#idk what exactly i'm aiming for but

[fujikasa]

don’t go where i can’t follow

[trickstercaptain]

so i've been thinking about jack a lot lately because dw has been making me think about him and i'll try to keep this as vague as possible in terms of spoilers but there are a huge number of thematic parallels between the doctor ( i'm gonna talk specifically about 10 since his face reappeared as 14 ) and jack AND they are also both characters who appeared in the cultural zeitgeist at around the same time ( they were both on screen in the early-mid noughties, which is now nearly 20 years ago ). but they are most importantly two characters who are archetypally similar: they have no home, they are constantly running towards the horizon, towards the next adventure, they are in love with their ships ( homes that are in constant motion and are never still ), they come into another people's lives like a whirlwind and leave those individuals permanently changed through knowing them.

and i have found it so interesting to watch 14 come along and for the writing to look back on 10 and that version of the doctor with all their trauma who keeps running because the alternative is too painful and actually allow them some self-reflection and healing in a way that could only really be written now, 20 years on. 14 tells people he loves them!! 10 never ever did and that was an important aspect of his characterisation!! and for a character like the doctor to be given a chance to stop running, to stand still and live the greatest adventure of all of an ordinary life when they are a character, a lot like jack, who many consider to be static and unable to change in these respects because it's "character breaking" or somehow contradicts their essence or whatever.... it just makes me so glad that i've had these chances to develop jack in the same way.

i have verses where jack undergoes so much character development, where he maybe doesn't give up on the danger and excitement entirely but where he is able to self-reflect and heal from trauma he has never dealt with because his character function is to always be running. there are verses where he had three children and is both able and willing to tell them he loves them when he would struggle to even say the word during his main canon timeline. there are verses where jack becomes a little more static and emotionally stable with a loving partner ( or three ) and where he is happy like that because even with a character like jack, whose defining characteristic is that he is always restless, always in motion, always moving forward, he is still able to grow and change. he doesn't always have to remain the same thing that we know him from on the screen.

[capaldiera]

man idgaf about what treville and richelieu have going on (mostly nothing) (they dont like each other but they work together a lot bc of their jobs.) (i guess treville holding onto a sense of honour whilst working with the cardinal is interesting but like that's not. thats not really those two having something interesting going on). lets talk about the king and the cardinal man.

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

NFWMB (Nothing Fucks With My Baby)

Pairing: Reader x Venom

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: you get kidnapped, there's some cannon level violence, nothing to write home about <3

Genre: idk if I should really classify this as angst fr but the ending is fluffy!

Summary: Carnage returns, his mission remains the same; kill Venom. And he plans to use you to do it.

Based on this ask by @weebnotheree (thank you so much for the request, I know it took a while so I appreciate your patience, I hope you like it <3)

***

"Hey y/n!" Your coworker skirts over to your desk with curious excitement.

"Yes?" You glance up from your computer at her.

"Your boyfriend is a reporter isn't he?"

"Correct. Where is this going exactly?"

"Well do you think he'd be able to come cover the charity gala this weekend?" She asks.

"He doesn't really- cover this sort of thing? He'd need to get assigned to it. But I can check with him, he can ask his boss and maybe they'll send someone else down." You concede. It can't hurt, after all, you do need the exposure for the event anyway.

Hours later, after you've both gotten home from work and eaten dinner. You're winding down for the day with Eddie by watching a show together when you propose the question from your coworker.

"Eddie quick question." You say, not lifting your head from his shoulder.

"Yeah?" He's been tracing patterns against your leg for the past ten minutes.

"Do you think you could come cover the charity gala this weekend? My coworker Dani thought it'd be a good idea." You tell him.

"I don't usually write those sorts of pieces." He hums.

"I know I told her, but I also told her I'd ask anyway. It doesn't have to be you, if your boss sends someone else that's fine. We're just aiming to get more eyes on the event." You shrug.

"I'll talk to my boss. He'll probably send someone. Not me though."

"Yeah that's fine, I know these aren't your thing, you don't have to come." You say.

"Say what?" You feel him shift to look at you.

"I drag you to enough work functions. I'll let you skip out on this one." You pat his chest lightly.

"Don't have to tell me twice." Eddie snorts turning back to the TV.

"Technically I already did tell you twice." You chuckle.

"Smartass." He pinches your thigh.

"Always." You sit up just to wink at him.

The following day, you are accosted by Dani pretty much as soon as she walks into the office.

"Did you ask him?"

"Ask who, what Dani?" You ask though you know exactly what she's talking about. "Also have you forgotten that the proper way to start a conversation is with a greeting? What happened to hi? What happened to how are you?"

"Hi, how are you? Did you ask your boyfriend about covering the gala?" She says.

"Hi Dani, I'm doin' alright. How are you?" You ask her.

"Y/n!" She huffs.

"Yes Dani I asked. He said he'd talk to his boss. Knowing Eddie, someone will probably be at the gala. It's handled." You finally cave and give her the answers she came for.

"You're the best!" She tells you.

"I know, thanks." You chuckle. You shrug.

The day of the gala is chaos from the minute preparations start. It's not really anything that surprises you and you've been handling everything that comes your way with ease.

"Y/n!" Your coworker Wendy grabs your attention when you're sorting out something with one of the photographers.

"Yes Wendy?" You aks.

"The uh catering staff is here do you know where they're supposed to-"

"They just got here?! They were supposed to be here an hour ago! Who was on that? They should've been checking for- oh never mind! Their tables are over there on that wall and tell them to hurry Wen the event is literally starting." You sigh pointing her in the right direction. The event is just gaining momentum, doors opened about twenty minutes ago and aside from the catering situation that has just been taken care of, as far as you know, everything is precisely as it should be. At least you hope so since you did come here a couple of hours in advance to make sure things were ready. You aren't technically in charge of this event but you are naturally better at organizing chaos and these events tend to be a bit of a frenzy on the day no matter how prepared you are in advance.

Tonight is your company's annual charity gala. Every year the board votes on a cause to raise money for by hosting a huge party. This year's cause is a charity that supports kids getting involved in the arts. There are a bunch of art projects on display, some of which will be up for auction at the end of the evening, but the goal is to shmooze with the community members effectively enough that they want to support the charity. You spend most of these galas working optics; talking to reporters, setting up pictures, and just generally organizing things throughout the night. As part of the company's public relations department events like these are your specialty. Carefully curating the perception of everything that goes on here tonight with the help of the other members of the department here tonight.

You're pleased to say that a couple of hours in, the event is going off without a hitch. Once it's in full swing, you have your hands full giving statements to different press outlets and sending photographers to snap the board of directors with guests of the event. Just as you're preparing the host for his introductory speech, you notice a small crowd gathering by one of the large glass windows overlooking the city.

"What's going on over there?" The host frowns at you.

"I'm- not sure. Probably just some nightlife chaos got people's attention." You shrug but before you can walk up the stage there's a shout from a few of the guests followed by the sound of shattered glass as something crashes through that large window. The room erupts into chaos as red goop shoots out at people. It only takes you a couple of moments to realize the thing currently ruining your gala is Carnage. You didn't meet him or anything last time they faced off, but Eddie gave you enough of a description to come to that conclusion when you spot the bright red tentacles and eyes so like Venom's but different at the same time.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." You huff quietly from where you're crouched behind a curtain with the gala host.

"What is that thing?!" He hisses.

"Doesn't matter. Find the nearest exit and run like hell." You tell him.

"What?! You want me to go out there?! What if it sees me?" He shakes his head. You poke your head out just enough to see Carnage. Weirdly enough he just seems to be picking up people and dropping them on the ground again.

"You ever seen that thing before?" You ask.

"God no!"

"He's looking for something. Unless you think it's you, I'd suggest taking the risk before he starts getting snackish!"

"W-what?!"

"We know you're here! We did our RESEARCH!" The man beside you is practically shaking as Carnage's deep voice rings through the room.

"He's coming this way, you have to move now." You say.

"What about you?"

"He's more likely to notice two of us. I'll be out after you." You're so busy directing the guy you don't realize how close Carnage is to you all until the curtain you're behind is ripped off its bar.

"AHA! THERE YOU ARE!"

"GO! GET OUT OF HERE NOW!" You shout to the guy as Carnage reaches for- you. He's reaching for you, you realize only when one spindly spider-like appendage wraps around your waist.

"How noble of you. We weren't after him- but if you must be the hero-" Carnage easily reaches the scrambling host before he can get to the door and all you can do is shut your eyes tight when Carnage lifts him up. It's only when his screams stop suddenly and something warm drips onto your arm that you're sure is blood. You don't dare to check what Carnage has done, but if you had to guess, he bit his head off; much like Venom does when you or Eddie allows him to. Your eyes only shoot open when Carnage starts to move again, swinging back out the hole he came in through and taking you through the city. You're in the air for quite some time before eventually, Carnage drops you, rather gently for a kidnapper, on the ground inside a dusty building.

"Hello, little thing." Carnage says to you.

"I could have sworn Venom dealt with you already." You cross your arms.

"Almost. I was lucky to escape."

"Unfortunate for the rest of us." You muse.

"Rude!"

"Let me remind you that you did kidnap me so excuse me if I'm not kind." You roll your eyes. "I take it my role is to lure Venom to you? Right?"

"Correct. He cares for you. So he will come."

"Of course, he will. Though, disrupting my work event was an unnecessary scene just to lure him out to- where are we?"

"An old firehouse!"

"Wow you really are a baby." You scoff realizing he's chosen another location where loud noise is common.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing nothing. I presume you have a different host now right? That other guy, the serial killer, died the last time, didn't he?"

"I am bonded to his blood! I can regenerate!"

"I'm sorry- so you regenerated… an entire head for your last host?"

"Yes!"

"That is- very strange." You frown. "Still, this place doesn't hold sentimental value to Cletus so- how will they find you?"

"Oh just call them." Cletus makes an appearance, finally, and rolls his eyes as he makes his request.

"Call them? You want me to call them and lead them to where you plan to kill them?"

"Yes. Or I'll kill you."

"That would be stupid. Killing me won't get you what you want." You scoff.

"CARNAGE! YOU TOOK MY CHOCOLATE DROP! I'M GOING TO RIP YOU TO SHREDS!!"

"Guess we don't need to call him." Carnage says pushing you into the fire engine that's collecting dust in the unused building.

"WAS DYING ONCE NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU?!" Venom stomps towards Carnage.

"Father. I'm not that easy to get rid of!"

"EVIDENTLY!" Venom charges at Carnage and the two of them are quickly destroying the old brick firehouse you're occupying. From inside the fire truck you're in, it's hard to tell who's winning for most of the fight. It's all too quick and too fluid the way they're throwing each other around. By the time you've gotten a handle on what's going on between the duo, Carnage has Venom pinned to one of the walls that they haven't totally ruined already. Frantically you turn towards the control panel of the fire engine, you can't imagine it's still fully operational but there's a chance you can find some way to make noise with this thing. You need to give Venom the upper hand somehow.

"V!" You shout and cover your ears for only a moment before pressing as much of your weight as you can into the horn of the truck and hoping for the best. You can't explain the relief that you feel when that horrid loud noise fills the small space and Carnage screeches. You let up on the horn once he stumbles away from Venom, his attention on you now that you've gotten involved.

"You!" Carnage snarls. You lay into the horn again before he can get to you and the sound seems to disrupt him enough to almost completely separate him from Cletus. You let up when Eddie has crept up behind them and Venom takes over to fully rip Carnage from Cletus by force. You didn't think that was possible and it is extremely strange to watch. Venom grabs Cletus with an extra appendage and holds him far in the air as he eats the angry red goop that is Carnage.

"EVEN WORSE THE SECOND TIME." Venom grumbles and you can't help but giggle a little. The noise makes Venom wink at you before turning his attention to Cletus. "THIS TIME STAY DEAD!" Venom says before biting his head off, out of your line of sight. You come out of the fire truck just in time to catch him dropping the body.

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!" Venom runs over to you and lifts you into his arms so you're eye level with him as he looks over you for injuries.

"I'm fine V. He didn't actually hurt me. You got here so quickly." You muse.

"EDDIE WAS WATCHING COVERAGE OF YOUR GALA." Venom explains.

"It was going so well until he crashed it." You pout. "You don't have any other errant children we should know about right Venom?"

"NO. NOT THAT I KNOW OF." Venom shrugs lowering you back to the ground.

"Good because this kidnapping thing is very inconvenient." You say. Eddie chooses that moment to reappear and he quickly wraps his arms around you.

"Y/n, baby, thank fuck you're okay. I am so sorry." He breathes out.

"You're sorry? What for?" You frown as you hug him back.

"If I had just come to the damn gala in the first place-" You pull back and hold Eddie's face in your hands to make sure he hears what you say next.

"No. It wouldn't have changed anything. In fact, it would actually have been worse I think. There were hundreds of people in that building and we were on one of the higher floors. The casualties if you had fought him there would have been so not worth it. This was the best outcome. I'm sure there were several injuries but I think there was only one death besides him so- don't apologize. Especially because there was no way you could've predicted him crashing my event. Don't blame yourself because other than a ruined charity gala and the inconveniences that come with a kidnapping, I've barely got some scrapes. You two did well." You tell him.

"We couldn't have done it without you. The fire horn was a great idea."

"Yeah well, you were going to die. And I didn't have any fire." You shrug. "We should get out of here though, I can't imagine it'll take much longer for authorities to get here in search of the red monster that crashed a charity event." You add.

"True. The party looked beautiful by the way. You know, before Carnage trashed it." Eddie says scooping you into his arms.

"Thank you baby." You kiss his cheek just before Venom appears again to take you all home.

"I WANT A KISS TOO! I DID ALL THE WORK."

"You can have as many kisses as you want V." You say kissing his cheek too as he walks out of the trashed fire station with you in his hold.

"I WANT ALL THE KISSES THEN!" He declares as he swings you both up into the air.

"Once we get home I'll kiss you til my lips fall off if you so wish my love." You giggle.

"NOT THAT MANY! IF THEY FALL OFF I WON'T GET ANY MORE IN THE FUTURE!"

"Okay okay. Reasonable amount of kisses, once we get home. Deal?"

"DEAL!" Venom says before taking off from building to building to get you home. There's no such thing as normal when your boyfriend is sharing his body with an alien you suppose, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

***

[shotmrmiller]

Alpha!Ghost x F!Omega Reader

they're still werewolves. they're shifters, yeah? idk forgive me if im inaccurate in literally anything here i just got excited and here we are.

tw: im pretty sure dub-con with the knotting.

Ghost commanded Soap to toss everything you might've owned in that cozy, little flat of yours. He made sure that there was nothing for you to go back to.

You belong to with him.

Once he brought you back, you locked yourself in your room. You ignored everyone and Soap told him that you wouldn't even eat— leaving your food untouched outside your door.

Ghost let you be angry with him, but not eating was unacceptable.

When he went to go see you, he didn't even bother knocking.

"Open this door." When he didn't get a response from you, he slammed his palm against it once.

"Now," he growled.

When you cracked the door open, his nostrils flared, and almost lost control of his human form in his rage. His vision was starting to go fuzzy at the edges, his lip curling to expose his teeth that had begun to lose their blunt shape.

Ghost was murderous. "You left me t'be with another."

He saw your throat bob as you swallowed. "No, Ghost, I didn't. I left because I heard what you told Soap. How I'm just a dalliance, that I- hey!"

Ghost cut you off with his claw-tipped hand, grabbing your jaw firmly, turning your head side to side, inspecting. "You let him scent ya?"

He felt your jaw clenching under his touch and could smell the salty scent of your indignant tears. "I suppressed my scent, not my heats."

The implication of what you just said had him digging his claws into your soft, delicate skin— puncturing it.

With his hand, he forcibly pushed you back into your room as he walked forward, slamming the door closed with his boot.

"Yeah? He help ya, did he?" Ghost squeezed your jaw tighter, making you whimper from the pain. "Did he have ya drenched with slick the way I do, pet? Hm?"

He pulled you close to hiss into your ear. "Did ya beg for his knot the way you did me? Did his cock reach tha’ rough little spot inside of your cunt tha’ has your eyes rolling to the back of your head?"

Ghost flicked the pointed tip of your ear with his warm tongue, knowing exactly what it did to you, he could smell it. "I bet he didn't feel your pussy tighten around him like a vice as you came. I bet he didn't even get ya fucking close to coming."

Another sound slipped past your lips— this time synonymous with the drool-worthy scent in the air. Aroused. Delicious. He had to gulp down an almost mouth full of saliva to continue.

"I know he had no idea how to handle you. He fucked ya, sure, but he doesn't know how you look as you bite your lip when I stretch ya on my cock to the absolute limit. He doesn't know what your face looks like as you're fucked stupid— slobbering onto the nest you made with my shirts while I took ya from behind."

You're a mewling, sloppy mess in his grasp and he hasn't even started. There's a rosy hue adorning your face, pink mouth slightly open, but it's how you look at him that has his massive cock twitching painfully inside of his trousers— almost has him losing control.

They're glassy, hazy with lust. You're looking at him like he's the only thing that matters. 

Your heat's begun.

That pathetic alpha will never know the sounds you made when Ghost held you against the wall and prodded your entrance with his fingers, absolutely drenching his hand, slick dripping down to his wrist.

He'll never know how you choked on your breath when Ghost sank you onto his rigid length until he felt the entrance of your womb. He won't know the wails you let out as Ghost fucked you, won't know the way your nails scored his scarred back when he ground his cock against your cervix, feeling it lightly pinch the tip of his head.

He'll never the way you moaned into his kiss, tasting the inside of your mouth with his tongue, or the way you cried from pleasure when he began to aim for your sweet spot. He’ll never know how tight your pussy walls clamp down on him as you climax, leaving a white frothy cream at his swelling base.

Ghost pushes your head up against the wall because he wants to see your face as he starts to nudge against your abused cunt, and the way your face contorted into a pained ecstasy when he pushed past the resistance with a pop— knotting you as he fills you with his cum. Bonding you.

You've always been his. You knew it too, otherwise, you would've done better at hiding from him.

Ghost leans in to lick your neck, tongue pressing into the firm swell of your gland, sharp canines grazing.

Another time.

He smoothly maneuvers himself so that he's sitting against the wall that's got a crack in it, whoops, without tugging on where you are both connected.

Ghost looks down at you and notices your pupils are blown wide as you gaze up at him, and his chest begins to rumble, infinitely pleased.

Days later, Ghost only sticks his head out of your room which is heady with the smell of heat and arousal, and calls for Soap with a sibilant whistle.

