#this is from wedding fic allegedly

[onekisstotakewithme]

🌹

“Think you’ll ever stop thinking of him as the president?”

“Probably not, no. But I wouldn’t worry too much about it because I don’t think he will either.”

They share an awkward smile.

[sergeantpixie]

The Fool in her Wedding Gown; and

I am teaching myself to be free, please!

I am genuinely in awe at how tonally different the two stories you picked are, Gabby!

The Fool in Her Wedding Gown:

Vibes, just vibes, nothing but vibes. This is the demonic possession story I mentioned to you! We've got demonic possession and vampire hunting and lots of moody vibes. Bella Swan is the main character very weird to write a character with the same name as me because I'm chronically addicted to ruining defining characteristics. And man, did I ruin her.

And also because I listened to this version of Where Did You Sleep Last Night/In The Pines too many times. However, the story title comes from the Crane Wives album!

It's five years post Bella and Edward's wedding, and she returns to Forks, Washington for the first time, alone. The Forks Police Department has been dealing with a string of unusual deaths - all caused by sulfur poisoning.

an excerpt:

All rational thought has abandoned her, she only knows she does not want it to happen like this; this is not how she wants to become a vampire. Bella will not be like Rosalie Hale.

I am teaching myself how to be free:

A Rory-centric fic titled after Various Storms and Saints by Florence + The Machine!

Rory’s Wild moment takes decidedly more effort. And blood and sweat and tears and really gross camp meals. And not to mention bugs, can’t forget the bugs. All Rory wants is one moment of fucking clarity, is that too much to ask? Apparently so because all she has are blisters, chapped lips, a sunburn, and a cut that she’s starting to worry is infected.

Nine years post the Revival, Rory Gilmore takes another page out of her mother's book. Clarity doesn't come quite as easily to her.

"Of course we're all worried, Rory," Paris is saying. "You showered in the boys' shower for a month when you found a spider in the girls' room at Branford! Why would you decide to go camping?" "I don't know," Rory admits. "I think I'm having some kind of personality breakdown, is that a thing?" She sniffles pathetically. "I can smell myself!" "Yeah, you're singlehandedly diminishing the skunk population of California."

ask me about my WIPs!

@randomestfandoms

[morallygreyyn]

can we get a second part to do your duty pls?? not even just for the smut, i wanna see the reader grow soft for our boy <3

do your duty (omega!illumi x alpha!reader) (part 2)

description: omegaverse au where after you, a wealthy highborn, presented as an alpha, your parents immediately arranged for your marriage to illumi zoldyck, an omega, when you both came of age. as you began to resent the idea over the years, you had no idea that the allegedly haughty and indifferent illumi had begun to feel the opposite…

authors note: this is my favourite fic that i've ever written, no question. part 2 has been sitting in my drafts for just under a year at this point but i'm so glad i'm finally posting it

this fic will be turned into a full story very very soon (i've started writing it) so if you would like to be tagged when it's posted, please lmk! i'm so excited to be writing it as it gives a lot more depth to this fic that i randomly wrote one day because i was reading too much of the omegaverse genre - enjoy!

warnings: same as the last fic

word count: 7.6k (not proofread we die like men).

tag list (adding the people who commented on my last fic so sorry if you didn't want to be tagged!): @justyanderes @laylasbunbunny @expectroyalpurple @ladies-man217 @nai2fly

read part one here

requests are open! please read my rules!

You stood at the altar, fidgeting with your formal black attire. Surprisingly, you weren’t nervous, just more impatient to get this wedding over and done with. You couldn’t wait to get away from your family, from your intended family, from the prying eyes and expectations. Even if you had to drag Illumi away with you, it wasn’t all bad. At least he would also be somewhere he was appreciated.

His wedding necklace lay on an embroidered pillow, waiting to be clamped around the omega’s neck. It was a tradition within rich families for the alpha to claim their omega with a collar during the wedding ceremony, and a bite to the neck during the honeymoon. Any omega with both the necklace and mark was considered untouchable to other alphas.

A ridiculous tradition but one your families insisted on.

You took in your surroundings with a disinterested gaze. It seemed a wedding of this scale was bound to have a large audience. All of your close and distant family were sitting on one side of the aisle, your bride’s family on the other. You could see Illumi’s younger siblings sitting next to Kikyo and Silva, all dressed in their finest. Killua, the obvious family favourite and the heir to their fortune, was sitting between his parents looking for all the world as if he’d like nothing more than to leave. The rest of Illumi’s siblings wore similar expressions, with the exception of Alluka who just looked happy to be somewhere that wasn’t her house. 

You had only a couple of brief interactions with your soon to be in-laws, but from what you could gather, it seemed all of the Zoldyck siblings had a screw loose. Being the eldest, you supposed Illumi had to bear the burden of each of his siblings and all of their unique oddities. Then again, it appeared as though your bride was perhaps the strangest of them all.

When the music started, your heart gave a minute jump. Perhaps you were nervous after all. Turning to face the doors at the opposite end of the aisle, you watched as they pulled apart, revealing your bride. One look at him was enough to knock the breath out of your lungs. 

He was wearing white, forced by his family no doubt, and his pale skin almost matched the tone of the fabric. It was an impressive garment, truly fit for a bride of his calibre. His trousers, while tailored perfectly to his long and slim frame, were paired with an almost translucent, billowing shirt that flowed like water with each slight movement. Attached to the shoulders of his shirt was a matching sheer cape with gold and emerald details embroidered from the hem, branching upwards. 

Turning your attention upwards, you noticed that his admittedly gorgeous long hair was coiled into a bun at the nape, with large gold needles holding it in place. An odd accessory to choose but it didn’t stand out as peculiar.

Illumi looked as if he was an omegan fairytale prince that alpha knights would slay dragons for. You wanted to laugh at the thought that his family was the dragon and your wedding attire was armour. Your wedding ring that was currently lying on a cushion could be your sword. 

Focusing your attention back on your bride, you watched as Illumi’s eyes scanned the room, stopping briefly on his family. It didn’t take a genius to guess what he was thinking. Once his eyes found yours, they didn’t leave your gaze. You tried to give him a small smile in hopes to quell any fears he may or may not be feeling. If there was one thing to come from this marriage, it was that your bride had nothing to fear from you.  

The music started up again, and Illumi made his walk down the aisle. He kept his head held high, portraying almost an aura of royalty. All eyes in the audience were on him and you knew he didn’t want to embarrass his family, so with his gaze firmly locked on you, he soldiered on past the people who raised him and headed straight towards where you waited. 

It didn’t take long for Illumi to climb the steps that lead to the altar and soon enough, he had joined your side. You couldn’t believe he looked even more breathtaking up close.

“You look beautiful.” You murmured, low enough that he was the only one who heard. Illumi, to no one's surprise, didn’t reply. He just quietly stood beside you, surveying the venue. His scent was stronger today, no doubt a side effect of his upcoming heat. It was difficult to maintain a composed exterior when all you wanted to do was bury your face into his neck and drink in as much of the heady scent as you could. 

This was going to be an incredible test of your self control.

On cue, Silva stood from his place in the audience and approached the vacant spot beside Illumi.

The minister approached the altar then, standing before the two of you. “Who gives this omega to this alpha?”

“I, Silva Zoldyck, give my son, Illumi, to this alpha.” Taking the omega’s hand, your soon to be father-in-law placed it in your waiting one. Ignoring the coldness of his fingers, you gently squeezed Illumi’s hand. Silva, having done his part, made his way back to his seat.

“Kneel omega and be brought under the alpha’s protection.”

Illumi dropped to his knees before you, cape and shirt fluttering as he lowered his head to expose his nape. Picking up the glorified collar and feeling the weight of it in your hands, you almost considered walking out then and there. If Illumi was to wear this everyday, surely he’d have neck problems before the year ended. However as everyone was watching, you didn’t even have time to pause. Your fingers brushed over the soft skin of his neck, and clamped the necklace into place, and if your fingers lingered longer than necessary, no one was able to tell. Nobody apart from one.

Illumi rose once you pulled away, his expression betraying nothing of his feelings, if he was feeling anything at all that is. His hand quickly fluttered to brush the foreign object around his neck, feeling its cold, emerald encrusted exterior. At least the green suited him.

It was customary for the omega to wear that necklace in public and you began to hate the stupid tradition that your families were determined to uphold. The saving grace was that Illumi would be yours, and therefore he wouldn’t be subject to anything he didn't want anymore. If your families wanted to follow tradition, then they couldn’t ignore the one that states that the omega belongs to their alpha before anyone else. Not even the Zoldycks themselves had the power that the spouse, now you, holds.

