down in the couch cushion.

“Of course, of course.”

He rolls his head over on the arm and closes his eyes. I turn to Candace as she's sipping her water.

And then I gesture for her to follow me into my room.

I lead her in there, towards my nightstand. I turn on the light for her to see me.

I turn when she downs the rest of her water.

“So what're we gonna do?” she asks me in a soft tone. “Like how are we gonna do this?”

I sigh through my nose and put my arms around her.

“Are we gonna do this now?” she demands in a hushed voice.

“Just shut up—” I command her, holding onto the back of her head. “—shut up and—kiss me—”

She raises her mouth towards me for a kiss on the lips. Or maybe I'm doing it first. I don't know. What matters is we're smooching each other and I'm guiding her down to the edge of my bed. I lay her down on her back, across the width of her bed, and I strip off my shirt. She swallows as I lower myself down over her.

“It's alright,” I assure her. “We'll go slow. I promise.”

I kiss her on the lips again once, twice, three times: on the fourth time, I bring myself closer to her. I've got my right knee next to her hip and I've got both hands over her shoulders. My face is right there right above hers. She's nervous, I can tell. But she wants me to do this.

“How you feeling right now?” I ask her.

“I need this,” she whispers to me. It's in there: I have to coax it out of her.

“Here—I'll let you do what you want.”

I lay down next to her, right on my back. She lifts herself over me and gazes into my eyes. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she caresses my chest. I can see her eyeing my stomach and my hips. It's driving me nuts. But I have to be patient with her. I'm the one leading her into this.

She's right over my left hip. I push the waist band down so as to expose my hip bone.

“Kiss me,” I command her. “Have at it.”

“There?”

“Yes, kiss me—” I coax her. “Right there—please. God, please. Kiss me—right there. And then do whatever it is that you feel like.”

I relax at the feel of her lips. Such a light delicate touch and one that I hope can get things moving for her.

“So tell me,” I start, closing my eyes and feeling her touch me around some more of my hip and onto the lower side of my belly. “Where'd you get that scar you were—showing to me and Lars earlier?”

“You really want to know?” she asks me in between light kisses.

“Please. It's alright—it's just you and me here. I promise to you.”

“Okay—” She gives me another light kiss right on the bone and then she unzips my jeans. I can feel her poking around and I want to lift my head for a look but this is all about her at the moment.

“If you must pry, Michael inserted a—a chip of sorts into me.”

“A chip? What do you mean?”

“A cybernetic chip. He told me it was to keep tabs on me so I don't run away like Maya did.”

What the fuck.

“He stuck it there right in my chest—because he told me that's where I'm the most vulnerable. But—” I feel her fondling me. “—I took it right out. I don't want that—that—that shit—”

She groans in her throat. I close my eyes when I feel her lips on my head. She's got me.

Yeah. Yeah, she's got me alright!

“I don't want that shit in my body,” she whispers to me in a single breath.

“Under—Understandable,” I assure her. Her lips are soft and I know her mouth can go deeper, but this is unknown territory for me. It was one thing with Lupe, and it was one thing with Dominique. But she's got me with the mouth, and she's got another hand on my hipbone, fondling me down right there while getting me not even two inches from there. For some reason, feeling her touch my hip bone makes me think of that other band we saw in Seattle. Mother Love Bone, they were called. This girl is giving my bones some love.

I feel her tongue running down the side.

Oh, yeah, that's good.

She then gasps and gags on something. She chokes and lifts her head from me. She coughs and I raise my head for a look at her. Panting as if she had been running, she stares at me.

“Was that good?” she asks me, lunging herself onto the bed next to me.

“Yes! What'd you choke on?”

“I tried to go deeper, but I couldn't.” She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “I'm so sorry.”

“No, no, no, no, no, it's okay. I like it when you touch my hip—”

“You're so skinny—it's like caressing bones.”

“It's delicate, though. Like being tickled.” I then frown at her. “So he put a chip in you and tried to follow that way? Jesus.”

“Yeah.” Her face falls at the sight of my chest and my upper arms.

“You have to believe me,” she whispers to me.

“I do,” I assure her. But the truth is I really don't know what to believe at the moment after the fact she explicitly said she lied to us. For all I know, that scar could be from something else. But I don't know if she wants to continue.

[iris-writes-things]

Crazy, Millennial Love Story chapter 7

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut!

Keith knows what’s up when Shiro insists he should go to this ‘networking’ party at Allura’s place. He’s not dumb. But, on the other hand, making friends might not be such a bad idea at all. So with home made business cards in his pockets, and faux confidence on his face, he decides to tag along.

Chapter 7 of ? Ongoing 2202 words Modern/romance

“So, did Allura say anything about the people that’d be here?” Keith asked, nervously clutching his home made business cards in the pocket of his sweater. They stood in an elevator currently going up to Allura’s apartment, and he was getting second thoughts.

“She didn’t name any names…” Shiro mumbled as he thought for a second. “But I’m sure that if they’re Allura’s friends, they’re probably nice.” He said as he patted Keith’s back when the elevator came to a halt and the doors opened, practically pushing the boy out, up to the front door of Allura’s apartment.

“Okay, but this better be good.” Keith grumbled crankily as he rang the doorbell with a shaking finger.

“Keith, Shiro! You made it!” Allura beamed as she opened the door.

“Of course we did.” Shiro smiled.

Keith glared up at the other man, only now becoming aware of his ulterior motive. God damn it, he couldn’t believe he fell for Shiro’s ploy.

“Come on in, I think Hunk just started passing out his snacks.”

“Sounds like perfect timing to me.” Keith joked as he sneaked past Allura. He looked back as he walked through the small hallway. Whatever Shiro and Allura had going on between them should have been the most straightforward thing in the universe. Why did the two of them have to make things so much more difficult than they necessarily had to be? Better yet, why was Keith allowing himself to apparently a be pawn in a game that should be strictly between the two of them. Before he knew it, he reached the living room, where he walked right into something, or rather, someone huge. “Oof--”

“Hey man, are you okay?” A voice asked as Keith was carefully hoisted back up to his feet.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Keith mumbled, looking up at the other man. He had dark skin and even darker hair, held back with a yellow bandana. And he was big. A full head taller than Keith and twice his width, and even though there was a healthy amount of fat on his body, Keith felt that he had next to no difficulty picking him up.

“Good.” He smiled, carefully placing a tray of beautifully crafted snacks on the salon table.

“Uh, sorry I almost ruined your food...” Keith said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t worry about it, man. They’re all A-OK.” The man said, shooting Keith a reassuring smile. “What’s your name?”

“I’m, er, I’m Keith.”

“I’m Hunk. Nice meeting you.” He said enthusiastically. “That guy over there is Lance, and the kid is Pidge.”

Keith nodded and nervously waved at the others, who greeted him in return.

“And of course you already know Allura.” Hunk smiled as she and Shiro approached from the hallway.

“Yes, he does. Sorry we got a little distracted.” Allura chuckled, twirling her hair with her fingers.

“Yeah, of course you got ‘distracted’.” Keith said, giving her and Shiro a knowing smirk. “But seriously, don’t be. I can take care of myself.”

“As you beautifully demonstrated by walking straight into Hunk.” Pidge, the smallest of the group joked.

Keith smiled. Yeah. He could see himself making friends here.

***

“Okay, don’t say anything.” Lance said, taking a sip from his drink as Keith sat down next to him. “You’re in art school, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah… I was.” He mumbled. “How’d you guess?”

“You just seemed like the type. You don’t look old enough to have graduated already, though. What happened? Skipped a few years?”

“I haven’t. I dropped out.” Keith answered simply. “I had to skip class every other so I could work to afford my tuition. I realized that was pretty fucked up, so I just quit.” Keith knew Lance hadn’t asked to hear his tragic backstory, and God knew this wasn’t even half of it, but he supposed talking about it helped.

“Oh man… I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not like it’s your fault.” He smiled. “So, what do you do? You don’t even look old enough to be in college.” He asked as he took a swig from the beer Allura had given him very reluctantly after their adventure the weekend previous.

“My major is international tourism.” Lance said proudly. “I travel around a lot, so I get to go sightseeing, like, all the time. Though it’s much more fun to go looking for the hidden gems, like restaurants and just really pretty spots nobody would think to visit.”

“Really? That’s pretty cool. Maybe you can tell me where to go when I’ve finally got enough cash to to on an actual vacation.” Keith said, smiling more genuinely this time. Lance’s enthusiasm was infectious, and rubbed off on him quickly.

“By the way, do you do, like, wedding photography?” Lance asked out of seemingly nowhere. “I mean, Allura showed off the pictures you took of her and her new model, under embargo, of course, and just… I don’t know, they looked really romantic. Could you do something like that again?”

“Actually, I haven’t done weddings before, but I’m willing to try if you’re offering.” Keith said enthusiastically.

“Ah, you’re my hero! The photographer my sister hired bailed on us at the last minute.” Lance sighed in relief. “Are you free next Saturday?”

Keith pretended to think for a while. Between drinking and possibly getting high if he was lucky enough to get the boyscout out of the apartment somehow, Keith’s saturdays were usually devoid of plans. “Yeah, I’m free.” He nodded, handing Lance one of his wonkily cut business cards. “You can just text me the place and time, and I’ll make sure I’m there.”

“What about pay? How much do you charge?”

He’d had a week to prepare for this, and of all things, he had completely forgotten to so much as think about his prices. “Uh… You mentioned your sister already had a photographer, right?” He tried. Lance nodded. “She can just pay me what she was going to pay the other guy.” Keith said before deciding to finish off his beer, mentally giving himself a pat on the back for that save.

“Great! Then I’ll tell her she won’t have to go over her 3K budget.”

Keith choked on his beer.

***

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Shiro and Katie stood in the kitchen in a Mexican standoff. Shiro still frequently called and texted with Matt and yet, he had no idea his little sister was close friends with the girl of his recent dreams.

Katie, on the other hand, was well aware that Shiro had taken up modeling. After all, she was the one who had sent Matt the article Buzzfeed had written behind Shiro’s back. However, she hadn’t signed up for watching him and Allura being sickeningly sweet in the doorway earlier.

“You first.” Katie insisted.

“I’m here to chaperone Keith. Allura took us out for dinner last weekend, and Keith had way too much to drink.”

“That’s not all, is it?” She prodded, crossing her arms and cocking her hip.

“Well, it’s Allura… I mean, any excuse to spend more time with her is a good one.” Shiro replied simply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Your turn.”

“Allura is a friend of mine. She commented on one of my #CHOOTD once and we just kind of hit it off.” The teen shrugged.

“Hashtag CH… O… What?”