Ghost gives him orders which Soap nods to with a feral grin spread on his face, and leaves. Soon, there will only be one alpha that knows what you look like in your heat at all.

[i314flix]

the one where jake seresin likes to call it ‘welfare checks’ whenever he’s checking how you are—but let’s be real, everyone knows that it’s only an excuse he uses because he can’t seem to erase the uneasiness he feels whenever he knows you’re not fine.

pairing: jake seresin x fem!reader

word count: 5.8k

rating: NC-17

content: fluff, light angst, enemies to lovers au; ft. naval aviator!reader

warning/s: swearing, alcohol consumption, making out, sexual innuendos, daddy issues(?), mentions of feeling pressured, mentions of drunk driving (nobody drunk drives here though), mention of a near death experience, most likely wrong info about naval aviators and the nature of their job sksks i'm sorry this is strictly fiction okAY

opening note. idk how this ended up being almost 6k LMAO. but anyways, i was so inspired to write this one scene (which you can read below) and ended up just adding so many details and back story that now here we are???? hope you guys like it though! jake seresin brain rot is real and i'm admittedly a goner for—as glen once put it—navy draco malfoy 😭

Jake knocks on your door three times, patiently waiting and looking around the street as if he’s afraid that someone followed him here. He knows that it’s unwise to be at your doorstep at this hour, but he was done eavesdropping and subtly asking around about your absence, bothered that it’s been almost a week and you haven’t been attending training like you should be. He heard Phoenix tell Bob that you were taking a short break because of the near-death experience you had while flying along the course last time, in fact almost quitting entirely if it weren’t for Maverick who instead offered you to breathe for a few days and then come back to see if you still wanted out of the mission. You were considered by your fellow TOPGUN graduates to be one of the captain’s top candidates to lead the mission, so Jake understood why Maverick didn’t let you off the hook that easily.

A few seconds pass and he contemplates on knocking again or leaving, deeming this idea as ridiculous—but then he sees the lights open and you’re peeking through the curtain of the small window beside your front door, disappearing again only to unlock the dozen locks on your door and opening it to greet Jake who meets your gaze immediately.

“What the hell are you doing here?” is the first thing you say, flummoxed by his presence. You and him aren’t exactly the closest among the crew, and there have been several times in which you’ve displayed how annoyed you were by everything Jake either says or does.

“I’m visiting you,” he answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?”

“Because you haven’t been in training for a week now. Are you quitting or something?”

You stare at him, appearing in deep thought or perhaps attempting to read his mind, and suddenly, you’re closing the door.

Jake widens his eyes in surprise but is quick to extend a hand out to prevent you from doing so.

“Really?” he complains. “You’re going to slam the door in my face?”

“Look, Hangman,” you begin, sighing and making your tired state known, “if you’re here to give me shit, don’t, because I have no will to show you the patience I typically have on a normal basis.”

“I’m not here to give you shit.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“I told you—I’m visiting.”

“For what? To make sure that I’m not going back so that Maverick can assign you as team leader?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, I’m here to make sure you’re doing okay. I heard you’re doing fine, but I just wanted to see it for myself.”

You’re quiet again, and you revert back to staring at him, as if you’re waiting for him to admit that this is just some prank. Jake doesn’t say anything though, he just returns your stare, appearing sincere for once, worried and waiting for you to realize that he’s not aiming to piss you off every time an opportunity presents itself.

You open the door wider. “Now you see me.”

“You doing good?”

“I’m doing good,” you affirm. “Just… I don’t know. Going through some stuff. Mixed thoughts—feelings—I don’t think you’d understand.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“I’m here and it’s past 11 p.m.,” he says. “If I didn’t want to be bothered, I would have done this welfare check another time.”

You snort at the term he used in visiting you. “Are you sure? You don’t peg me as a good listener, to be honest. I don’t want to pour my heart out and end up listening to your life story instead.”

“I’m not like that. I could be a good listener if I tolerate the person enough.”

“You hate me, though.”

He laughs. “I don’t hate you, Goldie.”

Goldie. Jake liked your call sign because he liked the way you scowled whenever he was the one who utters it. The story behind the name was that your very first squadron saw a picture of you wearing these ridiculous platform gold sneakers when they were snooping around your Facebook profile, finding a photograph taken years ago by your mother at some family gathering you no longer remember. Eventually the joke turned into them calling you Goldie, and when the callsign review board was held, every member of the squadron voted for it to be your call sign and got it approved.

“I find that hard to believe,” you say. 

“I just like driving you insane,” he admits with a smirk, and now you’re more reminded of the Hangman you know. “It gives me great pleasure to get under your skin. You never know how to fake that look on your face whenever you’re mad—it’s very funny.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Sure.” He shrugs.

The edges of your mouth twitch. “Fine, come in. I have beer. Or wine if that’s what you prefer.”

Jake contemplates about it—because like what he thought of earlier when he arrived on your porch, it’s unwise to be here. It wasn’t like in TOPGUN or the Hard Deck wherein there were other people around you for him to always be cautious of his actions; he’s afraid that he slips up or let his repressed romantic interest in you get the best of him since he has you alone.

At the same time however, he just didn’t care enough about the consequences for him to miss this chance of getting to know you better. 

“Beer would be nice,” he tells you as he steps inside.

You nod and turn to head to the kitchen.

The house is a standard bungalow. When you walk in, you’re met with the living room, and then a few steps away from that is the kitchen. On the left side of the house, there’s a hallway leading to what Jake assumed to be the bedroom and washroom. He takes a seat on the sofa upon your instruction, scanning his surroundings and taking in the actuality of the situation he allowed himself to be in.

“Here you go.” You hand him an opened beer and he mutters his thanks, watching you go to the chair near him and plop down.

There’s silence, the two of you just drinking. You engage in small talk for a while, conversing about the most trivial things and matters that he’s not that even keen to know. The topic bounces on and on, until he can’t help but finally break it, impatient now and wanting to know what’s really been going on with you for the past few days.

You smile, amused by his little outburst. “You really want to talk about what���s bothering me?”

“I'm certainly not here to drink and talk about how hot it is on the beach.” He points out. “Just get on with it. You don’t have to tell me your whole life story. Just tell me why you’ve been gone since the accident.”

He catches you wince at the mention of an accident. “I’m resting.”

“You’re resting?”

“Yeah. It’s what Maverick wants me to do. He insists that I take a breather and then go back once I’m feeling better.”

“And have you been feeling better?”

“No,” you admit. “Actually, I…” you hesitate, flickering your eyes to Jake who’s listening intently. “Fuck, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You’re the last person I should be—”

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“I know. But that’s the thing, Hangman,” you say. “I think I have to tell someone about it or else I’ll end up more conflicted about the whole thing. And you know what? You might actually be the right person for this.”

“How come?”

“Because I don’t give a damn whether I have  your approval or not.”

He scoffs out a laugh. “Wow. Thanks, I guess?”

You grin; you loved teasing him as much as he did the same to you. “I’m planning to quit.”

His hand halts as he’s raising it to get another sip of the beer. He didn’t expect you to drop the bomb that quickly. “What?”

“I want to quit.”

“Because of what? Because of a near death experience? I know your record, and this isn’t even the first time you experience an occurrence that involved—”

“It’s the third time,” you clarify before he’s even done speaking. “I promised myself I’d quit if I almost ended up dead three times.”

“That sounds ridiculous. You know that, right?”

“I never wanted to be a fighter pilot, Hangman.” You confess and he’s stunned by the revelation.

It seemed impossible and untrue. You graduated at the top of your class and you have the reputation of being one of the best in the field. Your leadership skills were top tier, your flying was superb, and you were fearless in the face of danger. He didn’t understand how a person who didn’t want this occupation to have all those qualities and be an overall amazing naval aviator.

“You’re lying,” he says, not knowing how to reply to that other than accusing you of being a liar.

You lean back on your chair, bringing your feet up and holding your knees together. “It’s because of my dad. It’s the typical shit you hear about a daughter wanting her dad’s approval. He’s just… he used to be a fighter pilot himself—and then he got into an accident, lost one of his legs after it happened, and got forced to retire.” You bring the rim of your beer bottle to your lips. “I think he was depressed for a while. He didn’t talk that much anymore and when he did, he was always so angry. Mom always encouraged him to talk to a therapist, just to release all the pent up frustration he must be feeling about what happened, but he refused. He didn’t believe in therapy. He was convinced that he could solve it all on his own.

“Anyway, I don’t know what I was thinking, but I thought if I could live the life he couldn’t continue and be a naval aviator myself, he’d feel better—or at least, he’ll be the father I used to have. Turns out I was right. Do you know how much he changed when I told him I sent an application to the Naval Academy? He was so pleased. He did a complete 360. Suddenly, it felt like I was his daughter again. It was clear to me then that if I wasn’t Goldie, I wasn’t anyone worth knowing.” You bite your lip, trying not to get emotional. Jake can see that, noticing how your lips are slightly quivering and how you’re avoiding eye contact. “But in a way, I still had some self-respect left. So that’s why I told myself that if I almost get myself killed in three different instances, I’d quit and I wouldn’t care about what Dad thinks. I’ll just go and live my life how I’d want to live it.”

“And last time was the third time.” He reiterates.

“Yep.”

He nods and downs the last gulps of beer.

There’s that silence again, but it’s not awkward. Jake is absorbing everything you just shared to him and you’re trying not to regret the fact that you told all of that to Jake. It’s a story you’re not used to disclosing to just anyone, especially not to someone like Jake who before this night was the reason why your temper was often brought to its highest limits. Yet you can’t deny that a huge weight has been lifted off your whole body thanks to the impromptu venting session; you appreciate the manner in which he stayed quiet and let you finish talking, not once interrupting and not once taking his attention away from you.

“Does Maverick know about this?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’m already drafting my request for resignation.”

“You know that most of the time, those requests get rejected, right?”

“Yeah.” You groan, finishing your beer as well. “But I don’t care. I’d at least try. Then if they won’t allow me, maybe I’ll just orchestrate a fourth near death experience and—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Jake cuts you off and you raise your eyebrows at him. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“I was just joking.”

“It’s not a good joke. You know better than to joke about things like that.” He’s serious, the most serious you’ve seen him in a long time.

He’s right. You know he is and it pains you to admit it to yourself. You swallow hard, abruptly ashamed. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just all over the place these days.”

“It’s fine.”

“I was being stupid.”

“You’re going through a hard time.”

“I’m sorry for trauma dumping.”

“It’s alright, Goldie.”

You stand up, getting his empty bottle and trudging to the kitchen to place them on the counter. “If you want to go, you’re free to. It’s late.”

“I can stay here if you need company.”

You laugh humorlessly. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“It’s not babysitting.” He pushes himself off his seat and follows you. “I just don’t feel good leaving you in this state. You’re clearly not okay.”

“I’m okay,” you correct him. “Like I said, I’m just all over the place these days. I need time alone to think and be sure of what I want to do.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d be a great loss to the Navy if you quit.”

You snort. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. Why do you think I like pissing you off? It’s because you’re competition. You’re almost as good as me.”

You’re leaning on the counter and Jake’s standing beside you, his hand a few inches from your waist. 

“Actually, I’m better than you, Hangman.” You smirk. “And maybe so is Rooster. He’s certainly better than you when it comes to being a leader.”

“Yeah, but I’m faster than him.”

“You’re reckless compared to him.”

“I can beat him in a dogfight.”

“He doesn’t leave his teammates behind.”

“Yeah, he forces them to go as slow as he is.”

“It’s not a bad thing. He’s being careful.”

“Slow doesn’t equate to being careful.”

“It doesn’t matter. I like him better than you anyways.”

“You like him better? You sure about that?”

You don’t know how it happened but you’re suddenly standing very close to Jake, your faces tilted towards each other that you’re certain if one of you moves any nearer, you’ll end up kissing. You’re reminded of how the squadron often teases you both, saying that the reason you bickered a lot was because of the sexual tension that both of you shared, but you always made an effort to deny it, declaring that there was no way in hell that you saw Hangman in the sense and you’d rather make out with a frog than the said cocky pilot.

Being in this situation with him right now though? After sharing a beer and letting yourself show your most vulnerable side to him? Seeing how genuinely concerned he is for you? How he actually see you as a highly skilled and capable naval aviator? It messes with your head a bit, makes you think that maybe you’re just really excellent with pretending that you’re not affected by his stupidly handsome smile, or drawn to gazing at his toned body whenever he’s in his uniform, or distracted when he’s sputtering off nonsense meant to rile you up and instead you’re noticing how pink his lips are, how soft they must be, how dozens of girls have fallen victim by his charm and how good he must at working those lips of his…

“You’re staring,” he whispers.

Your eyes move up. “What?”

Jake grins, like he understands what’s happening at this second. “You’re staring at my mouth, Goldie,” he says. “Is there something on my mouth?”

You shake your head. Your cheeks are warming up. Your heart is beating faster. You’re aware that he’s teasing, that he wants to get a reaction from you, and you’re annoyed that he’s getting what he wants. “It’s late,” you repeat your statement from earlier. “You should head back. Get some sleep.”

He thankfully steps back and you exhale.

“When are you coming back?” he asks.

“I’m not sure.” You start leading him to the front door. 

Once you’re there and opening the door for him, he stops for a second, looking at you. “Hey, if you need someone to talk to… you can call me, alright?”

You find yourself smiling in amusement. “Tonight doesn’t make us friends, Hangman.”

“Good.” He returns the smile, sly and that teasing glint still in his eyes. “I don’t want to be friends.”

Before you can quip back a reply, he’s saying goodnight and marching down the steps of your porch, going inside his car and driving off.

****

You came back two days later and returned like you never left.

He didn’t talk to you again after that night. You didn’t call if ever you did need someone to talk to, and he didn’t approach you unless he really had something to say. You two weren’t avoiding the other per se; there just wasn’t a need to be within the other’s vicinity nor the obligation to initiate the conversation that much. However, in Jake’s case, he wanted to check on how you were doing, especially after being briefed on why you were having second thoughts about your position in the Navy—he just didn’t think it was okay for him to do so, not when he had a feeling that you didn’t want acknowledge the fact that you did tell him your story out of everyone in the squadron.

Eventually, it was decided and announced by Cyclone that Maverick would be appointed team leader to conduct the mission, seeing him to be the most fit among the graduates he was supposedly training for the job. Maverick chose Phoenix and Bob to accompany him, picked Rooster along with Payback and Fanboy to head the second strike team, and assigned Hangman as the emergency action pilot.

Jake saw how you were disappointed not to be given responsibility for anything for the mission, which didn’t make sense since you didn’t even want to be here in the first place. He figured you must have been looking forward to being appointed nonetheless, maybe driven by your desire to make your father proud still that you were willing to go on this dangerous operation to please him.

“Hey,” you called just as he was about to hop on his aircraft. “Be careful out there, okay?”

He grinned, tilting his head at you in a mocking manner that makes you regret for saying anything. “Are you going soft on me, Goldie?”

You scoffed, but you were flashing him a grin in an instant. “You wish. I just don’t want you to get yourself killed so I can do it myself.”

“Yeah, that’s totally why.”

“Shut up, Bagman.”

He gave you a wink before carrying on with what he was doing while you made a show of rolling your eyes before walking away.

After that, despite how the events weren’t as smooth sailing as you liked, nobody ended up arranging anyone’s funeral and Jake was even hailed as one of the heroes since he successfully saved Maverick and Rooster when they were heading back to the carrier. 

And now, the whole squadron is doing some kind of post-mission celebration. It’s held in the Hard Deck, the bar near the naval base, and as Jake drinks with the rest of the crew and secretly relishes how everyone no longer saw him as only an arrogant pilot but an arrogant and reliable pilot, he finds himself trying to spot you among the crowd of aviators and every significant staff that made this mission successful, wishing he can know what are your thoughts about what has happened today.

“You see Goldie anywhere?” Jake asks Javy, placing the empty bottle of beer on the counter.

Javy scans the area and shakes his head. “No. But I think I saw her going out earlier.”

Jake nods.

Without further ado, he decides to go out of the bar and try starting his search there. He’s grateful he doesn’t need to explore the whole seaside to spot you plodding to where he’s guessing your car is parked, your legs wobbly and all, appearing you’re preoccupied with no regard to your surroundings that allow him to catch up beside you inconspicuously. As soon as you notice him though, you’re blinking multiple times, pausing for you’re surprised to see him here when you know he should be with the others.

“Jake,” you say, and he ignores the odd feelings that erupt in his chest upon hearing his name from your lips. “What are you—”

“Welfare check,” he explains. “Where are you going?”

You laugh out loud. He realizes you’re a bit drunk. “These welfare checks are becoming frequent.”

“It’s the second time. Don’t exaggerate.”

“Two times is too much for you.”

He changes the subject. “You’re not planning to drive home when you’re drunk, are you?” 

“No, I’m not that stupid.” You scoff. “But I was planning to sleep in my car, just until I’m feeling okay to drive.”

“I can drive you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Let me do it anyway.”

You stare at him and he holds the stare, green eyes piercing through yours that you can feel right in your core. You’re mesmerized, caught in the moment, similar to that time in your kitchen, and before you understand your actions, you’re handing him your keys and going to the passenger’s side.

****

You don’t verbally invite him in but he follows you regardless, taking the sign of you opening the door wider for a few seconds as he walks from behind the invitation itself. You allow him to act as some shadow as you cross the living room and go to the kitchen to get a water bottle from the fridge, no words spoken from the both of you, and it’s only when you turn around to say something that it’s dawning onto you how it was maybe a bad idea to have him over.

You trust Jake as a man who won’t take advantage of you, but you don’t trust yourself with the thoughts you’ve been having about him lately. After that night when he did his first ‘welfare check’, you couldn’t shake him off your mind as fast as you usually could; you’ve spent a lot of your free time thinking of him and how you don’t exactly hate being in his presence like you’ve been telling yourself. Worse, you’re considering how you might truly be attracted to his infamous charm, captivated by that Texan accent and confidence whenever he went, steering the attention of everybody in the room.

You watch him take slow strides in your direction. You’re not moving, you’re not attempting to get away, and when he stops directly in front of you, your heart is doing that thing again—palpitating and striving to burst out of your ribcage.

“Are you going forth with your resignation?” he suddenly asks.

“Not yet, I suppose. I talked to Maverick about it today, and he’s offering to endorse me to the Admiral and Vice Admiral to make me an instructor in TOPGUN.”

“And are you taking it?”

“Maybe.”