“May all people present today be witness to the union of y/n l/n and Illumi Zoldyck. Today it is their wish, and the will of their families, for them to be joined as one. One heart, one body, one mind, one soul.” The minister paused, and you felt the gravity of the situation sink in. This was really happening. Your fate, that was organised for you so many years ago, the one you thought you could outrun, had finally caught you. The minister turned to you then, not giving you a moment to lament your situation. “Do you, y/n l/n, take this omega to be your lawfully wedded wife and mate? Will you love him, comfort him and protect him? Will you honour and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

“Do you, Illumi Zoldyck, take this alpha to be your lawfully wedded husband and mate? Will you love them, comfort them and abide by them? Will you honour and obey them, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to them as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

A small part of you was surprised at the utter lack of hesitation in Illumi’s response.

“May the alpha please stand before the omega and pronounce your vows.”

Taking a breath, you turned to face your bride. You didn’t need a sheet as you had thankfully memorised the vows you had written. Truthfully, you had much different vows a few days prior, however last night had you hastily scribbling new ones as you reeled from the events. 

“I, y/n, take you, Illumi, to be my omega and these are my vows to you that I shall uphold until my last breath. I promise to put you first above all others, your needs and wants will always be a top priority to me. I vow to never turn you away or reject you. I promise to care for and protect you, and to always take your side should you need me to. I will always honour you and you will never be alone as I am now a part of you, just as you are now a part of me. Till death do us part.”

Illumi’s already wide eyes seemed to have opened slightly wider at your words, if that were possible. Perhaps he didn’t expect those vows to be made to him, or didn’t expect the sincerity behind them. Either way, it appeared as though a light flush was creeping up his neck though you couldn’t be sure due to the makeup that expertly covered his skin.

“May the omega stand before the alpha and pronounce your vows.” 

Illumi didn’t have a sheet of paper either and you wondered if he had memorised his too. Then you questioned who exactly wrote his vows because you were sure his family would’ve had some input as to what he was supposed to promise.

“I, Illumi, take you, y/n, to be my alpha and these are my vows to you.” It was almost uncomfortable looking into the omega’s eyes as he began reciting his vows, it felt as though these were for your ears alone and all others present in the room were unwelcome. 

You almost missed what he said as you were too shocked at what was happening. Your omega was promising to obey you, care for you, provide support where you needed it, and all you could focus on was the frantic race of your heart. How ironic that you needed support now at this moment. 

You gave him a small smile once he had finished, providing some proof that you had been paying attention. Something had shifted in his eyes, they looked slightly less lifeless.

“Does anyone present today reject the union of these two souls?” Not a single sound could be heard and you didn’t expect to find yourself relieved, but you couldn’t deny that you were. The minister then asked for the rings, signalling that your ceremony was coming to a close and so was your free life. Though you could argue that it was never free to begin with.

“With this ring, I thee wed.”

“With this ring, I thee wed.” You repeated, swiftly slipping the wedding ring onto his slender finger, giving his cold hands a light squeeze. You weren’t sure, but you imagined he squeezed back. Then Illumi repeated the same steps, sliding your metaphorical sword onto your finger.

Your fate was sealed. Staring at your new wife, you struggled to comprehend the complex emotions that were surging through you.

“By the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife, y/n and Illumi l/n!” Then the minister turned to you, shaking you out of your shock at hearing Illumi having your surname for the first time. You had forgotten about that part. “You may now kiss your bride.”

Illumi closed his eyes and waited, and you realised with a start that he was following your instructions from the night before. Immensely glad that you had already practised, you couldn’t help the small smile as you pressed your lips against his. All the kisses you previously shared flashed through your mind and it was almost impossible to keep it as a chaste kiss, you wanted very much to explore the omega’s mouth the way you did last night. By some miracle, you managed to restrain yourself as sophisticated applause rang out throughout the venue.

Hand in hand, you both turned to face your now joined families. You could feel Illumi’s fingers warming under your touch as you both gazed out at the families who had forced you into this situation. Surprisingly, you felt as though you had gained some power rather than having lost some like you had previously expected. You glanced over at your wife who was looking at his family, something deeper lingering in his usual blank stare. You could only begin to understand what he must be feeling right now. Giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, you smiled slightly as he turned to face you.

“We made it.” You whispered as your family ushered you outside the venue to meet the photographer who was in charge of your wedding photos.

Illumi nodded, seemingly unable to find his voice. Subconsciously, you felt yourself grip his hand tighter as you were both suddenly caught up in the drama of arranging family members for the photos.

“Now time for the newlyweds, alone.” The photographer said after what felt like a thousand clicks of the camera, waiting until your surrounding family members filed out of his shot. 

Noticing that there was a slight gap between you, you gently pulled the omega towards you. You could feel Illumi jump slightly at the arm you wrapped around his thin waist.

“Sorry.” You murmured, stepping closer to him like the photographer asked. 

“It’s okay.” He replied, not looking away from the lens. 

Unsatisfied with that response, you leaned to whisper in his ear. “If ever you’re uncomfortable with me touching you, please let me know.” 

“I’m not uncomfortable.” It seemed as though Illumi wanted to say more, but he restrained himself for reasons unknown to you.

Unwilling to pry, you left it there. “If you’re sure.” 

A couple clicks of the camera later, the photographer still seemed unsatisfied with the results. 

“Maybe we’re not photogenic enough for him.” You mused, watching with humour as the man fiddled with the focus.

“Or he needs a new lens.”

Chuckling, you turned to face your new wife, photos be damned. You hadn’t expected your wife to be funny, albeit unintentionally. 

Illumi turned his head to look at you, lips parted ever so slightly, seemingly shocked by your reaction to something he said. Perhaps no one had ever given him the reaction you just had.

Just then you heard the click of a camera, the photographer's astounded voice following soon after. “That looks perfect! We’re finished!”

Without getting the chance to breathe a sigh of relief, you both were then ushered into a side room to fill out your marriage paperwork while the guests made their way back to your family estate where the reception was to be held. You didn’t even get to utter a word to your new wife as you were both relentlessly hounded into signing sheet after sheet of paperwork by the administrator. Barely having time to process what you were signing, you took what felt like your first breath once you left the room and headed outside. 

Illumi diligently followed, matching your steps in silence, heels clicking as he walked.

“I’m amazed you even made it down the aisle wearing those.” You commented, looking at those injury promising shoes.

“They’re not as high as some shoes mother wears.”

“Really?”

Illumi hummed in response, watching as you opened the car door for him. Quickly making sure his attire didn’t get caught underneath him or in the car door, you closed the door and swiftly got into the driver's seat. Pulling away from the venue, you begrudgingly turned onto the main road that would take you home for the reception.

“Maybe now’s the time to run away.” You grumbled after a while, breaking the tense silence between the two of you.

“Why would we do that?”

“Do you really want to spend an evening with our families with us as the centre of attention?” Feeling like it was necessary, you took his empty hand into your free one.

“Not particularly.” Turning away from the window, he stared at your interlocked hands and then at you. “Where would we go?”

Happy your bride was playing along, you cast him a mischievous glance. “Hmm, let’s see. Somewhere far away, preferably warm too. Does anywhere come to mind?”

Illumi shook his head. “I’ve never been anywhere other than my home and yours so I wouldn’t know where to go.”

“Then that makes running away an even greater adventure.” You squeezed his hand and then brushed your thumb over his knuckles. “Perhaps a beach resort on a far away island, or a cabin nestled in mountain woodland? Or how about a skyscraper hotel in a bustling city? Or a cruise ship that takes us to famous tourist spots all over the world?”

Illumi blinked, looking a smidge shocked at all of the options you were suggesting. “All of them.”

“All of them it is.” You laughed, giving him a rare, genuine smile and to your utter bafflement, he offered a small one in return. 

You almost stopped the car. Never in a million years did you think your bride had the capability to smile but here he was. Granted, it was barely there, a mere tug at the corners of his lips, but it was there nonetheless. 

Careful not to break the mood, you pretended you weren’t floored by his expression and went back to discussing becoming runaways. Before long and before you were ready, you pulled up to your manor.

You sighed, wishing you could put the many plans you made in the car into action. “Are you ready for this?”

“It’s only a couple of hours.” He nodded, looking out of the window to the unavoidable party that awaited you. “Then we’ll be on our honeymoon.”

