#the gold rimmed party plate???

[jrueships]

sauce celebrating his puppys bday!!!

sag queen LOL

he loves her so much 😭

[kingofbodyrolls]

Stuck at a Christmas party (m) | pjm

It’s Seokjin’s Christmas party and you’re trying your best to be social with your friends, but it’s really hard when you feel the burning stare of your nemesis, Park Jimin, lighting your skin on fire. It doesn’t help when you feel his hand between your legs under the dinner table.

→ Pairing: Jimin x female reader → AU + genres: enemies to lovers, pwp (very little plot – let me be honest, it’s just pure smut). Humor/crack, smut. → Rating: Mature/explicit/R18 - this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact. → Word count: 5,1k → Warnings (explicit): exhibitionism, fingering, oral (male receiving), orgasm denial, cum eating, creampie, unprotected sex, choking (in a sexual context), degrading name calling (brat), hair pulling, dirty talk, multiple orgasms. → Taglist: @yopjm → Author’s note: the snowstorm couple are back!!! 🥳 For reference, please think of GDA 2019 Jimin with his sleek black suit when reading this 🥵

[s.masterlist] → this is part of a mini series ‘The Winter Collection’, but it can be read as a stand alone (as can all the installments in the series).

As you stand there, befuddled and speechless, you can't fathom how Seokjin deduced the intimate encounter between you and Jimin, your mortal enemy. The questions swirl in your mind—how, what, and why—leaving you utterly mystified.

Rage simmers within you, and you clench your hands into tight fists, resembling an enraged child ready to lash out. However, before you can unleash your fury, Jimin beats you to the punch with a nonchalant explanation, “We got cold.”

Your jaw drops once more as Jimin strolls past you and Seokjin, casually hanging his coat on the rack and discarding his shoes. He carries himself as though what transpired between you is the most ordinary thing in the world.

Seokjin's laughter, that annoying windshield wiper sound, echoes in the air. It grates on your nerves, and the urge to smack him for it intensifies. However, he ushers you inside, and with a frustrated sigh, you release your petty thoughts, letting your shoulders slump in resignation.

“Not a word to the others!” you hiss, jabbing your finger forcefully in Seokjin's face. It's crucial to drive the point home; the last thing you need is for the rest of your friends to find out. The mere thought of enduring their endless teasing is unbearable.

Seokjin mimics zipping his mouth shut with exaggerated hand gestures, and you shoot him a stern glare for good measure, silently urging him to grasp the gravity of your seriousness.

Seokjin accompanies you into the living room, where Jimin lounges on a couch, wearing that infuriatingly smug expression. Despite the lingering resentment, he acknowledges you with a subtle nod, licking his lips teasingly. A shiver snakes down your spine at the suggestive gesture, and you can't shake the feeling that this evening is destined to be nothing short of torturous.

The music pulses through the air, creating a lively atmosphere that encourages conversation with friends. Despite the chatter and laughter around you, there's an undeniable sensation of being watched. Your attempts to catch up with girlfriends are accompanied by the persistent feeling of a gaze, like smoldering embers, leaving your skin tingling with heat. 

It's Jimin, his captivating dark brown eyes following your every move, setting you ablaze amidst the festive chaos.

Despite your best efforts to steer clear of him throughout the evening, the inevitable moment arrives when dinner is served. The grand table is a vision of Christmas elegance, adorned with festive ornaments and pristine white plates boasting delicate gold rims. As you approach, the once plentiful seats have dwindled, leaving only two vacant spots side by side. The realization hits you like a silent shock – everyone is settled in their places, except for one person: Park Jimin.

A smirk dances on Jimin's lips as your eyes lock, and with a gentlemanly flourish, he pulls out the chair for you. The attention of your friends is inevitably drawn to the unfolding scene, their curious glances making you squirm. You take your seat, feeling the weight of Jimin's gaze as he elegantly settles his perfect plump ass in the chair beside you.

Amidst the lingering stares and unspoken questions, you divert your attention to the spread before you, purposefully loading your plate with an array of delectable dishes. The clinking of cutlery becomes a welcome distraction, and for a brief moment, you find solace from the constant scrutiny of Jimin's eyes that have tracked your every move since you arrived.

Engulfed in the lively chatter around the table, you savor each bite while selectively tuning in to the diverse conversations unfolding. The clinking of cutlery and the hum of laughter weave a symphony that, for a moment, allows you to lose yourself in the festive atmosphere.

Your senses tingle as a warm sensation caresses your thigh, an unmistakable touch that sends a jolt of awareness through your entire being.

A rush of longing surges through you, an electric pulse that ignites every nerve, and without needing to glance down, you're keenly aware of Jimin's hand, a potent source of warmth, intimately tracing the contour of your thigh. As he gives it a firm, possessive squeeze, you close your eyes, surrendering to the tantalizing dance of desire that envelops you.

A relentless wave of need courses through you, the mere touch of Jimin's hand on your thigh igniting a fiery pool of arousal in your core. It's almost absurd, the intensity of your response—his hand, just on your thigh, and yet it feels as if the entire universe has conspired to stoke the flames of desire within you.

His attention remains fixed on the conversation with Namjoon, his eyes avoiding yours, but the impact of his touch on your thigh is impossible to ignore. The simple act of eating becomes an insurmountable challenge as his hand, like a brand, leaves an indelible mark on your senses. The silk of your dress offers little resistance to the searing heat emanating from his touch, rendering the task of composing yourself an elusive feat.

You grit your teeth, attempting to conceal your mounting frustration, and in a clandestine exchange of glances with Seokjin seated across from you, you're convinced he sees right through the charade. Damn it all.

Jimin's hands persist in their exploration, journeying beneath your dress and ascending higher on your thigh. A stifled gasp escapes your lips, your attempt to conceal the pleasure coursing through you as his fingers delicately trace the contours of your panties.

Your mind races as he inches perilously close to your core, your pussy pulsating with anticipation. Damn, the intensity of the sensation is overwhelming.

His apparent nonchalance fuels your frustration. How can he engage in casual conversation with Namjoon, seemingly unfazed, while his hand stealthily explores the contours of your thigh beneath the table? The audacity, especially in the midst of your friends, leaves you seething with a mix of desire and irritation.

His fingers delicately dance over the fabric that shields your pulsating core, sending a shiver down your spine. Conflicting desires surge within you – an undeniable craving for his touch and the hesitation born from the inappropriate setting, surrounded by the prying eyes of your friends.

With deliberate slowness, he trails his fingers along the edge of your panties, expertly sliding them to the side. A single finger ventures into your slick folds, and an involuntary exclamation of desire escapes your lips. Fuck!

Panic and pleasure collide within you as your body ignites with an uncontrollable fire. Fumbling for composure, you desperately try to conceal the intoxicating sensations Jimin's hand is orchestrating beneath the table. Casting a surreptitious glance at your friends, relief washes over you—it appears they remain oblivious to the clandestine dance Jimin is leading on your fevered skin. Thank god.

Your entire being tenses as an electric current courses through you, a silent struggle unfolding within as you grapple with the urge to control your escalating breaths, ensuring each intake is hushed and every gasp remains concealed.

Jimin's fingers expertly plunge in and out of you, a relentless rhythm that leaves you quivering in your seat. The addition of a second digit amplifies the sensations, intensifying the shivers that course through you. Fuck you, Park Jimin!

You shoot him an incredulous look, but he remains unfazed, deep in conversation with Namjoon as if his fingers aren't skillfully working their magic on you. Frustration bubbles within you, the tightening knot in your stomach threatening to unravel. Shit.

His fingers abandon your pulsating core, and just when you dare to hope for a reprieve, he redirects his attention to your swollen clit. Electric jolts course through your body, and an involuntary flinch escapes you, catching the curious gaze of your friends. The intensity of his touch threatens to betray the secrets you're desperately trying to keep under wraps.

“Are you okay?” Concern etches across Hoseok's face as he leans in, his voice laced with worry. His eyes search yours, dissecting the panic in your stare and the sudden gasp that escaped your lips.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you lift your chin and strive for confidence as you reply, “Y-yes.”

Even as the words leave your lips, their uncertainty rings in your ears, a desperate plea that he won't press for more answers.

The sensation of Jimin's fingers expertly tracing figure eights on your clit sends electric chills down your entire body. Your thighs clench involuntarily, and you find yourself biting your lip, desperately trying to stifle any sounds that might betray the pleasure coursing through you. It's a delicate dance between ecstasy and secrecy, his skilled touch weaving a spell that makes it increasingly difficult to maintain your composure.

As Jimin's fingers work their magic, your heart races, and the sensation is akin to running a marathon. A lone bead of sweat forms on your hairline, evidence of the intensity building within you. Fuck Jimin, unraveling you like this in front of your friends. The promise of payback simmers in your mind, determined to teach him a lesson he won't soon forget.

As your breath quickens, the telltale signs of impending release manifest—quivering thighs betraying your desperation. 

You're on the verge, yearning to pry Jimin's hand away from your pulsating core. The last thing you want is to climax in front of your friends; the situation is already precarious. Imagining their potential disgust only adds to the thrill. 

The forbidden allure of the moment perplexes you—why does the idea of their judgment fuel your arousal?

Despite your futile attempts to swat his hand away, Jimin remains resolute, intensifying his efforts to push you over the edge. A determined glint in his eyes, he skillfully manipulates your senses. As he continues to stimulate your clit, a rush of liquid heralds your surrender, leaving you slumped against the table, your body succumbing to the waves of pleasure.

An electric surge courses through your body, causing every muscle to tighten, your clit pulsating beneath his expert touch. Desperately trying to collect yourself and avoid drawing attention, you navigate the fine line between pleasure and discretion.

Yoongi's concern cuts through the haze, and he observes, “Are you alright? You seem out of it.”

A quiet, low moan escapes your lips, and in that moment, you become acutely aware of how disheveled and spent you must appear—fatigued and lost in a dazed gaze. Rising from your chair, Jimin's hand reluctantly withdraws from your core, and as your dress gracefully descends with your movement, you manage to murmur, “T-toilet,” your chest heaving with the lingering waves of lust.

In a frenzied hurry, you bolt into the bathroom, your hands gripping the edge of the sink, and you confront your disheveled, panting reflection in the mirror. It feels pathetic, the way Jimin effortlessly coaxed an orgasm from you under the table, using only his fingers. The realization hits hard – you are undeniably and thoroughly fucked. 

Inhaling deeply, you attempt to steady yourself just as the bathroom door creaks open, heralding the impending return to the outside world.

As you gaze into the mirror, the source of your overwhelming frustration materializes before you: none other than Park Jimin.

You emit a hiss, a potent blend of frustration and arousal, as your eyes lock with his. Despite the turmoil, you can't deny the magnetic pull of his irresistible gaze, a look saturated with sin, his eyes half-lidded, and his tongue seductively gliding across his lips.

You sense your core clenching with a frustrating ache, an insistent reminder of desire for the infuriating man you both despise and secretly crave.

He teasingly presents his fingers to you, wiggling them suggestively as a sly grin plays on his lips, “You came.”

Your gaze locks onto him in utter disbelief—did he stroll around casually with your essence adorning his fingers?

“Suck them dry,” he commands, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he surveys the aftermath—your flushed cheeks and the deep rhythm of your breaths.

His words linger in the air, a challenge you're quick to accept. Without hesitation, you wrap your lips around his digits, tasting the remnants of your essence. His low groan reverberates as he watches you skillfully suck him dry, a silent dance of desire between you.

With each deliberate suck, you reclaim every trace of your essence from his fingers. When the task is accomplished, you fix him with an intense gaze, a silent challenge in your eyes, daring him to unleash the pent-up desire that simmers between you.

“Can’t stop thinking about me?” 

Your gaze locks with his, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you bat your lashes, feigning a sense of dominion you both know is illusory. He meets your challenge with a smug smirk, dragging his tongue over his lips, and in that moment, the taste of him floods your senses, a lingering memory that refuses to be forgotten.

You want more so you decide to match Jimin's honesty with your own vulnerability. As the words escape your lips, confessing, 'I can't get you out of my head either,' a gust of candid truth hangs in the air. The charged atmosphere between you two becomes palpable, an electric tension that leaves you yearning, your desperation laid bare.

With a sultry whisper, you proposition him, your voice dripping with desire. Your eyes linger provocatively on the pronounced bulge in his pants as you suggest, “I can suck you off. It’s the least I can do.”

He skillfully unbuckles his belt, swiftly unzips his pants, and sensually lowers both his trousers and underwear, unveiling his throbbing, substantial dick that eagerly springs forth.

Your tongue darts out to moisten your lips, the lingering taste of him still fresh in your memory, and an undeniable yearning builds within you, an insatiable desire to descend upon him just as you did in the heated confines of the car a mere few hours ago.

He strides purposefully toward the toilet, ceremoniously lowering the seat, and with a provocative gesture, positions himself on it, legs enticingly spread, an open invitation for you to draw near and indulge in the feast of his dick.

You swiftly descend to your knees on the welcoming warmth of Seokjin's floor, grateful for the cozy indulgence of heated tiles. Running your tongue across your lips, you seize his throbbing cock with a determined hand, evoking a hiss of pleasure from his lips.

“Fuck! I missed you.”

“It's only been a few hours, Jimin,” you chuckle before enveloping his pulsating dick in your saliva-coated warmth. He fills your mouth perfectly, and you establish a steady rhythm, savoring the delicious anticipation in the air.

You skillfully handle what can't fit in your mouth, teasing with your hand. Jimin throws his head back, emitting a delicious moan in response to your artistry. Sucking him off with an intensity that borders on desperation, you flatten your tongue and expertly play with his frenulum, eliciting a hiss and soft moan from him.

With a firm grip on your hair, he tugs at your ponytail once more. Drool drips from your mouth as you glide over his cock, expertly hollowing your cheeks to create the perfect suction.

His fingers tighten in your hair, urging you further. Breathing in and out through your nose, you navigate down to his pubic hairs, humming sensually around his dick. The subtle shiver you feel from him fills you with a sense of pride, knowing the impact you're having on him.

“Fuck. You’re so good,” he moans, pulling your hair tighter in his grip, the raw desire in his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Shit, I’m close already,” he gasps, his voice breathy with anticipation, and you can sense the pulsating urgency of his cock in your mouth, signaling that he's on the brink of release.

Unexpectedly, you withdraw from his throbbing cock, leaving him suspended on the precipice of release. His eyes widen in disbelief, watching as you sensually lick your lips, a spark of mischief and fiery playfulness dancing in your gaze.

“Brat. Finish what you started!” 