The lights inside the house aren’t open. It’s only the lamp you had beside your sofa; its warm hue illuminates your faces and creates this sense of intimacy that you can’t brush off. Jake’s expression tells you he’s in deep thought, as if he’s having a dilemma of his own, and you’re under the impression that perhaps he’s confused with what’s going on right now as much as you are.

“If you take that job, then you’re staying here, aren’t you?” he guesses, and you shrug.

“Most likely.”

“Then there’s no chance we’ll be deployed again in the same squadron.”

“I wouldn’t say there’ll never be a chance again but—it’s a high possibility,” you say. “Why? Can’t stand to be directly in the same team as me anymore?”

He chuckles. “Partly.”

“Partly?” you exclaim. “You really don’t like me that much, huh?”

“It’s not that. You think I’d be here if that was the case?”

“You said the other day you didn’t want to be friends.”

“Yeah, and being friends is still the last thing I want with you.”

“Fine by me. My feelings are very much mutual, I assure you.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you’re not understanding what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I mean I’m glad we won’t be placed in the same squadron again because there wouldn’t be a conflict of interest.”

You’re left speechless, the implication of his words causing you to overthink. Is he telling you what you think he’s telling you? Are you completely missing his point? Is he just messing with you? Playing mind tricks to have you wrapped around his finger? Whatever it is—whether your suspicions are right or not—you don’t let yourself think about it further, for this tension between the both of you is heightening and there’s a voice in your head that tells you to kiss him to find out what he really sees you as.

So you do. You kiss him, closing the gap between your lips and throwing your arms around his neck to tug him closer. It’s probably because you’re drunk that you’re brave enough to execute such a crazy gesture; you think how liquid courage indeed does wonders to your brain and your ability to know what’s wrong and right. And you can literally hear the gears in Jake’s brain moving as he stands there, hesitant at first to reciprocate, but eventually succumbing to it with an intensity you didn’t know he’s capable of giving, a hand falling on your hip while the other presses against your cheek, his fingertips inching forward to your hair that you quietly moan at.

Every sense you have is enhanced as the two of you make out. You can discern the pounding of your hearts; you can hear every pleased sound he makes as well as yours; you’re aware of every action he does, what he decides to do with his hands which moves to your waist, to your back, and lower… and even lower than that… 

However, it ends as fast as it starts, and before you can properly react, Jake’s already breaking the kiss.

 He looks grudging. It’s clear that he didn’t want to stop. “You’re drunk,” he whispers, an explanation to why he still did.

“Just tipsy,” you correct, about to try kissing him again but he dodges it, instead placing a lingering kiss on your cheek that spreads chills all over.

“We’re not sleeping together unless you’re sober.” His lips are on your ear, and you’re awfully getting mixed signals. It’s like he’s saying no yet continuously seducing you.

“I’m not that drunk.”

“I drove you home because you are.”

“No, you insisted on driving me home.”

“Because you were planning to sleep in your car, Goldie. Come on, are you seriously arguing with me on this?”

You groan, frustrated. Your head is starting to hurt because of the aftermath of the kiss and the thinking and the analyzing when it comes to what he’s saying to you and the actions he’s showing tonight.  “Am I getting the signals wrong? Isn’t the reason you went here because you want to sleep with me? You just told me you didn’t want to be friends—because obviously, friends don’t fuck.”

Jake’s laughing once more. It certainly doesn’t seem you’re sober from the way you’re talking to him, too blunt and careless. “You didn’t read the signals wrong. I do want to sleep with you.”

“Then why are you rejecting me? I’m practically begging here. It’s goddamn embarrassing.”

“____,” he utters your name, still grinning in amusement yet his features are softer now as he stares at your half-lidded eyes boring into him, “if you were any other girl who’s asking me, I’d gladly sleep with you. You’re not some girl though—and I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“What?”

“I want to date you.”

“Okay, hold on.” You whip your head back in shock but you’re not pushing him away which Jake takes as a good sign. “Are you kidding? You better not be messing with me right now.”

“I’m not messing with you.”

“There’s no way in hell you want to date me, Hangman.”

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

“You don’t even know me that well.”

“It’s not like I’m asking you to elope and run away with me.” He chuckles and steps away, giving you a bit of room to breathe. “I’m just saying I like you and I want to get to know you better.”

You stare at him, waiting for the punchline that’s never going to arrive. “You’re nuts.”

“Hey, you’re the one who kissed me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I thought you only wanted sex!”

“I still want sex.” He smirks and you squint at him in distaste. “But after a couple dates maybe. I take it slow with women I actually like.”

“You take it slow? You?”

“In relationships and in bed—if that’s your thing.”

“God, you’re giving me a migraine.”

You head to the part of the kitchen where you have a pouch of medicine for instances like these. From your peripheral vision, you see Jake already getting your unfinished water bottle to hand it to you as soon as you popped the aspirin in your mouth. 

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” he says. “You should rest.”

“I should wake up from this nightmare.”

“I didn’t know jumping on me and begging for sexual intercourse was part of your nightmares, Goldie.”

“Fuck you.”

He grins. “Go to bed. I’ll leave right after.”

“How are you going back to the Hard Deck?”

“I’ll book an Uber.”

“Okay.”

You let Jake usher you to your bedroom, saying that he’ll visit you first thing in the morning. You tell him that he doesn’t have to bother but he replies that he needs to do another welfare check which you roll your eyes at, reckoning that it was cute the first time but now it was getting old and corny. He just laughs at you, for what seems like the nth time that evening, the reality of what happened between the both of you is beginning to sink in—and you’re not freaking out anymore. You think you kind of like it; you like the idea of Jake taking you seriously and conveying how serious he is by making his intentions clear.

“Good night, darlin’,” he says, brushing a portion of your hair away from your face.

You take a deep breath. You still kind of want to jump on him still but you immediately push those inappropriate thoughts away.

“Good night, Jake.”

****

The next day, a huge part of you genuinely thinks that everything that transpired last night was only an infuriating almost-sex dream. 

You would have slept all day if it wasn’t for the heat of the sunlight seeping through your windows. When you opened your eyes, you saw that it was past 11 a.m. and your head was already killing you, causing you to sit up and head groggily towards the kitchen to wash your face, brush your teeth, and find the aspirin that could help with the headache. You’re the type of person who prevents a matter from worsening while it’s still possible, and you don’t want to spend the rest of your day wincing and complaining about your condition when it could easily be solved.

The moment you swallow the medicine, your brain thinks it’s the perfect time to bombard you with memories of what commenced the day prior. In an instant, you’re remembering the drinking, and then Jake driving you home, that odd tension between you two, and—oh, God. The kiss. The conversation after the kiss. Jake confessing what he felt for you and what he was going to do about it now that he said it out loud.

As if on cue, a knock pulls you away from your thoughts and like a robot, you mechanically go to your door to greet whoever it is that’s on the other side. You don’t even have the energy to peek through the curtains first like you usually do, and you realize that it’s a huge mistake that you forgot that step because once you’re swinging the door open, there’s Jake on your porch.

“Woah, not so fast.” He puts a firm hand on your door as you attempt to shut it on his face, very reminiscent of the other night. “I see you’re not planning on using an amnesia card on me because of yesterday.”

You grimace at the reminder. “Go away. My head hurts and I can’t deal with you today.”

“Good thing I bought hangover soup then. Can I come in?”

“No.”

“What if I say please?”

“Still no.”

“Alright, come on,” he’s still resisting the force you’re putting on the door to close it, “at least take the soup.”

You glance at the paper bag he’s holding and reach for it. However, he slyly moves it to the opposite direction.

“Hangman.” You grit your teeth.

“If you’re taking the soup…” he trails, “then that means you’re agreeing to a date. Will you still take it?”

It’s ridiculous. It’s such a middle school tactic, you think—yet there’s a little something fluttering inside your chest, a bit amused at how Jake is approaching this. There’s truly nothing like a man who goes out of character for the woman he adores; from the manner in which he’s acting, it’s apparent that he’s not afraid to show you a side of his personality that isn’t the usual macho, cocky, and self-absorbed one. Somehow, even if you’re aware that he’s going towards the cheesy route, you’re digging it.

With a roll of your eyes, you snatch the paper bag from his grasp and saunter back to your kitchen.

“Are you coming in or what?” you call, noticing that he hasn’t stepped in.

He strides to where you are, this cheeky look on his face as he reverts to his standard overconfident self. You remark how he goes after you, soon caging you by the sink while you’re getting the utensils from its designated cabinet to use for this so-called hangover soup he brought with him. You’re not fazed despite the proximity and how this scene mirrors last night when you face him, even raising your chin a bit higher to appear further composed.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me,” he says.

Jake makes a familiar show of his eyes flashing from your eyes to your lips, smirking, and just when you think he’s leaning down to continue where you left off, you tease him by placing a palm on his face and gently shoving his face away.

“Shut up, Bagman.”

gentle reminder: this author is a sucker for validation so please don’t hesitate to share your thoughts about this! ♡

[blog-name-idk]

The Plot Twist | 04

Written by @blog-name-idk and @eserethriddle

Summary: Once upon a time you would have jumped at the chance to live the idol girlfriend life. The cameras, the action, the whirlwind romance. But what was once a dream has now become your worst nightmare, and you fully intend to fight the universe as it repeatedly conspires to set you up with your seven perfectly good soulmates from Bangtan Sonyeondan.

In which we punt Y/N into all the fanfiction tropes and you do your feral best to subvert the love story.

Because nani the fuck, you are The Plot Twist.

Pairing: OT7 X Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, crack, humor, idol!AU, light angst, slow burn, romantic comedy, just a fun silly old time

Rating: 18+

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Chapter 4: "You like Pac-man, right?"

"How dare you!"

You’ve just finished entering the final character to G0d$l@yeR_69 when you look up from the post-game leaderboard screen.

"Pardon?" you ask in confusion, slightly alarmed by the speed in which a masked man is walking towards you and the Pac-man machine. Even with the mask, the exaggerated furrow marring the man’s forehead is more than enough for you to discern that he is less than pleased. You square your shoulders, in case you need to defend the precious apparatus. Well, that and protect Lee-ssi, but mostly the Pac-man game.

"You're G0d$l@yeR_69?" the man squawks, voice irate. He gives you a once over and bristles further. You can almost imagine his fluffy hair rising like the feathers of an offended bird, and he… kind of sounds like one, too. You struggle to stifle your snicker when he gestures broadly to your grown stature, incredulous even as he finally discerns to himself, “You’re not some pint-sized punk!”

“And yet here you are, humbled all the same.” you respond haughtily, dusting off the imaginary lint off your burgundy dress. “Based on your reaction, I take it you’re ‘Jin the PacMan God’?”

You pause.

Wait.

Jin?

In fact, this offended cockatoo of a man actually looks… familiar. Broad shoulders, nice eyebrows, and –

Your blood pressure skyrockets as you realize exactly who is yelling at you. Unfortunately, your temper rises faster than your self-preservation.

"I'm sorry, BTS Jin is the same stupid kid who calls himself 'Jin the PacMan God?'" you blurt before you can stop yourself. "What self-respecting adult wastes so much time on an arcade game?"

He raises an eyebrow at you with a pointed stare, and you shrug. You don't fit into that category. You certainly don't respect yourself.

"A grown woman calls herself G0d$l@yeR_69?" Kim Seokjin jabs in return, crossing his arms, now looking more sulky than angry.

"Well, it's accurate to lore," you retort with an uncaring flip of your hair, doing your best to look bored rather than reflect the panic beginning to clog your throat. His genuinely offended gasp would have made you laugh if you weren't currently running through the possible exit routes in your head.

And then Jin says, "Well, you must be cheating!"

The egregious accusation dispels all thoughts of escape from your head. Your pride and integrity as a gamer have been insulted, and you narrow your eyes at the self-proclaimed pro-gamer before you.

You’re fully prepared to defend your honor.

It's on.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Jimin doesn't get it.

How could he be unlucky enough to get sidelined a second time in a row? He wasn't even late this time! But because there had been more men than women (a bit heteronormative for his tastes, but that's the current state of most official speed-dating events), he and a few others had to wait aside for a rotation. And then somehow, everyone had already decided to pair up before he even got to meet anyone!

Perhaps it's karma and he's being punished for telling his Jin-hyung that he sort of kind of definitely looked like a certain pink Moluccan bird species when he was all riled up and red-eared.

With a sigh, he leaves the building, shoulders slumped. He can't quite bring himself to call Jin yet, and so he decides to walk aimlessly for a while. Perhaps some fresh air will cheer him up.

It's a bustling street, and he nervously brings his mask up higher on his face lest he be recognized. No one seems to be paying attention however, and the people going about their daily lives remind him that despite his woes, life goes on.

An arcade catches his eye, and he shrugs to himself. A few rounds of killing zombies or racing fake cars will take his mind off things. It's a school day, so it's unlikely the place will be packed.

When he walks in, he hears a familiar screech, accompanied by the sound of a boot stomping on the ground.

"Yahhh! How did you do that?! That's not fair!"

What is Jin-hyung doing here? And what is he yelling about?

Curious, he follows the voice past the shopkeeper who looks torn between concern and amusement, to where Jin is ranting at someone obscured by his frame.

A p(r)etty sigh.

"I'm sorry this is so difficult for you to get through that coconut haircut of yours, but has it occurred to you that I'm just better?"

Huh, that voice is also familiar.

"That’s just prepos–"

"...Hyung?"

The voices cease as the two arguers turn to look at Jimin, and he feels his breath catch in his throat.

You look particularly lovely today, with a form-fitting burgundy dress that shows off much more soft-looking skin than the business or lounge attire you wear on the rare occasion he actually sees you.

And his Jin-hyung, next to you, all rose-colored cockatoo.

It's more than enough to set Jimin off-balance.

"Oh! Hi, LN-ssi!" he hurriedly squeaks, cursing his voice for cracking. What are all his voice lessons even for?

At least you can't tell his palms are suddenly sweating. Your eyebrows rise and Jimin realizes you never did tell him your name, that he just saw it on your mailbox and it stuck in his brain. Oh no, do you think he's a stalker now?

"You know this phony?" Jin cries, oblivious to the internal crisis his dongsaeng is currently experiencing.

Jimin's brows crinkle. Phony?

Your head whips to his hyung at his words, your eyes narrowing.

"I believe you saw proof with your own two eyes," you say icily, though your gaze has a fire that makes Jimin gulp. "Maybe you should get them checked? Sometimes they can fail with old age."

Jin's jaw drops, and as a constipated sound of outrage leaves him, you take the opportunity to brush past and march to the exit. Jimin, still confused, steps aside automatically to let you pass and you give him a reluctant nod.

"Jimin-ssi."

As you leave, Jin turns to Jimin to demand answers, but he barely hears it over the fluttering in his tummy.

It's the first time you've ever addressed him by name.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The twelve-year-old boy opens his hand, revealing hard candy wrapped in shiny, yellow paper.

"You like Pac-man, right?" he asks, smiling brighter than the sun.

You accept his offering, sure your own face is radiant enough to power all of Gwangju. You can't say you have strong feelings for the buttery treat, but you do for the little boy who fills your days with laughter and sweet memories. You could spend forever playing with him at the park by your houses…

Except your parents get the brilliant idea of starting their own restaurant in Seoul. You are heartbroken when the decision to move is made, but you do your best to support their dreams, even if it comes at the expense of your only friend.

Out of sentimentality and denial, you save the shiny candy wrapper, holding it when you're sad, as if it's a talisman that can ward off the lonely ache in your chest. It's hard being the new kid in a big-city school, and though you present your mother's strong facade when your new classmates tease you about your satoori, it hurts. You have to be strong.

After one particularly bad day, you decide to drop into the local arcade, because all it will take is one smile from your appa to disintegrate your cracking veneer. You're a big girl, basically an adult at a whopping eleven years old! You're not a baby anymore, you just need some extra time to set yourself right.

You weave through the attractions, passing racing games and claw machines when something catches your eye. A familiar yellow character smiles at you from a game cabinet, and for a moment you feel like he is still there with you.

You walk up to the Pac-man arcade machine with newfound resolve and a sunny smile to match.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“Sometimes I wanna drop by Gwangju,” Jung Hoseok begins, taking his seat at the dining table next to Taehyung, “But then I remember they already demolished the playplace from my childhood and think, huh, maybe not. Thing is, they sold really good tteok there.”

“Pan-fried tteok?” Taehyung leans back, remembering the taste of his own favorite rice cake flavors from Daegu. “My hometown had that, too.”

“Sometimes the cart owner-ahjussi would give us candy with our orders. I miss it a lot.”

Hobi's eyes take on a wistful look, and Taehyung pats his shoulder.

It must have been some really good candy.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"Honey! I'm home!" you call, setting your briefcase on the floor as your husband rushes up to you wearing a cute apron that has nothing on his sweet face and sweeter smile.

"I just finished dinner," he says, greeting you with a kiss on the cheek that makes your chest fill with the glow of a million fireflies.

"What, mudcakes again?" you ask fondly. You thread your fingers with his, uncaring of the dirt on his palms, giggling at the pout on his face.

"You said they're your favorite!" he complains petulantly, though he doesn't pull away.

"They are," you agree, squeezing his hand in yours reassuringly. You beam at him, and his cheeks turn pink. "If it's something you made, it's my favorite."

You're suddenly tugged towards him and you squeak in surprise as wiry arms crush the air out of your lungs.

"You're my favorite," he mumbles into your hair, and it's the happiest you've felt in your entire nine years of existence.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

It's great to be back in Gwangju, away from all the insanity happening in Seoul. You can finally relax and live life rather than constantly look over your shoulder in the fear of running into another member of BTS.

Fuck you, fate! You're taking a break.

You knock on the old, familiar door, and it opens to reveal a kind, lightly lined face that breaks into a huge smile at the sight of you.

"Halmeoni!" you announce happily, stepping into your grandmother's arms and hugging her fiercely. She hugs you back just as hard, squeezing you with her deceptively spindly limbs as you melt into a hold that feels like childhood.

"We've been waiting!" she replies cheerfully before ushering you to the living room and calling your grandpa to come greet you. The house is the same as you remember, a comforting echo of days past.

"Oh! We ran into that boy you used to play with at the store earlier!" your grandma says just as you pick up your cup of tea. "The one you used to play house with!"

You laugh, thinking fondly of your childhood friend. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if he had been your soulmate, rather than a group of the seven biggest idols in Korea. Or perhaps not – the things that are so simple to children don't always translate to adulthood, and those memories hold an untainted innocence that you wouldn't trade for the world.

You bring the cup of homebrewed tea to your lips, only to choke at your grandmother's next words.

"I invited him over for dinner!"