“Cryptid hunting outfit of the day.” She explained.

“Oh, yeah. Matt mentioned you liked stuff like that.” Shiro smiled. “Found any Bigfoots lately? Or… Bigfeet?”

Katie buried her face in her hands, muffling a frustrated scream. “I swear, you’re worse at this than my dad.”

“How come everyone calls you Pidge here?” The older man asked, all joking aside.

“My dad told me never to blog under my own name, because ‘stranger danger’,” she said, making big airquotes “so I used the nickname Matt made up for me as a pen name.” She then gazed away slightly as she mumbled, “I don’t know. I guess I like it more than ‘Katie’...”

Shiro had never made it to being a detective, but he knew full well when he wasn’t told the full truth. However, he also knew when not to keep prying, and Katie still looked uncertain about the situation.

“Well… Would you like me to call you Pidge from now on? No questions asked.”

Katie, no, Pidge smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Shiro.” She said with an excitement he hadn’t heard from her that entire night. “By the way, my mom said Matt and I could invite someone over for Thanksgiving leftovers next Saturday, so consider this your official invitation.”

“Wait, what? Why me?” He asked, brows knitted.

“Because you haven’t visited us for ages…” Pidge mumbled, her voice taking on a much more desperate tone. “You used to come over to our place all the time, but I’ve barely seen you since the accident. I know you still call and text Matt all the time, but it’s just not the same without you around. Honestly, we miss you…”

“Well…” Shiro tried, “can Keith come, too? I wouldn’t wanna leave him home alone while I help you guys finish up your mom’s delicious leftovers.” As much as he hated to admit it, the younger man had become somewhat of a security blanket to him. It wasn’t healthy, he knew, but there still were things he wasn’t ready to face on his own. Visiting the Holts being one of them. ‘The accident’, which he caused, he reminded himself, had cost their son his promising career as a city police detective. And while Shiro knew that neither Sam nor Colleen had it in them to actually do something to him, he still felt like he couldn’t look them in the eye for taking Matt’s dreams away from him.

“Yeah, of course.” The little girl smiled brightly from the accomplishment.

Their heads whipped around when Allura entered the room. “Pidge, your brother is here to pick you up.”

Pidge groaned, but started on her way outside anyway. She turned around in the doorway with a devilish smirk. “And Shiro, keep it PG while I’m gone.” She let out a hearty laugh as she watched the two flush immediately, leaving the other five behind in Allura’s apartment.

***

It was well past midnight when Shiro and Keith left Allura’s place, and with the Thanksgiving weekend quickly approaching, the city grew darker and colder by the day. They watched their breaths turn into foggy clouds as they walked the dimly lit streets back to their apartment. Shiro ducked further down into his warm coat until his thickly knit infinity scarf, courtesy of Allura, covered his ears, all while Keith seemed to be doing just fine in a hoodie and a leather jacket. That boy was just always on fire.

“Was that Matt’s younger sister? She changed a lot since we last saw her, didn’t she?” Keith asked, effectively snapping Shiro out of his daze.

“Yeah, she did. But she’s still Katie-- I mean, Pidge. She said she wants to be called Pidge.” He replied, still making a valiant attempt at regaining his composure.

“I guess she changed in more than one way then.” Keith mused. “Hey, I got a thing next Saturday, wanna join?”

“I was actually about to tell you the same thing.” Shiro said, feeling his heart growing heavy. If Keith wasn’t there, who would ground him if things went south with the Holts? “But you first. What’s your thing?”

“You remember Lance? The guy with the brown hair?” Keith asked.

Shiro nodded

“His sister is paying me three grant to take pictures at her wedding.”

Shiro couldn’t help but smile proudly at his younger roommate. “Hey, congrats on the job. I’m sure you can focus better on your photography without me around to bother you all the time.”

“Trust me, if you were a bother to me, we wouldn’t be living in the same apartment anymore.” Keith smiled, elbowing him in the side. “But tell me, what’s your thing?”

“Pidge invited me to their place to eat their Thanksgiving leftovers with them. But… I’m not sure I should go.” ‘Not without you.’ He added mentally, glancing down as he avoided eye contact with Keith.

The younger man was having none of it, though. He grabbed Shiro’s face on both sides, forcing him to look him in the eye. “Shiro, go. You’ve been avoiding them for years, even though they have no hard feelings against you. I can’t always be there with you if something happens, but you know the Holts and the Holts know you. This may be the ideal situation to help you try and take back a part of your life your PTSD has taken away from you. Trust me. Just go to their place, and you’ll see nothing has changed.”

“Promise?” Shiro asked, the tone in his voice and the look in his face only adding to the childlike nature of his question.

“Promise.” Keith smiled, patting the other’s cheek softly. “Tell you what. You bring home a slice of turkey for me, and I’ll try to weasel a slice of wedding cake home for you. Deal?”

“Deal.”

[nurseperriestyles-blog]

Commander Erwin Smith

A/N: Not gonna lie, I was pretty wine drunk while writing this, so I’m sorry.

--

It took a week and a half for Perrie to hear any news about Eren. In the meantime, she spent the days at the infirmary, working long, exhausting hours to keep her mind off of the situation.

She had come to terms with the fact that, somehow, Eren could turn into a Titan. She had struggled to wrap her mind around it for a while, but eventually, the thought didn’t terrify her..as much. She was still concerned with his health and well-being, however, and wondered what toll this would all take on him. She hoped that he was being well taken care of, wherever he was; though since he was in the custody of the Military Police, she highly doubted it, and that caused her a lot of anxiety and a sore lip.

She was scrubbing her hands raw after her shift when Willa, the other nurse on duty that night, pushed the bathroom door open with wide eyes.

“Commander Erwin Smith is in the lobby waiting for you.” Willa’s voice was urgent and hushed as if Erwin could hear through the walls. Perrie’s eyes went wide and they stared at each other in silence for several seconds, Perrie’s hands hanging over the sink, dripping with water.

“Like...the real Erwin Smith? In the flesh?” she whispered back.

Willa nodded, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing with the movement.

“Well, fuck me.” Perrie muttered, drying her hands off and exited the bathroom, Willa following close behind her.

Erwin Smith’s presence was large and intimidating; he seemed to take up the entire space he was in. He was much taller than Perrie, and the width of his chest seemed to be just as wide as she was tall. As she approached him, she studied his face and was slightly unnerved by the serious, stern look of it. It took her a few moments to realize that he was handsome, his seriousness simply distracted from it. He was like a human storm: imposing, strong, severe, something that refused to be ignored. Something that demanded respect nonetheless.

She didn’t even notice Captain Levi standing beside Erwin until she heard him scoff at her approach.

“Do you ever bathe?” he asked, eyeing her soiled smock. Perrie realized that the man had only ever seen her at her worst, after long, hard, hellish days.

“I do. Ya know, in between saving lives and healing people.” she bit back, raising her brows.

Levi simply stared at her, an unamused frown on his face.

She then looked at Erwin Smith and held her hand out and smiled.

“I just washed them,” she reassured him after seeing Levi scrunch his nose in disgust. Erwin took it with his own, engulfing Perrie’s dainty hand with his own rather large, strong one.

“I’m Erwin Smith, Commander of the Survey Corps. I’ve heard a bit about you, Nurse Styles, and thought I’d meet you myself.” Erwin smiled at her softly, but his eyes were calculating and studying her.

“Please, call me Perrie, sir.” she replied with a soft, polite voice. “Would you like to go to the breakroom so we can talk?”

Erwin nodded. “Sure. This won’t take long, but I’d rather do it away from--” Erwin looked around and locked eyes with Willa and another nurse, who were peeking curiously around a corner. They let out smalls squeaks and hurried away, their faces glowing red. Perrie bit back a smile and gestured for Erwin and Levi to follow her.

The breakroom was small, and it was hard to ignore Erwin’s imposing presence. It made Perrie a bit nervous as she sat across from him. Levi made her feel even more nervous as he stood to their right, leaning against the wall.

“Hange told me she met with you.” Erwin began.

“Yes, sir.” Perrie’s hands played with the hem of her smock as she tried to keep from fidgeting.

“She told me that you were adamant about staying by Eren Yeager’s side.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Commander Pyxis told me the same. He had a very interesting story about a foul-mouthed nurse that insisted she stay by Yeager no matter what, even if that meant going into Titan territory or in the middle of a battle.”

Perrie flushed red and averted her eyes, gluing them to her lap. She chewed her lip.

“Levi here told me you were, and these are his words, not mine, ‘a defiant brat with a tendency of sticking her nose where is doesn't belong.’” he chuckled softly at that and Perrie jerked her head towards Levi and scowled.

“I’ve met you twice!”

Levi shrugged. “I’m quite observant.”

Perrie fought the urge to roll her eyes and looked back at Erwin, who was smiling.

“So, I did some research on you.” he leaned back in the chair he was in and stared at her evenly. “Top in your class, head nurse, very intelligent, a quick thinker and a great team leader. Your superiors spoke very highly of you, as did Pyxis and Hange, from what they could tell about you.” he watched her reaction; she squared her shoulders and held her chin a little higher. Perrie was confident and aware of her accomplishments, she didn’t try to be shy or falsely humble. She worked hard to get where she was and she appreciated recognition.

“They did note, however, that you are easily frustrated, you overwork yourself to exhaustion, and your vocabulary is mostly explicatives.”

She deflated a bit. Perrie looked sheepish as she chewed her lip, hoping her flaws wouldn’t deter him from allowing her to assist Eren.

“With that being said, you’d probably fit right in with us.” he sounded amused and Perrie raised her brows in surprise.

“Why did you decide not to join the military, Perrie? We could use a mind and skills like yours.” he asked, and Perrie shook her head.

“I’d rather save the heroes than be the hero.” she responded.

“Too scared?” Levi teased, and Perrie looked right at him with a serious face.

“Yes, actually.”

Her honesty startled them both a bit, but neither showed it.

“Why do you think we should assign you to Eren Yeager?” Erwin asked after a moment of awkward silence.

“I’m very good at my job, sir, and there’s no telling what shifting will do to Eren physically and mentally. He’ll need someone to monitor him, heal him and help him. Plus, I’ve known him his whole life, and he trusts me more than he’ll trust some military man that just wants to open him up and take a look inside at what makes him tick. And Squad Leader Hange seems more scientific than medical.”

Erwin mulled over her answer before glancing over at Levi, who only shrugged again. He met Perrie’s eyes and leaned towards her, his hands clasped on the table.