His demand hangs in the air, laden with urgency, but you defiantly shake your head, a smug smirk playing on your lips. In this tantalizing game of desire, you've decided to level the playing field, returning the favor with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

With a sly smirk stretching across your face, you assertively declare, “No.” Your lustful desire is unmistakable as you deliberately pull away, leaving him hanging. “You made me come in front of our friends, embarrassing me. So now,” you add with determined confidence, “you don't get to come.” 

As you swing the door open, you exit, leaving him in the bathroom, his fully erect dick on full display, a silent challenge echoing in the air.

“Fucking brat!” His voice reverberates through the air, a raw and frustrated yell, trailing after you as you make your exit.

A mischievous laughter escapes your lips, an odd mix of satisfaction and empowerment swirling within you. Striding back to the table with your friends, you effortlessly dive back into the conversation, as if leaving Jimin high and dry is just another casual move in your repertoire. 

There's a subtle thrill in knowing that maybe, just maybe, you've imparted a lesson on not messing with you.

After a few minutes, Jimin saunters back to the table, and you can't help but notice the lingering outline of his arousal beneath his pants. Apparently, he didn't tend to his needs as you assumed he would. The intrigue in the air grows thicker, adding a layer of curiosity to the already charged atmosphere.

The remainder of the evening unfolds without any further advances from Jimin, and despite the undeniable tension in the air, you manage to restrain yourself, keeping your hands to yourself. The pulsating undercurrent of arousal lingers, fueled solely by the magnetic pull of Jimin's presence.

Dinner concludes, and after lending a hand with the cleanup, the music swells to an even higher volume, enticing people to the dance floor. Amid the lively atmosphere, you join in the dance with your girlfriends, playfully swaying your hips to the rhythm. The pulsating energy is infectious, but beneath the neon lights and thumping beats, you sense Jimin's intense gaze fixed on yours once more.

Sensations of arousal ignite within you, yearning for a more intimate connection that goes beyond the pulsating dance floor. Amidst the crowd, you feel a magnetic pull, a desire for his crotch to be the one you're grinding against. However, such an encounter isn't suitable in the presence of your friends. Suddenly, Jimin materializes on the dance floor, seizing your hand and drawing you into a close embrace. His warm breath grazes your ear as he utters, “Come with me, brat.”

He pulls you away from the pulsating crowd of friends, a flicker of distress in your eyes, yet a clandestine thrill seeping through your veins. The covert glances from your friends affirm that they caught the provocative scene. With determination, he leads you into a secluded room, the door securing your privacy with a decisive click.

His eyes blaze with an inferno of lust, an intensity that borders on fury. There's a dangerous edge to his gaze, and he licks his lips with a hunger that suggests he's poised to consume you whole.

“Some nerve you have,” he begins, a low growl in his voice as he presses you backward, drawing you closer to a waiting bed, its presence dawning on you like an ominous realization.

Nervousness courses through your body, a relentless tide, as he exerts control over you with the sheer dominance of his presence.

“Leaving me like that, you fucking brat,” he hisses, forcefully pushing you down onto the bed.

Despite your nerves, a chuckle escapes your lips, “Well, I think it was only fair.”

“Do you?” he raises an eyebrow, his face hovering dangerously close to yours, the air thick with anticipation.

“Fuck. What do you do to me?” he murmurs, diving in to kiss your lips. Your hands instinctively find his cheeks, and you melt into the soft, plush sensation of his mouth, lost in the intoxicating dance of his lips.

Instantly, your body relaxes, and you wrap your legs around his waist, provocatively pressing your core against his erect dick, eliciting a hiss of pleasure from him.

“I could say the same to you,” you pant, “and I don't even like you. I don't understand,” you murmur between kisses, grappling with the conflicting emotions that the intensity of the moment brings.

“But I want you. Damn it, I want you to fuck me so bad,” you confess with a breathless mixture of desire and urgency, punctuating your words with a daring roll of your hips, leaving no room for ambiguity about your craving for him.

“Fuck.”

He unbuckles his belt with a purpose, the metallic clink resonating with the promise of what's to come. Swiftly, he unzips his pants and skillfully lowers them along with his underwear, gracefully joining you on the bed with a hunger in his eyes.

His arousal is evident, his dick appearing more heated and flushed than ever. The crimson hue tells a tale of the desire he harbors, heightened by your previous act of leaving him hanging and hungry for more.

“You’re such a brat. I’ll fuck you senseless.” His voice, a sultry promise, sends shivers down your spine. With a self-assured stroke of his dick, he spreads your legs, deftly teasing your underwear aside. 

Hovering above you, his breath dances on your skin as he murmurs in your ear, “I’m going to shut that pretty mouth of yours up.”

Your body quivers in response as he deftly lifts your legs over his shoulders. In this moment, he appears both commanding and delicate, a paradox you can't help but be drawn to. As your moans escape, his eyes light up, as if you hold the key to his universe. Yet, the bitter truth remains—you are enemies, drowning in mutual hatred despite the intensity of the desire that binds you.

His fingers dance over your sensitive folds, ensuring the cascade of wetness that engulfs you. You're a river in anticipation, and he chuckles, pulling back a glistening digit to savor your essence. His words, whispered with satisfaction, echo in the room, “You taste so good.”

You moan, your body craving his touch, and impatiently inquire, “What's the hold up?”' as you yearn for him to fulfill his promise to ravish you.

In the dim light, he chuckles down at you, gripping his hard dick once more and skillfully aligning it with your eager entrance. The head of his cock nudges your folds, eliciting a desperate mewl of pleasure from your lips. Despite the intense disdain you harbor for him, all you crave now is to feel him deep inside you.

With a powerful thrust, he impales you on his dick, plunging deep into your core with reckless abandon. A primal scream of his name tears from your throat, echoing in the room, encapsulating the sheer intensity of the moment. “Fuck, Jimin!”

His grin turns wicked, a hint of danger in his eyes, as he accelerates, showing no mercy and denying you any chance to acclimate. Every powerful thrust widens and fulfills you in the most exquisite way, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

Though mere hours have passed, the yearning for his dick consumes your thoughts. The magnetic pull of his desire leaves your mind shrouded in dangerous fantasies that dance provocatively through the corridors of your consciousness.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight.”

Moans of pleasure escape his lips, breathless and raw, as he utters your name in a fevered whisper. Holding your legs aloft, he thrusts into you, skillfully navigating the depths, each movement a calculated dance that hits your soft spot with precision, sending ripples of ecstasy through your body.

His intoxicating scent envelops your senses, a heady mix of musk that clouds your mind. The rhythmic dance of his tie brushing against your dress on your tummy mirrors the cadence of his thrusts.

Amidst the tumultuous waves of pleasure, you find yourself caught in a paradox of conflicting emotions. “Fuck, Jimin. I hate you. I don't understand,” you blabber, your words intertwining with the rhythmic surges of arousal coursing through your body. With each relentless thrust, the coil in your stomach tightens, weaving a complex tapestry of desire and disdain.

“I do,” he utters, punctuating his words with a forceful thrust that reverberates through your core, causing a symphony of sensations to cascade through your body.

“You like me, that's why,” he pants, each powerful thrust resonating through your pussy, an electrifying dance of pleasure and desire. It's a truth you're reluctant to acknowledge, and as your heart races, you turn your head away, unable to meet his intense gaze, even as your body betrays your feelings.

“No, no, you look at me while I fuck you, brat,” he seethes with anger. He presses himself down on you, your legs parting to rest on the sides of his arms. His hands find their way around your throat, giving it a light squeeze as he maintains the fast pace of his hard thrusts. The intensity in his eyes matches the fervor of the moment, a collision of passion and dominance that leaves you breathless.

He forces you to turn your head toward him, and the grip on your throat tightens even more. “Just admit that you like me, brat,” he demands, his voice a potent blend of authority and desire, making your heart race as you navigate the thin line between resistance and surrender.

Your mind swirls in a hazy mist, a product of his presence or the firm grip around your neck — it's hard to discern. Yet, amidst the uncertainty, there's an undeniable thrill that courses through you, a strange liking for the intoxicating blend of dominance and desire.

Released from his grasp, you inhale desperately, your breaths echoing the tumultuous whirlwind of emotions within. With the tightening coil in your stomach, you reluctantly admit, “Fine... I don't hate you.”

His hands reclaim your throat, a firm grip that mingles pleasure and restraint, synchronized with the rhythmic precision of his thrusts hitting every exquisite spot within you. “That's not good enough, brat,” he growls, his control both intoxicating and exhilarating.

“I know you like me, because your body tells me so,”

“I know you like it when I choke you, because you clench so much around me when I do,”

“Your body can’t lie, brat.”

Holy fuck. He’s right. At least in some parts. Your mind is a tempest of desire, clouded with thoughts of him, and suddenly you’re screaming, the sound muffled by his firm hands around your throat. Your body spasms uncontrollably, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing around his pulsating dick.

“Fuck. Yeah, cream my dick, brat.” he maintains his relentless thrusts, your orgasm surging through you like a wild storm, leaving you with a symphony of sensations and a loud ringing sound in your ears.

His hands finally release their grip on your neck, and you find yourself panting for air, gasping his name with a mixture of desperation and lust, “J-Jimin, fuck.”

“You’re doing so good. Even if you behave like a brat. Fuck. I’m so close.”

And then his thrusts become erratic and even more frantic, as he desperately seeks his own climax.

“Fuck, Jimin, just like that!” you scream as he relentlessly targets your sweet spot, igniting the familiar coil in your stomach once more. Fuck.

Jimin seems to sense your escalating pleasure, and one of his hands skillfully finds your clit, circling it with a tantalizing touch that nearly makes you scream. “Shit!”

He skillfully pinches your clit, and suddenly, you see stars—you're gone. Squirts of your release gush out, painting his pubic hairs, and Jimin gazes down at you. You thrash around the bed, frantically breathing, your muscles tightening as your vision becomes a canvas of small, white dots.

“Damn. You just squirted all over me,” he breathes in a soft voice, a hint of adoration laced within. However, you can't really decipher his tone as you're lost in the moment, your ears ringing again.

“Damn, that's hot,” he exclaims and thrusts into you again, releasing his warm load inside you with a scream of your name.

He continues to thrust into your core, the rhythm slowing down to a more sensual pace. Your body feels dazed and sweaty, the dress clinging uncomfortably to your skin, the satin now undoubtedly soaked through.

You gasp for air, still catching your breath. “Fucking hell, that was amazing, Jimin.” He chuckles, offering you a gentle smile that quickly transforms into his trademark smirk.

His laughter dances through the air, accompanied by a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know, we can totally do this again,” he says, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. You can't help but roll your eyes, though deep down, the idea doesn't seem entirely unwelcome. Keeping a sense of mystery, you respond with a playful glint in your eyes, “Maybe.” The rebellion in your spirit mirrors the dance of sparks between you, a familiar game of push and pull that seems destined to continue.

“Brat.” 

He chuckles, yet defies the teasing nickname by bending down to kiss you; it’s sweet and tender, a stark contrast to how he just fucked your brains out.

You cast a dismayed gaze at your drenched dress, muttering, “I can't go out in this,” and you groan, feeling the uncomfortable cling of the fabric to your skin, an unwelcome sensation adding to the aftermath of your heated encounter.

“How about we raid Seokjin’s closet?” he suggests, winking with a playful lift of his brows and a light chuckle.

“Is this Seokjin’s room? Did we just fuck on his bed? Damn, he’s going to be furious!” You burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation. “No way! Imagine if everyone finds out we fucked.” You shriek, wildly waving your hands in the air, the possibility suddenly sinking in.

“Why are you so hell-bent on keeping it a secret?” he asks, genuinely curious, a playful glint in his eyes as he chuckles at your distress.

“Because you're my sworn enemy,” you state matter-of-factly, giving a nonchalant shrug.

“Are you sure about that?” he teases, his eyebrows wiggling playfully. You can't help but roll your eyes at his cheeky demeanor once again.

“And I think they already know,” he laughs, amusement dancing in his eyes as he observes your irritated expression. You groan into your hands, grappling with the realization that he might be right. However, you're determined to cling to any shred of hope you can find.

“We'll just stay up here until my dress is dry,” you declare, as if it's the most brilliant plan you can conjure. Jimin chuckles, his gaze lingering over your heaving form with a hunger that ignites a spark of desire. He licks his lips, suggesting, “Then take it off. That way, it'll dry faster, and we can go for round two in a moment.”

[biblio-smia]

sharing a kiss on their birthday + Mike Schmidt (thanks so much and congrats!)

thank you!! | part of v’s 800 follower celebration!

mike's birthdays have been small for a while. even as a child, he preferred to spend the day with his family rather than have a large birthday party with other kids. that had always been enough for him then, and it was enough for him now.

abby always liked to surprise him on his birthdays. usually, it was a special drawing, or a regifted piece of clothing she'd stolen from mike earlier in the year in leftover wrapping paper from the holidays. but each year, mike showed his appreciation with a big hug and a special dinner for just the two of them. and with that, he was happy.

but, this year, you had different plans.

it began small; you called mike as soon as it struck twelve to wish him a happy birthday. you would've felt remorse if you weren't familiar with mike's schedule - he was up at that hour, anyway.

mike had been shocked once he realized you had only called to wish him a happy birthday and not about anything important. he let out a dazed thank you, bemused at the pride mike heard in your voice once he confirmed that, yes, you had been the first to wish him a happy birthday.

mike had tucked himself into bed a little while later, partially confused about the level of concern you had for something as simple as wishing mike a happy birthday. mike racks his brain - perhaps you never celebrated your birthday how you wanted to as a child - but he dozes off before he can come to a reasonable conclusion.

mike doesn't realize that it is, in fact, not about you but entirely about him. while he prefers a quiet celebration, you're still going to find little ways to show mike the depth of the care you hold for him.

like with his birthday cake, for example.

a few candles stand comically tall along the rim of the cookie cake you've bought. mike isn't much of a cake guy, finding most frostings that decorate store-bought cakes to be too sweet. the prefers a giant cookie, especially appreciating the warmed-up leftovers it yields.

mike wears a tall party hat that has been designated for him by abby, a silver a gold cone with a string that's begun to leave a painful indentation around where it squeezes mike's head. he thinks of a wish when you instruct him to do so, holding onto it tightly before blowing an inaudible mouthing of it onto his candles. mike shoulders the task of pulling out the candles, careful of the hot wax beginning to drip down the sides. he doesn't remember the last time someone has bought him a cake and doesn't recall ever having one he's felt like was bought for him - usually, his birthday cakes were picked out with the tastes of others in mind. mike hasn't minded the decision to let abby have most of his cake for the past few years but finds the feeling in his chest when he takes a piece of the giant cookie to be warm and sweet.

but there's really no sweetness like the one in your eyes when you look at mike. it satisfies mike more than any cake could, the love in your eyes never dipping even as afternoon becomes night and plates are cleaned up. mike expects to catch you looking disengaged or at least tired - but the care your soft gaze holds for him has not stuttered for hours.

mike understands the unwavering attention that comes with birthdays to stay in the confines of a few-hour intervals of celebration. previously palatable for him, mike can't wrap his head around the attention that you've given him practically all day.

he suddenly worries he hasn't been all that receptive to it, now that abby has gone to bed and it's just you and him. mike recalls every little thing you've done for him today, everything that had made him feel special - and he still feels like he's missing some.

mike's not sure what to do now, feeling like a simple thank you isn't enough. knowing you, you'd probably smile if that was what he gave you but mike didn't think it was enough.

so he pulls you in now, a little awkwardly. mike, so deep in his thoughts, had not realized you’d been in the middle of saying something. your train of thought has been interrupted and your words falter, expectant eyes boring into mike as he holds you near him.

your arms automatically wrap around him like an instinct and you wait - patiently. you know mike to be poor with his words and can recognize when they fail him; it is especially telling when he stares at you with wide eyes and his mouth slightly agape.