You stare at the twinkle in your suddenly menacing grandmother's eyes. In just one simple sentence, she has transformed from the kindly, loving fixture of your youth to yet another cruel, scheming matchmaker. Truly your mother’s maker. Leaving Seoul might have saved you from idol-related phenomena, but clearly not from your family's attempts at grand (and great-grand) children.

Instinct drives you to your feet and you grab your purse, tripping over the rug as you rush to the door.

"I have to go," you call over your shoulder, uncaring of the baffled expression on your grandma's face.

"But you just got here?" she says in distressed confusion, and your stomach fills with guilt at the sadness in her voice. "We haven't seen you in so long, dear."

You still, hand on the doorknob and so, so close to freedom and safety. Eventually, you sigh, shoulders slumping as the resolve trickles out of your body.

"Never mind, I'm going to take my stuff upstairs," you say in resignation, grabbing the carry-on still by the door and carting it to the guest room. The wallet feels extra heavy in your purse, and when you're safely within the confines of your room you sit on the bed and pull it out.

You reach behind the ID card in the plastic slot of your wallet and feel the soft, crinkly edges of a fond childhood memory.

You like Pac-man, right?

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Hoseok still remembers the smile on your face whenever he gave you the extra candy he would get with his tteok in the park. As well as the thinly hidden devastation on your face the last time he saw you, and you told him your family was leaving for Seoul.

Despite him being older, he had always admired your courage and tenacity, the way you would charge head-first at the things you wanted. Your unwavering support whenever he was feeling down or uncertain. During hard times as a trainee, he would sometimes picture your determined expression and feel an extra spark of energy.

He really isn't sure what to expect, or even if he's in his right mind, coming to dinner to see his long lost… friend? Play-spouse?

Would you even remember him?

The door opens, and Hoseok's heart jumps at the sight of you. The tentative smile on your face fades into an expression of utter shock, and he belatedly remembers exactly who he is.

"Wh–what the–I–" you stammer, looking just as mortified as Hoseok feels. In his ruminations of childhood, he had completely forgotten his present state of being and how it might impact new encounters. "Can I help you?"

"Y-Y/N?" he asks tentatively. To his bafflement, you flinch as if he had screamed at you.

"How do you know my name?" you ask, stepping back with your hand on the door. You look five seconds away from slamming it in his face, and despite his misgivings, Hoseok's heart sinks. For some reason this cold reception feels worse than if you were a saesang.

"I'm… I'm here for dinner?" he says tentatively, proffering the seonmul he brought. The expression on your face is so reluctant that for a moment he takes a whiff of the bag in case the pastries from the most expensive bakery in the area have somehow gone bad.

With a spark of panic, Hoseok wonders if he accidentally went to the wrong address. The house is familiar, and you look similar to the little girl he remembers, but perhaps he's just let his hopes affect his memories. Why else would you look so shaken, other than a strange man showing up out of nowhere?

"But you're… you're not–"

"Y/N, what's taking so long?"

Relief fills him momentarily as your grandmother comes behind you, though it's tempered by the way you haven't relaxed.

"But this is… this isn't…" you stammer, face pale as you look between Hoseok and your grandmother. It hits him that you probably don't remember his real name, as you had been too young to pronounce it correctly when you had first met.

"You used to call me Hoba," he says with a smile, realizing that this is why you must be so confused – you've recognized him as Jung Hoseok of BTS, and thus not your playmate from so many years ago. "It's nice to see you again."

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

This cannot be happening.

Not only is the smiling boy from your fondest memories Jung Hoseok of BTS, but he just somehow had a break in his schedule the same weekend you're in Gwangju, and he ran into your grandmother at the supermarket? You left Seoul to get a break from these ridiculous situations and not to end up having dinner with one of your soulmates!

What kind of contrived, unimaginative bullshit is this?

"These are for you," Hoseok tells your grandmother with a formal bow, offering the pretty, pastel pastry box you had refused to accept earlier. She beams approvingly while you pinch yourself. Hard.

Through the pain in your arm, Jung Hoseok is still standing in your entryway, a sunny nightmare you can't wake up from. The old wrapper, once a magical talisman to ward off gloom, is lead weight in your pocket.

"Um," he begins awkwardly, looking bashful. It is not cute. He is not cute. "And this is for you."

He holds out a fuzzy yellow ball you immediately recognize, and you stare at it in shock. Your chest is doing something very funny, like tachycardic arrythmia. Yes. Hilarious.

Hoseok evidently takes your silence as disapproval, and wilts like a flower deprived of light. "Uh, sorry, you probably don't like Pacman anymore…"

"I do," you reply faintly, reaching forward to take his gift. Only to be polite. That's it. Certainly not because his dejection makes your insides roil with guilt. "Thank you."

"Of course," he replies, looking only marginally relieved by your lukewarm response. "Oh! You dropped something."

He dips low to grab something, and to your horror, your wallet is open –

"Wait, is this–"

"I JUST LIKE THE CANDY!" you blurt in a near scream, feeling your entire body light on fire. This would be humiliating in the best of situations, and Jung Hoseok discovering you kept the wrapper from an old candy he had given you, like a sentimental loser, is decidedly NOT the best of situations.

His resulting smile almost blasts you off your feet, and you wonder if overexposure to sunlight can lead to cardiac arrest.

“Y/N-ah,” Jung Hoseok says, tentatively, but with soft affection. It is more devastating than you could have ever imagined. “I missed you too. Have you been well?”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Masterlist | Next

[ughgoaway]

Snapshots

a/n; This is kind of half a blurb and half a fic?? Idk, it's just horny thoughts expanded tbh. now, this is NOT sanitary at all. PLEASE do not do this without thoroughly cleaning the shoe first. You are asking for a yeast infection and a UTI otherwise. But this is fiction, so let's all pretend he did a little sterilising beforehand! however, that's not hot to read, so im not gonna write it, but let's play pretend!! Thank you, ily <3

Content warnings; boot grinding, d-word, degradation, jealousy, bratty behaviour, dom matty, spit, swearing, and teasing. But I think thats it?? I'm so sorry if I'm missing some!

word count; 2.1k ish

(shout out to Kirke @nowshesdoingitallthetime for once again causing this. you are my fav little devil on my shoulder encouraging this behaviour...)

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿

*click* *click* *click*

“Okay and now look to the left!” You hear the photographer shout. matty turns his head exactly as she asks. But apparently, it's not quite right, judging by how she walks over to him and poses his body.

you can feel the jealousy in every fucking nerve when her fingers graze the edge of Matty's jaw, adjusting his head half a centimetre. The move was so small it was completely unnoticeable to anyone else, but what was noticeable was the sly smirk on the photographer's face as her fingers lingered on Matty’s skin.

Your boyfriend remains completely oblivious, as he has been all day. You, however, noticed it as soon as you walked in together. You weren't planning on coming to play jealous girlfriend, you were prepared to be silently supportive.

But when she spent 40 minutes trying different outfits on Matty and showering him with compliments, you knew something was up. 

You studied her every move from then on. The way she “adjusted” Matty’s hair after almost every take, running her fingers through every strand in a way that had Matty practically purring.

You look at the way she pulls at his clothes, untucking and tucking in his shirt multiple times. and you also watch her eyes dart down to his exposed stomach every. fucking. Time. You swear you can almost see the cogs turning in her head when she catches a flash of the rose tattoo on his hip.

Every joke he makes, she laughs just a little too hard. Matty is funny, but making a shitty pun is not worthy of doubling over and acting like you're at a standup show. Yet, every vaguely funny comment he makes has her cackling and wiping tears that are streaming down her cheeks.

So you were fuming. Partially at her, Matty had introduced you as his girlfriend at the start of the session. Which had earned him an unimpressed hum from her and you a petty wave. she didn't seem to take too much notice of that fact, though, judging by the way she's stroking his cheek right now.

But you're also pissed at Matty for playing right into her hand. 

You knew he was egotistical, but the way he was practically turned into a giggling schoolgirl over the shoot drove you insane. His attention whore actions usually make you laugh, probably because they're normally aimed at you. as soon as you start rambling about how much you love him, matty becomes a child star, immediately glowing at the praise.

But it's remarkably less entertaining when he's lapping up the attention of a woman who is practically getting on her knees in front of you.

And maybe you took it too far, walking over to him mid-conversation and grabbing his face, pressing your lips onto his harshly, you take advantage of the gasp that leaves his lips to press your tongue into his mouth, licking inside and moaning excessively loud.

Matty pulls you off once his logical brain overtakes his horny one, but you can still see he's slightly dazed when he goes back to chatting with the photographer. The haze in his eyes and the pink flush on his cheeks take a few minutes to fully fade, especially when your hand slides onto his thigh and grips his skin possessively. 

You hang off his arm for the rest of the break and move closer to the set when they start up again. Every adjustment she suggests you swoop in and make before she can, punctuating each one with a peck on Matty’s lips and a glare her way.

Matty knows what you're doing, and after you lingered a little too long on one kiss, he pulls you in with a hand around the base of your neck.

You feel his breath on your ear before he starts talking, “I know what you're doing. Behave.”

You don't listen to his demands. Why should you when he's been gagging for every piece of attention this stranger gives him? So you play it up even more, determined to beat this woman at her game.

whilst you might win that war, you certainly don't win the one waging with matty judging by his tense shoulders and rolling eyes.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿

The ride home is full of tension, Matty's knuckles are white from how hard he's gripping the steering wheel, and the hand that usually lives on your thighs is firmly stuck on the gearstick.

You cant deny that the mix of his palpable anger now and how fucking good he looked at the photo shoot had riled you up. Every tick of his jaw makes your thighs tighten. And you swear you see a smile cross Matty's face as you cross and uncross your legs for the 20th time, desperate to relieve some pressure.

As soon as you get in the door, Matty is barking orders at you. 

“Follow me. And be quiet. You've done enough talking today.”  Any bratty behaviour left simmering inside you was gone. You trailed behind Matty silently, walking into the front room and starting to sit down on the sofa beside him.

“Nope, floor,” Matty says bluntly.

... no, he's joking. Surely.

“What?” you tilt your head at the man in front of you as you speak, assuming this is another one of his unfunny jokes (but you're sure the photographer would be fucking cackling at it.)

“You heard me, Don't play dumb now, baby. Kneel.” You don’t know whether it’s the intensity of his eyes or the assertiveness of his voice, but you do exactly as he asks. Sinking to your knees like you had done for him so many times before.

Your hands start to move to his fly instinctively, assuming you'd be apologising the only way you know how, letting Matty fuck your throat until you cant speak. But his hands smack yours away before you can even touch the denim of his jeans.

“Thats not gonna cut it today, baby. i need a proper apology this time.” Matty's foot slides between your legs, his boot sitting between your thighs as you hover just above it.

“I want you to grind on my boot, sweet girl. Put on a proper show for me, yeah?” Matty nods at you, and you don't even think before immediately nodding back, sinking down on his boot below you. in your mind, you know you should be scoffing at him and rolling your eyes, but your body moves without you telling it to.

You can already feel wetness pooling in your panties, throbbing at the idea of being so powerless under him. You gasp as soon as the cool leather of the boot touches your core, goosebumps blooming over your skin.

Your hips start rutting against the leather, sliding your hands around Matty's calf as you experimentally grind down on his shoe. Matty feels your fingers tighten around his leg as you clit brushes agaisnt the leather, the slight scratch of the boot making your head spin.

You rock your hips dumbly against Matty's shoe, arching your back when it brushes harshly over your bundle of nerves. Your ruby red nails dig into Matty’s leg through his jeans as you cling to him desperately.

One of your hands slides behind you so you can rock your hips even deeper on his boot, laying your palm flat the ground and canting your hips up desperately. Your thighs burn with every rock you make, but the burn in your core is stronger than anything else.

“thats it. now stick your tongue out, fuck. that's it angel,” Matty palms himself over his jeans as he stares down at you, groaning as he watches spit drip from your tongue and fall on the boot below, making every move you make slicker and more dizzying.

Matty looks pretty fucked out for someone who hasn't been touched, a thin sheen of sweat sits on his skin, his dick straining in his jeans as he watches you like a hawk. He studies your every movement like he is watching a cinematic masterpiece, taking in every move you make and committing it to memory. 

His jaw clenches as he fights every urge in his body to grab you by the hair and pull under him. Visions cross his mind of him jackhammering his hips inside you until you're screaming his name, watching the bluge in your stomach as he pumps fucking every inch of himself inside you. But he stays strong, keeping his eyes trained on you with every move you make.

“Thats it, shine my boots with your cunt. Good girl” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as Matty drags out his words and pushes his boot up, the pressure against your clit making the world around you fall into a haze. 

A flush covers your cheeks and chest, and Matty smirks at how blissed out you look.

Fucking you dumb is something that will never fail to amaze him, watching a smart girl become a babbling mess because of him does wonders for his ever-growing ego. It's not like he needed the boost, but your brain melted out of your ears as soon as he starts talking to you like he owned you.

You can't help but squirm as you start moving closer towards the edge, the pressure building inside you slowly becoming too much. Whimpers and whines fall from your lips as your hips speed up, pleading with Matty to let you cum without saying it. Luckily, Matty has seen you fall apart under him enough times to know exactly what you're asking.

“You getting close, baby?” Matty smirks as he speaks, “‘course you are. Filthy girl wants to cum all over daddy's boots.” your jaw drops at the nickname, and you nod as best you can, whimpering with every circle of your hips. 

“Beg." he demands

"Tell me you're fucking sorry and beg to cum,” Matty's jaw drops when he sees tears start falling down your face, desperation filling your every nerve. Soon, you're sobbing and begging Matty for mercy, your hips bucking wildly.

“Please. I’m so- fuck- im so sorry, Daddy. Please let me cum, ill be so good, I promise. Just- ah! let me cum. Please.” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you fight to hold in your orgasm, but every rut of your hips is making pushing you closer.

“So good for me, such a dirty slut. Okay, angel, cum for me.” As soon as the words leave Matty’s lips, your cumming, the rubber band inside you snapping.

White spots dance across your vision as you push even harder down on Matty’s boot, letting the tough leather push you through your orgasm with every circle of your hips. Your chest heaves, and your jaw shakes as your orgasm drags on, intense pleasure wracking your every nerve.

Your thighs grip tightly around his boot as you reach your peak, but soon enough they're going lax, your hips slowing down until you’re motionless sitting on Matty's shoe, panting wildly and fighting to catch your breath. His fingers move from his lap and grip your chin, forcing you to stare at him as he speaks.

“Don't leave a mess. clean it up for me baby, be a good girl.” Matty nods at his boot, looking at you expectantly with a sick smile covering his face.

You sink further down on the floor below you, ignoring the way the cold concrete scratches your knees as you slide. Dark brown eyes meet yours as you hold eye contact with Matty. staring up at his as you stick your tongue out, and start to lick the leather covered in your slick. An exaggerated moan falls from your lips at the taste, and Matty’s jaw drops as he watches your tongue lap at his shoe.

After a few more seconds of you swiping your tongue over the leather, Matty is dragging you into his lap, gripping your hips harshly as you settle on top of him. He can't help smirking as you hover over him. Your cheeks are pink as you stare at him. The same pretty pink covers your lips. undoubtedly from desperately bitting at them to try and dampen your needy whimpers.

“Don't be so selfish now, princess, give daddy a taste,” you smirk at Matty before gripping his jaw, watching in awe as his mouth drops open and his tongue falls out.

Power skitters up your spine as you lean forward and let a drop of spit fall from your bottom lip, watching it drip and fall onto your boyfriend's tongue. A grin immediately pulls at your lips when you hear the groan that is ripped from his chest. 

As soon as Matty tastes the mix of your slick and spit, he's dragging you deeper into his lap, forcing his tongue in your mouth to desperately lick every trace of your release from the inside of your mouth.

Needy hands grip each other's skin, groping every piece you can get your hands on. Eventually, Matty pulls away from your lips, his eyes dropping to watch a string of spit spread between you. His head falls back against the sofa behind him, staring at you in awe.

“I'm booking another photo shoot with her,” he teases, his chest heaving as he desperately sucks in air to his lungs.

“The fuck you are.” You surge forward and capture his lips again, smiling as you feel his lips turn up as soon as your skin touches his. 

[xtrashmammalstefx]

All Shook Up! (An Austin Butler x Reader SMUT!)

WARNING: SMUT, LANGUAGE, minors dni

Notes: SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKA! I know I've been gone for a while but in all fairness this summer just sucked balls and I'm just now getting back in the proper headspace to write/post. Idk what I'll write next but I promise there will be more stories coming. Anywhore I'll shut up now. Enjoy!!

PS: This is technically a sequel to Chaos Monster & Her English Gent but I think it can be read on its own. Okay shutting up for real now.

Sometimes my heart can be the stupidest piece of shit ever. It’s been weeks since that day in Callum’s dressing room, and only days since filming wrapped for the season. Callum’s been blowing up my phone constantly and Austin was now home for the time being until he had to go film his next project.

The day my heart fucked me over was one of those miraculous days when both Austin and I had the day off. Austin was spending it reading a new script, while I was just doing my best to relax.

Hello darling.

I chuckled and answered back.

Hey.

Bored already?

No.

I’m just missing my special girl is all.

I rolled my eyes just as the next text came through.

Send me a pic?

Doesn’t necessarily have to be sexual.

I just wanna see your pretty face.

“What you laughin’ at Priscilla?” Austin asked distracting me from my phone. He was in the arm chair looking at me; his script laying on his lap.

“Nothin. Just your boy being a fucking idiot,” I semi-lied. Austin still didn’t know about Callum and me...and if I was being honest I wasn’t too sure about Callum and me either. I’ve been accused of being too hasty with other things before and a part of me feared I was being to hasty with this too. Needing immediate distraction I raised my phone (camera on) and aimed it at Austin. “Smile baby.”

Austin looked up from his script and smiled without questioning it. I took the photo and sent it to Callum. “Do I even want to know what you’re doin’ over there babe?”

“Callum asked for a pic, but as you can see I currently look like shit,” I motioned at my messy bun (didn’t exactly feel like brushing out my hair that day), make-upless face, and bespectacled eyes.

“Darlin’ I hate to break it to you but never since I have known you have you looked like shit,” Austin said. Just then another message came through.

Sexy but you know that’s not what

I meant.

“Why does he want a pic anyway?” Austin asked.

I shrugged. “I think he just misses our stupid faces.