“Our first grand escapade.” You chuckled as you got out of the car, ignoring the fact that you’d have to deal with Illumi’s heat for a portion of it. You circled around the vehicle and opened the door for your new wife. Taking his hand, you helped him stand in those treacherous looking high heels. 

Once he was standing, it was only then that you noticed the proximity. Face inches away, Illumi’s flat gaze was locked on yours. 

“Screw them, they can wait another five minutes.” Wrapping an arm around his waist, you pulled Illumi in for a much less innocent kiss than the one you gave him at the altar. 

You supposed that his upcoming heat was to blame for his whisper of a whine. Nonetheless, it spurred you on. However it was only a couple of seconds later before Illumi pulled away, though it seemed with poorly veiled reluctance.

“We need to go inside.” 

Groaning, you dropped your head onto his shoulder, unable to help yourself from breathing in more of that addictive scent. “It’s not too late, we can still jump in the car.”

“We can later.”

Begrudgingly, you lifted your head and held out your hand. "Let’s get this over with then.”

Nodding, your bride quickly took your hand and you both made your way inside. The sound of applause was the first thing that greeted you, choruses of congratulations rang out from the many guests in attendance.

“There they are!” Your father announced, approaching you with the rest of your beaming family in tow. Illumi’s family also made their way in front of you, looking a little relieved that you had actually gone through with the wedding.

“You’re just in time for the banquet.” Your mother ushered the two of you through the halls and outside to the grounds which had been turned into a wedding reception fit for royalty. 

Extravagant tents had been pitched with many tables and chairs for all your guests situated underneath. Strings of warm fairy lights hung from the ceiling, mixed with garlands of flowers. There was even a dance floor and a couple of chandeliers.

Taking your seats at the head table, you watched as everyone else found their places. Your parents sat at the same table as you, yours on your side and Illumi’s on his. It didn’t take long for everyone to be seated, however you did find it a bit funny that some people were hidden due to the giant bouquets adorning every table.

“Attention please.” Your mother called and almost immediately there was silence. “I would like to give a huge congratulations to y/n and my new son in law, Illumi. We welcome you with open arms into this family and wish you a very happy marriage. With that, I’d like us all to raise a toast to the newlyweds. To y/n and Illumi l/n!”

You didn’t think you’d ever get used to hearing that. Absently, you wondered what Illumi thought of his new name.

The banquet was a boring affair. Multiple dishes were put in front of you, each more elaborate than the last. Buzzing chatter from the attendees filled the air, even your parents eagerly chatted to the Zoldycks. It seemed as if you and your omega were the only silent ones. 

Determined not to be the odd ones out at your own wedding, you turned to Illumi, making sure to keep your voice low so you couldn’t be overheard. “So, have you thought anymore about where you’d like to go?”

The omega looked at you, seemingly happy enough to be speaking with you and not part of the larger conversation that was happening at your table. “I keep trying but I can’t picture anything.”

“That’s probably because you don’t know what you like yet.” You tapped your chin in mock sympathy. “I’m afraid there’s only one cure for that.”

“What’s that?”

You grinned. “We have to keep travelling until you do know.”

“Okay.” Illumi nodded, apparently liking the sound of your suggestion. 

Toasts came after the food and you all but blacked out during most of the speeches, most being the same with well wishes, future children, and inheritance. It was decided before, with heavy backing on your part, that neither you or Illumi would have to make a speech. You said everything that needed to be said in front of family during your vows. Anything else was for your bride’s ears only.

You leaned towards him, lips almost touching his ear. “Was that as boring for you as it was for me?”

Your wife agreed with a bob of his head. “They were all the same.”

“I guess money and children is all we’re good for.” You joked humourlessly, hating the truth to it. “How I would hate to disappoint them.”

“You sound as though you would love nothing more.”

Laughing lightly, you smiled mischievously at Illumi. “Perhaps I would.”

You were brought out of your scheming by your father announcing that the banquet was over and it was time for the first dance. 

Groaning internally, you took Illumi’s hand and led him to the centre of the dance floor. You could not only feel your nerves, but you imagined you could feel his too. Dancing? Neither of you had practiced that. Granted, you should’ve expected to dance at your own wedding, but in your defence, you didn’t want to think about it much until today. Vaguely remembering the ballroom dance lessons your mother insisted you take in your younger years, you somehow managed to get both you and your bride into position.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” He whispered as you both waited for the music to start.

“Not a clue, I’m just going with it.” You could see Illumi’s shoulders oddly relax at your words and once the music started, you guided him around the dance floor. Stiff in the beginning, you both began to get the hang of it more and more and soon enough, you were both gliding across the floor. You even chanced it by spinning you both around, Illumi’s cape swirling around you like a ripple of water. 

Once the music stopped, everyone applauded and joined you on the dance floor as the music started up again in a continuous loop.

“Looks like we survived.” You panted, struggling to regain your breath. You were only stepping together now, both coming down from the extravagant display you put on.

“Somehow.” Illumi looked at your joint hands, seemingly lost in thought. However, just when you were about to ask, your mother cut in.

“It’s time for the parent dances.”

Ah, you had forgotten that you would be dancing with your mother, and Illumi with his father. Reluctant to let go, you suppressed a sigh and you took your mother’s hand and guided her around the dance floor. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Illumi watching you leave until his father approached. 

“It looked like those dance lessons you took came in handy.” Your mother remarked, pleased to be proven right. “I told you they would and yet you still complained.”

“Yes mother, thanks to you I didn’t make a bumbling fool of myself and my bride.”

She hummed and her smug expression stayed in place for a while until it dropped abruptly. 

“It will be a lot quieter without you now.” Her voice was softer, as if she had just realised that she was losing her child today. “Take good care of your omega, we’re quite high maintenance. It takes a lot to keep us happy.”

Actually smiling, you kissed your mother’s cheek. While your family did many things that you disagreed with, your mother wasn’t entirely bad all of the time. “Just say you’ll miss me and be done with it.”

She didn’t hesitate to playfully smack the upside of your head before giving you a serious, pointed look. “Just make sure his needs are met.”

Ah, so she also knew about how Illumi was raised. “I will.”

“I know you will, I raised you right.” She spoke proudly. “Also, I know where you’re going for your honeymoon.”

Neither you or Illumi knew where you were going so it came as a shock for your mother to bring it up so soon. “You do? Where is it?”

“Of course I do, I’m the one who organised it.” She smiled at your eager expression. “We have the family run beach resort which you seem to have forgotten about.”

“The beach resort? As in the island beach resort a couple of miles out to sea?” You stared at her, flashing back to your hopeful conversation in the car a couple of hours ago.

“The very one.”

A whole month by the beach, on an island, away from your families. You couldn’t have asked for anything more than that. “Illumi will be overjoyed to hear that.”

“Will he? I never know what that boy is thinking.”

You laughed, understanding that feeling all too well. “Neither do I but I better start figuring it out.”

“Yes, you should.” Suddenly her gaze shifted past your shoulder. You followed her gaze to where your father stood at the edge of the tent, beckoning you over. “Your father wants to speak to you.”

“This can’t be good.”

“Regardless, don’t forget what I said.” Your mother smoothed your attire, looking more lost than you’d ever seen her in your life. “You did so well, I’m so incredibly proud of you.”

You were frozen, unable to comprehend the words you had never heard directed at you throughout your whole life. “You are?”

“Of course. Look at the responsible alpha you’ve become, how could I not be?” She kissed the top of your forehead before letting you go. “Don’t forget about me in this new chapter of your life, okay? Feel free to take me and your bride out shopping any time.”

Laughing once, you bid your mother goodbye before making your way over to your less favourable parent. 

“Father.” You greeted, walking with him out of the tent and onto the grounds. It was night now which made the fairy lights seem all that more inviting. 

“Y/n, I trust you’re enjoying your wedding.” 

“I am.” You were surprised that your response wasn’t a total lie.

“And your bride?”

“Is probably enjoying it just as much. Speaking of, I haven’t seen him in a while so if you’ll excuse me I should probably get back to him.”

Before you could make your getaway, your father spoke again. “One moment.”

“Yes?” You feigned politeness through gritted teeth.

“After your honeymoon, I expect news of an heir.”

“What?” Somehow, you had almost forgotten about that crucial part. How stupid of you. 

“You will do your duty to this family and put an alpha child in that omega as soon as possible.”

Oh you didn’t like his tone one bit. 