“i just… wanted to tell you…”

“mhmm?” you encourage gently.

mike stutters a few beginnings of words but isn’t quite able to string them together. your hands squeeze his shoulders but mike sighs in defeat. he manages to look up at you, though, pulling you in for a kiss.

communication is key. but when words fail, sometimes substitutes are necessary. mike tries, now, to convey how grateful he is for today, to apologize for how strange he can become when someone shows him love.

when mike pulls away he’s not sure he’s managed to say everything he wanted to say - some things simply can’t replace the sincerity of words. but you kiss mike again, quickly, not giving him the chance to reciprocate the love you give so freely - instead, you force mike to take it.

it’s strange to mike, something he is still unable to accept. there’s something in him that tells him to give more than he takes, though he can’t help but feel the strong contradiction you bring with you.

it’ll send mike into a frenzy if he allows it. so he doesn’t - at least not tonight. he lets you pull him into your shoulder and ask him about his day as if you didn’t spend most of it with him.

mike desperately wants, more than anything, to get used to this. though, with time, he thinks his wish will come true.

[twstfanblog]

*~Thanks Give Me~* Pt 2

A/N: Second part ready and served! The third part will be posted tomorrow, so look forward to those vignettes XD Word Count: 5.1K Pairings: Barely seen Ruggie/Leona Warnings: Swearing

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The two weeks leading up to the dinner were surprisingly peaceful. Everyone took their tasks seriously, even Leona came to Ramshackle to offer more monetary support a day after the meeting.

(“Just use my card to buy food for the dinner. Seven knows that Ruggie can eat…”

“Oh don't worry, he already gave me your bank info.”

“...”)

It was endlessly entertaining to watch both Sebek and Silver struggle to not spill the beans to an excited Lilia. The retired general hadn't figured anything out as far as they could tell, but he could see their friend group were all prepping for something. It was also hilarious watching Malleus launch his godfather into the stratosphere whenever Sebek nearly told the smaller third-year about the dinner.

Rook had disappeared for nearly a week, only returning with a massive freezer chest and a profound sense of pride a few days before the dinner. Inside said chest was a plucked turkey the size of a small velociraptor. The junior was all too pleased to recount the method of how he got the bird. His eldest sister, Reine, had been eager to let him hunt down a very aggressive tom on her wildlife preserve.

Yuu was just lucky Rook had provided the magically chilled chest and that their oven knew when best to defy the laws of physics.

Cater had been texting them almost nonstop, trying to clear up what his job task of ‘gay cousin’ was even supposed to mean. Yuu would simply respond with winking emojis, much to his displeasure.

Kalim had contacted them the night after the housewarden meeting, sounding pitiful as he promised he was able to complete his task. He simply had no idea what China was. Though he wanted to do a crystal set, it would take time to get so many plates, glasses, and platters all custom carved. Not to mention the short notice.

(“Oh that's right, China isn't a place here…um…It's porcelain dishes…Chang’an?”

“Ooooooooh. Yeah I can get us a really nice Chang’an set! With lots of designs and pretty red flowers! Red is a color I can use right? Or maybe traditional blue? I wonder if I can get a full gold set-”)

Jamil had dropped off the set a few days later, stacks upon stacks of gold-rimmed dishes with center designs of a painted red flower in bloom and deeper red swirls along the edges. Just as they had requested, there were plenty of matching serving platters and pots of varying sizes. The vice warden also asked for Yuu to find something for him to do. While he wasn't tasked with a job, he felt uncomfortable coming to dinner offering nothing.

Yuu told him if he had to do something, he was welcome to help them clean and sort the metric ton of silverware they still needed to look through for the party. A long afternoon task that ended with Jamil lovingly stating she was complete shit at polishing silverware.

More people were invited, both intentionally and surprisingly. Yuu had approached Crewel, Trein, and Sam privately to ask if they'd like to attend the dinner. They of course had their tasks as everyone else did. Trein was pleasantly amused to know his simple task was ‘Grandpa’ and that Lucius was also invited. Crewel didn't respond but he also didn't throw the invite back in Yuu's face hearing his job was ‘Wine Aunt’. Sam could barely hold in his laughter at his assigned task of ‘Cool Weed-smoking Cousin’.

Jack had called them, asking if his younger siblings could attend the dinner. He had contacted his mother to send her recipe for poached pears, leading her to trap him in an hour-long story that ended on her saying the twins' babysitter had canceled at the last minute. After learning the day in question was the same as the dinner, Jack had offered to bring his younger siblings to NRC for the day if allowed.

Yuu quickly agreed, already reworking the dining room to make room for a kid's table. Along with sending a message to Falena about the dinner and how Cheka would be welcome to come. (Leona texting them only a few minutes later with a variety of foul language).

Before they knew it, the day had arrived. Sebek spent the entire day beforehand and slept over, helping in prep and making the long list of foods that Yuu knew to be holiday staples. Waking up at 6am the day of, they both walked back into the kitchen to continue cooking and verbally clawing at each other until others started to arrive.

The Heartslabyul crew all stood on the Ramshackle front porch, dressed in button-downs and a variety of semi-formal wear. Ace messed with his bow tie, raising an eyebrow while Riddle politely knocked on the Ramshackle front door, “So…why are we here dressed up and with two pies?”

Trey spoke, holding his glass container up, “This is banana pudding, not a pie.”

Deuce frowned, glaring at Ace while he lifted his own container in his hands, “And my eggs!”

“I don't even want to know why you have deviled eggs, Juice. What are we doing here?” Huffing, he raised an eyebrow at Cater primping his own semi-formal clothing, “I hate to ask it, but shouldn’t we be in class?”

“For the dinner. Just try to be on decent behavior.” Riddle looked through the side window of the door, concerned at hearing Yuu and Sebek screaming at each other as he knocked again.

“D-Dinner? What dinner? It's 10am!?”

Trey opened the door after no one answered, keeping a firm grip on his container of pudding, “Yuu? Sebek? We're here.”

The clattering and yelling stopped for a moment, the Heartlabyul crew looking confused at the uncharacteristically closed doors of the kitchen. Yuu opened the double doors, a splattered apron over their pajamas, greeting them with a big smile, “Hey guys! Thanks for coming by so early. Trey, Riddle, you guys can put your stuff in the dining room, I’ll be messing with it to make it all pretty later on.”

Deuce spoke up, holding his container up proudly, “I made deviled eggs!”

Yuu laughed, taking the Tupperware from their friend, “Thank you, Deuce. I’ll make sure to put them in a nice dish. Me and Sebek are still cooking everything else so could you guys make sure Grim hasn’t ripped apart the lounge in protest of being told to wait?”

“Of course. I know my task is to call everyone to the meal, but is there a certain time we join to eat?” Riddle questioned, handing his pie to Trey.

“Hmm. My family normally ate around two or three. But if me and Sebek keep up our pace we should be done by noon or one.”

Ace spoke up, looking around in pure bewilderment, “Tasks? You have guys had tasks?”

Yuu hummed, looking Ace up and down in barely concealed annoyance, “Ace, happy to see you’re on task.”

“I had a task!?”

Sebek’s voice called out from the kitchen, anger clear in his tone, “Stop fraternizing and continue with your own task!”

“Sebek, shut the fuck up and focus on the damn potatoes! And I swear to GOD, if you’re not using the goddamn ricer.” Yuu had started to walk back into the kitchen, brushing off Ace’s confused sputtering as she slammed the kitchen doors behind her.

“I don’t need to use the ricer!”

“You don’t need oxygen!”

Ace turned to Cater, raising an eyebrow, “What was my task!? Be confused!?”

Cater was tapping at his phone, texting Idia to remind him he had promised him he would come to the dinner, “Actually, it was you ‘weren’t invited and came anyway’.”

“...What?”

“Be happy, mine was ‘Gay Cousin’...”

“What?”

More knocks come from the front door, Riddle running over to open it. He smiled, “Oh, you made it-”

“Move, Riddle.” Ruggie shouldered his way past the housewarden, already speed-walking into the dining room.

“...” Riddle turned to the other two Savanaclaw members still on the porch, “As I was saying, welcome. The meal isn't ready yet, so we're gathering in the lounge.”

Leona sighed, eyes almost glazing over, “Of course, we gotta wait more…”

Riddle folded his arms, tilting his head, “Isn’t your job to be a couch potato?”

Leona pointed to his front, “I gotta get this thing entertained and fed…” 

Gripping onto Leona’s two braids like they were handlebars was Cheka in more formal wear than Riddle had ever seen him. The five-year-old swinging lightly but greeted him in joy, “Hi Mr. Riddle!”

“Hello, Cheka.” Riddle looked to Jack, raising an eyebrow seeing no one else with him, “Jack, were your siblings not coming?”

At that moment Riddle finally took notice of two pairs of tiny hands gripping onto each of Jack’s shoulders. Almost in sync, two coal-colored heads peek from under their brother’s hair, big amber eyes blinking at him. From what he could see, they had the same spikey hair pattern as their brother. Both with wolf ears still slightly too big for their heads, one of them having ear tips that matched with Jack’s grey hair.

Jack held up a glass container, “I brought the dessert Yuu asked for. Is there a place she wants me to put it?”

“Hmm…She said to place our dishes in the dining room, but she also wanted to place Deuce’s deviled eggs in a separate dish.”

Leona finally grabbed Cheka, silently demanding the child let go of his braids to hold him properly, “Where is Feral anyway? Aren’t they supposed to be hosting this dinner?”

Riddle looked to the closed kitchen doors, expression vaguely concerned, “Well-”

“Sebek, you better be basting that turkey the same way Silver basts your face! If that turkey is dry, I will marry your mom!”

…

One of Jack’s siblings pulls themselves up higher on his shoulder, gently tugging on Jack’s ear to whisper to him loudly, “What’s basting?”

Jack shoved the container into Riddle’s hands, speed walking down the hall and away from the kitchen of profanity, “Hey, Yuu has a TV. You guys wanna watch Lara the Explora?” Sighing in relief as the six-year-old twins cheer at the idea of watching their favorite cartoon.

Cheka looked at Leona, opening his mouth to also ask, only to have Leona quickly cut him off as he walked deeper into the house.

“Don't even ask me.”

Trey had luckily been in the dining room and dragged Ruggie out before he could touch a single one of the serving dishes. Each platter remained with their tops on and magically locked to keep warm until opened again. The second-year almost scandalized hearing he needed to wait until everything was done. Dejectedly, after a weirdly intense stare from Trey, Ruggie backed down and joined the others in the lounge. Managing to wedge himself between one of Leona’s knees and the armrest of a three-person. He really took his task of ‘Spreading it’ seriously.

Sam had arrived, passing out little candies to Grim and the children as a way to tie over their appetites. He had only popped in the kitchen for twenty seconds, delivering a block of cheese Yuu had ordered that finally came in, only to rush out like his life depended on it. His only explanation being the kitchen was filled with malicious intent…

The Octavinelle trio had arrived while Sam and Cater were discussing their semi-shared task of ‘Cousin’ and all it entailed. Floyd holding a container close to his chest and keeping a vicious glare leveled at his twin, Jade pouting and glaring right back as he made small lunges. The two feuding eels leaving Azul to bring a chilled chest of drinks up the stairs himself.

Riddle stopped Floyd from entering when he opened the door, pointedly staring at the container in his arms, “What is that? You weren't tasked to bring anything.”

Floyd's scowl turned to Riddle, stepping away from the smaller sophomore and clutching the container even closer to his chest, “Shrimpy had no right saying I can't be trusted. So I made fried chicken.”

“And Jade…?”

Scoffing, Jade walked into the house, casting one last glare over his shoulder before cracking open one of the double doors to the kitchen to peek in.

Snickering, Floyd handed his container over to Riddle to finally help Azul with the container of drinks, “I locked him out of the lounge kitchen this morning. He didn't get to even try anything since I messed all his stupid boxes up last night too.”

“You nearly destroyed my Lulu Lazerus mushroom…If I hadn't managed to get it settled in a new terrarium I would be an only child right now…”

Floyd's only response was to make a face, groaning mockingly while he rolled his eyes and let his tongue hang out.

Jade had just started to ponder the idea of ripping Floyd's tongue out of his mouth when the kitchen doors opened fully. Luckily, Yuu and Sebek weren't yelling anymore but instead speaking to each other in intense tones.

“Suck it the fuck up, Sebek. I'm fucking tired and hungry too. Stop eating all the pineapple slices, those are for the fucking ham!” Yuu smiled at Jade, pointing behind them, “Come on, you can make the mushroom gravy since I suck at cooking them.”

That single prompt had flipped Jade's mood completely. The eel now smiling and already rushing past Yuu and into the kitchen. Their smile turned to Floyd and Azul, raising an eyebrow.

“What you make, Floyd?”

“Fried chicken...” Floyd frowns, putting together just what had happened, “Hey, wait a minute-”

“Yeah, I played you both. Go hang out in the lounge, there are small children in there.”

“Oh? Cool, I love playing with guppies!”

Riddle quickly followed after Floyd rounding back to place the container in Yuu’s hands, already scolding the laughing eel as they made their way to the lounge, “Please don't throw any of the children.”

Azul tapped Yuu on the shoulder, making sure to not get any food on his pressed dress shirt, “There are…children here?”

“Is that a hint of fear I hear, Azul?”

The housewarden sputtered, waving his date-mate's teasing expression away, “I'm not afraid of children. I just didn't bring more child-friendly beverages…”

Yuu opened the chilled chest, frowning as they took stock of the various bottles Azul had brought, “Zulie, I said booze and non-booze…”

“And I have! Must I remind you that the dietary expectations for children here are different from your world?”