“You’ll have to quit your job here.” he said, and Perrie nodded. “You cannot tell anyone where you are or what you’re doing. If, and it’s a big if, we gain custody of Eren, we’ll have to keep him somewhere secure and isolated from the population. You won’t be able to live at home anymore, and your visits to your family will be far and few between.”

That gave Perrie pause, and Erwin noticed her hesitation.

He watched the young woman chew on her lip, a nervous habit he noticed the second he saw her. He had been quite curious about her ever since Hange, Levi and Pyxis all spoke of her, but she seemed to be a perfectly normal woman. Her files were impressive, but not exceptionally so, there were plenty of talented nurses and doctors in the walls. She was soft-spoken and polite, just as Hange had described, and he had noticed her snippy side when she snapped at Levi, but she wasn’t nearly as vulgar as Levi said. He wondered if Levi had been exaggerating when he talked about her short temper and her sharp tongue.

He was mostly curious about the fierce loyalty and analytical talents that her teachers and employers had described. He needed minds like that in the Corps, and he was a bit disappointed that she hadn’t enlisted in the military.

“I’ll do it.” she said finally, and Erwin raised his brows as if to ask if she was sure. “Eren needs me, and I’m going to be there for him.”

Levi rolled his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. “Tch, another brat to babysit.” he grumbled.

Perrie bristled and shocked Erwin when she hissed, “I’m not a fucking child. I take care of myself.”

Erwin let out a laugh at the look on Levi’s face. “You know, Levi, I think I like her.” he said and Levi glared back at him. Perrie looked smug as she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair.

Erwin looked back at her and his face grew serious again. “Eren’s trial is tomorrow. Hange will pick you up at 9 o’clock sharp.”

“Yes, sir.” she said and he stood, offering her his hand once more.

“If all goes according to plan, we’ll get Eren back and you’ll join him after the trial. Pack your things tonight and say your goodbyes. I can’t make any promises when you’ll see your father again, and I can’t make any promises that Eren will even make it out of this alive.”

Perrie thought that Erwin was the kind of man that didn’t make any promises at all as she watched him walk out of the breakroom. She waved slightly at Levi as he strode past her, but he didn’t acknowledge her. She felt a bit bad that she always snapped at him, but his attitude and snide remarks pissed her off.

After they left, Perrie sat back down and sighed. The thought of not seeing Desmond felt like a knife to the heart, but she had to do this. Her father was safe and sound at home with his brother to keep him company, but Eren’s life was in too much danger for her not to be there, no matter how much she’d miss her father.

[creative-frequency]

Cinderelia Ch. 4: The Third Night

Rating: SFW Pairing: King!Noctis x OC-ish (Evelia Orelia as Cinderella) Categories: Romance

Previous Chapter

Evelia was making pancakes in the kitchen for a Sunday brunch, when Anastasia and Drisella stumbled into the room. Their hairs were all messed up from sleep and badly removed makeup was running from their eyes. When they noticed Evelia, they giggled and traded meaningful looks. Evelia tried to focus on the job at hand – Pouring batter on the skillet.

“Good morning,” she greeted her stepsisters politely.

“It was such a lovely evening yesterday!” Anastasia began as they sat down at the table; as usual, waiting for Evelia to serve them.

”Too bad you could not attend, sister,” Drisella said in a fake apologizing tone.

“Oh, you should have seen the grand ballroom! It was transformed into a magnificent theater!” Anastasia said in an overly excited tone, trying to taunt Evelia into asking more about the evening.

“Really?” Evelia said trying to feign interest. She turned the pancake over on the skillet.

“And the King!” Drisella said, prompting a cocked eyebrow to the stove from Evelia, “He is so pleasant! Oh, I wish we could have talked more, but he had to attend to other guests as well; wouldn’t fair for him to pick favorites.”

“And he is so handsome too! I’m sure he will ask us to dance tonight,” Anastasia chirped excited. They already seemed as if they had forgotten their half-sister’s presence at the room.

Evelia kept her face as blank as she could. Yes, it wasn’t fair of the King to spend most of the ball evening with just one of his guests. But in good conscience, Evelia could not complain. She had had a lovely evening, as Anastasia had put it.

The music had been wonderful, the food heavenly delicious and the company most charming. Talking with Noctis was easy and Evelia felt so comfortable in his company. She did not wish to spoil her dream come true with morbid thoughts of the future.

“Evelia, pass me the jam,” Drisella said in a commanding tone, waking Evelia from her daydreams.

Evelia grabbed the jam from the cupboard, not realizing the jar was not closed properly. As she turned with it, she almost tripped on her feet, making the jar fly in the air and hit the kitchen counter edge. All of its contents flew in red arc, landing on the floor, cupboard doors and Evelia’s face and clothes.

Anastasia and Drisella howled from laughter.

“Cinderelia is at it again!”

“Is it a new trend to make your clothes look stained?”

Evelia stared at the chaos around her and slowly wiped the jam on her cheek with her palm, making it smear even more on her skin. It tasted sweet on her lips, a small solace in the situation. How could someone like her even dream of Noctis? Everything she touched only became ruined.

“What is happening here– Evelia!” Their mother walked into the room, hands horrified on her mouth as she saw the mess in the kitchen.

“You clumsy girl! Clean this up immediately before the berries stain anything,” she commanded laying her hands on her hips.

Evelia swallowed her heavy feelings. “Yes, mother,” she said in a tiny voice and blinking her glazed eyes.

She took the rag at the sink and began swiping the sticky jam from the floor. Anastasia and Drisella were snickering and eating their pancakes cheerfully. Nothing could have made the start of their day better.

It took Evelia the better half of an hour to have the kitchen clean again. Her back was aching from the bending and her hands felt soggy and wrinkled from rinsing the rag. She was eager to get into the shower to wash herself too. The jam had begun drying up on her skin in sticky clumps.

Evelia dragged her feet from the kitchen, passing by the living room and catching her stepmother’s attention.

“Where do you think you’re going, Evelia? Is the kitchen clean yet?” she asked and wrinkled her nose at Evelia’s appearance.

“Shower, mother, and yes,” Evelia replied, motioning towards her dirty face and clothing.

“Wait until your sisters have showered first. You wouldn’t want them to go to the Citadel tonight without washing their hairs, would you?” Evelia’s dirty outlook seemed to amuse her stepmother.

Evelia let out a small sigh. “Of course not, mother. I’ll wait in my room for my turn then.” She turned to leave and her stepmother shot a catty look after her.

The water boiler was empty by the time it was Evelia’s turn to go wash up, so only cold water ran from the pipes. She showered as quickly as she could with as little as possible standing under the freezing water.

Miserable from the cold shower, Evelia went back to her room, biting her lip ruefully and shivering slightly. Hopefully she wouldn’t catch a cold.

As hours passed by towards the evening, Evelia’s heart was beating faster and louder. Her thoughts became again occupied with images of Noctis. What would he say when they met for the third time? Would they dance? Evelia had heard that the last ball evening would be again filled with dancing and apparently some speeches as the King had not yet given one.

Evelia’s thoughts also trailed towards the meeting with Gentiana. What kind of dress would she conjure for her today? It would probably be something very beautiful and outstanding as it was the last evening.

Evelia was spinning around and dancing in front of the mirror, when her stepmother stopped by the door to inform her that they were leaving now.

“Have a nice evening,” Evelia said suspiciously brightly, but there was no time for her stepmother to stay to inquire why she was in such a good mood. Considering the day’s events, Evelia should have been feeling irrevocably down. Her positivity was irritating and the light smile on her face made her stepmother sneer.

As soon as the front door shut behind Drisella, Anastasia and their mother, Evelia leaped down the stairs two at a time and hurried to the garden.

Gentiana stood there, under the maple tree, waiting for Evelia with a smile on her lips.

“Good evening, Evelia,” she greeted graciously.

“Good evening, Gentiana,” Evelia said a tad out of breath from the excitement.

“Are you ready?” Gentiana asked pacing slowly forward.

Evelia nodded, watching enchanted as Gentiana’s hands danced in the air, forming swirls and circles. The familiar blue glow gained some violet hues as it twirled around Evelia’s body. A hem grew out from her waist, widely sliding downwards and settling at a width that was over twice broader than her shoulders.

The neckline of Evelia’s shirt lowered and widened over her shoulders. Small pieces of shining gems sprouted to embed her waistline where the hem met the corset-like top. The evening gown was even more stunning and elegant than the two previous ones. It was a gorgeous light shade of lilac.

Evelia’s hair rolled on a graceful, braided bun and it became littered with small gems. Her shoes looked like basic high heels, but they were actually somewhat transparent and made of glass.

“Oh, it is beautiful!” Evelia sighed as she took a spin in front of Gentiana.

Gentiana only smiled and tilted her head on the side, looking very pleased with the handiwork.

“You have given me so much, I don’t know how to thank you,” Evelia said stopping.

“There’s no need for thanks. Go now, His Majesty is anxiously waiting for you.”

Evelia’s heart flipped at her words. She wanted to ask how Gentiana would know something like that, but decided to follow her advice instead and hastily leave for the Citadel.

Once again, Evelia arrived barely in time to see the beginning of the ball. Since it was the third and last night of the celebrations, the King was preparing to deliver a speech. The grand ballroom was once again mostly open space for people to mingle and dance, but there was a small platform at the end of the room that was exquisitely decorated.

Evelia walked into the ballroom, almost holding her breath. She looked around, not caring about the awed and curious looks she was already gaining due to her attire.

The decorations were once again in tones of the dawn in much contrast to the usual Lucian royal colors of black and silver. There were huge flower installations and golden vines snaked on the walls. Evelia wondered whether they had been done by magic. Surely there was nothing like that bright auric tone in natural plants.

People were happily mingling, already having met their new acquaintances from the nights before. Evelia felt a slight sting of regret – She had not really made any new friends. She had danced with some men on the first evening, but had not talked to them after that. Of course, that was because the King of Lucis had laid his eyes on her.

Nevertheless, Evelia had enjoyed herself on the ball and spending time with Noctis was surely a privilege. Even still, she knew she would weep afterwards as her princess experience would come to a permanent end. But now was not the time to think about that.

King Noctis walked over to the elevated platform. He waited for the chattering to quiet down.

“My dear Lucians,” he began with a steady, poised voice,” Thank you for coming tonight.”

Evelia paced slowly closer. All eyes were on the King now.

“The annual celebration of the Dawn break… was not my idea,” a smile tugged at the corners of Noctis’s lips and some laughing followed from the audience, “But seeing all of you here tonight, it makes my heart burst with joy. First, I’d like to thank my friends–, no, my brothers. I wouldn’t be standing here without them.”

The audience was all quiet. Everyone knew about the three brave individuals who had stood beside the King on his journey to save Lucis.