“That omega is now my wife and therefore a part of this family. You will show him respect.” You couldn’t hold back the sneer if you tried. The way he spoke about your omega had you seeing red. “I will put a child in him if he so wishes and he does, so rest assured, our family will have heirs.”

Your father made a move to reply but you cut him off before he could. “Also, his name is Illumi and he’s now your son-in-law.”

You didn’t bother sticking around to see your father’s face, and you quickly retreated to where you knew you could be alone for a moment. Slipping away from the reception and into the manor, you successfully made it to your room. Throwing open the doors to the balcony, you had a wonderful view of your wedding reception which you had abandoned. Closing your eyes, you quietly listened to the sound of the merriment that you couldn’t bring yourself to be a part of.

Surprisingly, it hadn’t been all bad. You had even enjoyed some parts of your wedding. It was just a shame that your father had to bring you crashing back down to earth. 

A child? You weren’t sure you were ready for that just yet. There were still so many things you wanted to do that would become a lot more difficult if you had a child to worry about.

You spent a few minutes wallowing until the sound of heels could be heard approaching from the hall.

“Y/n?” A muffled voice called from behind the door, the only one you wouldn’t turn away.

“Out here, Illumi.” The door to your room pushed open and your bride stood in the doorway, looking at you with that same unreadable expression.

He slowly made his way into your room, drawing closer to you. “Why are you hiding?”

“My father was getting on my nerves.” You admitted, resting your forearms against the railing. “They’re already hounding me about putting an ‘alpha baby’ in you.”

He nodded, as if that made complete sense to him. “I need to produce heirs.”

“No.” You shook your head, hating that your mate was brainwashed into thinking that bearing children was his duty. “You’re mine now. You don’t have to answer to them anymore, not if you don’t want to.”

“I know, I obey you.”

“Not if you don’t want to, Illumi.”

“I want to, I made a vow.”

“A vow your family wrote no doubt.”

“I wrote my own vows.” He whispered, as if unsure he should be revealing this information.

Baffled, you turned to face him with wide eyes. “You did?”

“My parents checked over them, but yes.”

“Then why did you write that one?”

“Because I want to obey you.” You were so sure he’d leave it there, but to your shock, Illumi kept speaking. “You’re my alpha and someone who has my best interests in mind.”

He moved to stand beside you, heels clicking against the marble flooring. 

“And that's a good enough reason to obey my every word?”

“I also know you’ll put me and our future children first.”

You snorted. “Still not seeing how this adds up.”

Then your omega did something you never expected to happen twice in a lifetime, let alone twice in one day. Giving you a small, half smile, you had to strain your ears to hear his soft whisper. “I know that you’ll never do anything to harm me.”

It was obviously quite challenging for Illumi to say such a thing as his expression quickly shifted back into one of indifference, but for a brief fleeting moment, you felt as though you had cracked through his impenetrable armour. It was clear that his parents didn’t care for their oldest child, and you wondered to what extent did that mental, emotional and physical abuse scar the boy before you. Being touch starved was about the extent of your knowledge and you shuddered to think about what other things your mate must be dealing with.

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from wrapping your arm over his shoulders and bringing the omega into your side. “You’ll always be safe with me. I'll take care of you.”

You couldn’t stop the mushy words from leaving your mouth even if you tried. You supposed it was the injustice he had faced, you couldn’t help but want to shield him from it all. Perhaps you really were a knight in shining armour come to save the prince.

“Will you?” His voice was quieter than you had ever heard it before. Maybe his upcoming heat was affecting him more than he let on? If this is what he was like before his heat, you wondered with abject fascination at what he would be like during.

Hooking a finger under his chin, you tilted his head up. Once your eyes locked, you gave your bride a lopsided grin. “I made a vow.”

Illumi took a sharp intake of breath, an uncertain hand slowly coming up to rest on your one. You caressed his cheek, unable to stop yourself from marvelling at his unique beauty. It still hadn’t settled in yet that this was your wife. He now bore your last name. He was your omega. Illumi was yours. Yours.

Perhaps his heat was starting to affect you too. 

You could feel Illumi leaning into your touch, as if he was desperate for it. You could also sense his hesitation, unsure what to do with the attention he was receiving, clearly not used to it like an omega should be. You would be sure to fix that. It may take several years, and perhaps all the damage done could never be erased, but you would try your very best to help him through it. Your own private vow to him that didn’t need hundreds of witnesses to hear it. Just one was enough.

“From now on, if you ever feel like you need me for anything, don’t hesitate to ask, okay? Even the smallest of things.” You whispered as you leaned in, unable to bear the thought of someone overhearing. “I promise, I will always be by your side to help you through it.”

Guiding his chin upwards, you brought your lips to his. It was meant to be a simple reassurance kiss however when Illumi so eagerly opened his mouth for you, all innocent notions flew out the window, so to speak. Pulling Illumi flush against your body, you deepened the kiss. 

He desperately clutched the front of your shirt, as if you were some kind of lifeline. You could feel yourself doing the same, your grip tightening around his waist, ensuring there was no gap between you. You couldn’t explain how you felt, even if you tried. 

From not wanting to be married and pretending as if your bride didn’t exist, to wanting nothing more than him being safe in your arms; your emotions were almost giving you whiplash. 

But you didn’t have time to focus on that, not when Illumi was making breathy little moans in your mouth. His whines and whimpers, while still quiet, were a little more audible today. Another side effect of his heat. 

Before you both passed the point of no return, you reluctantly broke away. “We better go back down.”

“Can we stay up here for a while longer?” Came a barely audible response, as though he was daring to ask for something unattainable, something he wasn’t allowed.

You were shocked he would even suggest such a thing. “Why?”

He hesitated, unwilling to say too much.

“Illumi?” You tried catching his gaze, wanting to know what thoughts he was locking away. “What’s wrong?”

“You might be stolen away again.” You could’ve sworn his grip on your shirt tightened. “I...”

“What?”

“I don’t want that.”

You would have laughed at the situation if it weren’t for your new wife finally showing some vulnerability. Perhaps his heat was a considerable factor in why he wasn’t as tight-lipped. “Are you possessed?”

“No, I think my heat is already affecting me.” Bingo.

“Ah, so you’ll say what you really think only when you’re about to go into a heat cycle. Got it.” You teased, shooting him a half grin. “Don’t fret, you’re the only one I want to dance with anyway.”

He caught your gaze then, almost too innocent with the way his flat eyes locked with yours. “Really?”

You smiled, resting your forehead against his. “You’re my bride and this is our wedding. Of course you are.”

“Oh.” Came his response. 

You stroked his cheek, loving the way he subconsciously leaned into your touch. “Just a couple more minutes then.”

Standing behind him, you wrapped your arms around Illumi’s narrow waist and looked out at the festivities below. 

“Honestly,” You whispered after a couple moments of silence. “This wasn’t nearly as bad as I was expecting. Even dancing with my mother was somewhat enjoyable.”

“I enjoyed dancing with you.” Illumi’s voice matched yours. “Even if you are terrible at it.”

“I’m not that bad! I got us through it, didn’t I?”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose.” You huffed, resting your head on Illumi’s. “How does it feel now that your surname isn’t Zoldyck anymore?”

“It feels weird.” He paused, considering his words. “But not in a bad way.”

“Weird in a good way? You’re happy to have my last name?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” You didn’t want to say how happy that made you. You didn’t even know the reason why. “Nice.”

Illumi let out a breath that almost resembled a laugh.

“You seem a lot less guarded today.”

“Would you prefer me the other way?” He seemed to ask this honestly, as if he truly wanted to know.

“Absolutely not, I’m quite happy with you like this.”

“I see.”

You left it at that, closing your eyes and feeling the summer breeze that carried the sound of festivities with it. An odd sense of calmness washed over you, one you hadn’t expected to feel in this situation but it was welcome nonetheless. Illumi seemed a lot less rigid in your arms, as though he had finally found a safe place where he could finally, finally let the mask fall.

Maybe you could get used to this after all. 

“We really need to go back down there now.” You sighed after a couple of minutes that felt more like seconds, not really wanting this quiet moment to end. 

“I suppose we must.” Illumi didn’t move from his position in your arms, nor did you make any effort to remove them.

You chuckled and finding the will to step away, you held out your hand to your new wife, offering him a rare genuine smile. “Let’s rejoin the celebrations. We are the main event after all.”

Heading back downstairs and outside, it was almost as if you had never left at all. The celebrations were still in full swing by the time you spun Illumi back onto the dance floor. As promised, you held on tightly to your omega and didn’t even consider dancing with anyone else who wasn’t him. 