They were in all fairness. Most commercial food wasn't as processed as what Yuu was used to. Even the most ‘unhealthy’ junk food was still leagues better than what Yuu would find back in their old world. Food geared toward children had even stricter social guidelines; juices were expected to be whole fruit juice and even blended with vegetables to ensure a well-rounded diet.

Sighing, Yuu tapped their chin, “Yeah…I can fix this. Let me help you get these all set up in the dining room. I gotta call Kalim and hope he and Jamil aren't on their way yet.”

Azul raised an eyebrow, following after Yuu, “I assume we're putting them on a table or people would pour their own drinks?”

“Don't worry, I'll show you where to put everything.”

Azul was surprised to see the chandelier of the dining room was also a drinks dispenser. The bulbs were completely hollow even though they shined with light. He watched from the side as Yuu stood on the table and filled each glass bulb with the multiple drinks Azul had brought. He asked what they had requested from Kalim, seeing how his task was simply making sure they had a dining set.

Yuu remarked they were going to make a punch for the children since everyone would be concerned about the content of the nonalcoholic drinks for the kids.

“It probably won’t taste the same, but It was really good whenever my auntie felt like making it for family get-togethers. I think the kids will like it.”

Luckily, Kalim and Jamil hadn't left Scarabia when Yuu called. Kalim was all too eager to bring more items at Yuu's request; multiple whole fruit juices and a large bottle of lemon-lime soda water made with his unique magic. The Scarabia duo had even brought other gifts as they arrived at the dorm.

Yuu opened the door, smiling as Kalim held up his armful of bottles, “You're a lifesaver, Kalim.”

“It's no problem! I'm glad I could bring something other than just plates. Plus, we ran into Idia and Ortho!” Kalim turns, smiling at the small group still walking up the steps behind him.

Jamil was bringing up the rear, arms folded over his chest as he gave a glare to the back of Idia’s head. The flame-haired third-year shuffling along as he walked up the stairs as slow as he could. Ortho was floating beside him, eyes creased in his joy as he gently tugged on his brother's oversized sweater. Against his will, Idia made it up the steps and stood nearly curled in on himself. 

Yuu cooed, reaching over and pinching Idia’s cheek hard, ignoring the flash of red his hair gave, “Look at you! All dressed up like you're fit for the public!”

“And you aren't for some reason. Aren't you hosting?” Jamil raised an eyebrow, looking over his datemate's messy appearance. He grimaces, reaching out to tug at the edge of their apron, “Is this part of it?”

“Well, me and Sebek are gonna get dressed up once the food is all ready. We just gotta put some finishing touches on a few more dishes then wait for everyone else to show up.”

Ortho tilts his head, “Would you like us to take over? You and Sebek should go get dressed so we can all eat as soon as everyone arrives.”

Idia mumbled under his breath, trying to shimmy his way a bit further from the door, “I'd…really rather not be in a hot kitchen…”

Sighing, Yuu stepped to the side to let the group enter the house, “I don’t want you guys to have to take over cooking for us. You’re all dressed so nice, I’d feel bad if you got messy…”

Jamil rolled his eyes, quick hands already untying Yuu’s apron and putting it over his blazer, “I think we can manage. You and Sebek go get washed up. I'm sure you’d love to actually host instead of looking as disheveled as you are and answering the door.”

“...Fine…” Yuu called into the kitchen, telling Sebek they were released from cooking and to go shower. They were barely able to move out of the way as Sebek zoomed out of the kitchen and disappeared up the stairs, his apron only just hitting the counter as his door slammed upstairs.

“...” Yuu turned to Kalim, Jamil and Ortho already in the kitchen, “Can you mix the punch up for me? You’re gonna use all the juice and the soda water for it. Put some sliced oranges in it, it’s for the kiddies.”

Kalim nodded, bumping the kitchen door open with his hip, “Got it!”

“And don’t think I forgot about you tall, dank, and heinous.” Yuu folded their arms, glaring at the back of Idia.

Idia had been inching closer to the front door, hoping he could slip out before being noticed and run back to his room. He groaned, scowling over his shoulder at Yuu, “I’m not even hungry…”

“You’re never hungry. Just sit at the table and hold Cater’s hand or whatever the fuck you do to maintain emotional stability.”

“So long as I can have my tablet at the table…” He rubs his forearm, looking to the ground, “Did you dress Grim up?”

“Yes. He has a new bowtie that he hates so he’s all pouty and grumpy.”

“Aw…cute.”

Cater poked his head out of the lounge hearing Idia’s voice, phone poised in hand before he let out a sigh of relief seeing his boyfriend actually showed up, “OMS, Idia! You look so good, babes. Thank you for showing like you promised~.”

Idia finally let a smile crack, tugging on his collar as the tips of his hair eased into pink, “I mean…you did help me pick out what to wear-MHP!”

The other third-year had sped walked over to his boyfriend, throwing his arms around Idia’s neck before pulling him in to make out with him. The redhead moaned loudly and running his hands through nearly neon-pink flames while pressing their bodies together.

“Cater! For the love of the Design!” Yuu slapped him repeatedly on the shoulder until he finally detached from a dazed Idia, “What the fuck dude!? Don't dry hump your boyfriend in my entryway!?”

“What am I supposed to do as ‘Gay Cousin’!? My boyfriend is here, so I get to be gay and kiss him!”

Rolling her eyes, Yuu groaned and walked up the stairs to finally clean up. Leaving a stunned Idia and an angry Cater, the redhead holding his hands up as to question the higher powers.

“What do I DO!?”

Yuu and Sebek cleaned up well, Sebek feeling much better freshly showered and in the button-up he had spent an hour last night ironing. Yuu kept simple, the new designer jeans Crewel had flung at her after seeing her trying to sew in another patch on the thigh of her old jeans. A sweater Yuu had stolen from Vil’s closet, the third-year feeling something was missing from his wardrobe, but unable to figure out what was gone. 

So she could feel nothing but smug when she opened the door, smiling at the well-dressed group of the Pomfiore trio on their porch, “Eyebrows.”

Vil raised a single perfectly sculpted eyebrow, already connecting the dots on where his missing top had gone. He tapped a perfectly manicured nail against the lid of his container, “Onion.”

“I see, you not only managed to get Epel de-mudded but you finished your salad on time.”

With a smile that seemed almost mocking, Vil opened his container to show the multicolored pasta inside, “I made a pasta salad.”

Yuu looked at the dish, her smile almost frozen on her face before she took in a deep breath through her nose. She reaches out, nails raking down the sides of the ceramic bowl as they slowly pull it out of  Vil’s hands, “I should…beat you to death for your audacity. But this honestly, looks delightful and I think you actually seasoned it.”

Epel spoke up from beside Vil, giving his housewarden a judgemental look, “He had me season it.”

“Hush, Epel.”

Rook tilted his head, smiling brightly, “I hope we are not too fashionably late. It’d do no good for us to miss such festivities with our dear classmates.”

Yuu ushered them in, “Not too late. Most everyone is here, but you also aren’t the last to arrive.”

Vil smiled as he triple-checked his makeup and outfit in the gold mirror on the wall, “Perfect.”

Epel perked up, holding out his own dish, “Oh, yeah. Here’s the tenderloin you wanted me to make. I never thought pork and apples would work together. How’d you know?”

Yuu partly wanted to point out to Epel that he was potentially blessed. Any food he made with apples was almost otherworldly good, a trait they learned Epel shared with his grandma, “Something from my world. Come on, we’ll get your dishes settled on the table.”

Rook closed the door behind their group, eyes glancing over to the kitchen doors, “May, I see the efforts of my hunt? I wish to see the golden beauty that was once my quarry.”

“I don’t care if you’re hungry, no one eats yet.”

After sending the Pomfiore trio to the lounge, they almost slipped back into the kitchen to touch base with Ortho and Jamil, only to hear the door being flung open to slam against the wall. Turning around they smiled seeing the familiar black and white fur coat. Crewel was already walking through the entryway, designer shades taking over half his face with a large gold-foiled wine bottle gripped in one hand.

“Papa dog! Thank you for coming, you didn't need to bring us more wine-”

Crewel didn't stop walking, managing to brush past Yuu completely with a pat to their head, “No, this is for me, puppy. No touchy.”

“Yep, that tracks…” Yuu had nearly closed the door only to see Trein coming up the stairs too, Lucius tucked securely in his arms, “Grandpa! You made it!”

They hug briefly, Trein sighing and allowing Lucius to jump from his arms to trot into the house. He was in a different robe, vaguely familiar to his normal attire but clearly of higher quality and with a more elaborate brooch, “It feels odd to cancel classes for a ‘dinner’. And on a Thursday at that…”

“Hm…yeah. We technically have a Thanksgiving break in my world. It’s basically just an extended weekend though.”

“That makes sense. While your studies are important, maybe this little break will do you children some good. Here’s hoping that Crewel doesn’t use this as an excuse to overdrink again.”

“Oh, he came in with a bottle of wine.”

“Of course he did…”

Yuu was ready to text Lilia just to ask if he and his boys were on their way, secret be damned. Though a part of her realized she should of expected them to be the latest party of everyone. Malleus was so timeblind that he was potentially going to miss the heat death of the universe then pout about it. Silver can’t always fight against his compulsion to sleep and Lilia isn’t supposed to fucking know about the dinner anyway.

So when Yuu heard the door knocking with a refined yet urgent feeling, she flung Cheka out of her lap (Directly into Leona’s stomach) and raced toward the front door.

Swinging it open, she smiled at the nicely dressed trio before her, “There’s my bread delivery!”

Silver smiled, holding up the large wicker basket full to the brim with artisan bread rolls, “They should still be warm, but a bit longer in the oven shouldn’t burn them.”

Lilia looked between them all, taking note of Yuu’s semi-fancy attire before gasping. He pouted, glaring at each of his sons “Is this a dinner party!? I knew you boys were hiding something from me, but for it to be a meal among friends? I could have made something!”

Yuu watched as Silver and Malleus both gave an identical shudder at the same time.

Malleus places a hand on Lilia’s shoulder, letting the older fae jerk himself away, “You weren’t tasked with cooking. But, if you wish to have been involved, you were.”

Silver perks up, handing the bread to Yuu and finally stepping into the house as a group, “That’s right, father. You helped make the bread. I can’t shape dough nearly as well as you can. You helped greatly.”

“Surely the meal will be elevated from your lavish buns.”

Lilia pouted, arms now crossed. He wasn’t dull, he knew his children were simply trying to pacify his soured mood. It didn’t help they had kept such a secret from him. Then again…

Chuckling, Lilia places his hands on his hips as he let go of his annoyance, “Well, I have to admit, I am looking forward to the meal. Is it just us or will others be joining?”

Yuu smiled, sharing a kiss with Malleus, the horned fae already beaming at himself for completing his task. Looking to Lilia, Yuu nodded her head to the lounge down the hall, “You guys are actually the last group. Go wait in the lounge for a bit, me and Jamil will get the last touches of dinner done.”

While Malleus wasn’t too keen to leave, he allowed Lilia to tug him down the hall and into the lounge. The sound of Sebek shouting in joy at finally seeing his dorm family again, already talking their ears off on how much he had done to help insure the success of the meal.

Yuu leaned their head into the lounge, locking eyes with Riddle and nodding. The housewarden perked up, standing from his seat and bringing his fingers to his lips to let out a piercing whistle.

Once he had everyone’s attention, he nodded and made motions to leave the room, “It’s time for the meal. Let’s all make our way to the dining room.”

The Ramshackle dining room was possibly the most elegant room of the house, which wasn’t hard, but it counted. The dark wood-paneled walls were lit softly by the warm lights of the chandelier. The long table was decorated by deep red placemats, crystal glasses, stark white plates, and matching serving platters filled to the brim with food. Tucked to the far wall, resting under a large landscape painting, was a much smaller table with five placemats.

Yuu smiled, gesturing to the small table, “Niblings, that’s your table. Everyone else, I actually have nametags so you guys are assigned seats.” Their smile quickly fell, reaching out and gripping Ruggie by the back of his suspenders and yanked him back from the table, “Not yet.”

Ruggie groaned loudly, glaring at Yuu, “What now!? This is my dinner isn’t it!?”

“No, you wanted a Thanksgiving dinner. So we’re doing a Thanksgiving dinner, all the annoying shit involved. Now, we’re going to stand around the table, hold hands, and say a prayer.”

Ace raised an eyebrow, “What, like a cult?”

Crewel pulled a face, begrudgingly holding onto Trein’s hand, “Why are we praying?”

 Yuu grips Deuce’s hand, pointing a finger at everyone, “Don’t question me, this is just how my family always did it. Ruggie, you wanted this, you do it.”

“I-Do what?”

“The prayer, Ruggie. Say a few words about what you’re thankful for or like…praise god or whatever. Now everyone, hold each other’s hands and bow your heads until the prayer is done.”

“Ok, so this is cult behavior-”

“Bow your heads!”

Everyone bowed their heads, a few shooting Ruggie questioning glances before looking back to the floor or closing their eyes.

Ruggie stood in silence for a few seconds. Looking around the room before taking a breath and bowing his head as well, “Um…Hi? This is weird and I really don’t want to do this is public. But…Thank you…for the meals I’ve had, the meal I’m having, and the meals I’ll have…” He smiles softly, the grip he had on Leona’s hand tightening only a touch, “And for the people I share them with. Bless.”

Yuu holds their head up, staring at Ruggie in surprise, “Ruggie, holy shit, that was actually lovely.”

“Can we eat now?”

“Oh my God-Yeah.”

Everyone took a seat, Yuu further explained that whoever had a child sitting at the kids' table was allowed to make their and the child’s plate first. Ruggie being the only one who didn’t fit into that group who was allowed to pile his plate as much as he wanted before everyone else.

Prev/Next

[vikwrites]

Money, Money, Money - Tony Stark

CHAPTER 1 Summary ➣ Starting off as simple, transactional love during the height of Tony’s alcoholism, devolves into something real. Pairing ➣ Tony Stark x Reader Word Count ➣ 1.2k words Warnings ➣ Slow Burn, Power Imbalance, Enemies to Lovers, Large age gap, Mildly Pretentious Narrator. Author's Notes ➣  The first, full-fledged Tony Stark series, so excited for this! I've always wanted to write a Materialistic!Reader so here it is! Happy readings <3

On the 86th floor of Stark Tower, atop a mini-bar, sat a delicate glass of Vodka Martini, 3 fluid-ounce Yamazaki, 1 fluid-ounce dry vermouth, with 3 small olives minutely pierced onto a thin gold-plated skewer. 

The thin stem of the crystal glass was passed to your gauzy, manicured fingers, in exchange for a crisp stack of ten dollar bills surrendered to the bartender, you didn’t bother to count. 