“Thank you,” Noctis said, his eyes piercing to where Gladiolus, Ignis and Prompto were standing. The three of them nodded. Prompto grinned and made Noctis smile in turn. He was thankful for the pre-warning he had gotten, because even with it, Prompto felt the emotions welling up in his eyes. Gladiolus shot an amused look at him.

The audience began applauding, with a few people carefully at first, but in no time the whole room joined in. Evelia was sure she saw Prompto wiping tears from his cheeks and Gladiolus patting his shoulder comfortingly.

Noctis had to swallow before continuing his speech.

”A King is nothing without his people.” He let his eyes wander around the room. “It was all of you who made this happen, my dear Lucians. I salute you, not as your King, but as a humble man, who owes everything to you,” Noctis said and tilted his head in bow, “Thank you.”

Again, applauding filled the room. People exchanged whispers. From what Evelia could hear, most of them were of impressed on behalf of the young King. She felt a kind of pride filling her. She was incredibly lucky having met him. Noctis was so kind and gentle soul. Lucis could not hope for a better king.

”The celebration of the Dawn break is for the people who loved everything and had nothing – Nothing, but their courage. Tonight is for you. Enjoy the ball and let us continue rebuilding Insomnia together.”

Noctis ended his speech with another short bow and exited the platform, escorted with applauds. After a short moment, excited chatter filled the ballroom once again and the orchestra began climbing on the stage behind the podium.

Evelia looked around to find even one familiar face, but she could not go far before someone already asked her to dance – One dance, then another and one more with another partner. Songs were going swiftly by on the dancefloor. Evelia was having fun, but her heart ached to meet Noctis, who was stuck with talking to the guests.

Noctis kept glancing at Evelia gliding and spinning around on the dance floor. Ignis had to more than once clear his throat or cough to remind him of the ongoing conversation. Evelia looked mesmerizing in her lilac dress. No other woman in the room could even be compared to her in Noctis’s mind.

As soon as the ambassador from Accordo turned to leave, Noctis was quick to excuse himself and make a beeline to Evelia. She was in the middle of a song with her third partner for the night already. The man yanked back from her in surprise of the King appearing and bowed deeply.

Evelia was going to open her mouth to say something in confusion, but then she heard Noctis’s soft voice.

“Mind if I steal her away?” he asked. His hand landed lightly on Evelia’s waist, making a pleasant shiver travel through her spine. The simple gesture felt so possessive, it made her heart kick wildly in an instant.

“N-not at all, Your Majesty,” the man stumbled backwards and left after bowing again.

Noctis took Evelia’s hand and let the other one already on her waist to circle on her side.

“Good evening,” Noctis said, his eyes fixated on Evelia’s. He could hardly contain his brimming smile.

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” Evelia said having equally hard time not to let her smile slip into a silly simper.

“Please–“

“Ah, apologies, Noctis,” she corrected with a glint in her eyes.

“How has your evening been?” Noctis asked and spun Evelia carefully around to the music, then he brought her back closer to his chest than she had been earlier.

“Oh, pleasant. Your speech was inspiring,” Evelia said, barely keeping her voice from hitching in her throat because of the newly found proximity.

“Thank you. Ignis thought it was quite short.” Noctis let out a quiet chuckle. His eyes were fixated on Evelia’s, guzzling on her beauty.

Evelia giggled. “He keeps you in strict check.”

“That he does. Or at least tries,” Noctis said.

“How do you like my shoes?” Evelia asked, removing her hand from Noctis’s shoulder to slightly lift her dress hem to show the incredible heels she was wearing.

“Are they made of… glass?” Noctis asked incredulously. He indeed had not seen shoes like that before and Evelia’s slightly silly actions made him laugh.

“I think so,” Evelia said sheepishly.

“They’re beautiful. Where can you get shoes made of glass?” Noctis asked genuinely curious.

“They were a gift,” Evelia confessed.

The gift’s peculiarity crossed Noctis’s mind, but he let the thought die down. He only wanted to focus on etching Evelia’s features to his memory. The shade of lilac from her gown made her skin glow. The small gems in her hair were twinkling under the crystal chandelier’s soft light, but they did not come even close to competing with the captivating brightness of her eyes.

Still, Ignis’s words echoed in Noctis’s ears.

“You would do well to try to meet some potential brides, Noct.”

What if he had already met? Not some, but someone. Noctis looked in Evelia’s eyes, so intensely that she blushed and had to avert her gaze.

“You are beautiful,” Noctis husked.

The light blush spread further on Evelia’s face. “Thank you,” she replied quietly, still not looking at the pair of enchanting blue eyes on her. “Could we go have some drinks, please? It’s really warm in here.”

“Of course,” Noctis said. He let his hand holding Evelia’s drop, but didn’t release his touch on her waist. He guided her gently away from the dance floor. Heads turned as they made their way forward and heated whispering followed them.

“He is with her, isn’t he?” Ignis asked from Gladiolus.

“Huh? Yeah, he is. Like glued,” Gladiolus replied. He had been keeping an eye on Noctis and Evelia dancing.

Ignis let out a thoughtful sigh. “Maybe it’s time I tried out the renovated dance floor.”

Gladiolus’s brows shot up at him. “With who?” he asked.

“Would you mind pointing me to Noct’s direction?” Ignis asked.

“Uh, sure. I’ll come with you.”

They walked up to the pair pouring glasses of punch for each other. Evelia was laughing sweetly at Noctis’s joke as she accepted the glass. The punch was surprisingly sweet and fruity, and Noctis told Evelia it was made of Leidean oranges.

“He has an incurable sweet tooth,” Ignis said, making the pair turn and leave their own little bubble where they had been immersed in.

“Good evening Your Majesty, My Lady,” Ignis greeted them with bows and Gladio followed suit.

“Evelia, this is Gladiolus Amicitia, my Shield,” Noctis presented.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Evelia chided and curtsied. Of course, she recognized Gladiolus from the café few days ago. A wave of anxiousness washed over her. What if he would recognize her? Would he tell Noctis that they had actually seen her in the café? How would the King react?

“The pleasure is all mine,” Gladiolus said with a smile.

“How has your evening been?” Ignis asked Evelia politely.

Evelia glanced at Noctis, feeling his gaze on her. “Oh, it has been wonderful, thank you. I’m so thrilled to dance again in this grand room. And as I understand, we have you to thank for most of the arrangements.”

“Just doing my duty,” Ignis said smiling, “Speaking of dancing, would you care to join me for a song or two? Of course, afterwards you have finished your drink.”

Noctis’s hand twitched on Evelia’s waist, but he kept the smile on his face.

“I would love to.”

Short moment of joyous chatting and emptied punch glasses later, Evelia took Ignis’s arm and guided them towards the dance floor.

Noctis looked after them, a bit sullen. Gladiolus poked his ribs with his elbow.

“She’ll be back soon. Iggy just wants to chat with her alone for a moment to see what kind of a woman she is.”

“I know,” Noctis mumbled and filled his punch glass again.

“Please warn me if we’re about to dance into the buffet table,” Ignis said with a charming smile.

“Will do,” Evelia promised and giggled.

Evelia led them to the side in the dance floor, where it was less crowded. Ignis was an excellent dancer, much better than Noctis. They glided effortlessly among the other pairs, not even once brushing accidentally to anyone. If Evelia had not known Ignis could not see the other dancers, she would not have ever been able to guess that he was blind.

“You are a skillful dancer, sir,” Evelia said. She was shy about looking at Ignis’s face and kept her eyes over his shoulder, making sure that they didn’t head towards the buffet table.

“Thank you. You dance elegantly yourself too, Miss.”

Ignis’s praise made a light pink blush rosy Evelia’s cheeks.

“You’re too kind. May I ask something?” Evelia said.

“Of course, what is it?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but how did you know it was me with His Majesty?” she said, truly curious of the answer.

Ignis chuckled and spun Evelia around before replying.

“Putting aside the fact that the King has taken quite the liking to you, your perfume is very distinguishable. Sweet, but still light and refreshing. Like a cool breeze in a field of flowers,” Ignis said.

“My perfume? Oh, I see… That is really impressive, sir!” Evelia laughed.

Ignis only smiled as a response. The scent moved something in his memories. How could it be possible that he had smelled that same perfume somewhere before? It had definitely been the exact same perfume on a woman, but Ignis could not bring the face into his mind.

“May I ask what do you do in the city?” Ignis said.

Evelia’s heart jumped. “Oh, I’m working to save for medical studies. I wish to become a doctor,” she explained.

“Really? Then I hope you the best of luck on your efforts,” Ignis replied, satisfied with the answer.

“Thank you, sir. If you don’t mind me asking, what are your duties as the royal advisor?” Evelia inquired.

A thoughtful expression passed through Ignis’s face. “Hm, let’s see… Mostly I just make sure the King attends to his meetings and takes care of his duties.”

Evelia giggled softly. “Sounds like a difficult job.”

“At times, yes. His Majesty can be quite good at avoiding things,” Ignis replied, “He also has the tendency to fall asleep during meetings.”

Evelia’s eyes widened and she thought that Ignis was joking, so she laughed.

“I hope this doesn’t sound impolite, but could you tell me about your family?” Ignis asked changing the subject. He was interested in knowing about Evelia’s background to make sure she was being honest with the King and not feigning her interest in him.

“Of course, sir. I live with my mother and my two sisters,” Evelia said, hoping to be vague enough with the information so she couldn’t be recognized.

“What about your father?”

“He passed away after we moved back to Insomnia,” Evelia explained. She had to blink to chase off the sudden wave of sadness.

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” Ignis said. Their dance halted for a moment as the orchestra ended the song.

“Thank you. I truly miss him, but I’m doing my best to follow in his footsteps to open my own clinic one day.”

Ignis bowed and Evelia curtsied before a new song began. Ignis laid his hand back on Evelia’s waist and they began spinning around. The tempo of the song was a tad faster this time, making speaking harder as they had to focus on the steps and keeping their breaths steady.

Ignis’s company was absolutely pleasant and Evelia thoroughly enjoyed dancing with him. She though that he was a curious man: while he was blind, there was absolutely no question that he knew exactly where they were situated on the dance floor. It made his joke about colliding with the buffet table coming true impossible.

During their short conversation, Ignis saw absolutely no reason why Noctis would not have been completely taken in with Evelia. She was a lovely woman and Ignis’s instinct was telling him that her intentions were completely pure. An air of gentleness surrounded her, making her delightful company. Even Ignis found himself drawn towards wanting to incite more of those melodious laughs to bubble from her.

Ignis’s thoughts were interrupted as the song neared to its end.