A couple of songs had passed before you remembered your previous conversation with your mother. “Oh, I know where we’re going for our honeymoon.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“It’s not a surprise if you know.”

“I meant it’s a surprise for you.”

“But I want to know.”

“You’ll know soon enough.” You chuckled, spinning your bride before pulling him back in. “But I can give you a hint.”

“Please tell me where it is.”

It was incredibly difficult not to tell him then and there, but you held firm to your silly little game. “One hint, take it or leave it.”

He huffed slightly, giving in to your ridiculous behaviour. “Fine, what’s the hint?”

“I mentioned it earlier today in the car.”

“But you mentioned hundreds of places.” He protested and you could almost see a slight pout forming.

“Mhm, you did say you wanted to try them all.” 

“How am I supposed to narrow it down?”

Your grin turned evil. “You’re not.”

Before he could retort, you pulled Illumi in for a kiss. Smiling at the small noise of surprise he made, you quickly pulled away again. Your good mood soured when you noticed who was getting closer to where you were.

“It’s almost time for you to leave for your honeymoon.” Your new mother-in-law approached, giving you a warm smile before turning to her son. “You must change before you go, follow me.”

“I’ll see you soon.” You whispered to him, placing the ghost of a kiss against his cheek before he was whisked away to change into more suitable travel attire. Your only issue was that Illumi was to be alone with his mother and who knows what sort of nonsense she was going to fill his head with. At least you’d be able to rebuke it now. 

You also quietly slipped away to get changed. Having previously set out travel clothes the night before, it didn’t take long until you were back under the fairy lights waiting for your omega. You passed the time talking to some distant relatives, only partially listening to the conversation as you eagerly counted down the seconds until you could leave. You didn’t have to wait long until Illumi returned, side by side with his mother, in flowy clothes, save for his wedding necklace, that seemed a lot more comfortable than what he was wearing a few moments prior. 

You watched him as his disinterested gaze scanned the crowd, actively seeking you out. Watched him as he spotted you and looked for all the world as though he wanted nothing more than to run to your side. Before he could move towards you however, his mother caught him by the arm and whispered something harshly in his ear. Illumi nodded and pulled away.

“What was that about?” You asked when he approached, automatically wrapping an arm around his waist. 

He just shook his head, clearly unwilling to give the details now. You made a mental note to ask later. 

Car packed and ready to go, you were ushered towards the driveway by the rest of your family. Clapping and cheering filled the night as you helped your bride into the car, and finally pulled away from the place you called home. 

It was an odd feeling, driving away from your childhood manor to start a new life. Granted, it wasn’t one you had chosen but something told you it wasn’t bad. Sneaking a glance at Illumi, you decided that perhaps this was almost something you would have wanted for yourself, without the family duty aspect.

“Can I get another hint?” Illumi broke the silence first, seemingly thinking very hard about where you were driving to.

You laughed at his helpless tone as you turned onto the main road that would take you to the docks. “Fine, I can’t drive the entire way there.”

“You can’t?” Illumi’s nose scrunched slightly, brain working on overdrive in attempts to figure out where his first adventure would take place. 

“Nope.” You were still chuckling as you relished in the odd glow this day had filled you with, feeling lighter and freer than you had in years. Taking your wife’s hand, you began the long journey to the coast. 

“How are we going to get there?”

“Ah ah, that’s more than one hint.”

He paused, contemplating the options. “Are we going by rocket?”

You couldn’t help it. His innocent tone had you thrown into a fit of laughter. You had no idea your bride was able to crack jokes, albeit accidentally. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” You had to calm down and focus on the road. It wouldn’t do to die before your honeymoon. “No, we’re not going by rocket. Hate to break it to you but we are limited to this planet.”

The omega hummed and looked out of the window. He then very quickly realised that he couldn’t see much in the dead of night. 

When did Illumi get so cute? Or was he always like this and you just never noticed? He certainly wasn’t like this around his family, that much you were certain about. A delicate, warm feeling settled over you at the thought that maybe, just maybe, he was like this only with you. That he was comfortable enough that you wouldn’t judge, yell or reprimand him if he put a toe out of line. 

You felt yourself grip his hand tighter.

[tanoraqui]

queenship under siege and there's a WHAT in this mountain?! (LotR)

[re: badly described WIPs fics I almost certainly will never actually write - in the lead with 17.5% of the vote as of midnight 3/3/24]

I know I’ve said this before, because I do love it so, but:

The only reason, the ONLY reason, I would ever want the Arkenstone to be a Silmaril is this: the day after Aragorn leaves Rivendell with the Fellowship, Elrond summons Arwen to his study and bids her to go to Erebor.

"What?" she demands. "Surely I am needed here, or out in the wilds, marshaling the Rangers - "

"Your brothers will manage that, after they escort you," her father insists. "You must go to Erebor, and ask Dain to let you open Thorin's tomb, that you may look upon the Arkenstone. Gloin will help you - I spoke with him ere he left. Don't let anyone else know your purpose - as far as the world is concerned, I am sending my only daughter to a safe stronghold until Mordor is defeated."

"Are you not?" she cries. But he will explain no more than, "I think the jewel may be important to our oncoming war, but I wish you to assess it unbiased" - and he gives her two letters to read only once she's made her own judgement of the jewel.

So Arwen goes. The Misty Mountains are crawling with orcs, but in cloaks woven by their grandmother, she and her brothers slip through with only a few close calls. Elrohir and Elladan don't know why she's going even a little, save that their father bade it and (he said) their grandmother supported it. The problem with having Elrond for a father and Galadriel for a grandmother is that, while technically they may each be wrong at times (allegedly), in agreement they never are.

It's nice to have what may be one last journey with her brothers, at least. All three of them know that Elladan and Elrohir will soon be in battle alongside their cousins the Dúnedain, and for all Erebor's strength, it will soon be under attack. Rivendell might soon be under attack. Lothlórien might soon be under attack.

The twins leave almost as soon as the three of them arrive; they have other work to do. Dain barely protests letting Arwen mildly exhume his cousin in order to assess the famous jewel - he doesn't quite like letting an elf(ish person) near the Heart of the Mountain, but he is very worried about the black-armored army lurking across the River Carnen, and respects the wisdom of Elrond and his immediate kin.

Arwen sees the Arkenstone sitting calmly in the hands of of the fallen king, and she sees it clutched in the burning hand of a no-longer-king, fallen free from a twisted iron crown, stolen over a king's bloody body, hallowed by a Queen, forged in a fire like the world never saw again... It glows softly; its light matches that of the small crystal that hangs around her neck now, one of a set of three.

[Here me out: Galadriel made three: one for Celebrian and Elrond as a wedding gift, jointly from herself and Eärendil; one for thw twins upon their birth, and one for Arwen upon hers. Celebrian left hers behind when she Sailed; Galadriel gives it to Frodo.]

The letters are from Elrond and Galadriel, respectively. They say much the same thing:

I'm so sorry to spring this on you, and to make you a guardian of this secret

If the Ringbearer's quest fails and the Enemy regains his full power, please take the jewel (as freely giving by the dwarves if at all possible) and use it however you can to save everyone and everything that you can. (Elrond's says, "My parents will help as much as they can. Do not hesitate to ask for their or any other aid." Galadriel's says, "If you seek Undying Shores with mortals in tow, for succor or for more active aid, hold the Jewel high and beseech first Ulmo and his spirits, and then every single kin-relation you have, no matter the connection. Once you rouse the general populace, then approach the Valar - though don't appear to delay.)

Galadriel's says, "Círdan knows to potentially expect you." Elrond wrote, "If you see your mother before I do", stopped there and blotted it out.

Neither of them needs to say, We will hold the line, to buy you as much time as we can. Both say "I love you", "I'm sorry", and variations on, "I know you can do this."

Arwen made the Choice of Elros several decades ago: to live among Men as a Man, to take up queenship of a people at the start of a new Age of the World and rule until most of those she loved most had passed and it was time to follow as a Man. Now she faces the Choice of Elwing: to leave most of those she loved the most for dead and flee with Silmaril in hand and only the hope of the impossible to save a doomed continent.

(Or, if she was optimistic, the Choice of Lúthien: to face down the Lord of Death and demand back one single most beloved [for Aragorn could not live while Sauron triumphed], and steal him away for many peaceful decades ere doom fell entirely, their own best efforts done. But Lúthien had been, in her glorious way, very selfish, and Arwen was not.)