The plump skewer of olives swirled freely in your nearly full martini; minute drops threatened to spill over the edge of its fine rim. Luckily, you had caught the droplets before they had been discarded onto the carpeted floor.

Figures adorned in hues of gold and silver flitted about the lavish parlor, each mirrored the twinkling lights of the Manhattan skyline outside in their respective shimmering gowns, each one more expensive than the last. 

The atmosphere was lively, yet the main attraction has yet to arrive. You had heard mentions of the infamous Stark around; his name carried a certain mystique, spoken under hushed whispers amongst the attendees. You had never really met him face-to-face, considering he was the CEO of the company, but your position at Stark Industries held up a pretty good reputation, earning you enough, and granting you an invite to the party.

“Do you think he’s seeing anyone?” You picked up on the conversation between a few women sitting next to you on the barstools. The woman in question, doused in the overwhelming scent of Chanel No. 5, was dressed in a form-fitting Valentino dress. Her voice carried through the air with a thick New-Yorkean accent, a bleak resemblance to her flashy, ostentatious appearance. 

“Quit it, stop trying to get into Stark’s pants. You never will.” The blonde next to you responded, patting the other on the shoulder playfully. You caught a glimpse of her manicured nails, adorned with a glossy velvet finish in a similar fashion to your own. However, unlike yours—which were neatly trimmed, the cuticles of her nails were a bit messy. A detail that wouldn't normally matter, but for some reason stood out to you in that moment.

Is she wearing a Cartier bracelet? Your jaw clenched at the sight of her bracelet, sparkling with diamonds and catching the light in a way that made your own bracelet pale in comparison, it was obviously more expensive than yours. The fact alone pissed you off. 

The room was filled with a swarm of pretentious individuals, each one flaunting their wealth and superiority. It was suffocating, being surrounded by so many egotistical assholes with their holier-than-thou attitudes. They may have money, but it didn't make them any less shallow or arrogant. You had this sixth-sense of being able to tell how much of an asshole specifically by what adorned their money-laced wrists—whether or not they wore a Patek Phillipe or a Jaeger was enough insight into their entire persona. 

“I’ve got a better chance than you at least, Stark would love me!” The first woman's voice snapped like a taut wire, dripping with disdain. Her eyes narrowed and glinted with malice as she shot dirty looks at the others, her loathing almost palpable.

Holier-than-thou attitude, as you had said.

You thought their behavior immature, not wanting to pay attention anymore to such infantile arguments. Fighting over some uber-rich billionaire who could give less of a shit who you are after you had warmed his bed for a single night? 

Pfft, fuck no, you were just here for the cocktails.

You brought the crystal glass to your lips, and took your first sip. The alcohol burnt as it cascaded down your throat, leaving your mouth with a spicy aftertaste, you could never really get used to a Martini. 

A part of you was contemplating asking for more, but the sensible side knew that ending up slobbering drunk at a party and waking up at the ungodly hour of 2pm with missing jewelry and a killer hangover was not exactly your idea of a good time.

The smooth sip of your drink is abruptly halted by the sharp sound of glass shattering, followed by the shrill voices of the ladies engaged in a vicious argument. Their heated words and swinging arms in-turn send glasses crashing to the ground, littering the once-pristine carpet with sparkling shards of broken glass. 

“Did you just call me a bitch?” The blonde's voice rose to a screeching crescendo as she yelled, her face flushed with anger. With a loud thud, she slammed her purse onto the table.

“Yeah, I did—bitch!” Another responded, her voice a bit more high pitched than the other, yet still carrying the same sanctimonious attitude, standing up and facing her with a smug smirk on their face. 

“Now, ladies. Must we really be resorting to calling each other names?” A voice echoed from atop the stairwell. The women’s dispute had been abruptly quelled, the whole room seemed silenced, and all eyes seemed to be glued onto the figure.

There stood Tony Stark, dressed in a perfectly-styled, deep-burgundy suit, no doubt Tom Ford, the barchetta pocket gave it away. His hair was styled in his signature quiff, slicked back to a T. And of course, he topped off the ensemble with a pair of red sunglasses, which you’d always found amusing since he'd wear them indoors. 

“Welcome, everybody. I would introduce myself, but it seems that you know who I am.” Each step he takes down the glass staircase, each time his Louboutin boots hit the glass stairs, resulted in a loud, echoed clap, which resonated across the room. “I’d personally like to thank all of you for attending. As you know, it happens to be my anniversaire today, so I thought to myself, why not throw a party?”

"What's with all the staring, is my suit on backwards?" Tony joked, his eyes scanning the room as he flashed his signature smirk. You knew, however, he thrived on attention, as if it were fuel for his larger-than-life persona. Flamboyant was practically his middle name; Tony Flamboyant Stark does have a nice ring to it, you chuckled.

"Jarvis," Tony’s voice carried a hint of excitement as he spoke to his AI, "let's crank up the music and get this party started." The monotone response did as so. 

After Tony made his grandeur entrance, you retreated to your lone seat at the bar, grateful for the temporary escape from the chaos. The previously bickering women had vanished, leaving a few neighboring barstools conveniently open for your solitude. You took a deep breath and savored the cool air conditioning and the soft murmur of conversation floating around you.

But just when you thought you had some peace and quiet, you heard the shuffling of a chair being pulled out next to you. Expecting one of the argumentative ladies to return, you turned to find Tony  Stark himself settling into the seat beside you, nonchalantly pulling out his wallet and fishing out a few bills.

"So, could I buy you a drink?" 

⎊ back to masterlist

[traumxrei-archive]

【 v. plated perfection 】

summary: now that yuu was better, they still had nothing to do. that is, until they heard the cheerful tune of a certain white haired maid floating down the halls… maybe they should go see what kalim is up to.

word count: 1.3k

author’s note: kalim’s part !! i really wanted to do the whole shoujo manga cliche w/ this one so i hope you enjoy ^^

[ the perfect debutante series | or read on ao3 (coming soon) ]

There wasn't much left to do for Yuu when they finally got permission to start working again. (That was an arduous process on its own.) It appeared that Azul, Jade, Riddle, and even Jamil had pitched in to take care of any last-minute preparations.

Now that everything was decided, the previously fast-approaching ball seemed to approach at a snail's pace. On top of that, Yuu had even more free time than usual because the Duke had taken over their work to "give them more time to plan". They did come up with an idea for something special at the Debutante, but it was undergoing some final review from the head butler, so it was a waiting game.

That was why they were strolling the halls, looking for something that they could do. A cheerful tune floated down the halls catching Yuu's ear. They instantly recognized the singer's voice, approaching the open door carefully.

Inside the grand room was Kalim, silverware and dishes spread out in front of him. The silver haired maid looked more put together than usual, his short skirt fluttering over stockinged legs as he spun. A white and gold bandana laid over his silvery hair, ribbons trailing down his neck.

"A whole new– Master?!"

Yuu suppressed a laugh when Kalim finally noticed them, "Hello Kalim, that was a nice song you were singing."

"Oh, I think so too! It's a classical ballad from Scalding Sands. But, Master," The maid blinked, his earrings clinking when he tilted his head. "What brings you here?"

"I was bored." And wasn't that the truth? It was easy to be a little more unfiltered with Kalim. Red eyes sparkled knowingly at their words.

"Hmm, then Master," Kalim very gently grabbed a plate. "What do you think about this plate?"

The plate was...shiny. So shiny, in fact, that Yuu felt a bit dazed, "Er, why did you pick that one out?"

"Well," Kalim set the plate aside. "Jamil and Azul told me to pick something perfect. It's Master's debutante after all!

Kalim started listing on his fingers, "They said, 'pick something that shows off the dukedom's opulence, elegance,' and..."

"Humility?" If it was those two that gave Kalim advice, they would know a thing or two about not going overboard on the flair. 

"Yes! Something like that," Kalim pouted. "But it seems that this set isn't to Master's liking." They could see the metaphorical puppy ears droop as he picked up the plate, going back to the display cases.

"It's only a little bit too shiny," Yuu said quickly, trying to soothe Kalim's mood. "There are plenty of other options."

"Theb how about this one?" Kalim picked up a dish with flowery vines adorning its rim. The gold tipped edge made it look all that elegant. "I think it's very pretty."

"Hmm, but I don't think it would fit with the interior decor of the ball," Yuu offered. "It would be very nice to use for the gardens area, but the plates should be uniform."

A thoughtful look crossed Kalim's face, "How about using it as serving plates? It would also make it easier for the chefs if they knew which plates would go to the hall and which will go to the garden."

"That's very thoughtful of you," Yuu said, and Kalim all but beamed at the compliment.

"I heard Jamil complaining about it before," Kalim said, taking out some serving plates. "One of the times that he was helping out at a party my Baba held, the servants weren't given clear instructions on which food was for which hall and it was a mess."

"Okay, now we have some flowery serving plates and trays!" Kalim dusted off his skirts. "Do you have any suggestions, Master?"

"How about choosing something with Night Raven colors?" Yuu took a seat on the bench beside the tray of plates.

Kalim perked up at that, "That's a great idea! The grey plates are somewhere on this shelf..." The silver-haired maid crouched, reaching for another plate, "This one seems very Night Raven colors." The plates had a grey base, and symmetric white lines crisscrossing to create an intricate pattern.

It was certainly an elegant choice, "That's a bit..."

"...too serious," Kalim concluded, sliding the plate back to its spot. "I guess I'll look at the top shelves."

They watched as Kalim dragged a rolling wooden ladder toward the shelf, "Don't forget, to lock the wheels." Yuu stood up, approaching the shelf as Kalim started climbing the ladder. He made it to the platform, opening the doors to the cabinet.

"It's alright Master, I've been doing this all morning," Kalim called out, as Yuu braced an arm against the ladder. Suddenly, Kalim shouted, "Oh! I found the perfect one!"

Kalim spun in his excitement and that was when it happened. Yuu could do nothing but watch as Kalim's body tilted unnaturally to the right, and—

Yuu lunged forward.

It was instinct, and they could barely think before their back was hitting the ground. A burst of pain hit their shoulder as they rolled before finally coming to a stop.

Their chest rose and fell, the blood rushing in their ears. Kalim's weight was keenly on top of them. That much they could figure out. Yuu pried open their eyes, their chest feeling stifled when—

Oh. Kalim's eyes were such a startling shade of red. Yuu had never seen his eyes that close before. The maid's head jerked back, his earrings chimed at the action. His ribbon brushed against their neck. The sensation was strange. A little ticklish, making them huff out a short breath.

Kalim blinked, his mouth falling open. He reeled backward with a shout and they winced as they heard another thump. Yuu sat up, gingerly touching their shoulder. Kalim was still lying on the ground, his skirts in disarray, still seemingly shocked.

And then Kalim shot up, hands clasping their own, "Master! This– I'm so– this maid apologizes for such a blunder, the ladder was— I-I should've been more careful, but— Oh, the others will kill me if they—"

“The others won't find out," Yuu reassured, glancing at the spotless floor. "None of the plates are broken, and we are both fine, save for our clothes."

"But—" Kalim seemed to sputter, hands gesturing wildly. "But Master, you—"

"Instead of arguing, why don't you show me the plate you found?" Yuu stood, dragging Kalim with them.

Kalim looked conflicted, his stare swinging between the cabinet and them, "Still, you... Master shouldn't do anything dangerous like that again. Promise?”

“I promise,” Yuu nodded toward the shelf. “Let’s see the plate that made you so excited.”

Kalim climbed up the ladder— but not before double-checking all of the wheels to the ladder— before returning with a white plate, with grey flowers and gold patterns lining the border, “Isn’t it perfect?”

“It is,” Yuu agreed, taking the plate into their hands. “You found the perfect plate.” Kalim pumped his fists in the air, before going back to grab the rest of the set. They grinned at Kalim’s quite antics, nodding along to the happy tune he was humming as he placed the plates onto the cart. 

“Should we go have a treat to celebrate?” Yuu suggested, and Kalim’s eyes grew even more shinier than before, his previous mood forgotten.

“Oh! Jamil was cooking up some tester desserts last night!” Kalim gushed, grabbing their hand. “Let’s go and ask him for the rest!” Yuu laughed as they were hurriedly led down the hallway. They had all but abandoned the plates there, but oh well. Maybe having fun and letting loose with Kalim was exactly what they needed before the debutante. (And sweets. Sweets made everyone’s days feel better, right?)

thank you for reading ^^ if you’d like to read more, check out my masterlist ! like the art ? look at more of dumple's works on insta !

[ prev chapter | series post | next chapter ]

[blorbocedes]

inspired by @sionisjaune's tags and THIS nico in glasses art by the incredibly talented @movieboyfriend

Becoming a sports psychologist had been easier than Nico expected. 

All he needed was a bachelor's, which he already had, and a Masters' degree which took 18 months and submitting a paper on eating disorders to achieve. Board certification was annoying, Nico just doesn't have that kind of time, but the workaround was simply calling himself a 'performance enchancing counselor.' A corner office in Monaco, a shiny plaque with his name on it, and a star studded roster of athletes and C-list celebrities he'd hosted parties for during his influencer days for potential clientele, he was all set.

F1 hadn't been the goal but at the same time... who better than Nico, who knew exactly how motorsport could chew you out? His karting dreams were long over, but the smell of gasoline and burnt tyres and the roar of the crowd is still his forte. It just so happened Formula One decided mental health awareness was totally in style now, and one of their main sponsors held an event on mindfulness and how it can be achieved drinking more Heineken. Having a father for a World Champion is helpful, when it means one has lifetime passes, and this had been a prime networking goldmine; not for the drivers themselves and their fragile egos at the implication of psychological help -- but sliding his practice's embossed gold card in the suit jacket of one Toto Wolff.

Lewis saw therapy as something good and necessary, but ultimately for other people. And then Abu Dhabi happened. And then the W-13. And Toto had mentioned what Keke Rosberg's son was up to, how it could possibly help him out of his slump, and hearing that name after so long made Lewis' usual 'thanks but not for me' die at the tip of his tongue.

"I'm not going to imply whether all your issues stem from trying to make your father proud or ask you about your childhood. I would remember. I was there." Nico had smiled over his thin-rimmed circular glasses, with that knowing sparkle during their first unofficial session and Lewis was sold.

"As long as you don't expect me to call you 'doctor,' man. Jeez, who would've thought? Dr. Nico Rosberg."

After that, every week unless he's in LA, Lewis finds himself in Nico's chic Monaco office. It's not stuffy like a therapist's office; a turquoise wall and Nico's dad's helmet is on a shelf display, a German national Team jersey hanging on the wall, there's even a YouTube million subscribers golden plate. Lewis is sprawled on the bean bag, the sunlight from the floor to ceiling windows hitting in beams, and not for the first time Lewis has to reconcile the kid he knew has grown up into the adult in distinguished glasses and same golden blonde hair in front of him. Nico dresses like he's about to give a TedTalk, in his monochrome tee and blazer combo, and that somehow puts Lewis more at ease.