“Thank you for the dance, sir,” Evelia said and curtsied.

“The pleasure was all mine. Would you do me the favor of guiding me to His Majesty?” Ignis asked.

“Of course, let us go find him together.”

While Ignis and Evelia danced, Noctis was doing his best to avoid in getting caught up in any other than idle pleasantries. Gladiolus followed at his heels, amused at the way Noctis was constantly stealing glances at the dance floor.

“Noct, you need to chill a bit,” he said and placed his hand on the King’s shoulder.

“Uh, I know,” Noctis said and brushed him off. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at Evelia and Ignis again.

“Someone’s got it bad,” Gladiolus chuckled.

Noctis glared at him quickly and turned to jovially greet the next guests wanting to have a word with him.

When Ignis and Evelia finally emerged from the dance floor, Evelia’s cheeks were red and she was fanning her face while laughing at the joke Ignis had told her.

Noctis hurried to take Evelia’s arm and got an upraised brow from Gladiolus in reaction.

“Why don’t we go out in the balcony for a moment?” Noctis suggested, eager to be rid of his following.

“Yes, please. Some fresh air would be nice,” Evelia consented. “Gentlemen,” she curtsied to Ignis and Gladiolus.

Noctis led her to the same balcony they had been in on the first evening of the ball. Evelia leaned on the railing and once again admired the city lights. She would never grow bored of the magical sight. Every day more and more lights were lit in Insomnia to compete with the bright stars – It was like a sea of bright red and yellow dots, blinking intermittently.

“Will you miss them?” Noctis asked, taking in Evelia’s profile under the starlight.

“What do you mean?” Evelia asked and turned to look at Noctis with widened eyes. Her hands lay on the cool railing and a light gust of wind was generously fanning her face.

Noctis smirked. “The stars. When the city is fully rebuilt, you won’t be able to see them down from the streets because of the light pollution,” Noctis said softly.

Evelia tilted her head to once more gaze in the sky. “I will, but I know that so many more important things will come from those new lights that outshine the stars.”

Noctis stared at her. “But yet again, you outshine all the stars and lights in the city tonight.”

“You’re making me blush,” Evelia murmured, “I’m really not that special.”

“Yes, you are,” Noctis lifted his hand to caress Evelia’s cheek. His fingers were shaking slightly.

Evelia’s mouth opened to gape at the gesture. Noctis’s touch was not at all unpleasant, but the sensation on her skin was gone before she really had the chance to enjoy it.

“Besides the obvious fact that you’re the most beautiful woman in the whole Insomnia tonight,” Noctis began, making Evelia blush even rosier, “You’re wearing shoes made of glass and a gown that puts all the visiting foreign dignitaries and rich nobles to a shame. You’re kind and gentle, and I can’t understand how I am so lucky that you decided to attend this ball. Even less, how you are with me right now,” Noctis summed up.

“You’re too kind,” Evelia said and managed a nervous giggle. She had to really struggle to keep her eyes from diverting away from the King’s. The enchanting sapphire blue pair had a soft look in them as they regarded her. “I am truly the lucky one here. I would have never even hoped to meet you, much less spend time with you like this.”

“We could probably debate about this endlessly,” Noctis said with a low chuckle.

“Yes, we could, but that doesn’t make your company any less desired,” Evelia confessed.

“Very well then, let’s talk about something else. Please tell me more about yourself,” Noctis asked.

Eve was taken aback by the simple plea. During the course of the few evenings they had spent together, she had made sure that she shared as little as possible of herself. But now, in front of that direct question, what on Eos could she tell about herself? She worked in a café, and at home she was practically a servant girl to her step-siblings. She had nothing in her life that the King could possibly be interested in. If there was something noble about her life, maybe it was her dreams.

“You said you wanted to become a doctor?” Noctis continued, since Evelia was still wondering about what to say.

Evelia studied the King’s warm expression. She let out a small sigh, hesitating to say her next words. “I wish to open my own practice in the future, after I have concluded my studies. A place where even the most poor could come to be treated.”

Fortunately, Noctis decided to ask more about that subject instead of pursuing his first question.

“That is admirable. So have you made any concrete plans yet?” he said genuinely curious. It was no wonder someone like Evelia would want to use her skills to help people instead of for gaining personal wealth.

“Not really. It’s only a far-away dream still,” Evelia said, her moment of distress having passed by the effect of Noctis’s warm smile.

“Is that so? Maybe we could talk about that in length someday,” Noctis said.

Evelia smiled and stared into those sapphire blue eyes. A tender feeling was rolling inside her and it made her lips curl into a simper. The King of Insomnia had just subtly suggested meeting her again. Just to hear those words from him was more than she could have ever hoped for.

Noctis gazed back at Evelia, and his eyes fell on her lips that were curling into a sweet smile.

Oh by the Six, he wanted to kiss her. To feel that soft, warm skin against his, to make her smile and laugh, to hear all about her hopes and dreams and to have her in his arms. He wanted to make her his forever.

In that moment Noctis Lucis Caelum, King of Lucis, realized that, as Gladiolus had said, he had it bad. Really bad.

“Your Majesty,” Ignis’s demanding voice pulled Noctis and Evelia away from their dreamy stares.

Noctis cleared his throat and watched Evelia snap away from her thoughts. They had been leaning towards each other unconsciously.

“The envoy from Lestallum would like to have a word with you,” Ignis said.

Evelia was grateful in that moment that Ignis could not see them – All blushed and hearts racing. Her next thought was to reproach herself for even thinking that Ignis being blind was something she had the audacity to be thankful of.

“I’ll meet you at the elevators in five minutes,” Noctis whispered in Evelia’s ear, his breath tickling her skin.

Evelia nodded, wondering what he had meant. Ignis and Noctis left the balcony, and a moment after them, she too went back to the ballroom.

After Noctis saw Evelia slip away from the party, he stopped Ignis by gently patting his arm.

“I forgot something outside. I’ll be right back.”

He hurried to the balcony and after making sure no-one was looking, he summoned his sword in his hand. Noctis peered up at the next floor balcony which would lead into some guest salon, if he remembered correctly.

He plunged the sword high into the air and disappeared in a blue flash and a pop that earned some curious, but late looks from the ballroom.

Ignis was impatiently tapping his foot on the floor, when Prompto walked up to him.

“Have you seen Noct? Cid is finally here and he is waiting–” Prompto saw Ignis’s vexed look, “What’s wrong?”

“Do me a favor and go check if His Majesty is outside on the third balcony,” Ignis asked, barely restraining his voice when he could guess the answer.

Prompto came back soon. “Nope. Not over there. Why?”

Ignis let out a deep sigh. “You might need to tell Cid that he will be received at a later time by His Majesty.”

After leaving the ballroom, Evelia walked curiously to the elevators. She wondered what Noctis had in mind. She was looking at the grand hall entrance to see when he would walk out of the room, but a soft chime of one of the elevators pulled her attention.

Noctis peered from the elevator and motioned for her to come inside.

Evelia’s brows shot up. She took a quick look around to make sure no-one would notice and slipped inside.

Noctis stared at her, slightly out of breath. Adrenaline was rushing in his veins and he was mentally trying to calm himself down.

“H-how?” Evelia asked astonished. She had been looking at the grand hall entrance for the whole time and not seen him move past her.

“Just a bit of magic,” Noctis smirked and flashed his keycard after pressing the correct button.

Evelia blinked in wonder. They exchanged a few nervous glances and giggles.

“Where are we going?” Evelia asked when the elevator stopped a moment later.

Noctis took her hand and escorted her out. “Somewhere where we can talk without being interrupted,” he replied.

Before their eyes opened the magnificent Citadel garden. Evelia had to inhale sharply at the incredible sight. All kinds of flowers were blooming, their delicate scents twirling in the air. Some of them were small and grew in clusters; others were big with only that one flower blooming from the plant. Tall bushes circled around the garden, hiding it from eye-level sight. In the middle of it all was a rather wide fountain.

“It is beautiful!” Evelia breathed. In her eagerness to explore the garden, she hurried ahead, stopping to smell a few tall flowers.

Noctis paced after her, chuckling. Seeing her genuine joy made his heart tighten – How would it be like to see that smile every single day?

Evelia turned to look at Noctis. He was going to tell her again how beautiful she looked and how she left all the flowers blooming in the garden in her shade, but the words hitched in his throat. She looked captivating, magical and Noctis was really irrevocably enamored with her.

Evelia walked back to him and put her arm around his. They began pacing slowly forward with no rush to anywhere.

“Please tell me a story from your journeys,” Evelia asked.

“Hm? I’m sure there are other topics you’d rather talk about,” Noctis said after clearing his throat.

“What kind of monsters did you have to fight?” Evelia was not discouraged. A light of excitement lit up in her eyes and her grip on Noctis’s arm tightened as they strode onward.

Noctis sighed and a smile played on his lips.

”Very well then… Let me think,” he said.

There were so many stories Noctis could have told Evelia from their journey. The beginning of their journey was a story in itself since their car had broken down practically immediately they had stepped outside Insomnia. He wanted to tell about all those times Ignis had concocted a new recipe in the middle of a heated battle, or when Prompto had wanted to stop the car to take a photograph of something.

They had fought so many kinds of monsters and daemons on their journey, that Noctis could probably not even remember all of them anymore had he tried. There was the time they had freed the Chocobo Post in Duscae from a huge behemoth threatening the chocobos. Noctis wanted to tell Evelia how they had been granted access to the chocobo races after that, and how he had easily won his companions, even though Ignis had been surprisingly good at riding the huge, yellow birds.

Thinking about all those memories made Noctis stare quietly into the distance.

“I apologize, I shouldn’t have made you–“ Evelia began nervously, when he had not said anything after a full minute.

“No, it’s quite alright. Would you like to hear about the time we went on a hunt for a huge, monstrous bird called the Bennu?”

“Oh, yes please!” Evelia listened to Noctis’s words intently. His voice was mellow and his tone soft. The pleasant memories showed as a brimming smile on his face and his expressions were more animated than Evelia had seen before as he kept telling the story.

“Then it finally took off from the ground, so I had to go after it.”

“You can fly?” Evelia gasped.

Noctis laughed at her reaction. “Not really fly fly, but it’s a part of the magic that goes down in the Lucis Caelum line.”

Evelia stared at him in awe. “I would love to hear more about your magic,” she murmured softly.

“I could tell you some other time,” Noctis said smirking.