“Mm… I think it might be more than that sweetheart,” Austin said tossing his script onto the coffee table. “I saw the way he kept lookin’ at you on set. He looked at you like you were the finest piece of meat this side of the Atlantic. Which ain’t totally off base if I say so myself.” I scoffed at the idea but Austin continued to look serious. “You’re the most beautiful girl I know. It’s a shame that you don’t see it because I see it very clearly.”

I sighed and tossed my phone onto the coffee table before getting up and darting towards Austin. I sat down on his lap and cuddled into him. Austin chuckled deeply and wrapped his arms around me. Austin always gives the best hugs. “We really need to have more days like this.”

“Like what?” Austin asked resting his cheek on my head.

“Like this. Just you and me...like we’re the only ones in the world. Like nothing else matters as long as we’re both here, together, for forever…” It was then I felt Austin’s lips pressed themselves on my forehead.

“You’re already my whole world Y/N,” he muttered.

“And you’re mine,” I whispered pressing my lips against his cheek. It was something I had done many times throughout our friendship but this time… it felt different. This time he trembled at my touch. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Just all shook up I guess.”

“You fuckin’ dork,” I laughed before he was suddenly pulling me in. His lips enveloped mine sending a tingle up my spine. I know I should’ve pulled away...told him about Callum and hoped for the best but… I don’t know. For some reason I just… I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop.

But I guess something else wanted it to end.

Ding dong.

Austin pulled back and sighed. “That would be our UberEats.” He carried me back to the sofa and sat me down before going to answer the door. Normally Austin would gladly cook for us but we both agreed that on that day we were feeling exceptionally lazy.

We didn’t really say anything as we had our Thai dinner. Just snuck glances at each other every now and then. At one point I think it became a little too much for him to handle for he swiped the box of Mango Sticky Rice I had started to dig in to. “Give it back.”

“Hell nah, not until you get talkin’.” Austin said continuing to hold the rice hostage.

“I am talking,” I said. “Give. It. Back.”

“Or. What? Sugar.” He smirked pushing my final button. I dropped my chopsticks and pounced on him.

“Fucking give me the rice!” I snapped at him trying to reach for my rice which he now held above his head.

“Not until we talk about what happened earlier,” he said.

“God dammit Austin, it wasn’t rocket science, it should be obvious why we―.”

“Stop…”

“What? I thought you wanted me to…”

“No, I mean stop grindin’ on me,” he said making me realize that as I had been trying to get my rice back, I was simultaneous rubbing myself on his clothed crotch causing him to stiffen.

“Okay, needless to say that is your fault,” I said freezing on top of him.

“How the hell is that my fault?” he asked. “I didn’t ask you to grind on me.”

“No, but you stole my rice,” I pointed out before carefully standing up. “So… what now?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I know I want this, but I can’t decide for you,” he said before slowly standing up. “So until you know for sure if what you felt was as real as what I’ve been feelin’ every day since we met, I’m gonna have to handle this with a cold shower.”

He left the kitchen soon after leaving me be for a few minutes. I was suddenly not hungry for rice or anything on the table so after a moment I stood up and started towards my room needing to just collapse for a bit.

As I approached the door though, Austin left his room wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. “Oh, uh, sorry, I forgot my new body wash in the shopping bag.” He continued towards the bathroom and left his body wash on the counter before turning back to face me. “Is-uh-there something you wanna talk about?” He asked noticing my transfixed stare. He’d been spending his off time these last few months and his current off day to do a little extra working out for his new role and damn did it show. His abs were more defined, and his ass more perked and firm. “Y/N? You okay darlin’?”

“Uh-um-yeah,” I said. “I’m fine….I’m…” He approached me and placed his hand on my shoulder.

“You sure?” I was suddenly filled with a different, much stronger, hunger. It had me practically screaming inside while outside it only had me placing my hand on his chest. “Y/N?” I reached up and connected my lips with his. His body froze at my touch for only a moment before he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me back. He pressed me against the nearby wall and let his lips fall to my neck. As he kissed and suck on my flesh I reached down and yanked at his towel, making it fall to his feet. I wrapped my hand around his length and gasped at the feeling of his size. He wasn’t too long but girthy as holy fuck. I tugged on him gently earning a growl like sound in return. I chuckled.

“You really are all shook up aren’t you Elvis?”

“Oh fuck yeah I am Priscilla,” he said before placing his hands on my legs and picking me up. “Fuck yeah I am.” I wrapped my legs around him and let him carry me to my bed.

He laid us down and reached to pull off my shirt. He peppered kisses all over my body as he rid me of my lazy-day clothes. Once my panties were gone he placed my legs on his shoulders and brought his lips to my core. I moaned louder than I ever had, earning a chuckle from Austin before he continued to suck and lick me until I was nice and slick. “I wasn’t there yet you jerk,” I groaned as he climbed back up.

“Relax darlin’, I’m just getting started,” He smirked before reaching down and giving himself a tug before placing himself at my entrance. Just the feeling of it there made my body tremble. “Like it?” I nodded. “Want it inside you?” I nodded again. “Okay then…” He thrust his lips sliding the tip inside me.

“Holy fucking shit!” I hissed.

“So tight sugar,” he groaned pushing in further. Tears filled my eyes as he continued to stretch me. “I ain’t hurtin’ ya too bad am I?” I shook my head. “Good, I’ll try not to but feel free to hit me if I do.”

“Just fuck me already Aus,” I muttered. He leaned down and kissed me deeply before bottoming out and pulling back again. He kept his pace slow and gentle while I grew use to him. I pecked his lips and held him so our bodies were pressed together. As he continued moving inside me I snaked my hand down his back and squeezed his ass. I was right, it was pretty damn firm.

“God you drive wild,” Austin chuckled.

“How wild?” I asked.

“Want me to answer or would you rather I just―.” He thrust into me harder. “Show you.” He started moving his hips faster making my back arch.

“Oh fuck!” I screamed as he continued to thrust into me like his life depended on it. After a while he kissed me again and brought his lips to my ear.

“You wanna ride me?” I nodded eagerly. He wrapped his arms around me and flipped us over so that I was on top. I moved my hips rough and fast. It was like my whole being was just feral for him. “Holy shit you’re so fucking good at that.” Austin moaned thrusting up into me as I continued to ride him. As he did he brought his fingers to my clit and started rubbing me. That’s when the pressure began to build up inside me. “You gonna cum sugar?” I groaned and nodded. “That’s alright just come right on me. There you go baby.”

My whole body froze as a shiver ran down my spine. I was damn near screaming as I tightened around him, damn near squeezing the life out of his cock. I had just started coming down from my high, still partially blinded by the mind-blowing orgasm, when Austin wrapped his arms around me again and flipped us so I was on the bed once again.

“God you’re so fucking tight around me,” he groaned as he continued to thrust into me, only a little sloppier this time. “Gah fuck I’m gonna cum!” He moaned more and more as he started getting close. “Wuh-Where do you want it?”

“In...Inside...Inside me.” I said still breathless.

“You- You sure about that sugar?” He asked growing more and more spastic.

“Yes, god yes… fuck a baby into me Aus…” No sooner had I said that that I felt him twitch inside me. A rainbow of curses left his mouth as his body shuttered to a stop. He collapsed on top of me and gave me a final kiss on my now swollen lips.

“I fucking love you Y/N,” he said. “I love you more than words can say.”

I ran my fingers through his curls. “I love you too, Aus.”

He smiled and reached down to pull himself out of me. I hissed a bit when he did feeling a bit of a sting. “Sorry sugar.”

“It’s alright,” I assured him. He moved to lay down beside me and when he did I snuggled up to him. I fell asleep listening to the sound of his heart.

[leeknowsintrusivethots]

A Stray Concubine

| Part 1 | Pairings: Prince!Lee Know/You, Prince!Bangchan/You, RivalNoble!Hyunjin/You? We are all about possibility here. Summary: Entering into a harem choosing was something you have been groomed for since you were young. Your aim is to make Crown Prince Christopher fall at your heels in order to restore your ruined family name and fortune, but games of love are much harder than games of lies and deceit. Content: Angst (is it me if it's not?), slow burn, smut(warnings below the cut), fictional historical universe, dark themes, second person perspective, historical-typical gender roles, imperial harem-inspired concubine system, multi-pov WC: 5119 Minors do not interact. Do not repost my content to other websites. Notes: I'm back to writing again, keyboard slappin' again. Also, I am having trouble figuring out a way to format POV shifts on tumblr that is clean but not intrusive. I am open to suggestions.

Smut Warnings: very brief/very vanilla smut, sex with a stranger, no strings, mentions/illusions of oral, smut is not between leads of the story?(idk, I think some of you might be peeved by that. We do it for the plot.)

You

Powerful was a word that most would not place on a woman. 

Women were meant to be demure and delicate. They were meant to rear children and attend to household affairs as their husbands brought in income and fought in wars where there would be no true victors. It was not a woman's place to meddle in affairs of politics and governance outside of securing marriage alliances for unwanted daughters to bring extra wealth and prestige to the family name. That is simply how the world worked. 

You never questioned it in your childhood. You wore the pretty, colorful silks. You learned to speak eloquently but never out of turn. You played instruments and studied embroidery and other womanly arts. You were exactly what society dictated you be: a pretty face being prepared to be sold off for the honor of your family name. 

It was a single, fateful trip to the capital with your mother and father that had changed not only your perspective but the entire course of your life. Your family name was tarnished and your father was executed by the ruling Bang family for murder and treason. The only thing that had saved you and your mother was the grace of the sex you had been born with and her tears and pleas for mercy. Even as she cried and begged in front of His Majesty, the truths you had known crumbled to dust. 

Your father had been a puzzle piece in a generations long game of chess where the kings and queens played with the lives of others to gain power of their own. He had been a disposable pawn, easily lost to the ages as a traitor whom there would be no songs written about. Everyone knew it, and it didn't take long for you to realize it for yourself. You, even at a young age, looked beyond your mother's pretty tears and prettier words. 

You knew Princess Mai was set to wed the young lord Hwang.

The Hwangs were a powerful family - rivaling your own in terms of wealth and influence. Hwang Hyunjin was the sole heir to his family's fortunes. A marriage alliance with Princess Mai would tip the precarious balance of power to favor the Hwangs more greatly. It would have been a match that would have been detrimental to your own family's power. 

You knew all of this. You also knew the vial of dark purple liquid your mother had hidden under the flowing sleeve of her gown was not nail polish as she had told you. You had watched keenly as she had slipped the liquid into Princess Mai’s goblet as you all supped with the Queen without anyone else the wiser. Your mother's poison had killed the young princess before the physicians could even get through the door. As Queen Bang had cried and screamed for the loss of her child, your mother had secretly smiled. 

She had ruined the Hwang’s grab for more power and gotten rid of a Bang daughter in one fell swoop. She was the chess master, and she had outmaneuvered them all with a pretty face and a pretty smile. You don't know if she foresaw any of the consequences of her actions: the execution of her husband, the ruin of the family businesses, and the loss of your family's prestige.

Your mother had broken the mold. She had held your father under a spell with her looks alone. His station allowed him to take other wives if he chose, but he never did. He allowed her the freedom that many women would never get to taste in this lifetime, and she took it with greed and left him in a grave of her making. 

“Was the power worth it, Mother?” You asked the carriage window that tottered down the street.

Through the pristine glass, the lush landscape was ruined by the image of heavily armed men on horseback. They wore the colors and heraldry of the Bangs, and they patrolled the road to the palace with keen eyes and sharp blades. Their numbers were more than usual as they surveyed the throng of carriages and ladies on horseback that made the journey in an unlikely parade. 

The Selection was the only time that the Kingdom of Miroh would see such an odd assortment of women making their way to the Palace of Kings. It was a rare event, only happening when the Royal family required more women to act as concubines and maids. The needs of the Palace had nobles and commoners alike sending their daughters off for the possibilities of fame and fortune. 

Serving the royals as a maid was an honor that most of the peasantry could only dream of, but even nobles would be pleased if one of their younger daughters could secure a spot in the Royal household. It would ensure that they were at least in the line of sight of the many princes, and the maid staff were compensated fairly for their time along with accommodations and food provided for them. There were certainly worse places for a woman to find herself.

You, however, were not sent by your mother with such plebeian goals. 

It was not comfort you sought, nor was it the possibility of an affair with the princes. You were to aim higher. You were to become one of the women that history scorned for reaching beyond her station. 

Your aim was to ensure that you became Prince Bang's Most Favored. Your mother would accept no less. She wanted the favor, the prestige and wealth that would come along with your rise. It had always been her goal, and it had been fed to you for so long that you weren't even sure how much of it was your own desire over her influence. 

Did you want that level of power?

Did you even care to join the Royal family in such a fashion?

Would you ever even come to care for Prince Bang as more than a chess piece on your own board?

These were questions that you could not answer. You often thought of being a young girl again - ignorant to the world and the affairs of adults. You liked your pretty dresses. You loved running through your family's well maintained gardens with your favored hunting hound on your heels. You loved scrubbing paint off your arms and being scolded by your governess for ruining good gowns after a day of painting lessons. You were innocent then, but that was certainly no longer the case. 

The frivolities of childhood had to be left behind. You were an adult, and you knew more of the world than you cared to. You knew that as a gently bred woman, you would never be more than a broodmare for a rich and powerful man unless you took charge like your mother had so many times before. The consequences could be grave; you could lose your head if you weren't careful, but great queens had never become so by following the status quo. 

As you toiled with emotions far beyond your depth, the King's Gate shadowed your carriage eerily. It was an original part of the palace’s structure, built so solidly that the centuries had done minimal damage to its intricate design. It towered over the road, blocking out the sun with marbled walls inlaid with precious metals and jewels. It was meant to intimidate, and belittle. It was meant to make everyone passing in its shadows feel weak and small in comparison to the glory of the Royal Family. It opened seldomly, and only for whatever family sat the throne at the time. 

Its momentous shadow lasted for what felt like an eternity as the line of carriages trudged along the walls of the palace to a more appropriate entrance for those not of royal blood. You and the other women arriving for the selection were being directed to the same gate used for supply carriages and merchants. It was yet another mind game: being delivered like fine cattle to await the murderous whims of a king. It was a way to ensure all women of the selection knew their place - but you saw things through the lens of your mother. 

The Gate of Kings was the first thing all arrivals to the palace would see by design, but it would never open for them. Instead of intimidation, you saw a challenge to inflame and inspire your heart. You would enter through the Merchant's Gate, but you knew that the Gate of Kings would open for you one day. It was all a matter of what you had to do to make it happen - consequences be damned. 

Prince Minho

Head held high. Feet light and delicate. Body slim and lithe. Features sharp and regal despite station. Gown loose and flowing in bright, ostentatious colors. 

She could be a candidate, Lee Minho thought to himself as he watched the dancers practice. 

The brightly colored fabric of her gown rode up her ankles as she moved, offering the briefest flash of a pale and delicate ankle. It was inappropriate – bordering on scandalous. Had it been even a decade prior, she might have been imprisoned for her lewdness but times were changing. It was a fact of life as set in stone as the changing of seasons: people evolved and people learned. 

Minho liked that concept. He liked the ideas of society shifting and expanding. He liked the change of pace from the monotony, but what he liked even more was the prospect of those daring enough to enact that change. It took an uncommon spirit to go against the masses – to challenge the very knowledge that civilized society was built on. 

As if reading his thoughts, the dancer’s eyes found his and held them. Her's were not the wide eyes of an innocent maid. They were heavily lidded, seductive in their intent.

It was another act of impudence, a daring so strong she probably would be locked in a labor camp if his father witnessed the scene. A woman so open in her sexuality was a threat to the masculinity of the insecure men around her who grasped at whatever shred of power they thought was within their reach. She would be scorned – likely punished by her closest male relative had she acted so with any other man.

Lee Minho was certainly not just any man off the streets of Miroh. He was so much more, and arguably so much worse. A Prince of Miroh could easily have her pretty head taken off for such an insignificant slight against social norms. He hated himself for even thinking about it, but he did. He hated himself even as the dance practice came to a natural end and the dancer approached him carelessly. 

It was a silent exchange – not a single word passing her rouged lips as he took her slim hand in his and led her from the banquet hall. He knew what she wanted. It's what they all wanted. Motivations differed, but the methods never changed. A fun time with a Prince of one of the most powerful nations in the world. He was never one to reject the advances, never had been. 

Lee Minho was many things. He was a Second Prince of Miroh. He was the son of the most powerful man in the kingdom. He was the younger brother of the Crown Prince. He was an intellectual, a graceful fencer, and the official Spare of the Bang family. These were all monikers and titles the public used to describe him, but behind closed doors they sang a different tune. 

He was the shame of the Royal family. He favored arts over swordsmanship. He was an alcoholic who frequented ill reputed pubs and discussed philosophy over ale with criminal scholars. He was a rake who lived at brothels and slept with low class whores. They talked as if they knew him. They spoke as if he sat at their tables and discussed with him personally over hot tea – but they had no idea. 

They knew nothing of the self hatred that coursed through his veins. They knew nothing of the helplessness he felt due to his station. They would never understand the uncontrollable guilt that never failed to find him. 

He was a Prince. He held all the power in the world but that power was wrapped up and presented to him with strings attached ever since he came into the world. He could drink, he could talk and he could sleep his way through the entirety of Miroh but that was as far as his freedom extended. The second he even stepped over the invisible line of what was acceptable, everything could be taken away. 

The change he wanted was within his reach – a delicate treasure that would be so easy to share. Reaching up to break it free for the rest of the world would spell the end of everything he had, but he was not brave enough. He was a coward – a coward hiding behind fancy words and under the colorful skirts of women far more courageous than he. 

His frustrations often manifested in indulgence in the freedoms he was allowed. He would drink, he would dine, and he would fuck in a vain attempt to fill the deepest pits of his tarnished soul. He never wanted it. He had wanted to change it, but his own desires had twisted him. He became the very thing he feared: a powerful man taking advantage of the luxuries given to him without giving anything in return. 

The dancer’s back was pressed against a thin wooden door. Her lithe legs had wrapped around him of their own accord and her hands were threading into his hair and the fabric of his shirt – pulling him deeper into a brief moment where he was not a Prince. He was a normal man without a moral compass, enjoying the pleasures of a woman's body. 

There was no foreplay – no kissing or passionate words. He didn't even get her name before he was pushing her skirts up and sinking his sheathed cock into her cunt. It was not an act of love. It was the act of a desperate fool seeking to forget the world around him. 

And he took. He took the brief reprieve with abandon. The door shook dangerously behind her. Her nails raked him though his shirt hard enough to leave marks. Her moans and whines intermingled with his hushed pants to fill his ears with sensual distraction as her walls squeezed him. 