"The car's been so fucking shit. I'm not here to fight for, what, p10? That's not me. And the team..." Lewis rants, and it's so freeing to be able to call the car shit without adding in how they're improving bit by bit and other optimistic platitudes that don't mean shit in terms of the championship.

"And the team's been prioritizing Russell over you, I can see how that can be a source of frustration." Nico finishes.

"What? No. He's not -- the team's not. I'm saying, it's annoying enough the car isn't where we were promised it was gonna be, and now every week I'm getting asked if I want to retire, like what's this all for?" Lewis is momentarily taken aback by Nico's claim. Is that what people think? The team... well, George has adapted to the car easier and has been finishing above him but he hadn't felt any particular favouritism from the team... Although he's been the one running experimental setups and helping the team collect data while his teammate gets dubbed Mr. Saturday. The seed of doubt towards the team makes him frown.

"You don't want to retire. Not until the 8th." Nico points out decisively, getting up from his armchair to walk behind Lewis where his plants are.

"I don't. Even if no one believes me, apparently." Lewis rolls his eyes, hearing as Nico spritzes his plants. He could've sworn they were fake.

Lewis feels a hand on his shoulder, surprising him. "You're just going to have to prove them wrong. Like you always do." Nico smiles down at him with absolute conviction, squeezing it once, and then the weight is gone; Nico moving back to his chair.

The gesture was friendly, but it makes something flare inside Lewis. Something about Nico, maybe the fact he can open up to him the way he can't even with the team; maybe because Nico knew him before seven titles, before he was anyone, makes Lewis instinctively trust him in a way he rarely does with new people. But Nico isn't new, even if the glasses are. Lewis finds himself wanting to know more, wanting to fill the gap between the years.

"Now, let's go over your daily mindfulness affirmations..."

[ricardian-werewolf]

Chapter 9: Portrait of a Dead Girl/Beautiful Boy.

Ao3 Link

Summary:

Alina has hit rock bottom. It takes a hard look from Zoya and Genya to get her back up. She has sheathed her claws long enough. Now, she is out for blood.

Notes:

Title taken from two songs by the Last Dinner Party Apologies for the long, long delay. Midterms swallowed me whole, and horrific writers block sapped me of any energy. I hope y'all enjoy!

Taglist: @lordbettany, @dreadbirate, @fauxraven, @hysterionic @rovinglemon

Chapter below the cut!

Alina’s sleep was plagued by painful nightmares. 

It seemed as though the memories of the past few months could not flee her mind, even in the depths of post-amplification fever. She tossed and turned in the bed, feeling the pitch-dyed satin sheets rustle as she moved about. The antlers were horrific to get comfortable with sleeping in, since them being around her neck caused some issues. Finally, it seemed as though days had passed, she awoke. As her eyes adjusted, they locked onto the sight of a creature on her chest, snuggled close under her chin and began to purr . It had seemingly endless shadowy limbs that writhed and reformed with every movement it made. 

“Oh..” Alina whispered weakly. “Who are you from?” She asked it as it yawned, showing a gaping maw of endless teeth that glittered like distant stars. It couldn’t have been the Darkling. He wasn’t kind enough to send her something like this. No, it had to have been Nikolai.

Alina looked up as a sudden intake of breath filled the room, and stilled at the sight of Genya and Zoya carrying a box of tea and a tray of food respectively. Zoya’s hair was frazzled and crackled with static. Her left cheek bore a long, dark smear of grease or oil. Genya was perfectly pristine, though she now bore an eyepatch on her ruined eye made of the same blood red fabric with the blue embroidery of her Kefta . Both women looked extremely fetching, though even their powers couldn’t hide the crushing exhaustion of being in the Darkling’s camp. The fear of reprisal and violation hung over everything with the delight of plague . 

“Morning.” Zoya replied briskly as she marched over to the samovar and set about brewing a pot of tea for them. She fiddled with a match, finally coaxing the wind to allow the sparks to light. She grumbled in Kerch as she worked, never liking to be the one relegated to tea-girl duty. Meanwhile, Genya took out a bowl, saucer and cup from the box on the tray. She held up the plate silently to Zoya. her first finger pointed at the black porcelain with gold rim and in the centre of the plate’s surface, the Darkling’s symbol combined with Alina’s.

Zoya rolled her eyes, and mouthed tacky.

Genya snorted, then stiffened as Alina sat up. The critter gave a sort of almost purr, and skittered across the sheets to sit on Alina’s lap. Genya lifted the lid on the tray and grimaced down at the dinner given to her by the harried cook. Canned vegetable and pheasant soup with hardtack, and wafer thin slivers of chocolate. Peaches swimming in their juices were in a cut crystal bowl, carved into the shapes of suns. Alina noted all of it, and her lip wobbled. She pushed back her greasy hair, feeling the collar around her throat digging into her windpipe, and winced.

“How am I supposed to eat?” She asked softly, feeling the hollows of her cheeks. She felt the antlers around her neck, probing the infected edges. A sob formed in her throat, and she buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she clutched the critter to her chest until it gave a plaintive cry of pain. Her hands crept up to her hair and she tugged her long, ragged nails through her dirty tresses. She and Nikolai were no more than a half mile apart, and yet she couldn’t go to him. She was bed bound despite her body and mind being whole and hale. Yet…

You’re weak, Alina. Mal’s been shot, Genya had her eye ripped out, Nikolai is dying, and you’re here, in bed, crying .

“SHUT UP!” Alina cried, clapping a hand over her mouth in shock. She’d not meant to say that aloud. Genya and Zoya jumped, their faces paling. Zoya gave Alina a sideways glance and her eyes roamed the antlers around the girl’s neck. She looked at the older girl like a cornered, wild animal. The months of being on the run, constantly looking over her shoulder and waiting for the Darkling’s snare to take had broken her. 

“Self doubt?” The squaller inquired as she poured tea. Alina’s greasy hair and her evident distress made Zoya’s heart twist with pain. She had never truly hated Alina, merely seen her as a threat to her power over the other Grisha. Power, she realised now, was something none of them held. That was all the Darkling. She crossed over to Alina’s side and pressed the tea into her hands. A wave of her hand removed the grease buildup in Alina’s curls and she sighed in relief. Her wan face and plain features were starker in the soft light of the oil lamps that wavered and sputtered around the room, like miniature suns. 

“Is Nikolai…?” Alina whispered, daring not to speak of his condition aloud.

“He’s alive. Recovering.” Genya squeezed Alina’s hand. “On his feet already.”

Her eyes brightened at once, and she moved to get out of bed, but Zoya pushed her back down. “You won’t be able to see him, Alina. We must make the Darkling think he’s sicker than he is.”

Alina glared at Zoya. 

She glared back. 

“I knew that.” Alina snipped, sipping her tea. Zoya hid a brief smile at the surprised expression on the sun Summoner’s face. Even one of the darkling’s favourites knew how to brew a cup of bloody tea. Genya rolled her eyes - eye - and sighed. She turned to examining Alina’s food again and beckoned Zoya over. In low tones of the southern Ravkan districts, the two girls discussed feeding Alina.

“She can probably feed herself.” Genya grimaced. “But the Antlers…” She gave a helpless shrug. Zoya snorted. 

“They’re in her collarbone , Safin. She won’t be choking anytime soon.” 

“She certainly thinks so.” Genya rubbed at her jaw and turned back to the food. She laid the hardtack against the soup’s surface to soak and handed Alina the tray of food. Alina stared down at it for a moment, then began to eat silently. For all of her training at Ana Kuya’s hands, the starvation of amplification made her forgo her manners. As she drank down the dregs of soup with the bowl’s rim at her lips, her eyes skirted to Zoya again. 

“Why’re you helping me?” She asked as she wiped the back of her hand against her mouth. Zoya raised a brow. “Should I not be?” She shot back. “If your estimates are correct, I should have put strychnine in that soup.” Crossing her arms, the squaller sighed and rubbed at the bridge of her nose.

“I hate him as much as you do, Alina, if not more.” She raised her gaze again and shook out her cuffs. “I’m not doing this out of a desire to be your friend, or some sort of cuddly word. We’re allies. We watch one another’s backs, the three of us.” Zoya looked at Genya and then back to Alina. “We all bear his scars.” She replied cryptically. 

Genya sat down beside Alina and turned to digging through the drawers of Alina’s vanity. Her face was pale, the black wounds stretching long over her empty eye socket and face. She looked monstrous, as horrific as Zoya’s amplified wrist and Alina’s collarbone. The Darkling’s greed took and took, caring not for a sinner or a saint. Her fingers closed around a black package of silk tied with a pitch coloured ribbon, and she stilled. Alina looked over her shoulder, knowing instantly what that was.

The kefta she had been ordered to wear to the Winter Fete. The one she had refused to wear. The cycle had come back to the beginning. Once more, Alina was powerless, everything out of her control. She cut her gaze to Genya again as the Tailor smoothed down the crinkles in the tissue paper. “Is… is there more?” She breathed, looking at the other drawers. Genya nodded, and began pulling out more silk-wrapped packets. It was a wedding trousseau. This vanity was a glorified steamer trunk with drawers and a closet, turned on its side. 

Alina closed her eyes and pressed her palms to her face. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to sit here in this bed with sheets that weren’t hers, in a tent that wasn’t adorned with her symbols. It wasn’t just the collar that kept her bound here. There was more. A noose so tight and so secretive that she couldn’t say she was being strangled without sounding like a madwoman. 

“Alina.” Genya’s hand reached out, gripping her wrists tight with the strength of manacles. “Stay here. Stay here, with me.” Her eyes - eye - was wide, like some sort of cornered animal. Alina supposed she must be much the same. A broken girl with nothing to offer the world, not even her light. She squeezed her eyes shut, let the tears drip down her face once more. What was strength when one’s aims and hopes were scattered to the four winds? What was trust and mercy when the knife was always plunged back into the same gaping wound, always twisting?

There would be no bandaging up this scar, no hiding the pain of this cut. 

“Is he alive?” Cecily choked, thinking in that moment not of Nikolai but Mal. She didn’t give two shits about him, but knowing he was alive was her sign of the Darkling’s mental stability. If he hadn’t killed such an insignificant tracker, then Nikolai would be safer a little longer. 

“Yes.” Zoya replied automatically. “It seems he still has a need for that wretched boy.” She looked over her shoulder at Alina, goading the girl. If rage kept her out of the endless dark pit that was defeat, by the saints, Zoya would be the first in line to keep her upright. The three of them, they kept one another marching, teeth bared and claws unsheathed.

“What kind of need?” Alina growled, leaning forward in the bed. The tray on her lap teetered ominously. Zoya leaned over, her hands clamped down hard on the wood to keep Alina from kicking it up at the Squaller’s next words:

“The need to keep you like some whimpering, simpering whore of a girl.” She purred. The crack of Alina’s fist colliding with Zoya’s nose was welcome. Genya looked up, her eye widening. She stepped forward at once to repair the bones, and Zoya sighed in relief. Shaking out her cuffs, she glared at Alina, who spat out a wad of rock-hard carrot.

“I want that fucker’s head.” She growled. “On his own heraldic platter.”

“Consider it a given, Starkov.” Zoya groaned. “But first we need to cut it off. And to do that, you need to stop lying around crying hysterically. You’ve been through worse shit. Pull yourself up.” She ordered.

Alina swore.

“You…” She scrunched up her face and glared at Genya. “You’re in on this.”

“Of course.” The Tailor snorted. “As Zoya said, I want that fucker as dead as you do. He made me into what I am. I want him to suffer as the Tsar has.” She pushed up the cuffs of her Kefta and picked up Alina’s tray. 

“You in, or are you going to keep cowering in that bed, Starkov?” 

Alina sucked at her teeth for a moment, then touched the antlers again. She remembered the way the stag had been cut down at the Darkling’s orders, the rage and powerlessness she felt at his hand. His leeching of her power, what was not his. Her light, snuffed out.

Something within her writhed, gnashing its teeth. It wasn’t some sort of animal of prey, hunted and cornered like a wild rabbit. No, it was  far more vicious, a pure predator . She looked up at Genya and Zoya again, and pushed the sheets back. The cold air was a shock, but she ground her teeth and forced herself past it.

Swinging her legs down, she stood on steady legs. Her white nightgown swept the floor as she gripped the edge of her vanity and glared at herself in the mirror. She had avoided staring at herself until now, and she forced herself to focus on the antlers, their silver gleam reflected in all of the honey-combed oil lamps and candles scattered around the tent. As her rage rose, the lamps flickered and flared, blooming like miniature, wavering suns.

The creature of pure shadow Nikolai had made her brushed against her feet, chittering excitedly. It purred as she picked it up in her hands and placed it on the vanity in front of her. Glancing through the mirror at Zoya and Genya once more, she gave them steady, sharp stares.

“Call him in.”

It was full night by the time he came to see her.

The Darkling stepped once more into Alina’s tent expecting darkness. What he found, instead, was light . The gas lamps and candles around the space glowed with the light of suns. Alina herself stood by the vanity, dressed in the black kefta he had originally given her for the Winter Fête, her hair pinned up and decked with the infamous garnets of Obetz. The yellow stones suited her ink-dark hair and regal expression. But, what surprised him was the rage that rolled off her skin in waves of visible heat . She radiated power.

Aleksander nearly flinched, nearly let his fear show. He had sought to punch her down, to bring her to heel so that she saw him as her only option. But something, some small seed of righteous power , survived. Not even his hand with the antler’s fragment in it, brought her down. Aleksander averted his gaze for just a second, thinking over what he would say to crack the ground under her feet. Her submission meant everything to him. To chase her, to have her, this maddening obsession, would soothe the raging hunger in his mind.

No matter how much of the world he burned to possess her.

Cocking his head to one side, Aleksander regarded Alina again, saw her hands creep toward the kefta’s collar. Similar to a frill-necked lizard, she pulled the collar out and bared the antlers. her eyes flashed with cold fury.

“You made me this, when we could have been equals.” She spoke softly, but each word was a dagger to his blackened and withered heart, that to him, had just begun to pump blood again. 

Alina… His thoughts scattered with the storm of betrayal she threw at his feet. He looked up at her, swallowed once more. She was wide-eyed, her voice reedy with hysterics. If he could just dig up her old insecurities, threaten her with the Tracker’s death, or Saints forbid Prince Nikolai, she’d crack, shatter even.

But that had been then.

Now, he was face to face with something not even he was sure he could tame, nor bring to heel.