Evelia nodded eagerly, but her heart sank a bit. This was already the second time that Noctis had suggested that they could meet again after the celebrations were over. How could he possibly have any other intention than being kind to her? Maybe he even hoped that Evelia wouldn’t ever take the chance? She was just lowly café worker after all. She could never have a life with the King. The thought of having to watch him falling in love with someone of noble birth or get married was devastating. Spending more time with him would only work to make Evelia more miserable later, when they would eventually have to part.

She had only this moment – This one last evening of playing the princess before returning to her everyday life. Evelia decided she would do everything in her power to make her dream of becoming a doctor come true. That would require a lot of effort. Maybe working two jobs and hiding her income from her greedy step-family. She could do it.

Then maybe, just maybe, she would feel worthy enough to approach Noctis again.

They sat down on the edge of the quietly purling fountain. Evelia smoothed the wrinkles on her dress hem and turned her head to look at Noctis. He wore a gentle and genuine smile as he regarded her quietly. Hesitantly, he raised his slightly trembling hand to cup Evelia’s face.

“I could stare at you all night,” Noctis breathed and stroked her jawline with his fingers. An endearing shade of light pink flushed her cheeks.

Evelia let her eyes fall down. She leaned her head lightly against Noctis’s touch. His fingers descended to tilt her face up by her chin. He shifted, moving closer to Evelia.

She could barely breathe. Her fingers found Noctis’s hand resting on the marble surface, shyly intertwining them together. He leaned in closer so slowly that Evelia would have ample time to withdraw if she found his advances unwanted. Their eyes searched each other in timid longing.

Noctis’s scent filled Evelia’s head as his breath tingled on her skin. She was frozen still, waiting to feel the touch on her lips. She closed her eyes.

Evelia winced at the sound of series of blasts, and Noctis yanked back, his gaze shooting towards the sky where bright red and yellow flares made the stars seem pale.

“It’s the fireworks,” he said and let out a breathy chuckle. What a timing.

Evelia inhaled sharply. The fireworks were supposed to start at midnight. She had to leave immediately! She pulled her hand from Noctis’s and stood up.

“I’m sorry, I need to go!” Evelia uttered in despair and dashed towards the elevator. Noctis didn’t have time to react with words at her sudden actions. It took him three confused seconds too long to jump up and hurry after her.

The elevator they had arrived by was still in the floor and Evelia slipped in it, repeatedly pressing the button to close the doors before the King would follow her. Noctis was left to bash the elevator call button in disbelief and worry for what had come over Evelia.

Evelia ran across the entrance hall and stumbled at the top of the stairs. She kicked the glass shoes off her feet, so she wouldn’t trip or stumble anymore.

It was over now for her part. She could only wait for the reality of Monday morning to hit her. Maybe she could sometime catch a glimpse of the King to admire him from afar.

By the time Noctis squeezed through the barely open elevator doors and warped through the hall, Evelia was already gone. He jogged the stairs down, trying to see where she had disappeared.

“Is everything in order, Your Majesty?” one of the guards at the root of the stairs asked.

“Did you see where the woman went who left the Citadel just now?” Noctis asked still looking to every possible direction.

“A woman?” the guard asked astounded.

“Yes, wearing a lilac dress.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty. None of tonight’s guests have passed through here.”

Noctis plodded the stairs back up, disappointed. Then he noticed the glass shoe resting on the stone surface. He hurried to pick it up.

“This is Evelia’s,” he murmured to himself. He kept the shoe tightly in his hand and went back inside to find his advisor.

“Ignis, I need to find one of the guests,” Noctis said resolutely.

“Oh, who did you lose?” Gladiolus asked as he happened to be talking with Ignis when the King arrived.

“Evelia.”

“Already? You owe me money, Ignis,” Gladiolus said chuckling, “You’re hopeless, Noct.”

Noctis wrinkled his nose annoyed. “She just… left.” A wave of sadness and despair washed over him. Had he really done something wrong? Had he misread so badly her signals and scared her off with his unwanted advances?

“And did you do something to scare her away?” Ignis asked cocking an eyebrow.

Noctis blushed. “Never mind that. I need to find her.”

“Well, that should be easy as the Council Secretary’s office has the addresses of all guests. What’s her last name?” Ignis asked.

“Uh…”

“You didn’t ask her name?!” Gladiolus howled.

“How was I supposed to know she would slip away from me just when we… were about to–, uh, nothing,” Noctis’s voice trailed off into an uncomprehend mumbling and he blushed furiously. Gladiolus laughed and Ignis let out an exasperated sigh.

“Very well, Your Majesty. We’ll find her, though it might take some time to go through the whole guest list.”

“What’s that you got there? Is it a shoe?” Gladiolus asked nodding towards Evelia’s heel in Noctis’s hand.

“Yeah, it’s hers. She dropped it,” he explained.

“She dropped her shoe running away from you? And didn’t even bother to return to pick it up? This is hilarious,” Gladiolus was laughing with tears of joy rolling down on his cheeks.

“Shut up, Gladio,” Noctis muttered.

“You know, now that I think of it, she did look familiar,” Gladiolus said slowly, rubbing his chin after calming down.

Noctis’s brows shot up. “From where?”

“Uh, you remember the café we went to the other day? She looked just like the clerk who served us there.”

Noctis stared at the glass shoe with a blank face. Could it really be? Now that he thought about it, there had been something familiar about Evelia, but since he met dozens of new people every week, or sometimes even in a day, he had paid no mind to the feeling. Maybe he should have.

He would definitely need to visit that café again.

Next FINAL Chapter

[matchaball]

wip updates

It’s been a long while since I’ve updated a lot of my fics, but I am working on them! I’m working on multiple fics at the same time so even though the going’s been slow, it’s been steady for all of them- which means at some point, I’m going to be dropping a bunch of fic updates at once haha. But in the meantime, I thought I’d give some wip snippets for any of those interested :) 

inking indigo

“Adrien and I binged through all of Lord of the Rings this weekend,” Nino explains. He reaches up to rub tired eyes, knocking his glasses askew in the process. “The extended versions, too. I totally forgot so many details in the movies. Did you remember that orcs are born from that gross goopy mud? Although, speaking of…”

He snags a used mixing bowl and collects a chunk of cookie dough with the swipe of his finger. He looks at Marinette and pauses, a finger in his mouth and an uncomfortably knowing twinkle in his eye. “Are you wearing Adrien’s apron?”

“Don’t insult my baking like that,” Marinette evades, trying to laugh the jibe about orc goop off instead of answering his sharp observation. “Especially if you’ve just come here to mooch.”

“I would never,” Nino deadpans, bringing hand over his heart in mock hurt. As if he didn’t spend most of his childhood and adolescence gleefully chowing down every treat Sabine and Tom always left for him, Alya, and Marinette to consume after school.  He quirks a smile. “You’re definitely wearing Adrien’s apron. It’s got the flowershop logo on it.”

Marinette’s cheeks heat up and she hastily stands and bustles to the sink, grabbing a dirty mixing bowl to scrub clean.

“I just haven’t had the chance to return it to him,” she defends, not meeting Nino’s eyes. His gaze is always the one that catches her unaware, at times she never expects so can never prepare for. “And it’s the only clean apron I’ve got at the moment.”

“Uh huh.” The dryness of Nino’s tone isn’t one she can fight against. Sometimes, Marinette thinks he knows her weak spots better than even Alya. He softens and relents. “Though speaking of, Adrien asked me to bring this back to you.”

He nudges the basket on the countertop with his elbow, uttering a soft “Oh shi-” as he accidentally knocks a shortbread turtle off the edge. He catches it just by the tip of his fingers as he lunges for it, saving it from a crumbly demise upon the floor.

Marinette pauses, bowl and sponge dripping from her hands, before setting them both down in the sink absentmindedly and wiping her hands dry on her apron. A small sound of surprise escapes her as she draws the basket towards her, finding it heavier than she expected.

NIno comes up, turtle in hand, and watches expectantly.

The lid folds back under Marinette’s hands, and a soft sea of blue and purple lupines greets her. She plucks a single stem up, watching as the tall spike waves up with the weight of the numerous blooms spiraling around the long stalk. The blooms at the tip remain closed still, still green and growing, graduating into full bloom towards the other end of the stem. Marinette’s fingers hover over the fully opened flowers at the bottom, just shy of touching a violet rich and vibrant enough to taste.

She lowers the flower to place on the countertop and changes her mind halfway, tucking it instead into the pocket of her apron. When she closes the lid of the basket, her hands are shaking. All the questions she’s wondered since the day she met Adrien, all the new information gleaned from her mother, and all the mashup of her emotions churn in her mind, whirling faster and faster and faster until-

“He bugs me,” Marinette blurts out.

ninette companion piece to @tides-miraculous‘ incredible art! (part 1/?)

When the footsteps of the couple have faded from her hearing, she slings her yoyo out and chooses to drop neatly down to street level to start heading back home. The immediate urge to detransform is strong- she appreciates that she can leave Ladybug behind when there isn’t a need for her- but the veritable cityscape of responsibilities, deadlines, and questions waiting for Marinette back home stop the necessary words from rolling off her tongue. They stop her slow walk down the street altogether, and Ladybug’s not quite sure where to go.

She wonders if Chat ever feels like this- like he’s adrift in his own skin, like he's a little...

“Lost?”   

The familiarity of the voice is the only thing that stops Ladybug from whirling around and giving a good roundhouse kick to the head, except it's not Chat that she sees as she turns around, but Nino.

“Yes?” she automatically answers, then backtracks to his initial question. “Wait- no… umm, maybe?”

Being unbalanced by surprise has her sounding much more like flustered Marinette than confident Ladybug. Something in her face must've shown, because Nino doesn't comment on it despite his pause of confusion. He blinks once, twice, then shrugs.

“Well, I’m going to be hanging out here for a while if you want company,” he says. He looks at her for another moment before offering a small smile. It’s an invitation as he walks to a nearby bench and settles himself comfortably down beneath the low light of the streetlamp.

She doesn’t want to stay on among the rooftops, but she doesn’t feel like going back just yet either so- maybe here is where she’s supposed to be.

Nino’s eyes are dark, and kind, as Ladybug steps up and joins him on the bench.

follow the running stitch 

“You've been watching those detective TV shows again,” Marinette groans.

“What's a journalist but a detective?” Alya shoots back, laughing at her friend’s disgruntled expression. “Besides, if you're going to make a guess, you might as well make it an interesting one.”

“An informed one hopefully, oh great reporter of the world.”

“Then it’s no longer so much a guess, as it is practically a fact.”

“Extrapolation, Alya. Isn’t that the point of investigative journalism? To dig and dig until you uncover every dirty little secret?”

“Only the truth, dear Watson. Only the truth.”