It was over too fast. The sounds, smells, and feelings of arousal tapering until all that was left was grim reality. Post orgasm clarity was never a good moment sober. Words failed him, and all the truths he ran from distracted him from the beautiful woman who had originally caught his eye. 

“Talia,” she spoke as she adjusted her skirts. 

“Excuse me?” He questioned dumbly. He had put space between them, giving himself a moment of reprieve and allowing her a moment to collect herself. 

“My name: Talia,” she repeated. 

“You're telling me now?” He asked in mild amusement. 

“Figured you might want to know who just made you cum,” she shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Is that any way for a lady to speak?” he asked at her audacity. It was brazen and crass, but he was far from mad about it. Her words had his cock twitching in his pants again.

“M’no Lady. You know as well as me that I'm not gentleborn.”

“Since we're being so frank, relieve me of my curiosity,” he said as he propped himself against an abandoned and dusty desk against the wall opposite of her. He regarded her levelly, but with the easy charisma that he was often praised for. 

“Anything for Second Prince Bang,” she mocked with a quirk of her brows. She never shied away from his stare, never let herself be subdued by the power his titles held. He liked that – a lot. 

“I figured you knew.” He was not surprised in the slightest. His portraits were few and far in between, but it was highly likely the palace staff had informed the dancers one of the princes was watching in on their practice. She made no comment of guilt, so he continued, “What did you want from this entanglement?”

“Other than being able to brag that I fucked a Prince?” She laughed. It was not a malicious laugh, but a genuine one. She also found their exchange amusing. 

“Are you going to join my fanclub?”

“I'll be the leader.”

At her remark, he laughed. It was an honest laugh, one that had him feeling light and free. It was an uncommon feeling for him, one only his brothers had managed to make him feel. He liked this girl, but that's all he ever could do was like her. He was under no illusions that this was just an exchange of banter. She was a passing moment in his life, not a permanent fixture. 

“Were you that pleased?” He asked with a spark in his gut. He made to move from the desk, but she put her hands up in surrender. 

“So pleased, I fear another round would have me fainting.” She let out a sigh as she fanned herself in exaggeration before letting out a snort of derision. “Isn't that what the gentleladies say when their ladybits can't take it anymore?”

“Even noblewomen like to dabble in the fine art of overstimulation,” he smirked back. 

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Are you avoiding my question?”

“I would never dare,” she hummed with a twinkle showing in her eyes. It was teasing – daring on its own. 

“Then answer.”

“Is that a command, Your Highness?”

“Would you obey if it were?”

His question had her approaching him, a smirk that mirrored his own pulling at her painted lips as the gauzy material of her dress flowed around her slim figure enticingly. When she was directly in front of him, close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin, she sank to her knees before him. Her hands deftly handled the ties of his trousers to pull them down enough to free him. 

“If the Prince commands, I will serve.” Her mouth, hot and wanting, was on him before he could even think of a witty response.

Prince Christopher

As heir apparent of a nation, Christopher Bang was not unaccustomed to worry. He worried about the coming winter and if the provinces had prepared their food stores accordingly. The winters in Miroh could be harsh– deadly even. If the cold didn’t kill the populace, hunger was a certain second contender. If he could help alleviate that in any way: he would. It was his birthright and his duty, and he was nothing if not a man of his station. 

Any indication of increasing hostilities in the Borderlands would have him holed up in his personal offices for weeks on end. He would analyze patterns. He would discern strategies. He would rethink choices in generals. He would make plans to advocate for peace treaties with the neighboring territories. WIthout fail, his efforts would be rebuked by the King and the conflicts would continue unchecked. He never stopped trying. 

The conflicts never turned to all out war. They were simply petty squabbles with centuries long history over dejure land rights. It was almost ingrained as tradition– sons carrying out the same trite battles as a matter of pride over any true cause. Ofcourse, it wasn’t the Kings or Princes that suffered. 

It was the common soldiers with wives and children waiting for their safe return. It was the fishermen who watched warily as flagships came to shore. It was the farmers who worked full days for a meager loaf of bread only to watch their livelihoods be put to the torch in a war they never asked for. It was average people who held no stake nor say in the matters of governance or state. It didn’t matter to them who held the territories they called home. Their lot would stay the same regardless of which Lords called themselves King, but the battles for that title hurt them more than anyone else. 

Christopher knew that. He wanted to change it. He wanted to right historical wrongs and be the King his people needed. Alas, he couldn't. All he could do was worry. 

It wasn't even just grand matters of state that occupied his mind. Smaller, more personal affairs piled on his already overloaded platter of responsibilities. He was the eldest of his family's sons – even in the circles of peasantry that came with its own responsibility. He had to look out for his younger siblings. He had to ensure they played their parts as royal children and kept the family name clean and as prestigious as ever. Some of his brothers made it harder than others. 

Changbin had taken his duties easily as had their younger brothers: Seungmin and Jeongin. They knew their stations and how to conform within the standards that befit them. Felix and Jisung tried, but they were more empathetic. They struggled with their places on the world stage– questioning the morality of their way of life and the responsibilities they held. It wasn't a negative thing, and Christopher could not fault them for it. It was a natural part of being human.

In his youth, it wasn't at all uncommon for his studies and training as heir to lead him down a spiral of questions. He was one of the most powerful men in the world thanks to nothing other than being born a son of the Bang Family. He could make people tremble in fear if he so much as looked at them with ill intent. He held the power of life and death in his hands. How could that possibly be fair? How could he live knowing that he had everything while others had nothing? He was as well aware of the moral quandaries as Jisung and Felix. He would not fault them for floundering – he could not.

The hardest thing – he had learned – was having all the power in the world and still trying to be a decent human. 

The duties and power of royalty were a loaded hand cannon given at whim by an unfair creator. Some men would tremble at the burden, and lay it down without problem. Some would take the power to head and heart, and become a terrible beast whose machinations could ruin entire realms with a single shot. Others –  a very rare few – had the sense and sensibility to know not only how to shoot, but how to aim. 

It was Christopher’s only hope that he ended up in the history books as one of the latter. He would be a good king when the time came. He would care for his people and not let the burden of rule turn him hard and corrupt. He would be the role model his brothers needed. 

But these were simply hopes and dreams. In reality, he was simply one Prince amongst many others. His father still held the crown of governance, and he answered to the King as well as anyone else. 

“You can not simply force him!” Beauty Lee cried out with as much emotion as Christopher had ever seen her express. She was usually so calm, and collected. She was a Beauty of the King’s Harem, but he had learned far too early that even his father could break the cool facade of the Palace women with little effort. 

“And what's to stop me, Woman?” King Bang grunted back with a bite. His voice was not to be forgotten. It was distinct in its unyielding harshness, and it suited his appearance just as well. 

He was a hardened man – a King but a true warrior at heart. He was graying and wrinkling in age, but he was still considered a handsome – even fearsome – man.  Under the wrinkles covering his face and hands were scars from battle. He had seen war, but his age and dress showed he also knew luxury in equal measure. 

“He is your son! You must have an ounce of compassion for your own blood!” Beauty Lee protested. 

“Compassion? Is compassion what he needs, now?” The words were not spoken, but spat in frustration. It was a testament to Beauty Lee’s determination that she did not shirk away from the words. “I'd rather a firm beating to undo all the years of coddling you've put the boy through.”

“Is a mother's love coddling? I shall not deny he is flawed. Heaven knows we all are, but he's grown into a good man with a good heart!” Her voice was calmer, but still burning with resolve. 

The feeling of dread that had been slowly rising in Christopher’s chest engulfed him until he felt bile rising in the back of throat. He knew he had not been summoned to the King’s receiving chambers to simply witness a lover’s quarrel. They were speaking of Second Prince Minho - Beauty Lee’s only son and the Second of the Bang Sons.

Minho wasn’t like his other brothers. He had always been incredibly brave even if outlandish. He broke tradition: galavanting across the world with intellectuals, keeping the company of whores and artists, and never accepting his duties as a Prince of the Royal Family. He had always done what he wanted, and Christopher admired him for it even if it stressed him out to his wits end. 

“A heart our enemies would tear out of his chest and eat for protein. He is soft. Sometimes I question whether he is even my son,” King Bang said viciously. It was a tone that could cut down enemies. I was not a tone to take with a gentlewoman, especially not regarding your own blood.

“You– you can't say such things! He is your true son! I swear it,” Beauty Lee prostrated. 

“Ah, bugger off woman! If I had any true suspicions you would be dead and he would be left to rot in a cell.”

“Please, Your Highness. Minho admires you so much, he just needs time.”

“Time? Had I known you and your welp would be so resource intensive, I would have left you both in the whore house you came from.” King Bang said it as if he were discussing the menu for the upcoming festivities. It was as casual a threat as could be delivered, but it was a threat. 

“Plea–”

“Save your whimpering. There will be no further discussion. Minho will cease his fruitless adventures and settle down here in the palace with a harem befitting his station – or he will be sent to the Borderlands indefinitely.”

“You would send your own son to die in such a way?” Beauty Lee cried. As if suddenly realizing he was present, her wild eyes fell on Christopher. Before he could even register what was happening, she was tugging the sleeve of his shirt in desperation. “My Prince! He is your brother! Minho will die in the Borderlands! You know it.”

“Unhand the Crown Prince, Woman! I have taken heads for less!” King Bang roared amongst her pleas for mercy.  

It was moments like this that Christopher liked to pretend. He was not simply Prince Christopher: he was King Christopher. He held the power. He would never let Beauty Lee be in such distress and he would be content to let Minho live as he saw fit, but those were still dreams. He was but a Prince, and Minho was too. If they wanted to survive for a future, they all had their parts to play. He could not pretend: he had to take action. 

“Father,” Christopher spoke up as Beauty Lee clung to him. “I will take responsibility.”

“For Minho?” King Bang questioned with narrowed eyes. He was always suspicious– always seeing a play even if there was none, and truly Christopher didn’t have one. 

“Yes. I will ensure he settles down into Court Life,” Christopher assured his dad and the bleary-eyed Beauty. She blinked up at him with hope, and even fondness. She always had been kind to him and his brothers. She would sneak them sweets when they were young and practiced at swords and the King forbade it. She was a kind woman – maybe too kind for the world she had been adopted into. “I will make sure he accepts it, and adjusts appropriately.”

“Sometimes, I fear I have raised no sons, but seven bleeding hearts instead,” King Bang sighed. He contemplated for a moment, his eyes flashing between his concubine and his heir with laser focus. If he were looking for something, he seemed to be content with what he found. “I will let you.”

“Oh, Your Majesty. I will be forever grateful. You are good, and just!” Beauty Lee cried as she dropped Christopher’s arm only to bow as low as possible at the foot of the King’s ornate desk chair he occupied. 

“Save your words,” he commanded her. Her words stopped at once at his admonishment. “If Christopher should fail to tame my most wayward son, it will be a statement of his right to rule.”

As he spoke, he stared right into the eyes of Chrisopher. 

The young prince was not surprised. He had spent his entire life jumping through hoops to earn not only his crown, but even a shred of affection from the larger than life figure that he shared blood with. His aptitude had never failed him, but he would never feel safe relying on his father’s love for anything in his life. 

“If I cannot trust my heir to command his own blood, how can I trust him to command the people of an entire kingdom?” the King added. He let the threat hang in the air before turning his attention back to the sniveling Beauty at his feet. “In other words, if he fails: you will ruin two of my sons.”

It was another threat meant for the woman who had borne him a child. 

She was one of his longest lasting concubines. It was rumored that Beauty Lee was the one woman of the harem that held any love from the King, and she had suffered for it. She had been scorned and bullied by the other women of the King’s harem. She had been attacked in countless games of court intrigue. She had outlasted all the attempts to have her ousted from the court and from his favor. 

Christopher could only wonder: how would she survive the biggest threat of them all? 

[idyllic-ghost]

Title: Don't Forget About Me Pairing: Yeosang x reader Genre: established relationship, fluff, romance, idol au Wordcount: 4k Rating: PG 13

Synopsis: In the bustling heart of the city, two young lovers face the imminent challenge of separation. You and Yeosang haven't been dating long, but that doesn't mean that him leaving on a months-long tour is any easier—you'd even say it's harder. In the midst of you questioning your relationship, Yeosang gives you a gift to make his intentions clear.

Warnings: slight angst, feeling insecure about a relationship,

A/N: idk if yeosang and yunho still live together, i'm just going off the latest dorm update i could find😭

Disclaimer: The scenarios and depictions in my works are fictional and do not represent real-life situations. They do not aim to reflect the complexities of any culture, city, or individual. All characters are entirely fictional, regardless of names or descriptions.

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The café buzzes with the hum of conversation and the clinking of coffee cups, creating a symphony of ambient noise. Aromas of freshly ground coffee and baked pastries fill the air, mingling with the sweet scent of your latte. You sit at a small corner table, your fingers tracing the rim of a half-empty mug, the warmth seeping into your skin like a comforting embrace. Across from you, Yeosang nervously adjusts his glasses, his eyes darting between his watch and the bustling street outside.

He's wearing a cap, and the hood of his hoodie is pulled up, adding an extra layer of anonymity. His sunglasses lay readily on the table, a silent witness to his unease. You should have just gone to meet him at his place—even though you had been wanting to visit this new café with him for a while.

"Busy day?" you ask to break the tense silence, your voice barely above a whisper, blending into the background noise.

Yeosang puts his cup down, finally looking at you. His eyes are heavy with fatigue, dark circles shadowing his usually bright gaze. The weight of his exhaustion seems to press down on his shoulders, making him appear smaller, more fragile. If you were a little more confident, you would reach out to hold his hand—to comfort him.

"The usual," he murmurs, his voice weary and tinged with a hint of resignation. "Practice, meetings..."

He trails off, looking down at his mug, his shoulders slumping as if under an invisible burden. "Yeosang?"

"Hm?" He looks back up at you, and the sadness in his eyes makes your heart clench. The air between you feels heavy with unspoken words and impending heartache.

"What's wrong?"

He's breaking up with you. Someone found out, told the company, and now he's breaking up with you. The thought pierces through you, and you brace yourself for the worst.

"I'm..." Yeosang takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling heavily as he gathers the courage to speak. "We got the tour dates and... I mean, I know we'd be gone for a long time—I just didn't want to think about how long I'd be gone."

"Oh." You look down at your hands in your lap, your fingers intertwining nervously. The reality of his words sinks in, a cold wave washing over you. "That's... how long are you gone?"

"A couple months," he says, his voice barely audible, each word laden with regret. "Then we're back to Seoul for a week before going away for another couple months."

The silence is deafening. The café around you seems to quiet down, although you know it's only in your head. You want to be happy that he's at least not breaking up with you, but being away from each other for months isn't exactly better.

You look back up at him with a forced smile, trying to keep your composure. "You'll have fun," you say earnestly, though your voice wavers, betraying your true feelings. "And we can meet up the week that you're back."

"If they give me the time." Yeosang sighs and leans on the table, his fingers tapping anxiously against the wood. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? This isn't your fault." You put your hand on the table, free for him to touch if he wants to—but not so forward as to reach out yourself. "You have to work—you like your work. I don't want to ruin it for you."

"You're not ruining anything." Yeosang sits up straighter, stumbling over his words. He takes your hand, and your heart soars at the contact, a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty. "Please, don't think that... I'll just miss you."

Then call me every day—facetime, text, send pictures...

"We'll see each other in a couple months, I'm sure it'll be okay!" You squeeze his hand before letting go to drink the last of your coffee, the warmth now a distant memory.

You can't even get out the words "I'll miss you, too," the tears stuck in your throat are already threatening to come out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It takes a few days before you can see Yeosang again. By then, the tour has been announced, and you find yourself obsessively studying the tour dates next to your own calendar, scrutinizing every detail to see if you have enough days off to potentially travel to see him. Your mind races with possibilities, each one more uncertain than the last.

As the loading screen appears when you click to the next page, you catch your own reflection on your screen. Your eyes look tired, worry lines creasing your forehead, a testament to the sleepless nights you've spent fretting over the impending separation.

"This is stupid," you mutter to yourself, your voice filled with frustration, and click away from the tour dates before the screen could finish loading.

The what-ifs swirl around your mind, a relentless tide of doubt. What if he doesn't want to see you while he's on tour? The thought gnaws at you, and you'd rather stay at home than risk annoying him. Your eyes drift to your calendar, landing on the date marked at the very end of the month. Almost six months of dating. If you remember correctly, he'll be away when your anniversary date arrives—you try not to think about it, but the thought lingers like a shadow.

Your doorbell rings, jolting you from your reverie. You shoot up out of your chair, your heart pounding in anticipation. As you walk over to the front door, you fix your hair and readjust your clothes, trying to compose yourself. Your hand lands on the handle, and you take a deep breath before opening the door.

Yeosang stands there, a warm smile spreading across his face as soon as he sees you. He engulfs you in a hug before you can let him inside. You nuzzle your face closer into his shoulder, breathing in his comforting scent, a mix of his cologne and something uniquely him. He squeezes you extra hard, as if trying to convey all his feelings through that single embrace, before letting you go. That's when you notice it.

"You dyed your hair!" Your hands reach up to his head, threading your fingers through his hair.

"Do you like it?" he asks shyly, his eyes shining with hope.

It's a sweet, hazel brown color that complements his eyes perfectly. You can't help but smile as you run your fingers through his soft locks, feeling the silky texture against your skin.

"I think," you say, letting your hands fall to his shoulders, "that I need to update my lockscreen now."

"You like it that much?" He grins proudly, and you feel the butterflies letting loose in your stomach when he puts his hands on your hips.

You nod, your face turning serious. "It's adorable."

He smiles and leans in to press a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth—a silent "thank you." Your cheeks flush, and you quickly pull away from him. Just as he's about to say something else, you get a message. With a quick apology, you pull your phone out of your pocket to check it. Seeing as it was nothing urgent, you go to put it back down, but Yeosang stops you. He points to your screen.

"You still like that one, right?" he asks, referring to your lockscreen.

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and you look down at your phone again. It's a black-and-white photo of him, leaning against his hands and sending the camera a cheeky wink—his, then blond, hair messily falling over his forehead. It's your favorite.

"Of course," you say. "Why?"

"No reason..." He clears his throat and turns away from you, moving further into your apartment. "Did you order take-out, or should I?"

The two of you settle into your normal routine: sitting by the TV and eating take-out together. Now, the fried chicken boxes stand empty on your coffee table, and the two of you have slowly gathered up the courage to snuggle closer to each other. You like taking it slow with Yeosang—but it's kind of impossible to avoid. Neither of you wants to take the first step to initiate something, yet the unspoken longing hangs in the air between you.