“I did it to protect you. Protect the Grisha. We are hunted, Alina. I did this to ensure your safety-”

The words sounded foreign falling from his lips. What he had done was make her a martyr. She was more the Otkazatsky’as than the Grishas. He could see it now. Sankta Alina, with a golden halo, clothed in gold with the silver antlers glowing with pure light. His work of the antlers was not a power play. She’d find her own way to break free from under him soon enough.

Alina, meanwhile, glowered . She was sick of being afraid of this thousand year old man. Lied to at every turn by him. He wanted her to expand the Fold? Fine. Then she’d feed him to the blasted Volcra that her parents or some such became, and go on her merry ass way with Nikolai.

“You did this to control me. To make me your little pet.” She picked up a glass of kvas , slugged it back. To him, this was no time to be drunk. To Alina, this was what she needed . She cast him a dark glare. 

“You want me to be your little pet?” She snapped. He winced, smoothed it over with a dark cough and a curl of his lips into a smirk. If she agreed to his power play, then it would be so easy for him to keep her pinned down and malleable. Soon it would be so that she could do nothing but watch as he expanded the Fold to cover the whole of the West, to silence their enemies.

There would be no more war, no more of the money-greedy Kerch and their exploitative work against Grisha, no more of Shu Han’s experiments, no more of Fjerda’s Drüskelle. Nothing that threatened their people would remain, and she would herald in a new age of saints. Mechanization had weakened the need for Grisha. By cutting off access to the West, the need for Grisha would surge, rearing its head. They would be necessary once more, honoured . A deposition of the current Tzar and him taking the throne would all slot together perfectly.

It would be only Ravka. Nothing else would dare breathe, dare go against them. Novyi Zem and its honouring of Grisha would allow them to survive. Until Aleksander got bored and decided to colonise them. However, that would be a problem that was best suited to a few years' time down the line.

Alina sniffed, and slapped the glass down onto the table, which he noted with a wince, was carved with his symbol - the sun in eclipse. She stared at him, and pursed her lips. Crossing her arms over her chest so that the double sunburst on the front of her kefta was hidden, she raised a brow.

“Fine.”

He blinked. She’s agreeing? Why isn’t she fighting me? She should be screaming, be cursing my name aloud, be… His thoughts trailed off, and he stiffened. Something felt off, felt wrong . No girl he’d broken like her before had been so willing to turn around and accept his offer of submission. They so often bared their teeth, never letting his hands near their fragile, trembling pulse points on their throats. But Alina had. She had bared her throat with all of the fire and regalness of a queen, and in turn unsettled him.

He could only stare at her, open mouthed. 

“When do we leave?”

Aleksander stilled as he stepped toward the tent flap. The carriages were waiting. The Tracker had fled in the night, and Prince Nikolai had been sent south to recover in the Royal Army Hospital outside Poliznaya. Nothing would protect Alina from him.

Perhaps that’s why she’s so agreeable to me. He thought hopefully, and extended his hand to her. His palm was up, slender and pale in the glimmering light. Alina glanced at it, and sniffed. A maid placed the matching cloak around her shoulders, made of black corecloth. It bore more of the golden sunburst embroidery that she deserved as his queen . The high collar framed her chin, and the cloak fell to her feet, which were encased in impractical heels. Alina flexed her gloved hand, and placed it into Aleksander’s.

What the Darkling did not know was that the cloak had been tailored. Doing more than keeping her warm, it acted as camouflage and dampened her light. Alina’s free hand, hidden under the fabric, produced a glowing, miniature ball of light. She snapped her fingers, and the ball of light extinguished, only to reappear seconds later as all of the camp’s lamps flared to light at once.

The Darkling’s eyes widened as the light flared all around them, and he raised a brow. He flexed his fingers, but the night did not waver, nor flicker out. Confusion registered upon his features, and Alina gave a ghostly smile. “I believe it is a saintly thing to allow the men some light for which to read and rest by.” She replied, knowing that this would soothe the man beside her. Baghra had spoken in mere fragments of her eldest son, but also had mentioned that he feared the dark. Alina dipped her head. 

“Indeed.” He replied gruffly, and guided her by the arm to the black lacquered carriage. Fedyor opened the door, and bowed his head, murmuring to the couple: “ Moi Soverenyi, Moya Tsarina. ” The door snapped shut behind Alina and she settled effortlessly into the seat across from the Darkling. Quick, simple flutters of her fingers had the cloak falling from her shoulders. She allowed a female Heartrender stationed in the carriage to wrap her in thick, fur blankets and place heated bricks under her feet. The Darkling afforded himself no such luxury. 

The crack of the reins jolted the carriage into motion, and through the crack in the curtains, Alina saw the fort and its Grisha camp grow smaller with each passing second. She laid back, and sighed deeply. Behind the black carriage, the red Corporalki carriage fell into line, then the blue Etheralki carriage. She knew that Zoya would no doubt be there, along with Genya, perhaps. 

But what neither knew was the silent, steady purr of a motorbike moved to trail the convoy. For atop it was a rider whose body and soul crawled with the Morozova taint; a boy who had seen the darkness in others, and forced himself above it. Slung across his back was a repeating rifle, and strapped to his belt were two pistols. His booted feet clenched fast to the great machine’s flanks, and he adjusted the strap of his goggles over his eyes.

A feral, fox-like grin split his face as the moon emerged from behind the cloud cover. He watched how it painted the lacquered carriages in jewel-bright tones, and shifted his foot placement. 

Under his skin, the shadows sang and writhed with the promise of bloody, righteous vengeance. For him, for his childhood friends, and for the woman he loved. He certainly knew she could handle herself, but Nikolai Alexandrovich Lantsov was not the kind of man to leave a duel un-answered.

He pulled his goggles over his eyes, and let the engine roar. The cry broke the night sky like a crack in the ice, and with a howl of war, Nikolai gave chase.

 As he roared off into the distance, Dominik watched him go from his office window, and turned his head. Now, it would be his turn to act, to have the First Army desert the Tsar and follow their prince. He picked up the telephone resting on his oak desk, and dialled a number he knew by heart. 

In the room across from him, Baghra snapped her carpetbag’s mouth shut and strode out of the fort’s walls, to a simple cart embellished with a red cross on a white circle. Propping herself against the wall, she felt the cart judder under her, and begin to creep forwards. Glancing around the half-lit space, she turned her attention to the wounded at her feet. No more boys would die, none more deserved to.

It would take three days to reach Kirbirsk. There, the stories of Alina and Nikolai had converged. Now, once more, they would meet again, under far darker and more drastic circumstances. It would be seen as to how the events unfolding went, and what good would come of things.

End of Chapter 9. 

****************

End of Act II: Twist the Knife

Beginning of Act III: Saints, Guns and Money.

[erisenyo]

“you don’t have to stay” + jetko!!!!

For this prompt game! (And also this one!)

(Can be read along with this and this and this and this)

They trail Kuei's new majordomo through the maze of hallways toward Zuko’s usual quarters, Zuko dragging proper Fire Lord posture and attentiveness and poise around him bit by bit—

And Jet slouching and swaggering and drawling out his vowels a little bit more with every step, his smirk toothy and wide when the majordomo’s eyes linger on the huge, purpling hickey high on Jet’s neck, the one that Zuko is absolutely refusing to acknowledge he even knows exists even though he was the one to put it there.

“Nice guy.” Jet eyes the doors as they’re closed behind them, accent still thick around his words. “Welcoming.”

“You don’t have to stay,” Zuko blurts again, anxiety tight at the base of his throat like it's been all morning as they worked their way toward Ba Sing Se's Inner Ring.

Jet gives Zuko a sideways look, expression amused and aloof as he cocks his head. “No?”

Zuko shrugs like seeing Jet in a place without swords in his hands doesn’t feel as incongruous as running into a catagator in a teashop. “I appreciate your joining me here,” he says, wincing as he hears the words come out overly formal and stilted, “And while I’m not by any means trying to suggest that you should go—”

“What,” Jet cuts in, lips curling into a familiar smirk around his wheatgrass as he saunters toward Zuko, eyes wandering lazily down his body, “You don’t think I belong with all this fancy stuff?”  

“…Uh,” Zuko says.

“You can’t see me wearing eighteen layers of clothes?” Jet drawls, tugging on the lapel of Zuko's over robe, Zuko stilling his fingers where he didn't realize he was fidgeting with the fabric after so many days in just utilitarian, practical things.

“I mean,” Zuko says slowly, consciously relaxing his hands and not sure how to say that while he’s sure Jet could pull it off, he personally prefers Jet in significantly less than that.

“You don't envision me prancing around a room full of couches you aren’t allowed to sit on?” Jet says, swaggering over to the nearest of four antique couches.

“...They’re hard to clean, I think,” Zuko offers after a beat, scratching the back of his head and earning himself a raised eyebrow.

“Ang all the plates you look at instead of eat off of?” Jet holds Zuko’s gaze, running a dirt-smudged finger over a rim of delicate porcelain.

"Also hard to clean," Zuko admits, wondering if Jet’s going to take the plate on his way out and finding he doesn’t particularly care if he does. “All the gold."

“A bit of a theme, that,” Jet murmurs, the challenge in his eyes banking to amusement. “I bet those clothes of yours are hard to clean, Fire Lord.”

“They are,” Zuko says, glancing down at himself and deciding not to share just how big a portion of his household budget goes to laundering.

“I mean, can you imagine,” Jet suddenly says, flashing Zuko a sharp smile and prowling around the couch, “I might even use the wrong spoon during dinner and nearly start an international incident only stopped by the direct intervention of the Avatar and a significant donation of 'conciliatory funds' to multiple unnamed parties.”

How the fuck does Jet— “It wasn’t the spoon,” Zuko growls, crossing his arms as irritation flashes in his chest all over again at the memory.

“No?” Jet smirks, openly amused.

“No,” Zuko grumbles. It was more what Zuko threatened to do with it.

But Zuko can feel amusement suddenly threading through the memory despite himself in the face of Jet’s barely hidden laughter, even if it’s at his own expense, enjoying the unexpected lightness of biting back a smile under Jet's knowing eyes before his thoughts suddenly go serious again.

“You don’t have to stay, Jet,” Zuko says again, sighing, going to shove a hand through his hair and remembering his headpiece at the last moment. Zuko doesn’t want him to go, but he also doesn’t expect…

Jet chews on his wheatgrass, eyeing Zuko for a long moment before finally shrugging. “I know,” he says, simple and easy and so light that Zuko almost misses it as Jet sprawls out over the couch that’s definitely not meant for sitting and props one muddy boot up on the side table next to the very delicate gold embossed plate, the other set pointedly against the arm of the couch and grinding more and more against the pristine fabric as Jet makes a show of getting comfortable, stretching out and reaching his arms above his head and making one long, lean line of his body...

“So,” Jet drawls, his smirk sharp when Zuko drags his eyes up to his face, “Got any extra spoons lying around?”

"Maybe," Zuko laughs despite himself, surprised, and feels his shoulders easing without even needing to concentrate on it, which is also a surprise, his inner fire curling in his chest alongside a quiet, almost warm kind of thrill as he finds himself smiling at the mark of dirt Jet's already made on the room, smiling into Jet's steady, attentive eyes. “I think we can probably come up with something.”

[springingfromnothing]

"They're all pompous morons, aren't they?" The dark mech is offering a cygarette to him, a tired smile on his face. He almost doesn't look like a Lord, a basic blue half-cloak on his shoulder, a silver circlet on his helm.

He had been watching for awhile, attending the party out of necessity.

" They are something." Springer admits with a squint at the pretty stranger. Though he does accept the cygarette. It might not be one of his preferred, but he's not one to look a gift in the denta. Especially not in these circumstances. Married off to the highest bidder. Well- Conjunx'd. For his own 'good' as part of his reintegration requirements. Spear-headed by Optimus and the Council, naturally. Springer's belongings had all been confiscated until he was cleared as not being a danger to himself or society at large. Idiots. A bonding wouldn't change who, and what, he was at Spark. None of them would. Besides, one of these idiots? These simpering pretty painted people with their barbed glossa and greedy gazes. Springer wanted to laugh, drawing on the cygarette. Vents flashing up to let the pale green smoke unfurl from his sides. The golden chains that adorn him chime quietly. Optics rimmed with gold and green and the same on his lip plate. Dressed like a high bred Temple Hound. With the temper of the worst pit Hound's that ever graced the gladiator's ranks. " And you? You not counting yourself the same hm?"

[ofmermaidstories]

merms, what are bakugou and weeds up to this christmas? :)

their second christmas together is spoilers for the deku fic, so let’s have a look at what they did for their first one together, after their christmas eve dinner with deku:

Katsuki wakes up before his alarm, before the sun rises—the city spread out beyond his bedroom windows like a carpet of stars. Weeds is curled next to him, deeply asleep. Despite spending the night together he’ll still be hesitant about touching her, the sureness he has in the heat of the moment turning into something like shyness now, with her soft face so vulnerable, asleep like this. He settles for arranging his doona around her better, frowning to himself as his hand smooths over a now padded shoulder, the length of her back.

(He turns off his alarm and lies there, trying to sleep-in—but he’s still wired. it’s be the beginning of something new, now, and he wants to do what he’s always done: blaze into it with a trail of light)

When Weeds wakes up she’s curled into the warmth of Katsuki, his skin. He smells of his soap; sweet and low and spicy, almost medicinal—like cloves, or charred wood in a temple. Being this close to him is the permission Weeds has wanted for a while, now: lightly, as though touching a stray cat that’s tentatively beginning to trust her, she strokes her fingers across his shoulders, his scars. Katsuki breathes in deeply at the motion, and the kiss he gives Weeds in return presses her back into bedlinen that smells like him.

Later, he’ll make them both a impromptu Christmas Day lunch, frying chicken and julienning radish for a side, making fries and gravy. Weeds will set out plates for the two of them, setting out places on the counter, the sunset-orange roses Deku gave her last night the centrepiece for their meal. They’ll talk about stupid things; everything. The romantic snowy Christmas vacations Katsuki’s parents take themselves on, now, at the other end of the country. The holiday parties he and the rest of the Golden Generation would have at school. Over a simple dessert of tangerines Weeds will tell him about her own Christmases with her Grandfather, the cousins and the aunts and the uncles that came out of the woodworks for them occasionally. They’ll do the dishes together, and even though Katsuki tells her (gruffly, squinting at something to the side of her) that she can stay the night again, if she wants to, she hesitates—still in her clothes from the night before.

“Get some shit together,” he says. “‘n I’ll come and get you, tomorrow. Or whatever. If you wanna.”