The look Marinette shoots her at the nickname is entirely dry and unamused, but Alya merely plucks the macaron left on the plate between them and pops it pointedly it in her mouth, her eyes crinkled in wicked humour. The pleasant chatter of the café’s patio around them falls away as Marinette gives in and rolls her eyes, a grin tugging up despite herself.

“Well your truths aren’t helping me draw anyone properly so help a girl out?” The flip of her sketchbook’s page is Marinette’s version of a sigh. Her pencil skates to the corner and stands poised, waiting to try again.

replay, rewind, restart (naruhina, soulmate au)

It would rip her apart, to lose her soulmate. She could feel it too, how it would break him.

“Don’t scare me like that again ok?” He pulled back just enough so she could see his eyes again, the memorable blue of them. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, calloused thumbs shaking as they stroked over her cheekbones gently, reverently, passing over the bandages that covered her temples. “I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

It had been her choice, to intervene with the gunman. Hinata would do it again, if the situation called for it once more, and she knew that she couldn’t make a promise that she wasn’t sure she could keep.

She realized it then. How having your soulmate didn’t mean also having forever with them. There was never a guarantee of a happy ending. There would always be fears to face, realities to answer to, choices to make. What Kiba had told her long ago didn’t seem so true here; Hinata couldn’t see the strength in the choices she might have to make, not when it meant leaving a shattered heart. There was just pain, and a bittersweet seed of hope that those choices may never come to pass.

“I…” Hinata started, because she knew she should say something. The words weren't there- but he was.

Her hands lifted up to wrap loosely around his wrists before skimming down powerful forearms tanned by the sun. Her fingers stretched wide open as she reached his broad shoulders, but they still couldn't span the solid width of them. He swallowed, throat working as she slid her hands down the great expanse of his chest. She mapped him, feeling the unconquerable strength of him tremble beneath her gentle touch. Within the fighting beat of his heart, she found her words.

“I'll try,” Hinata promised.

His answering smile broke over his face like a rising sun, dazzling and breathtaking. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek, her nose, her lips, anywhere and everywhere that he could reach, drinking her in with unchecked emotion.

Hinata leaned into his embrace. Fear would make a fighter of her, but his love, this happiness was worth it.

“Hey,” he whispered softly at the end, his shining blue eyes the last thing she remembers. “You're the bravest person I know.”

naruhina drabble prompt (music au)

They make a stunning trio, dressed in formal black that soaks up the dark ink of their long hair. Their eyes shutter down towards their respective instruments, concentrating on the vibrato of the cello, the hum of the viola, the trill of the violin- and even though Naruto doesn't know much about classical music, he knows that they are very good.

Still, the pieces they play are very long and honestly a little tiring to listen to considering his minimal interest in classical music. Despite his best intentions, Naruto dozes off.

He swears, he only closed his eyes for a second but suddenly Tenten’s kicking his shins and the audience has surged into a roar of applause. Guilt springs Naruto to his feet and he cheers with all the heart and volume that had been denied to him before.

He can see Neji rolling his eyes at him, no doubt unfooled by his enthusiasm. The girl with the violin clasped in front of her smirks with wicked humour and Naruto gets the distinctive impression that he's become the butt of a joke.

The cello practically hides the other young woman on the stage but Naruto’s eyes flicker over to hers as she stands and bows. As she straightens, her long inky hair slides back from her face like curtains, revealing warm lavender eyes staring directly at him.

Maybe it's because her eyes had been hidden from view the whole time as she played before, maybe it’s because her countenance had been so unassuming before, but the open sincerity of her gaze now strikes him like a blow. The look of gentle amusement she gives him trips his heart and he can’t say why his face suddenly grows too warm. Even when she looks away to take in the rest of the crowd that’s starting to die down, he’s still clapping, still staring.  

“What d’you think Naruto?” Ino elbows his side. He totally misses the sly edge of her grin, the knowing tease in her voice. Something about the look from the cellist lingers in his mind like a note he’s trying to catch, and even though he can’t remember what he listened to, he knows there is something about that performer that makes him feel.

“...whoa,” he breathes.

[wp-yahoo-style-1042-yahoopa-blog]

You won't believe how this woman transforms college dorm rooms into palatial palaces

Plastic drawers and beanbag chairs are no longer the norm for dorm room décor. Now it’s all about flufflier-than-clouds beds, custom cabinets, and busts — seriously. The sudden maturity in dorm room décor is in part thanks to a woman named Dawn Thomas.

“I started decorating in 2002 just for friends. My children’s rooms were in the newspaper,” Thomas, owner of After Five Designs Art and Interiors, tells Yahoo Style. “I would do a little bit here and there. It was a hobby.” Today, more than just her kids’ dorm rooms are making news. Her work has been featured in Teen Vogue, on the Today show, and in Southern Living. And for good reason. We’ve never seen such chic and unique décor in such a tiny space. You don’t even notice those basically Styrofoam tiled ceilings and cinderblock walls.

SMU Dorm #afterfivedesigns #afterfivedesiggnsdorm

A post shared by After Five Designs (@afterfivedesigns) on Mar 10, 2017 at 6:20pm PST

College students from all over the country call After Five Designs to do their rooms. And she adds and finds things we thought would be impossible to put in a dorm room — including extra-narrow headboards, chic desk chairs, and even coffee tables. Thomas’s rooms are colorful and full of personality, thanks to monogrammed pillows, velvet desk covers, antique mirrors, and one-of-a-kind art.

This is her second job. “That’s why it’s called After Five Designs,” Thomas explains. She still considers it a hobby. “I take vacation time to do dorm rooms or go to market. It’s truly a hobby.” That said, she’s not going it alone — she’s got a whole team of dorm decorators.

Thomas says she’s contacted by both parents and students, but usually what happens is that girls see her work and show it to their moms, who then call and hire her.

And she does way more than decorate. “We’re installers,” Thomas says. “The students ship me their clothes and everything. We show up with their towels, shower caddies, underwear. They don’t have to move anything in.” Imagine arriving as a freshman to one of these rooms — the anxiety would melt away as you fell onto your very own feathery bed.

“The rooms that turn out the prettiest are the ones who let me do my thing,” she says. “They’ll tell me what their favorite colors are, but they’re not showing me an exact picture of a room I did last year that they want a copy of.”

Dorm Room Time last year we helped with a USC room, Michigan there are no limits. We do the next year condos as well. If we can't be there we will help you every step of the way. But this year #Afterfivedesigns Dorm is offering 2 retail locations 1 at Mustard Seed and 1 in dsquared on the Square, can ship to any location. Everything I use in my rooms will be available for purchase at these locations, you can special order and order online. During orientation I will have a designer intern @janedecleva available for questions you can schedule your appointment by emailing us We also will feature a new line that fits all price ranges email: Afterfivedesigns at dt5946@aol.com email if you would like a consultation and go to Facebook AfterFiveDesigns Dorm for new things that are ready for purchase and updates. #olemissdorms #smudorms #alabamadorm #alabamauniversity #rhodescollegedormlife #georgiauniversity #mississippistate #southernmississippi #dormdecor #dorm

A post shared by After Five Designs (@afterfivedesigns) on Feb 5, 2017 at 9:01am PST

We know what you’re thinking. Sure, you can have this … if you or your parents have deep pockets. But Thomas promises that is not how her business works. “I charge a flat fee. Then they pay the price of the product and the fee for storage and getting it moved.” And she’s not shopping at only high-end retailers. She relies on places like Amazon, Overstock, Etsy, Home Goods, Target, and One Kings Lane.

“When people write these mean comments, like ‘You must have all this money’ and all that, they don’t know what they’re talking about!” Thomas insists. “That’s just not true. I’m paying the same thing for the fluffy rug that they’re paying. It’s not cheap, but if they go into any dorm room décor place and order stuff, our dust ruffles cost the same.” She also points out that decorating a dorm room can have a hefty price tag no matter who does it and makes a case for why she might be your best bet.

“I know what I’m doing — I’ve been doing this 11 years,” she says. “I know ways to do it cheap.” One of her tricks is recycling. “A lot of the stuff can be used over again the next year,” she says. She creates rooms for the same girls year after year, using some of the stuff they had the previous year so as not to incur extra costs. “Most of my girls stick with me. I’d better be invited to most of their weddings,” she says. “And even if I don’t do their rooms, or physically walk in their room, they call or text me and want my advice, and I give it to them free because they’ve become like my children.”

Wow! On Today.com twice in a week no words but to say Thank you! I started decorating dorm rooms as a hobby,it soon turned into a 2 month business using Paid Time Off from a full time job to go on the installs. It is a subject with many opinions but I think it's all about making a beautiful space to leave your child for their next step in life. Please read article. Thank you so much for the support. #manysleeplessnights @afterfivedesigns @todayshow

A post shared by After Five Designs (@afterfivedesigns) on Aug 23, 2016 at 7:26am PDT

Many of the rooms shown on her feed have been reused or sold to other students — yep, the rooms can be bought secondhand. “The room that made it on the Today show twice, I wanted to laugh; it was a hand-me-down!” she reveals. “It’s on its fourth year. There’s one that’s cerulean, and it’s gorgeous — it’s on its third year!”

She remembers one father who was “raising hell” about her bill but then said, “Come year four, I realized we saved money because we’ve used the same stuff; it was all worth it.”

Dorm Rooms can convert and design be used in any room#afterfivedesigns #interiordesign #decor #dorm #decor_for_kids #dormroom

A post shared by After Five Designs (@afterfivedesigns) on May 19, 2016 at 5:41am PDT

She notes that a painting at Mississippi State is on its fifth year of use.

Thomas also tries to use things the students can take with them when they move out of the dorms. “My drapes run a little bit more because [with] their 1.5 width, they’re larger than what’s needed, so they can also be used in an apartment. They can cover an 80-inch window.”

And if there are multiple kids in the family, Thomas advises passing on the room or parts of it to other college students, assuming they have similar tastes.

This popped up on my memories today thought I would share since the Dorm Room Meetings have started, this made me a bit sad how fast time has flown by @sydneyturnage @beattycarpenter @carolinehannon

A post shared by After Five Designs (@afterfivedesigns) on Feb 23, 2017 at 5:54am PST

“You don’t have to have a lot of money for these,” she claims. Last year, she had a pop-up shop where she sold her custom furniture and art (she’s also an artist), “so that people who wanted my look but couldn’t afford to hire a designer could get my look.”

Sure, her rooms look “over the top,” but to her, they’re just “different.”

When asked what’s the most expensive piece she’s ever purchased for a dorm room, she is quick to correct that it’s not always the décor that costs the most. “I go to Bed Bath & Beyond and get all the basics I need for the room — extension cords, bedding. That’s what gets pricey! It’s not over the top,” she insists, even though that’s how many observers describe these dorms. “It’s just that everything adds up.”