The reason I haven't started writing this fic and probably never will is that I have a perfect sense of what I believe kids call the vibes - the mood, the tone, themes, the visual and emotional aesthetic - and none of actual, like, events of the story.

It's about Arwen's final trial of leadership and diplomacy, before she (hopefully) takes up a throne of Gondor, being living with Dwarves for three months under threat and then fact of war. Helping in the infirmary. Participating in strategy discussions, because war isn't her area of expertise but she has participated a few times, in her nearly 3,000 years of life. Mediating as a neutral party on inevitable conflicts between Dwarves the Men, especially in the last week and a half when they're under high stress while besieged together with two kings dead in the field.

Carrying a torch in the deep corridors of the Mountain because she's Mannish enough not to see naturally in the dark. Standing extra watches because she's Elvish enough to see well in starlight, especially if the Star in question is her grandfather; and getting scouting reports from the local thrushes, because they're talkative and Melian's heirs have always had a knack for the speech of birds.

Busying herself with sewing a banner for Aragorn, with jewel-stars and a crown of mithril and gold - for her elders have appointed her as their last hope, and she shall hold it for them and for all the people she can save if in the end she must; but her Estel fights in the field. The night the armies of Mordor cross the river to strike at Dale, she stands on the summit of the Lonely Mountain and calls a friend among the Eagles, who takes the finished banner in her talons and bears it south to where Arwen's brothers and cousins ride to Aragorn's side.

(She shares dreams with him sometimes - but she must keep secret a thought that beats in her like a heartbeat, and he must devote all his thought to the quest and the war. So they don't speak much.)

It's about the crushing weight of history and legacy and the very practical matters of running a kingdom in duress. It's about multicultural exchange. It's about love and hope and a hundred different OCs, most of whom will never be recorded in history books even if they die heroically or steal siege-stores to sell on the black market, or simply live and thus deserve to do so. It's about hard work and mortality.

It's about how 77 years after the Battle of Five Armies, Dain II Ironfoot swings his axe until he falls defending the body of Brand King of Dale, son of Baird son of Bard the Dragonslayer, and their people all take refuge in the Mountain together; and Arwen tends the wounded with the Songs she learned from her father and the neat stitches her mother taught her for first cloth, then skin; and she walks among the frightened people - none of them remotely her people; Dwarves and entirely common Men, mostly descended from easterners migrating slowly west - and knows that if these are all she can save, she will gladly die or live as she must in order to do so; and the people hearken a little to see her pass by with starlight in her eyes and on her breast.

And then - after an eternity of painful anticipation, after what feels like no time at all - the Shadow passes, and the wait and tension abruptly lift.

They very much do still have to go defeat that army before the gates, though.

[tenderlyrenjun]

Married

(Jisung ver.)

minors + inactive/empty blogs do not interact; fic rec blogs do not reblog without comments

a/n: repost, sorry; if people still hate it, I’ll take it down but please stop telling me that my fics suck; please be nice, i'm having a rough time in life and I wrote this in like 2-3/ish days … I’ve just been thinking about Jisung a lot; I think he’s neat

word count: > 12k (sorry)

married (og, jeno ver)

edit: oppa kink removed.

includes … afab reader, tw jewellery, tw food (not in a sexual way) established relationship, unusually clingy jisung, non-marriage proposals, reciprocal ‘ooooh you want me so bad’ dynamic, better than gold TDS2 in BKK body rolls mention, implied (and wrong) experienced virgins, lots of making out, hair pulling, oral sex (m + f receiving), lowkey exhibitionism, sex in a supply closet, first times, ass grabbing, vague choking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, thigh job (m + f receiving), fingering, lowkey size kink/difference, creampie consent – homophobes dni; mark + doyoung are gay

again, minors + inactive/empty blogs do not interact

“Hey, my dad said Doyoung asked you to be the ring bearer.”

Jisung tears his attention from the engineering student portal as you kick your way through the blankets, teetering candy boxes over a bowl of popcorn, path dimly lit by the TV and Renjun’s candles. He offered, about twenty minutes ago, before you stockpiled half his snacks on the couch with him, to gather the food, but you assigned him to pull out the cushions into a kind of bed setting. It only took a couple seconds, as it always does for him, which is why, since the last movie night, he’s had an inkling suspicion that you keep having him unfold the couch. That, or you want to keep him out of the kitchen, on account of all the times he dropped and sprayed soda all over the floor. He makes up for it!, he hopes, like earlier when he got all the snacks from the convenience store downstairs – at 10 PM, if he might add. Granted, his long legs make the trip shorter than if you went, with or without him. Actually, once, or twice, or a few times really, whenever you go with him on those allegedly short walks across the road, it extends an hour, two hours, past midnight, not that he minds. Jisung never minds; he uses it as an excuse to take a break from the studying he scarcely does – on the surface, of course. His more romantic side holds your hand and tells you that he just likes spending this time with you because you study too much at the lounge in Square Garden.

“Yeah,” Jisung answers, “Doyoung asked his morning.” He takes the candies from you first, then the popcorn, helping you settle comfortably below the thin throw blanket next to him. A soda can slides down with the new incline and he catches it with his foot, placing the bowl between your thigh and his, beside the other snacks. “Apparently, his fiancé didn’t confirm anything, and they were a party member short,” he shrugs. “Are you still the flower girl?”

You nod, “mmhmm,” then crack open the soda he caught; you put two straws inside, pulling the blue one (his) a little bit taller. “Jeno thought I was going to be a grooms-woman though and asked if we were walking down the aisle together.”

Jisung scrunches his nose. That doesn’t even make sense. You all – him, Jeno, you, Renjun, Jeno’s girlfriend, etc. – are attending the wedding from Doyoung’s side of the family, at an unequal ration (he and his fiancé have three grooms-people each; you wouldn’t be able to walk with Jeno). But he makes no corrective comment, instead slowly unwrinkling his mouth. “I don’t think his girlfriend would like that.” Because he wouldn’t like it very much, no matter how many times he tells you that he’s not a jealous guy.

Jisung quickly takes a small sip of Cola while you still have it in your hands, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Why? You don’t trust me?”

He slurps a little too hard, choking on the sudden rush of soda down his throat, and pulls off. “No, that’s not – of course, I do –“ Then, you start laughing, and he pushes your chest, another smile widening into his cheeks. “Ah, you’re so …”

“So what?” you bounce back, knocking your shoulder into him. “So lovely? So pretty? So Park Jisung’s girlfriend?”

Jisung catches you with both hands, an arm wrapping around your shoulders, his fingers grazing your cheek. He pulls a serious frown that doesn’t quite meet the curve in his eyebrow. “Mmhm, yeah,” he answers the last one, leaning in tighter. “You’re so Park Jisung’s girlfriend.” His lips almost touch yours, thumb tilting your face upward, breath a poor, poor substitute for your tongue. “Don’t forget it.”

You wrap your hand under his wrist, pushing his arm up a bit further. He casts his eyes toward yours for a second but sees you staring at his parted lips. Your tongue peaks its tip, briefly catching his most prominent tubercle. “Never.”

You make the first move, for him, thankfully, because he debated, too long, how to proceed with you still carrying the soda in your lap. His broad shoulders envelop you when you fist his hoodie, dragging him and the collar down, zipper chafing his bare sternum. Jisung braces a hand on the couch, somewhere near your hip that his index finger feels, steadying the both of you upright. It only lasts a second, before you both fall into the pillows, and the cushions barely support you two, so you cling to each other. He readjusts your hips under him, your knee bending to avoid the popcorn bowl, which probably already spilled. Your hand slips into the split ends of his hair and pulls, drawing out all his breath, making his hand slip under your ass.

Then you pull harder, and his breath becomes audible, becomes a moan.

You – and he – learned this evil little fact somewhere around the seventh month mark – his hair pulling kink. Jisung met you after a particularly long evening class, holding a thin bouquet of pink tulips and couple bracelets in his trench coat. He kissed the top of your head, an arm wrapped around your shoulders, hiding you and your backpack in his large jacket, on the way to his car. You made it to the restaurant about 10 minutes early, but the table ran late, so the both of you sat in the backseat, pointing out the moon in mirror’s reflection, talking and talking until you were no longer talking, kind of like now. And you pulled the ends of his hair, nails grazing into his scalp, to get him on top. You ended up being late to you reservation.

“J-Jisung,” you whisper, cut off by the harder he presses his lips.