(Weeds will be unable to help it; she’ll grin at him. “I’d love that,” she’ll say, and he’ll tip his head like it’s no big deal, though his face looks warmer than it did moments before)

Katsuki will escort Weeds to the station she needs to get her back home—and even though it’s cold outside, it’s a bright clear day. They walk together closely; occasionally another passerby will nod to them, to Ground Zero, wishing them both a Merry Christmas or a hello. At one point a drunken group of university-aged boys will stagger past, all in Santa hats, cheering when they see Katsuki. It’s the only time on the entire walk that they’re separated—the boys and their merriment like a tide that pushes the pair of you apart, leaving Weeds standing there in the winter sunshine, watching with big eyes as Katsuki scowls, caught in the middle.

He shakes them off, eventually; his smooth face grumpy as he rejoins Weeds, who smiles automatically as she takes the arm he offers, silent.

At the station he walks with her to her platform, a faithful guard. When the train comes their goodbye is quick—she looks at him, suddenly unsure, and he steps into her space, easily, as he kisses her, a whistle sounding.

(Weeds will dart onto the train quickly, still standing as the doors close and the train pulls away—Katsuki standing there as he grins at her, sudden and brilliant, the sun peeking out from gold-rimmed cloud).

[chigirisprincess]

Lovefoolೃ࿔*:･

— Lisa Minci

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, this is explicitly a selfship fic, usage of authors name (my name), third person pov, suggestive banter, alcohol consumption.

⊹ Run time. 1.0k

⊹ Note. I am nervous to post this, please be kind to me ;-;

⊹ Prompt. “Write about your ship sneaking a romantic moment together.”

The air of the Angel's Share was thick and heady with the scent of spilt wine and sweat-salted skin. For the first evening in months, the tavern is abuzz with more than the usual five drunkards. After twenty gruelling months, the Grandmaster Varka returned to Mondstadt. The expedition was a success as far as everyone else was concerned. The Grandmaster's presence alone was enough to bring the entirety of the knights away from their posts and piled into the first floor of Diluc’s bar. 

Captain Kaeya seemed thrilled, along with Varka came dozens of men and the more than plentiful calvary he’d been deprived of since he took over the postage. He drank his fill, on Varka’s coin as did the bard in green— paid to help bring merriment with song but he seemed far more content to cradle a half-drunk bottle of dandelion wine like it was a lifeline. It may as well have been for him, he was more often seen with a pint than he was with a lyre. Lisa stifled a laugh as Venti— the bard— tossed a skinny arm around Varka’s broad and bulging shoulders, belting out a broken note before knocking his gold-plated chalice against Varka’s wooden mug. 

Eden’s nose wrinkled up as ale and wine splashed over the rims and onto the floor. Tucking their boot-clad feet onto the last rung of the bar stool they were sitting on, Eden glanced back at Lisa. She’d spent most of the evening chatting up Jean who seemed both relieved and petrified at the prospect of being demoted. Lisa and Jean’s younger sister, Barbara, tried to reassure her that she’d be given her own company and that would soon fill her time. She still seemed queasy, nervously sipping at the cup of grape juice that she’d been nursing all night. Surely, it’d gone warm by now.

“Tired?” Lisa mouthed from across the room, the gold trim on her deep violet dress nearly glowing beneath the warm candlelight.

Nodding their head, Eden sent Lisa a pout. 

With one last reassuring squeeze on Jean’s forearm, Lisa excused herself and made her way across the tavern. Her heels squelched against the sticky hardwood, Eden had to turn their head to cover up the giggles that bubbled to the surface as Lisa cursed under her breath. As soon as Lisa was within arm’s length, Eden pressed their hands against her hips. The heat of their palms bled through the thin fabric of Lisa’s dress, drawing goosebumps along the expanse of her bare thighs.

“Wanna get out of here?” Eden asked, pushing their bottom lip out even further, “It’s hot and extremely loud, I’m over it!”

Tracing her gloved fingers along Eden’s flushed cheek, Lisa sighed, “I know, the knights tend to get a bit rowdy when alcohol’s involved,” cupping your cheek, she frowns, “I’m sorry darling, I should have warned you.”

“No need to be sorry, you did say it was a party.”

Spreading their knee’s to let Lisa’s hips slot between their thighs, Eden shrugs their shoulders.

Lisa’s pale green eyes slide up the length of their thighs, lips falling into a frown at how their skirt has ridden upwards, “Eden, we’re in public.”

She says it like they’re just another naughty patron in the library, carrying a stack of long overdue books and wearing an apologetic expression. It edges on a scolding, and it thrills Eden, the authoritative edge and stern brows. They suit Lisa, and usually, Eden would push for more but they preferred that side of Lisa all to themselves.

“And? It’s not like anyone is paying any attention to us,” Eden hummed, peering up at Lisa through their lashes, “Unless you’re into that kinda thing.”

Lisa rolled her eyes, trying to bite back the witty rhetoric that lingers on her lips, “In front of all my coworkers? Sound’s like an HR violation waiting to happen,” She murmurs, her hands curling around Eden’s wrists to pull them up from their seat, “Why don’t we go up top, away from all the prying eyes, hm?”

Eden trails after Lisa like a lost puppy dog, the prospect of a few moments alone all too enticing after a long evening filled with false pleasantries and small talk. It’s quiet upstairs, the tables empty and the loud bawdy sound of the party drifted away as the two sequestered themselves into a cozy, dark corner. Hopping onto the table, Eden lays back against the dented surface, a small sigh of relief passing their lips. Lisa hitches one leg onto the table, leaning over Eden until the ends of her hair tickled their supple skin.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” she hus, her mouth just barely grazing theirs, “I’ll have to leave you here and lay in bed all alone!”

“You wouldn’t!”

The corners of her lips quirk up into a smirk, “I might.”

Tossing their arms around Lisa’s neck, Eden’s eyes flicker down to her mouth. They’re stained red from the valberry juice she sipped between glasses of champagne, the tart sweetness has probably lingered too. Her breath fans across Eden’s face, cooling their garishly flushed cheeks. 

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” Lisa whispers, sneaking in a small peck between her words, “It means a lot to me Eden, I know this isn’t how you would have liked to spend your Friday night.”

Lisa allows her lips to meld against theirs, tongue and teeth laving over Eden’s bottom lip until their mouth falls open into a gentle sigh, “I love you Lisa,” they mutter, weaving their fingers into her silky tresses, “I’ll be happy anywhere, doing anything, so long as you’re by my side.”

“Yeah?” Lisa asks, her voice growing small as she brushes a few strands Eden’s hair away from their eyes.

“Yeah.”

Their lips plant a sloppy kiss to the corner of Lisa’s mouth, leaving a single, pale pink kiss mark against her flushed skin.

“I love you too, Eden,” She says as she rests her forehead against theirs.

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

[aksharaentertainments11]

Awesome Birthday party for an Adult

Planning a birthday party for an adult can be a delightful experience, especially when you have creative and elegant decoration ideas that make the celebration memorable. Whether you’re organizing a party for yourself, a friend, or a family member, these awesome Birthday Decoration Ideas for Adults can help you create a stylish and fun atmosphere. Let’s explore these ideas in detail.

Elegant Balloon Arch

Balloon arches are not just for kids’ parties; they can add a sophisticated touch to any adult celebration. Opt for balloons in metallic shades like gold, silver, and rose gold, or go for pastel colors for a more subtle look. Position the arch at the entrance or as a backdrop for the main table to create a focal point that welcomes guests with style.

Photo Booth Corner

A photo booth corner is a fantastic way to entertain guests and capture memories. Set up a stylish backdrop that matches the party theme, and provide fun props such as hats, glasses, and signs. A photo booth can be a DIY project with a simple backdrop and a Polaroid camera, or you can hire a professional setup for a more polished look.

String Lights and Lanterns

String lights and lanterns create a magical ambiance, especially for evening parties. Drape string lights across the ceiling or around the garden to add a twinkling effect. Paper lanterns in various sizes and colors can be hung to enhance the decor. This combination not only lights up the space but also adds a romantic and whimsical touch.

Themed Table Settings

Choosing a theme for the table settings can elevate the party decor significantly. Whether it’s a vintage tea party with delicate china and floral prints or a tropical beach theme with palm leaves and vibrant colors, themed table settings can tie the entire decor together. Pay attention to details like tablecloths, napkins, and place cards that reflect the chosen theme.

Floral Arrangements

Floral arrangements bring a natural and elegant element to any celebration. Use fresh flowers that match the party’s color scheme for centerpieces and accents around the venue. You can also create hanging floral arrangements or a floral wall backdrop for a stunning visual effect. Flowers like roses, peonies, and hydrangeas are popular choices for sophisticated decor.

DIY Cocktail Bar

A DIY cocktail bar is a fun and interactive element for adult parties. Set up a bar area with various mixers, garnishes, and recipes for guests to create their own cocktails. Provide high-quality spirits, fresh fruits, herbs, and syrups. Personalized drink menus and decorative straws or stirrers can add to the festive feel. This setup not only serves drinks but also becomes a conversation starter.

Custom Banners and Signs

Personalized banners and signs can make the celebrant feel special and add a custom touch to the decor. Design banners with the birthday person’s name, age, or a celebratory message. Use materials that match the party theme, such as wooden signs for a rustic look or glittery letters for a glam party. Place these signs strategically around the venue to enhance the decor.

Photo Timeline

A photo timeline is a heartfelt way to celebrate the birthday person’s journey. Create a display with photos from different stages of their life, arranged chronologically. You can hang the photos on a string with clothespins, frame them on a wall, or create a photo board. This not only serves as a beautiful decoration but also invites guests to reminisce and share stories.

Elegant Tableware

Using elegant tableware can significantly enhance the dining experience. Choose plates, glasses, and cutlery that complement the party theme. For a luxurious touch, opt for gold-rimmed plates, crystal glasses, and fine china. Cloth napkins and stylish napkin rings can add an extra layer of sophistication. The right tableware can make even a simple meal feel like a gourmet experience.

Themed Cake and Desserts

The cake is often the centerpiece of a birthday party, so make sure it stands out. Choose a cake design that reflects the party’s theme, whether it’s a sleek black-and-white cake for a minimalist party or colorful tropical cupcakes for a beach-themed bash. Complement the cake with a dessert table featuring an array of treats like macarons, cake pops, and cookies that match the decor.

Candlelit Ambiance

Use candles of various sizes and styles, such as pillar candles, votives, and tea lights, to add layers of light. Place them on tables, around the venue, and even in hanging lanterns. Scented candles can also add a pleasant aroma, enhancing the sensory experience of the celebration.

Outdoor Picnic Setup

If you’re hosting a daytime event, an outdoor picnic setup can be both charming and comfortable. Use blankets, cushions, and low tables to create a cozy seating area. Decorate with picnic baskets, fresh flowers, and outdoor-friendly tableware. This setup is ideal for a relaxed, casual birthday party and can be enhanced with activities like lawn games and a picnic-style menu.

Interactive Stations

Interactive stations can add an element of fun and engagement to your party. Consider setting up a DIY perfume bar where guests can create their own scents, a personalized keepsake crafting station, or a wine tasting area. These stations provide entertainment and give guests a chance to take home a unique memento from the party.

Music and Lighting

The right music and lighting can set the mood for your party. Create a playlist that matches the theme and energy of the celebration, whether it’s upbeat dance music or smooth jazz. Coordinate the lighting to enhance the ambiance — use soft, warm lights for a relaxed setting or colorful, dynamic lights for a lively party atmosphere. Don’t forget to have a dance floor area if your guests are in the mood to dance.

Conclusion

These 14 decoration ideas can help you create an unforgettable birthday party for adults. Whether you’re going for elegance, fun, or a specific theme, incorporating these elements will ensure your celebration is stylish and memorable. Personal touches, thoughtful details, and a cohesive theme can transform any space into a perfect party venue, making the birthday person feel special. Akshara Entertainments. Let us help you create a magical and memorable birthday party for your child. Contact us today to start planning an unforgettable celebration!

With Akshra Entertainment, your birthday will be a spectacular event that will be cherished for years to come.

We ensure flawless, on-time arrangements that have earned us a stellar reputation as top-party service providers in the city. Bring your dreams to life by booking the expert services of Akshara Entertainment

[micro-expressions]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: “Angelica” White Geode/Crystal Irregular Circle Geometric Stud Abstract Earrings.

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: UCAGCO Floral Decorative Plate, Laced Edge and Gold Edge.

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16-Piece Matte Black Stoneware Dinnerware Set

Stoneware Dinnerware Set

Introducing our sophisticated 16-Piece Matte Black Stoneware Dinnerware Set, the epitome of elegance and functionality designed for the modern dining table. This exquisite set, adorned with a unique textured, uneven dimple design and a stunning gold rim, is perfect for those who appreciate a touch of class with their meals. Whether hosting a grand dinner party or enjoying a casual meal at home, this set is crafted to impress.

Exceptional Quality and Design

Each piece in this collection is meticulously crafted from high-quality stoneware, designed to withstand the rigors of daily use while maintaining a luxurious aesthetic. The matte black finish offers a contemporary, yet timeless appeal that seamlessly blends with any table décor, enhanced by a striking gold rim for a touch of opulence.

Product Features

Material: Premium high-grade stoneware that promises durability and style.

Color: Elegant matte black complemented by a sophisticated gold rim.

Pattern: Unique textured, uneven dimpled surface that adds character to each piece.

Microwave Safe: Ideal for quickly reheating food, enhancing convenience.

Dishwasher Safe: Ensures easy and efficient cleanup.

Versatile and Practical

Beyond its stunning appearance, this dinnerware set excels in functionality. It’s not only visually appealing but also practical for everyday use:

Microwave Safe: Perfect for reheating leftovers or preparing quick meals.

Dishwasher Safe: Allows for hassle-free cleaning, making it suitable for both special occasions and daily use.

Versatile Use: Ideal for an array of settings from luxurious dinner parties to relaxed family meals.

Why Choose Our Dinnerware Set?

Our 16-Piece Matte Black Stoneware Dinnerware Set is not just about serving food; it’s about enhancing the dining experience with a blend of style and practicality. The exquisite matte black finish with gold trim captures the essence of modern luxury, making every meal a special event. This set’s durability and easy maintenance make it a pragmatic investment for any home.

Ready to Enhance Your Table Setting?

Don’t miss the opportunity to transform your dining table with our stunning dinnerware set. Ideal for those who cherish both beauty and functionality at their dining table, this set promises to make every meal a memorable occasion. Shop now and elevate your dining experience to a new level of elegance and style.

Matte Black Stoneware Dinnerware Set

Luxury Dinnerware Sets

Gold Rim Dinnerware Set

High-End Stoneware Plates

Elegant Tableware for Hosting

Modern Dining Sets

Dishwasher Safe Stoneware

Microwave Safe Plates

Textured Dinner Plates

Stoneware Sets with Gold Detailing

HOVIRA