You're content now, though. Your head rests comfortably on his chest, your legs thrown over his lap, and he's slowly playing with your hair. The movie is still playing, and from what you can tell, Yeosang is still paying attention to it. You, however, are transfixed with the way his heart drums against his chest. Slow and steady beats—thump, thump, thump...

You turn slightly, moving your head from his chest and placing your hand there instead. As you look up at him, you feel his heartbeat quicken under your touch.

"Are you staying the night?" you ask, your voice soft and hopeful.

"I have an early schedule tomorrow," he mutters and, when he sees your face fall, quickly adds, "But I can meet up with you again tomorrow night."

"Aren't you leaving the morning after that?"

"I leave in the afternoon, so there's no rush," he says, his voice soothing. "You can come over and spend the night, if you want to."

His heartbeat beats even faster, and you smile. "That sounds nice."

With much reluctance, the two of you move from the couch so that Yeosang can get ready to go home. While Yeosang is in the bathroom, you decide to take his bag and carry it to the hallway. However, clumsy as you are, you manage to knock it over. Out of the bag falls a black box, tied together with a red ribbon. You pick it up, noticing the piece of paper tucked under the ribbon. It's too big to be a ring box, so you allow yourself to calm down ever so slightly. Maybe it's just a gift he got from someone.

But when Yeosang comes back, his expression tells you something else. His eyes widen in horror as he sees you holding the small jewelry box. With quick steps, he's beside you and takes the box from your hands.

"You weren't supposed to see that yet..." he mutters, his cheeks flushing a deep red.

"It's for me?" you question, your smile widening.

Yeosang thinks you look like a puppy who's heard the word "treat," and he can't help but smile back. His shoulders relax, and he hands you the box back.

"I went to grab it today, that's why I was a little late." You let your fingers glide over the soft material of the ribbon. "I was going to give it to you before I left for the tour."

"What is it?" You go to undo the ribbon, but he quickly stops you.

"Don't open it yet." His cheeks are tinted pink, and he refuses to look you in the eye. "Open it after I've left."

"Not even the note?" you ask.

"Not even the note." He lets out a nervous chuckle. "It's meant to be for when I'm gone."

You narrow your eyes at him as if you could figure out what's in the box by looking at him. "Alright... I will."

"Thank you," he murmurs and presses a kiss to your cheek. "I really have to go."

Yeosang grabs his bag, and you're left standing in your living room with a box in one hand and holding your cheek where he had kissed you with the other.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You try so hard to distract yourself from the box, but it's nearly impossible. Working from home has its perks, but with the box sitting innocuously on your bedside table, your curiosity keeps getting the better of you. Each time you pass it, your eyes inevitably wander to the neatly wrapped present, the ribbon’s delicate bow taunting you with its mystery.

It’s just past one in the afternoon when you finally succumb to temptation. You tell yourself it’s only a quick peek at the note inside. But as soon as you loosen the ribbon, it seems only natural to lift the lid and see what lies within. After all, how could you resist?

The note is the first thing you see, its edges crisp and its handwriting perfectly elegant. “Don’t forget about me,” it reads. The simple message is enigmatic, and you squint at it, flipping it over to check for any hidden clues or additional writing. Finding nothing more, you shrug and turn your attention to the contents of the box.

Nestled on a plush red cushion is a silver necklace, its chain glinting in the light. At the center of the chain is a heart-shaped locket. Your fingers tremble slightly as you lift the necklace out of the box. You fumble with the clasp, finally managing to open the locket. A soft gasp escapes your lips when you see the photo inside—it’s a miniature version of the same picture that had been your lock screen until recently. You had just changed it to a new picture of Yeosang with his updated hair color.

The sight of the tiny image of your boyfriend, his mischievous wink captured perfectly, makes a smile spread across your face. The locket holds an intimacy and warmth that makes your heart flutter.

Later that evening, you arrive at Yeosang's dorm, proudly wearing the necklace. As you approach the door, Yunho greets you with a friendly smile and opens it wide.

“Yeosang, they’re here!” Yunho calls out, then turns back to you with a more subdued tone. “I’m heading out for drinks with some friends. You two have the place to yourselves tonight.” He gives you a playful wink and a charming “goodbye” before practically sprinting towards the elevator.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Yeosang appears, his presence instantly drawing your attention. He’s clad in the cozy hoodie you got him for his birthday, and his smile is a mix of bright excitement and shyness.

“Hi, baby,” he greets warmly, his arms extending for a hug. But before you can fully embrace him, his eyes are drawn to the necklace hanging around your neck. His gaze fixes on the locket, and you feel your fingers instinctively reach up to fidget with it, your cheeks flushing with a shy smile.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

Yeosang’s face turns a deep shade of red as he realizes you’ve read his note. Embarrassment sweeps over him, and he quickly covers his face with the sleeves of his hoodie. You gently try to pry his hands away, your heart aching at his reaction.

“It was sweet!” you insist, though your voice is laced with giggles. “I really liked it!”

Despite your reassurances, Yeosang’s embarrassment is evident. He finally removes his hands from his face, his ears still flushed with a soft pink hue. “You said you wouldn’t,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with a pout.

“I don’t understand why you wanted me to wait…” you reply softly, a hint of confusion in your tone. “Did I upset you?”

Yeosang shakes his head, taking a deep breath to compose himself. “I wasn’t expecting you to open it right away. I wanted you to do it later because... I thought it might come off as a bit cheesy. You don’t usually initiate romantic gestures, so I was worried you’d find it silly.”

His words come with a pout that is both endearing and heartbreaking. It dawns on you that he’s been holding back, concerned about how you might perceive his gesture. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace, and for the first time in a while, you lean in and kiss him first. His hands settle on your lower back, drawing you closer.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you pull away. “I didn’t know I came off as cold.”

“Not cold—just... indifferent, maybe?” His fingers nervously toy with the hem of your shirt. “I wanted you to tell me you’d miss me before I left.”

Your heart sinks at his confession. “I will miss you,” you admit. “I didn’t say it out loud because I thought it might seem clingy.”

“I want you to be clingy,” Yeosang confesses softly, his voice full of longing. “I want you to hold on a little longer when we hug goodbye. I want you to reach for my hand. I want you to kiss me whenever you feel like it, without holding back. It’s okay to be clingy, because I want you to know just how much I love you.”

You’re breathless, overwhelmed by his heartfelt confession.

“And I do love you,” he adds, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “Very much.”

“I love you, too.” The words spill out before you have a chance to think them through.

“Good,” he murmurs, his eyes lighting up with relief and happiness. “Can we watch a movie now? I’ve set everything up in the other room.”

“… Can we cuddle?” you ask timidly, your heart full.

“Of course,” Yeosang replies, his smile beaming with pride.

“Then, yes,” you say, your smile reflecting his joy.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day before your six-month anniversary with Yeosang dawns bright and full of anticipation. You navigate through the bustling corridors of LAX, your heart racing with excitement. The airport’s usual hum seems to fade as you focus on the surprise you’ve meticulously planned for him, with a little help from his fellow Ateez members.

A driver is waiting for you by the pick-up area, holding a sign with your name in bold letters. After a quick exchange of pleasantries, you’re whisked away in a sleek black car, the cityscape of Los Angeles blurring past the window. The drive feels endless, but your eagerness propels you forward.

The car eventually pulls up to the stadium, its exterior imposing and grand. Inside, the cavernous space is empty, save for the few staff members setting up for the evening's soundcheck. The massive seats are all vacant, and you envision them soon to be filled with eager fans in their designer outfits, cheering for their idols.

You’re escorted by the manager to the backstage area, which is located just beside the edge of the stage. With your VIP pass hanging proudly around your neck and the heart locket resting gently against your chest, you feel a rush of exhilaration. The jet lag that usually weighs heavily on travelers seems to evaporate, replaced by the electric buzz of excitement that keeps your nerves on edge.

As the members of Ateez finish their song, the room is filled with the hum of voices and the shuffling of feet. One of the staff members approaches them, instructing them to take a break. The members nod and make their way to the edge of the stage, their casual attire a stark contrast to the glamorous outfits they’ll don for the concert. Each of them flashes you a grin as they pass, their excitement visible.

You’ve managed to keep this surprise under wraps flawlessly. You even told Yeosang to call you on your anniversary so you could celebrate virtually, ensuring he had no inkling of what was in store. As you watch him approach, you can see the moment he realizes what’s happening.

“Y-You—” He halts abruptly, his eyes widening in disbelief. The murmur of amusement from the staff behind you only adds to the mounting anticipation. “What are you doing here?”

Without another word, Yeosang dashes towards you, his arms outstretched. He sweeps you into a tight embrace, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around. You squeal in surprise, your arms wrapping around his neck as he holds you securely. His warmth is intoxicating, and you plant a few tender kisses on his neck, savoring the closeness.

“Happy early anniversary,” you whisper into his ear, your voice tinged with affection. He clutches you even tighter, his embrace conveying all the love and gratitude he feels.

When he finally sets you down, he pulls back just enough to look at you with a mixture of wonder and joy. “I was so looking forward to our call tomorrow... I don’t even know what to say—this is so much better.”

He draws you in for another hug, and you laugh softly, feeling a sense of pure contentment. “I wanted to surprise you,” you reply, your heart swelling with happiness.

“You definitely did,” Yeosang murmurs, trying to loosen his hold.

“Can you hug me a little longer?” you ask, your voice soft and pleading.

You feel his smile against your neck as he agrees. “Of course.”

From your vantage point backstage, you watch the performance with a beaming smile, captivated by the sight of your boyfriend in his element. The highlight of the evening is when he dashes off the stage and heads straight toward you, sweat glistening on his forehead but his smile undiminished. You embrace him once more, the warmth of his body against yours a comforting contrast to the cool air of the stadium.

After the concert, the excitement of the evening lingers in the air as you and Yeosang make your way to the hotel. The lobby of the hotel is adorned with elegant decor—chandeliers casting a warm, golden glow and plush seating areas inviting relaxation. You had reserved a separate room for yourself, but Yeosang’s insistence that you stay with him overrides your plans. His hand remains firmly clasped around yours, his touch reassuring and steadfast as he navigates the hotel's polished marble floors and labyrinthine corridors.

The corridor leading to his room is softly lit, with dim sconces casting gentle shadows on the walls. The faint sound of distant laughter and the muted hum of the air conditioning provide a comforting backdrop as you follow Yeosang. His presence is a steady anchor amidst the whirlwind of the night’s events, and his warmth seeps through the touch of his hand wrapped around yours.

When you reach Yeosang’s room, the door swings open to reveal a cozy, dimly lit space. The soft glow of bedside lamps and the faint scent of lavender emanating from the pillows create an inviting atmosphere. Yeosang, weary but content, quickly heads to the bed, collapsing onto it with a deep sigh of relief. The luxurious linens and fluffy pillows offer a stark contrast to the hectic energy of the concert.

As he settles into the bed, you move with deliberate care, preparing for a quiet night. You gently help him out of his clothes, your fingers brushing against his skin as you assist him into comfortable sleepwear. The intimacy of the moment is amplified by the softness of the sheets and the calming ambiance of the room.

You then pull the covers up over him, smoothing them with tender care. You brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your touch light and affectionate. His eyes are already fluttering shut, exhaustion etched into his features. You curl up beside him, the warmth of his body providing a soothing contrast to the coolness of the room. Even as he drifts off, he instinctively turns towards you, his arms reaching out to hold you close, seeking the comfort of your presence.

In the stillness of the night, you drift into a restful sleep, cradled by the sound of his steady breathing. The tranquility of the room envelops you both, a sanctuary from the whirlwind of the concert.

The next morning, you awaken to the gentle pressure of Yeosang’s arms wrapped tightly around you. His embrace is firm and secure, a protective cocoon that shields you from the world. You snuggle closer, the soft fabric of his t-shirt brushing against your cheek. Your fingers glide over the fabric, tracing soothing patterns as you bask in the comfort of his embrace.

“Good morning,” Yeosang’s voice comes out as a muffled murmur against the top of your head, warm and filled with sleepiness. The gentle rumble of his voice is like a comforting lullaby, grounding you in the moment.

“Good morning,” you respond, your voice soft and wrapped in contentment. “I slept so well... and you?”

“The best sleep I’ve had in months,” he confesses, his voice tender and heartfelt. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, a silent promise of his affection.

“Happy anniversary,” you whisper back, your voice imbued with love and sincerity. In the serene morning light, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside fades away.

feedback is always welcomed!

taglist: @d0nghyuck, @fantasy2wonderland, @niktwazny303, @wonwoospartyhat, @stariightjoyy, @hyneyedfiz, @crazywittysassy, @yeosayang, @notevenheretbh1 @iamawkwardandshy

[onlymurdersintheafterparty]

OMITB S4:E5 "Adaptation"

We're at the halfway mark and I feel like fans with a Hercule Poirot or Sherlock Holmes type of IQ could solve the mystery by now but I am not one of those fans so I'm just here to recap and debunk or strengthen theories I already had. I say this every week but I am truly loving the pacing of this season and that they don't shy away from answering questions early on instead of trying to shoehorn everything in for the season finale. As always spoilers ahead!

Ok so now we officially have confirmation that there are two killers. After circling back to the footprint on the windowsill of the Dudenoff apartment, the tacky paper used on the photoshoot and production room set reveals that the footprint belongs to one of the Brothers sisters. We see that one twin is physically strong enough to lift a body when she lifts Oliver and moves him onto his correct mark. I don't think that necessarily means both twins are involved in the murder though. We also end the episode with that same twin being missing and hearing a gunshot implying that she has been killed. I have been waiting YEARS for a season in which the bodies start piling up and it's finally happening!

This episode was narrated by Marshall the writer and I don't know how to feel about his character. I get that he and Mabel are supposed to be similar in that they both have imposter syndrome but he in general just gives off red flags. He's inserting himself into investigating which is something killers do and him having the fake facial hair introduces the idea of the killers having disguises so clearly he was important to this episode. Not to mention he's giving stalker vibes or parasocial Arconiac vibes. I find it very interesting that Mabel and Charles did not view the video of his stand up to verify his alibi. This could very well mean that he was at the Arconia the night that Sazz was killed. He also never stepped on the tacky paper so we don't have his footprint. That's two strikes against him.

You know who else we didn't see step on the tacky paper? Glen Stubbins. Who is back by the way. I still don't care for his character but I am starting to suspect him. He's physically capable of jumping on the windowsill because he's a stunt performer and for that same reason I'm sure he's also capable of aiming and firing a gun. Also how did he know exactly where Charles lived? They only met the one time at the Stunt Man bar. And yes it's sweet that he brought bread but he could have left it downstairs with Lester. As Ben's stunt double I can't help but wonder if he was present at the Arconia the night of Sazz's murder but in disguise. There's actually a really compelling theory on the hulu subreddit that Glen is the killer if you want to check it out.

Bev actually does have an alibi for that night and seems to only be guilty of wanting her movie made. Can we rule her out just yet? Idk but we'll see. She didn't seem that confident while aiming the gun or firing it off to prove it wasn't loaded. Her revealing Sazz's voicemail and the time it was left definitely proved helpful in establishing a timeline and confirming that there are two killers. Or three if you think it's three people working together.

Howard working for the production team is only strengthening my theory that he's the Moriarty. This man is everywhere! He was working at the theater last season and immersed in the plot there and now here he is in the center of it all once again. Again I don't think he's an evil mastermind, I just think he started off envying the closeness of the trio and now he's high off the power of manipulating things behind the scenes.

Have any of you heard of the opera La Forza Del Destino? In A Series of Unfortunate Events, there is a reference and parallel to it in which a character is mortally wounded after a weapon is accidentally fired off and strikes them. What if the killer was aiming for Charles, saw Sazz dressed similar to him and was aiming to shoot, and the accomplice called to warn them that it was the wrong person but something startled the killer and they accidentally shot Sazz? Like for example they were ready to go and then someone knocked loudly or something which not only muffled the noise of the phone but startled them enough to shoot.

This season has so many parallels and coincidences that we have to assume is on purpose. We've got multiple dopplegangers and cases of mistaken identity, guns being misfired (Eva with Rudy's prop gun and Bev with Sazz's loaded gun), and even the blackout in the S4 premiere vs the fire alarm going off in the S1 premiere.

My small takeaways from the episode:

Mabel being 30 and having an identity crisis is so relatable and I hope she finds her way by the end of the series.

Lester talking about wearing a gimp mask is WILD

Charles mentioning having an account in Belize and Detective Williams pretending to unhear it is hilarious

I'm beyond tired of this Oliver and Loretta plotline and him being insecure about her new status as a celebrity. WRAP IT UP!

Fans keep bringing up the cold case and I wonder if that will become the plot point in season five

Zach Galifianakis telling Oliver about how Jonk (sp?) ran through the seven dwarfs and that they could be heard Hi-Ho'ing from the trailer took me out 🤣

Charles having a new murder board each week is my favorite thing because that's literally all of us fans each week after watching a new episode

Bev and Cinda would be besties or frenemies and I really need to see them in a scene together before the season is over

[matan4il]

What's your evidence that Joost Klein harassed Eden at ESC? I've only seen evidence of Joost being harassed by Israeli delegation. And he was an assholeish idiot at the press conference but he wasn't the worst. And can people pleaaase stop spreading the smear campaign the EBU put out about him. He made a rude gesture, that's it.

Hi,

I'm gonna admit that if you saw the Dutch performer's behavior at the press conference, IDK how that doesn't constitute harassment? I mean, the part where he didn't like that the ESC organizers made him sit next to the Israeli singer, and he didn't want to be in the same frame with her, so he covered himself with the Dutch flag wasn't just being an asshole, he was publicly humiliating her, transmitting to everyone what a pariah she is, not based on anything she's said and done, but simply based on her nationality (and this little stunt was obviously going to attract attention, meaning he minded being photographed next to her, but he didn't mind being photographed covered up with the flag like that in the same frame with her, making it clear this wasn't him wanting to avoid political stuff).