He shifts around the couch, aligning you perpendicular to the snacks, better lit by the candlelight, straight against the original layout, your head on the arm rest now – all without breaking the kiss. And his hands get more frantic, taking away the soda, mauling your hips, flipping his fingers repeatedly over your waistband.

“Is this too far?” Jisung asks when his thumbs sink above your underwear. He can feel the tiny organza flowers bulging into his finger pads. You both have gone through most of the bases, with each other – been making out, hot and heavy, since your fourth date; groping each other over and under your clothes since the second month; touching each other a little more south since that seventh month mark. He has seen you naked, too! Well, mostly naked; sometimes you wear his hoodie or only your underwear, which leaves little to the imagination, but still, he hovers and asks.

Your eyes blink slowly, opening just a crack but so obvious in the dark. He waits for you to look at him, following you up his neck to his face. You bite your lip a tiny bit, right in the middle, almost imperceptible until you let go, and he pecks you once, pulling away just as quickly even though your lips trail after him.

“No,” you mumble, also fast, jutting out your chin to kiss him again, sliding your arms around his neck, hands down between his shoulder blades. “Jisung, please, keep going. I want – I want to –“ You suck in a breath and center yourself (and him). “I want you.”

Jisung grunts your name, popping his chest like a dance move before he locks himself onto you, rolling your torso with him. He presses your hips down, deeper into the couch. Your shins stand up, outlining him, giving his dick a small crevice between your pants against which to rub. Instinctively, he bites his lip – and yours, and you yelp, prompting him to apologize, but you yank him even closer, nails clawing into his cheeks. You slip your plump tongue into his mouth, drawing his out, and your lips feel even softer on his tongue as you kiss around it, kind of like that time you gave him head, back when you still lived in the dorms on campus. He barely fit those days, and each thrust would drag your lips back into your mouth with him; he basically trained you, since then, to take his entire length in one stroke. Same with his long fingers beneath your panties, which now unbutton your trousers. He crosses your leg one on top of the other, pausing, on his knees, to grind against your ass. And you both roll your eyes shut, incoherent mumblings spilling down both your tongues without the other to mash them away. Jisung dives down again, both hands shimmying off your pants while he kisses you, equally fervent.

But once he gets them down your ankles, your feet prepared to kick them off, the lights turn on.

“Oh!” Renjun groans from the entrance, a brown grocery bag covering his eyes as he makes his way into the kitchen behind the couch. “Could you not do that on the communal furniture? Please?”

Maybe Jisung takes Renjun’s words a little too closely to heart, or maybe he wants to save money by booking a multiroom suite with his friends, or maybe he really wants to make love to his beautiful girlfriend who he has known for years now, because he agrees with his friends on the shared unit, like his apartment with Renjun, for Doyoung’s weekend wedding in mid-Seoul near the Han River. Jaemin convinced everyone that they would need a place to rest and get dressed without having to make the hour/hour and a half drive back to their apartments in upper Seoul. The hotel also gives Jisung the excuse to sleep next to you (just sleep, Renjun glared, traumatized after your date night), which he absolutely loves, in a different way, laying on your chest, matching your breath, siphoning off some of warmth to you.

It was the first thing you both did when you got to your rooms – sleep.

Jisung dropped your duffel bag and his – both couple items – in an open armoire while you settled his smaller backpack on the vanity. Neither of you opened any bags, wordlessly and simultaneously collapsing on the singular king-sized bed. You sprawled out for a couple seconds, then searched for each other’s hands in the sheets. He turned to you first, after you intertwined your fingers, and kissed your knuckles, one at a time, doubling back on your ring finger. It made you giggle, which made him giggle.

“Ah, I like being here with you,” he confessed, flopping against the mattress again, brushing away his bangs from his forehead, a dumb, gummy smile spreading up his face.

He never told you this, but a few months into dating, when you accidentally stayed the night at his apartment for the first time, falling asleep on his full-sized bed while he finished a last-minute assignment, Jisung had this epiphany where he realized that he likes this, likes sharing a bed with you (he almost asked you to move in, but that would have been way too soon, especially for a couple of kids). Then, after he fixed your hair, tied it into a ponytail sometime before sunrise for a hiking date along the Yeongbong Peak Trail, he realized that he likes the intimacy of being with you, his girlfriend. And he finds himself, this weekend, on the second evening staying at the hotel, looking for all those moments of intimacy.

Like now, he sits on the end-of-the-bed bench, watching you fix your eye makeup in the mirror according to Doyoung’s navy and gold rehearsal dinner, matching a shimmering highlight with the trim in the slit of your maxi dress. You wore this same dress – and him the same matching suit – to some European restaurant with him a couple months ago. No special occasion that time; you just met him at a restaurant for date night after not seeing him all two weeks of midterm season. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, people said when he was younger and naïve and didn’t quite understand them enough to believe, but he got it instantly, in that moment, and essentially made a vow never to be that far from you again – probably why he seeks and prolongs these moments of intimacy, and why he likes your dress so much, among a few other reasons.

“Are you finished?” you call, a little garbled as your mouth hangs while you apply mascara.

“Almost.” Jisung looks down at the loose tie around his neck. “Just need to fix one last thing.” He looks back toward you, and you look beautiful and mostly finished, not that he knows, entirely, what look you will be completing. He just thinks you are always pretty. “Are you almost done?”

“Not really.” You pull away from the bathroom mirror, blinking a few times, then turn to him. “How does this look – Oh, are you not wearing the couple watch tonight?”

“No, I am.” Jisung points to his silver watch on the table at the other side of the room with his black blazer. “Are you wearing yours?”

You nod. “Yeah, I just need to add some lipstick and jewellery, and I’ll be done.”

Jisung stands up and crosses the room to get behind you. He lifts your hair in an impromptu ponytail, making sure to grab lowly as not to ruin what you have done so far. “I'll help you,” he half-requests, gently, already pulling your long necklace into place and clasping it at the perfect length. He spins you around to add the bracelets and watch, but you have yet to finish applying makeup, so he holds your hands and kisses you slowly, like the scene of a movie (or an artsy porno).

You put a hand on his arm, jerking him forward, leaning on the door frame. He tilts his head a little bit left, nose brushing into your cheek, and you copy him enough for him to feel your breath on his face. Ever since the first time he kissed you longer than a simple peck, Jisung has been obsessed with all the ways he can elongate a simple kiss. One way you do, and this doubles as giving him consent, is by wrapping your arms around his neck, which you do now, hiking your leg, through your slit, around his waist high up, practically sitting on the sink counter. It gives him a better angle, more comfortable, against the height difference, to bend his neck. Jisung hikes your other leg around his waist, sandwiching you between him and the wall, thigh supported by the sink, an ass cheek supported by his large hand, his pelvis pressing too tightly into yours. He brushes your hair to the side and presses a trail of quick kisses down your jaw that have your breath elevated, turning into whispered moans of his name that he has to kiss quiet.

You hold his chin still, about to return the trail of kisses, when three knocks hit the bedroom door.

“Are you guys do – Oh, come on,” Jeno groans, throwing his hands in toward the exit, swinging his entire body away from the bathroom (a private bathroom, Jisung mentally adds). “Wrap it up, people. Jaemin is one perfume spray from being ready, and we’re already five minutes late for the rehearsal dinner.”

Jeno leaves as quickly as he entered, but Jisung still scrunches his nose, making a small annoyed face at the door. You tap his arm quickly a few times, and he steps back, helping you hop down the counter.

“So … do you still need help?”

You deadpan at him. “Out.”

“Is it always that bad or am I just noticing it now?” you call from the bathroom again.

Jisung laughs and pauses the TikTok on his phone. “What? You don’t want to marry me?”

You point a half-used wet wipe at him, brown eyeliner smudged past the corner of your eyebrow. “You proposed to me twice!”

Jisung rolls his eyes and onto his stomach over the bed. “One of those doesn’t even count!” During your two-year anniversary picnic at the Han River, a few months ago, he proposed the idea of proposing when he saw a kid with a red candy Ring Pop. You didn’t turn him down, citing that you both already had platinum couple rings, and he proposed on the spot with his, even getting halfway down on a knee before you toppled him into the grass. Okay, maybe that one counts; Jisung rubs the back of his neck. “But all the aunties thought we were cute!” During the rehearsal dinner, they kept bringing up a follow-up wedding with all the couples – you and Jisung, Jeno and his girlfriend, Mark and his boyfriend. All of you treaded around the conversation, as if none of you have had The Talk with your partners yet, even though Jisung knows that Mark has a ring ready and Jeno has a date planned (and he has a proposal in mind).