Of course, it’s college, so there’s some drama. The biggest issues involve the moms. “When the roommate’s mom doesn’t see eye-to-eye with the mom that hired me, that’s the challenge,” Thomas says.

“I don’t have time to deal with drama, so I tell moms, if they want to use me, they’ve got to be responsible for the other mom and they’ve got to work it out. The other mom might have a little bit of an attitude, but when it’s all done, they melt,” Thomas says.

Dorm Room Series: blush, metallic and Bella Notte is simply beautiful. Elements velvet, metallic, sheers lined with Blackout, cowhide stools, art and sconces over bed. Lighting behind futon for lighting. #decor_for_kids #afterfivedesigns #interiordesign #olemiss #dormroom #dorm #crosbydormroom

A post shared by After Five Designs (@afterfivedesigns) on Apr 1, 2016 at 6:13am PDT

The problem is that roommates are often random, and if you don’t know your soon-to-be roomie’s budget or taste, you can’t assume that she’ll also want to hire a decorator or want the same style as you. When moms or students butt heads, “one mom ends up paying for it all (besides the bedding). One mother might pick up the chest, drapes, paintings,” Thomas explains. “But sometimes I’ll just do one side.”

Another view #dormroom #mississippistate #artist #artistsoninstagram #

A post shared by After Five Designs (@afterfivedesigns) on Aug 27, 2017 at 10:10am PDT

She’s set up rooms with some unusual items — such as Chanel and Louis Vuitton books. “I bought one of those at market, they were so expensive. Some girls want that, so they find them and buy them.” Another time, she used a Trina Turk dress to make pillows that would match a painting. And about the busts: “The girls are more mature now,” Thomas explains. “They want it to look like they’re living in an NYC loft. They follow stars on social media, and that’s what they want.”

Of course, at the end of the day, hiring a company like After Five Designs is not realistic for everyone, which is why we asked for some tips and tricks you can do yourself.

“You can get the most from Amazon now, like the staples — you don’t have to physically go to Bed Bath & Beyond anymore,” she says of her preferred store.

“Everybody wants to know how we make the beds so tall and fluffy — I start with the school’s mattress. Then put Tempur-Pedic memory foam on top, then a 3-inch waffle featherbed, and then a mattress pad. It’s about comfort, but it also makes the bed so poofy and pretty,” she explains.

Dorm Room Booth ready for 2017 season Dust ruffles, quilts I only use queen on dorm beds, ottomans, Euros and foot warmer sets are arriving, we can ship to any location.

A post shared by After Five Designs (@afterfivedesigns) on Mar 4, 2017 at 8:39am PST

“Everyone wonders where everything is — the bed, the chairs, the desk — I don’t move a thing. Students will get fined if they get rid of anything. We cover all furniture in the room. Desk chairs are hidden under the bed, and I put a prettier one in.”

And she doesn’t shun the dorm room staples of yesteryear, like Command strips and plastic bins — she says they are still “necessary” as long as they are hidden. She suggests putting the bins under the bed.

The colleges are not always on board with Thomas’s dorm room redesigns, so she tries to stay “low key.” But her work is the complete opposite.

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[twodeadchicks]

Meet "TRICK GRIMES"

At first glance your heart might plummet to your stomach. You might think to yourself, "It can't be him, right? There's no way! IS THAT ANDY LINCOLN?! IS RICK GRIMES REAL?! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!?!' These are all thoughts I had when I saw Rick Grimes cosplayer Trent Roberts at Walker Stalker Nashville. Though I can assure you, after careful inspection, he is in fact NOT Rick Grimes. But he's pretty damn close. First, tell me a little background on you. What is your day job? How did you get into cosplaying as our favorite python wielding badass? [caption id="attachment_21760" align="alignright" width="225"] Roberts with his sons Josh and Zak[/caption] I live in the Dallas area but [am] originally from Louisiana. My "real" job is Regional Sales Manager for a Whiskey company so I stay very busy with a lot of travel. That's why I have to be selective on how many events I can do as a cosplayer. As for how this started, I have been a fan of the show since day one. From the age of about 20 or so I've always had a beard and longer hair. Every once in a while I would change up and shave but it wouldn't last long, so I've looked like Rick way before there was a Rick. Starting about season 3 I started having people notice and comment on my resemblance. Then early in 2016 my sons wanted to go to a comic con in Dallas and suggested I dress as Rick and they ended up regretting the suggestion. We started getting stopped for pics in the parking lot and once we entered we couldn't walk more than 10 feet at a time before getting stopped for another picture. It didn't help that my youngest son dressed as Carl. He quickly got tired of hearing "Ccooorrallll". This is where someone mentioned to me that I should go to a Walker Stalker Con. I had never heard of it but went home and looked at future dates. How many Walker Stalker conventions have you attended? [caption id="attachment_21763" align="alignleft" width="300"] Roberts in Trick Grimes mode[/caption] The first one was Dallas last year and then Atlanta last October. Nashville was my first working WSC. I did attend Dallas FanExpo twice and another smaller con or two in the Dallas area. Megacon the week before was my very first con to work. I will be attending A-kon this weekend but not cosplaying because I want my boys to be able to enjoy themselves even though they realize even in regular clothes I will probably still get stopped some. Oh and I forgot one of the most fun things I've done with this, the cruise. Do you have any memorable moments from this past weekend's convention in Nashville? Too many. Even though I am working some of these now I still have a hard time thinking of myself as a professional cosplayer. This is for fun and to give fans a great experience. I guess a couple of times this weekend we had fans with either physical or mental disabilities and to see their faces light up makes it all worthwhile. Also, it's funny how many of the fans that I have to actually convince I am not Andrew.  What's been the best part of attending WSC? The fans. I didn't realize how close knit a family this was. I have started seeing the same people now at multiple events and started forming friendships. I also have to say that through this I have had the pleasure to meet many of the stars of the show and they have all been incredibly nice. [caption id="attachment_21762" align="alignright" width="262"] Roberts with Michael Cudlitz, who played Abraham on The Walking Dead[/caption] Which ones did you meet and what was their reaction to you? Have you met the elusive Andy Lincoln yet? I've met Steven Yeun, Scott Wilson, Greg Nicotero, Michael Rooker, Michael Cudlitz, Chandler Riggs. In Nashville, Irone came up to me hugged me and complimented me on my resemblance as did Chad Coleman who I happened to run into in the restroom of all places. I was lucky enough to get to ask Andrew a question at his panel in Atlanta. Norman was on stage and saw me first and said to him "he looks just like you" and then Andrew asked if I could fill in for him at work on Monday. It was nice to get the acknowledgement. I have also met a couple of the saviors and they have said the resemblance is uncanny. Norman passed me on the walkway as we were boarding for the cruise and even he did a double take when he saw me then even in street clothes. Gave me a thumbs up. Kia and I were majorly creeping on you in Nashville because you look SO much like Rick. All the way down to the swagger. As someone who has met Andy in person, the swagger is an integral part to being Andy/Rick. Is the swagger learned or is that just you being you? I've had people say I even walk like him but that is just my normal walk. For most of my life I have worn cowboy boots almost daily, so I'm sure that is part of the natural walk. I'll admit though that once the jacket and gun belt go on it probably amplifies it a bit. So, be honest, is it weird when people stare you down (*ahem* kind of like we did?😳)? Sometimes. I'm still wrapping my head around all this. It is weird to me the way people act towards me and I'm not even the guy. I just look like the guy. The one thing I want to make very clear to everyone, I am not the celebrity here. Even when fans know I'm not him they get all emotional around me or are afraid to approach me. Please don't do that. I'm just a regular guy who happens to look like someone famous. That doesn't make me famous. I have been around enough cons now to see that there are too many professional cosplayers who think they are celebrities and have the attitude to go with it. That's not why I'm doing this. I enjoy cutting up and having fun with everyone and I hope that if nothing else people will know me as the fun, nice Rick cosplayer. How difficult was it to acquire the Rick Grimes wardrobe (including his famous murder coat)? [caption id="attachment_21759" align="alignleft" width="225"] Roberts showing off the infamous Murder Coat[/caption] I'm kind of a perfectionist about this. If I'm going to do it I have to be true to the character. There are a lot of Rick coat options out there but I wanted to make sure the collar was the right color and pocket zippers were at the right angle. I also had a few comments early on that my wardrobe was to new and clean so I took the jacket with me to my deer lease and drug it down the gravel roads behind my 4 wheeler. I also would freeze frame the show to see exactly where there were rips or fraying on his shirts and pants in order to duplicate as accurately as possible. The only other two significant expenses were the gun belt and Colt Python. I ordered the exact Tex Shoemaker holster that he uses in the show and again made sure I had all the accessories on the belt exactly as he does. The Python was a CO2 pistol that I modified the grip and replaced with actual Colt grips. It looks and feels just like the real thing now. The beat up boots, jeans and tshirt were obviously easy. Do you have a favorite wardrobe item? The gun belt. I grew up watching westerns and reading Louis Lamour books and always said I should have been born in the 1800's. When I put that on I just feel like the sheriff getting ready for a gun fight. Do you ever get stopped when you're out and about because people think you're Andy Lincoln? Everyday. Especially because I do spend a lot of time in airports due to my real job. It always happens when I'm walking through and out of the corner of my eye I see people sitting at gates tapping the person next to them and pointing at me. Or, I walk by a group and over my shoulder I hear " OMG that was.....". It was just funny to my friends and family but now it's kind of like, can we not go anywhere with you that someone doesn't come over. We were at Universal Orlando for spring break and my sons wanted pics with they people in the Bart and Homer Simpson costumes. Now I'm on vacation in shorts, flip flops, tshirt and sunglasses. When my boys were finished and we were about to walk away we hear Homer say "excuse me but can we get a picture with Rick". I've been to Senoia) about 3 times now and have had interactions with people there who have been face to face with Andrew, sometimes on a regular basis. They have approached me and started a conversation as if I'm him. I've had to stop them and identify myself. [caption id="attachment_21761" align="alignright" width="284"] Trent Roberts (left) side by side with Andrew Lincoln (right)[/caption] What do you love most about cosplaying as Rick Grimes? Having the opportunity to due some charitable work due to this resemblance is great. I have committed to due an event for a children's charity in Vancouver this October and hopefully this will open doors for more. Talking to fans and hearing that I may be the closest they ever get to meeting Rick is another motivation to make sure they have a memorable experience when they meet me.   Make sure to follow Trick Grimes on Facebook and Instagram.