In my book, that's bad enough, but then he added insult to injury. Eden was asked a disgusting question by a Polish journalist. He wanted to know whether she considered that she would be putting everyone else at ESC at risk (victim blaming much? Eden was the target of a violent mob besieging her hotel room, and turning her participation into an event requiring security. She didn't ask them to do this, she didn't force them to, she's a 20 year old girl, who has dreamt of representing her country at ESC for years, and when she finally gets to, she's being asked to carry the blame for the violence aimed at her due to her nationality... Imagine asking Ariana Grande after her Manchester Arena performance if she took into account that she was risking the lives of all of her fans, because an Islamist decided to use her event for a terrorist bombing that killed 22 young people, and would she never perform again, now that she was aware of the risk? No, that didn't happen, because it's a disgusting, victim blaming, terrorism-rewarding question). The panel host rightfully grasped that this was a political and harassing question, and told her she didn't have to answer it. Joost Klein then shouting at that, "Why not?" was harassment. He was piling up on the victim blaming, on top of showing zero empathy for a fellow performer targeted for her nationality, in a way he never would have agreed to be himself.

(I think that's last assessment is obvious since we now know he thought, even for a split second, that it was okay to threaten with fists a female camerawoman working for ESC, doing her job, filming the performers when they got off stage after their performances. This was done to the other performers as well, IDK what made Klein think his consent was needed in that moment, since to me it seems implied by agree to represent the Netherlands at ESC, but even if he had the right to refused being filmed, I have no idea what made him believe it was okay to use violent threats against an ESC employee).

I'd like to ask you where did you see "evidence" that Klein was harassed by the Israeli delegation? As far as I'm aware, there was only one vid trying to make that claim, and what was seen in that one, was an Israeli journalist (so, not a part of the performing team), working as a European correspondent (he also covered the war in Ukraine, to give you an idea of what that job entails, so he's a "respectable" journalist, not just a guy with a mic interviewing people for his ESC blog), called Dov Gil-Har (as far as I know, he's aligned with the left politically, so not exactly someone likely to be harassing people out of nationalistic sentiments), who was trying to ask Klein questions. Which... the last time I checked is his duty as a journalist. And Klein refused to answer Gil-Har's questions, which is his prerogative (though I do think it was pretty disgusting when some performers, like the Norwegian ones, refused to give interviews to any Israeli media outlets. Since it's based on nationality, it's once again hateful IMO), but then the Dutch team's manager (or whatever he was) really got in Gil-Har's face, and more than that, because I clearly heard Dov saying, "Don't touch me." Keep in mind, this was after Klein's shameful behavior at the press conference, and also after he missed a rehearsal that day, there were rumors circling around it somehow had something to do with Israel, so it is honestly the most natural thing for Gil-Har as a journalist, that he wanted to ask the Dutch team some questions. That should not have ended with him having to say, "Don't touch me," but to further misconstrue this as him harassing the Dutch team...!? WHAT?

It feels like another instance of DARVO, where the attacker/harasser/abuser shifts the fire away by reversing who was doing the harassment and who was being harassed. Everything we saw on camera was harassment of the Israelis, including even the media, while I've not seen one documentation on film of the Israelis harassing others. Plus, I heard the claim that the Israeli team was harassing everyone, yet we know that some performers didn't feel, act or express themselves that way.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[notmyprey]

Annon sent me an ask with a lot of Ninjagº sfw vore prompts, and this one caught my eye specifically, and I want to dedicate a post to it.

I dont have time to draw much, but yall can have a short story-

(Also, wanna preface this with: no, I dont ship Lloyd and Kai. They have a sibling bond imo, and idk it'd be kinda weird with the age gap for a lot of the show. But I'm not gonna send hate to those who do see it like that. Just know this is written with a sibling bond in mind.

Also, this is written abt Lloyd after he grew up and matured a bit. So like- season 5+ Lloyd)

Click

The sound was faint, yet Lloyd knew exactly what it meant. Drop, cover, and prey to the gods it wasn't aimed towards you. Not even a moment after he dove behind the nearest bolder did he hear the thundering boom followed by the bright flash. Wind rushed past him, throwing ash and debris his way. The deafening sound echoed through his very core. It never seemed to end, his body left still shaking minutes after it was done. The cavern bounced the noise, rolling it off one wall and onto the next. It felt like it lasted ages within the few minutes it actually occurred.

The fighting, the punching, the swords, and the guns, all of these never fazed him. But explosions? Those were his weaknesses. His mind would always race back to his past and, consequently, his father. Lloyd didnt know exactly why it reminded him of his dad, but the fact that, like his father, an explosion would hurt anyone, even those on its own side, seemed to be a part of it.

The cavern soon quieted down, but his fear did not. The images of his father still fresh in his mind. He shook his head, trying to snap himself out of the haze he was in.

Him and Kai had gone into a cavern alone since there were 3 diverging paths. Up until now, we had only encountered arrow traps and small pits. But this? This was a new threat.

Was it over, the blast? He wondered, slowly inching towards the edge of the rock. He turned his head, looking for the brightness that would signal it was not over, yet all he was met with was dark.

He peered his head around the bolder, scanning for any sight of Kai. The smoke and ash coated his vision, making it ever more difficult to locate him. After a moment, though, he spotted Kai's fiery red suit. No matter how quickly he wanted to rush over to him, he needed to keep low as to breathe in the least amount of smoke, and he needed to scan for any more explosive traps. So, as such, he slowly inched his way along the cave floor.

By the time he made it to Kai, he could see Kai was in bad condition. His breathing was uneven, meaning he probably breathed in a lot of smoke and ash, and although he didn't seem to have any burns, he still had a lot of cuts and bruises from flying rocks.

Lloyd turned his gaze upward once more, showing the smoke had mostly cleared now. Normally, he would call Cole, Zane, or even Kai over, and one of them would be able to swallow whoever was hurt down. But now, there was no one else but him and the now injured Kai.

He forced his head back towards Kai, who had now opened his eyes. "Hey," Lloyd started, unsure of how to even approach this, "uh... how are you feeling."

A small smile tugged at Kai's lips, even through the pain. "I-", he devolved into a short coughing fit but slowly gained his ability to speak once more, "I have been better." He had to stop to take a breath after every word, something that worried Lloyd further.

Lloyd nodded and continued to fumble over his words. "I... I think it's maybe best... maybe if I..."

"It's ok, do what you have to do, kid." Kai gave a weak but reassuring smile, which gave Lloyd that little extra confidence he needed to continue. Kai knew what had to happen, and Lloyd did too. Kai couldn't stay on the ground here, and Lloyd couldn't carry him either for fear of hurting him further.

Taking a deep breath in, Lloyd stretched his arms out above Kai, holding his palms down, and his fingers stretched out as well. He softly recited the words taught to him. He himself had only done this twice before, but both times were in a controlled setting, and neither times had he actually been the one to eat the person that was shrunken down. Green light fluttered down from his palms, brushing downward with grace. As he finished, he saw Kai quickly start to shrink down.

Soon, Kai was a bit shorter than Lloyds hand from top to bottom. It was strange, seeing Kai so small and fragile. In his mind, Kai was his stronger older brother, the one who had always taken care of him. And now, Lloyd had to be the one to take care of Kai.

He pried Kai off the ground, gently rolling him into his hands and carefully curling his fingers a bit to create a barrier so Kai wouldn't roll immediately off his hands. He lifted Kai to his face, prompting a small groan to come from Kai, who was probably in a lot of pain now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

Now that he was face to face with Kai, Lloyd felt the need to say something. Cole and Jay normally said some sort of joke before eating someone, and Zane normally comforted them, but Kai, he would say something motivational. Perhaps that's why Lloyd always gave so many motivational speeches before missions.

Right now, though, as he thought on what to say, he found that he couldn't really say anything. He was speechless. He couldn't find the words to say to make Kai more comfortable. So he didn't. Instead, he gently brought Kai to his chest, giving him a sort of hug, and held him there for a moment. Kai's breathing slowed, and just for a moment, it felt as though everything was alright again.

Lloyd brought Kai back up to his face, smiling once more before gathering up the courage to open his mouth.

He maneuvered his hands, allowing him to slowly slide Kai onto his tongue. Immediately, Lloyd tasted blood and ashes on Kai's suit. He had to stop himself from gagging. Fighting every instinct that told Lloyd not to eat Kai, he slid him further into his mouth. Finally, only Kai's feet remained outside his lips, but due to how small his mouth is, he couldn't slip them inside without beginning to swallow Kai first. No matter what he did, Lloyd couldn't seem to get any saliva on Kai, his mouth joining in on telling him not to eat what his body must think is poison.

Regaurdless, he took a loud, thick swallow. Although it didn't do much, it did succeed in sending Kai's head into his throat and Kai's feet into his mouth. He promptly clamped his mouth shut behind him and desperately tried to get any amount of saliva in his dry mouth to coat Kai with.

It was horriblely uncomfortable having just a small portion of Kai in his throat. It kept triggering his need to swallow, but he couldn't yet. He knew he needed Kai to be at least lightly coated in drool to get him down, as learned from Jay not doing that once and nearly choking. Finally, after what seemed like too long, his mouth decided to cooperate, drenching Kai in thick goopy saliva.

He gave in to the instinct to swallow, almost happy to get rid of the unpleasant feeling of having someone on the edge of his throat. Kai slipped deeper into Lloyds throat, his muscles idly helping him along. With each gulp, Kai slipped further out of his mouth until finally he was gone. Now, a great lump sat in the middle of his throat. As he continued swallowing, Kai drifted deeper and deeper within him. When Kai went past his heart, he couldn't help but stop breathing for a moment.

After a bit longer, Kai drifted even further down and now was nearing his stomach. Lloyd braced himself. All of his brothers had told him this was the strangest part, but what he felt no amount of his brothers describing could ever replicate. At first, the feeling was sickening. A sudden bout of pressure built up inside his stomach, and it wasn't exactly pleasant. But after that initial sickness came the feeling similar to a hug.

He could feel Kai pressing against his stomach much more than he had originally thought he would have been able to feel. His stomach stretched a bit to accommodate for Kai's presence, and it didn't feel unnatural. As the last of Kai finally slipped into his stomach, Lloyd brought his hand up to his middle.

Gently, he pressed where he felt Kai, and to his surprise, Kai, although weakly, pressed back. This small pressure sent a strange shiver up his spine. He was able to keep Kai safe, ever so so safe. Nothing could get to Kai without going through him first. All those years of Kai helping him, he was finally able to start to pay him back.

Not being able to help the small smile that tugged at his lips, Lloyd got up, continuing on down the cave in search of their mission.

So yah, sorry I kinda took the turn of, whether Lloyd wants to or not- but yeah I still loved this prompt and idk I may make more stories based off of this prompt alone lol.

[cafeacademia]

𝐋𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐬

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐒𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐮 𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After the success of the blind accessible chess board you bought for Matt a few months ago, you've since moved in with him and noticed that he could really benefit from a braille label maker. And maybe, Matt has a little too much fun with it.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: Light fluff, some sexual banter but honestly nothing that bad. Matt has a moment of chaos with his new braille label maker.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: Approx 710

𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Hello!! This fic is connected to Chess! Feel free to read that first, but it's not a big deal if you don't. It's been quite a while since I've posted anything. In any case, I hope I've picked Matt back up well, sorry if he feels a bit off, I'm also currently in bed with a flu so please excuse any silly mistakes! I appreciate the support so much, if you'd like to reblog/comment, it is always appreciated but not at all necessary, thank you for reading my fics! Please let me know if you'd like to be removed from my old taglist! I may refresh this, idk yet. Anyway, enjoy!

Matt should be used to this by now. You, unlike anyone he’d known thus far, had a tendency to find as many blind accessible solutions for him as possible. He insisted he could do fine by himself, of which you did not doubt for one second and you respected wholeheartedly. The aim wasn’t to remove his freedom to do it alone, or to make it feel like he couldn’t do things without your help, but it was more to make life easier. The truth was, Matt seemed to enjoy letting you guide him, even if he could do it himself. And after the pure joy and excitement he had displayed from you finding him a blind accessible chessboard a few months prior, you had been on a search to make life as easy as possible for Matt in the comfort of his own home.

It hadn’t taken long after you became friends, before you were even dating to notice that for Matt, things having a specific place to sit was very important for him to be able to tell where they were and what was what. But the problem was, that even with his best efforts, it was too easy for things to get a little mixed up, especially in the kitchen and especially after you moved in with him. It wasn’t just his things anymore, they were accompanied by your things too and that made it harder for Matt to tell quickly what was what.

Which is why, as you came home one afternoon with Matt and several bags of food shopping, you had to suppress the squeal of excitement at the sight of a brown package inside of the mailbox.

“What did you order, sweetheart?” Matt asked, setting down the bags of food on the kitchen floor. “A little surprise.” You replied, prying it open with great difficulty. “For me?” “For you.” You confirmed, watching as his cocky little smirk appeared on his lips. “Ooh for me.” “It’s not lingerie Matthew.” You quipped, snorting as your boyfriend gasped and brought his hand to his chest in false disappointment. “Then what is it?” He asked, sidling up to you. “It’s a– ah hold on,” you grappled with the packaging before finally wrangling it free and plopped the device into his hands. “Ta da! A braille label maker, so we don’t get our stuff mixed up ever again.” You grinned up at him, waiting for his reaction.

Matt held it in his hands for a moment, feeling the different edges and textures, a smile growing on his lips as he turned to face you. He didn’t ask how it worked, nor did you feel you had to explain, because after a few moments of turning it over in his hands and exploring the shape of the dial, the feel of the braille letters and the pointer on the label maker, Matt knew exactly how to use it.

His smile, soft and sweet, turned into a devilish grin as he turned the dial and squeezed the trigger to indent the label tape until he successfully pulled free the label, peeled off the sticky back and stuck it to your boob. Matt had labelled you “girlfriend” and giggled far too much about it before getting genuinely quite excited to label his cereal and coffee and face wash and just about everything he could think of that did or did not need a label to be identified.

As his joyful chaos ensued, you sat back watching him with his new label maker, going from pure chaos and labelling everything down to the dog, to the two of you carefully labelling all of your groceries before putting them all away in the cupboards and the fridge. And when all of the bags were empty and everything was sufficiently labelled, Matt pulled you close.

“You’re way too sweet to me.” He spoke softly, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead. “Way too good to be mine.” Matt kissed you, lips soft against yours, his touch warm and gentle and sweet until– something cold and sticky was pressed against your neck and you couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. Feeling over the little braille label, you giggled before being captured in a kiss that mirrored the word exactly. Mine.

@megantje123 @hallecarey1 @reyhanahasanli @louderfortheback @spikedhe4rt @myguiltypleasures21 @emiemiemiii @scaramood @lovingrobertfloyd @m0nster-fvcker @rexit-mo

[cathedral-of-sinners]

Urges From Within

Kinktober Day 2 - A/B/O & Floor Sex + Diluc

Genre: Smut (MDNI)

CW: sub!gn!reader (no pronouns/genitalia used), reader is called pretty once, my omega and my love, omega!reader, alpha!diluc, mating press, two sections might not make sense/jump around suddenly idk i don't think it's too bad but still

Instincts knew no bounds, Diluc now realized this indisputable fact. Honestly, he should’ve known he couldn't handle your scent circling around him for eight hours straight. Especially in an enclosed space like the tavern.

He'd hoped that the accumulation of each omega in the room would drown you out; he's always found the others suffocating, but you, oh you were just downright intoxicating. He could pick you out from a sea of people if he had to. He’s lucky he only spilled two drinks while mixing today, once when you brushed past him behind the counter and the second when you returned the empty glasses on your tray.

Diluc now knows for sure he’s unable to resist your pleasantly distracting scent, but he also sees that he’s realized this too late.

"D-diluc! Ah, slow down, pl-please!" the delicious mix of pleasure and pain swirls within the pit of your stomach, drowning out everything else. The chill of the hardwood floor has long since faded, replaced and overruled by the heated touch of your skin and sweat. Your lover, despite your request, keeps his unrelenting pace, hips snapping against yours.

"You were begging me to go faster not long ago, so I am." Is all he says, taking a moment to readjust his position. The sudden shift has you moaning, his cock running over just the right spot. Faintly you can hear him mutter there's the spot before starting up his thrusts again, aiming for that sweet spot. You're tossed between staring up at the ceiling, off to the side or right at his gorgeous face, his hair falling and framing him picture-perfectly. When the tip of his cock connects with his new target though you don't get to choose where you're looking, head thrown back in ecstasy.

Diluc's fingers gently stroke your cheek, a husk to his voice, "my omega, so pretty for me, spread out and taking my cock deep," he whispers, pressing forward a little more on your folded legs, enough so he can plant a kiss on your forehead. "But they're also so, so needy. I couldn't even take you to the bedroom before you were pulling my clothes off."

"Perhaps I should punish you for that?" The mere idea of your orgasm being withheld from you easily has tears forming in your eyes, and seeing this, Diluc tilts your head to face him, shushing you. "My love, it's alright, just be good for me and I'll give you exactly what you want. I promise."

Nodding, you grip your legs a little tighter, taking care to keep them pinned close to you. Smiling, your lover picks up the pace, the sounds of your love and lust echoing in the winery. You can feel yourself lose the ability to think coherently, babbling only about how good it is, how good he is.

Diluc knows he's close, he can feel it in the tightening of his stomach, the knot growing tighter and tighter, begging to snap. Just a little longer and he'll bring you both to your desired release.

"Di-Diluc, cl-close, I'm close," you manage to say, moaning.

"Me too," burying his face in the crook of your neck, the redhead inhales deeply, taking in your scent. Addicting, intoxicating, the same irresistible scent that captured him when you first met, the same one that sent him into his rut and you in turn into your heat. And it's the same scent that tips him over the edge.

"C-cumming, I'm cumming," and no soon after does Diluc pump his cum in you, warm and filling, moaning right in your ear. You too reach your high, his cock having hit just the right spot, resulting in you clenching around him and leaving no room for him to pull out.

Taking a moment to collect himself, Diluc helps you stretch your legs back to normal before laying on his side, keeping you tucked close as to not let you feel the oncoming cold now that the moment is over.

It's silent for the first few seconds, his warm palms massaging at your skin, until he decides to quietly pipe up, "I've always thought you smelt so good, did you know that?" he questions, loosening his hold just a little so he's not crushing you.

You can't help but laugh, resting your cheek against his arm, "I had an inkling, my love." Tilting your head to press a kiss to the nearest place you could, you continue, "here's my secret though, I think you smell pretty delectable yourself. I can never get enough of it - I can never get enough of you."

"I as well," he tells you. You both rest a little more before rising from the ground and cleaning yourselves and the foyer up. You didn't dare leave the mess you made for the maids to clean up when they got back from their night off.

Tag list: @rain-soaked-sun || @the-purity-pen || @stygianoir || @the-massive-simp || @londonstylesxx

If you'd liked to be tagged in any future works lmk via comment, DM or my askbox!