You turn off the bathroom lights and quickly jump into the bed, hiding your bare legs under the blanket without him, fluffing his extra-large hoodie over your head.

Jisung frowns and scoots into bed with you. “Did it really bother you that much?” He knows that he jokes about marriage from time to time, probably brings it up one too many times, but he is serious about it. If you said yes, he would marry you in an instant. You would wait anyways, for a big ceremony, until the both of you finish your degrees and have jobs, him delayed a few semesters due to military service before school, but he would marry you in an instant. “I can talk to the aunties tomorrow, so they don’t bring it up again.”

“No, Sung,” you backpedal. “It’s just that I never noticed it before. Of course, I want to marry you. We’ve just never really talked about the details before. We don’t even live together.”

Jisung settles into the pillows, dragging you down with him, into his arms. “We could,” he whispers. And you look up at him, eyes wide, a hand over his on your stomach. “Move in, and talk about all the details. We could move in together, you know. Maybe not on Monday or anything, but, like, next semester or next year, or something like that. We could wait until after college, too, if –“

“Jisung?”

“… Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Jisung sighs, in relief this time, melting a little bit deeper into the mattress, free hand taking his forehead temperature. “I love you, too.” He rolls on his side and buries his face in your neck, curling his long leg over your bare thighs. You comb his hair behind his ear a few times before he starts kissing your neck, sneaking into the hoodie with you – there’s enough room for two people if he squeezes.

“Jisung,” you sigh quietly. He looks up, catching you close your eyes, mouth parting enough for your tongue to peek out a bit, flat with the way you bite it. And he kisses your neck again, a quick, wet one, licking his lips so closely that his tongue catches your skin. Sometimes he doesn’t have exactly the right words, so he rambles through the entire dictionary until he finds the right one. He also really likes kissing you. “Jisung,” you sigh again, a little bit louder, more enunciated over the wet smacks that he tries to make chaste, given the brief conversation about marriage. “Mmm, Jisung.”

But like he said, he would marry you in an instant.

Jisung kisses your neck a little longer, a little harder, slipping around the column to find a perfect vein that makes you whimper his name exactly the same again. And pliantly, your head lulls into his palm, kissing his life lines almost deliberately. Jisung turns you back to him with the same palm, pyjama pants rolling your legs open, wide enough for him to slip between. He grinds down, the first kiss to your lips, fingers coiling in the hair behind your head, freehand pulling a thigh up his back. You seem to get the hint, tying your feet on his spine, pushing your heels down to trap him.

“If we – if we move in together,” you breathe, eyes closed, lips pursed, “I don’t think we’ll get very much sleep – Jisung – ah!”

Jisung coasts his throbbing boner through your lips, milling his pants against your underwear. His waistband starts folding over itself, exposing his Adonis belt further and further and further, until his ass is half out, almost matching the way your underwear tangles between your cheeks. He brings you up closer, pulling your head off the pillows, fully kneeling, making indents in the sheets.

“I want it,” he tells you, hauling you into his lap, making you straddle him backwards, “I want to move in together, to sleep together, to sleep together.” He squeezes you against the headboard, quietly banging it against the wall just once, then louder a second time as you meet him, equally, trying to fuse your bodies together. His hands start roaming, and your hands start roaming, only settling on the best place to knead each other – his broad shoulders and your ass. “I’m not just saying it, I promise.” You stare at him a few milliseconds, searching his eyes, then kiss him even rougher, making him lose balance, and he accidentally kicks the headboard harder.

“We’ll talk about it later,” you tell him, mouths misaligned, kissing around his cupid’s bow specifically. And Jisung sucks in a huge breath, holding it right there in his chest, gravitating the entire Earth’s rotation around his, well, his penis, the lifeline, right now, to his brain and heart. Then you whisper, “I want it, too. All of it,” and he exhales and flips you on your back, making you yelp and giggle, which makes him giggle.

“Right now, I want you.”

Jisung leans down again, half a centimeter from your lips … when a loud bang comes from the adjourning wall, accompanied by your names. He looks up at it, mouth still puckered, hoping that the sound came from you two. Sensing nothing, he kisses you again, and a moan escapes him, and the banging comes back.

"Jisung," Jaemin shouts. “I can’t tell if you’re just watching porn too loud or you’re trying to have sex in a hotel room that you share with your best friends, but it’s 3 AM, and we have to be up at 7 for the wedding, so, for the love of God, please go to sleep.”

You laugh out loud, and Jisung covers your mouth with one hand. Then, as expected, Jaemin hits the wall again.

“Hello?? What did I just tell Jisung?”

“Yo!” Mark wanders into your room, eyes covered his long blond hair and a single hand. The other blindly feels around the air, as not to bump into anything, but he still hits the end-of-the-bed bench where yours and Jisung’s clothes are neatly packed in black suit protector bags. “Are you decent?” he asks, stopping in place, “The guys sent me to see if you’re ready yet.” He spins his wrist in the air. “Something about not wanting to deal with –“ Mark takes a chance and peaks through his fingers … only to find you and Jisung sharing wired earbuds, laughing at a stupid, silly, little TikTok. He breathes a quick sigh, petting down his chest, then deadpans and grabs a pillow, throwing it at you two. “Hey!” He snaps his fingers. You both finally look up. “Time to go, losers. My boyfriend’s already pulled the car around; Jeno left 30 minutes ago; and the makeup artists started on the Doyoung's fiance’s groomsmen.”

You and Jisung make no move to get up.

“Hello? Now, please,” Mark practically orders.

“Um,” Jisung squeaks. He scrunches his nose, pressing his tongue on his bottom lip, in lieu of biting. It’s still a bit swollen from last night, when you both kept kissing each other through messy hand jobs, wanting the first time that you actually have real, penetrative sex to be more freeing. But still, he did have sex last night, and the reminders show, under the blanket, where you don’t wear pants. “Can you give us, like, two minutes to get dressed?” He gestures to the heap of blankets.

Mark throws his head back. “You’re not even dressed? Of course, you’re not.” He groans. “Okay, you have five minutes to be downstairs, or you’re driving yourselves.”

The moment Mark walks out the door, Jisung asks, “Should we just Uber there?”

You smack him with a pillow. “The makeup artist has to get both of us ready. We’re in the wedding party.” Jisung flails over that pillow, making you drop it, and you roll your eyes, getting up like Mark requested.

“Ugh.” He hugs the pillow tightly, covering the dick imprint in his boxers. “The wedding doesn’t even start until 3. We could have time to just …” Jisung watches you take off your sticky black panties and pull on even smaller ones, words trailing off, because now his 7 AM boner remembers how he kissed you until 5 AM; how your hands squeezed above his balls, while he slid his entire length in the crevice of your thigh; how he fingered you with three long digits, thumb pinching down on your clit. Then you catch him staring a little south of the hoodie you stole from the last time he did laundry (Thursday, when you slept over), and he finishes his sentence. “To – to just re-relax.”

You roll your eyes again and put on the Adidas sweatpants that Jisung bought you a few months ago. “Let’s go, Jisung.” And he rolls his eyes, sticking his tongue out his jaw.

"Fine, but you owe me a kiss."

Jisung accepts, or, really, takes his kiss, outside the hotel. He stops you a couple steps down the short perron, dress storage bag, hitting his thigh from how fast he moves. And - while Mark leans against his boyfriend's car, calling Renjun and Jaemin down, who are also late - Jisung gives himself the time, the moment, to pucker his lips.

But it turns into a longer kiss, backing up Renjun and Jaemin, who were not as late as he thought.

“Two and a half years, and you still suck face? Are you two even dating or just making out all the time?” Renjun shakes his head sarcastically. And Jisung pushes him into Jaemin, who catches him easily.

“Ay-yo??” Mark calls from the street, hand over his eyes like a visor. “We’re late, let’s goooo.”

In the car, Mark and his boyfriend take the driver and passenger seats, obviously, and Jaemin and Jeno’s girlfriend sit in the pop-up row in the trunk, leaving you, Renjun, and Jisung – the smallest and tallest of the group – in the middle, much to Renjun’s protest. Though, he only jokes about this stuff; he actually thinks that the both of you are “so cute” if his cuteness aggression is anything to go off. Sometimes he throttles you two, and Jisung is scared that he might get bitten (by someone who isn’t you).

The drive to the venue (re: other hotel) is only 15 minutes, so everyone tries to stay silent, on their phones, still waking up, not even properly dressed, but Jisung, of course, breaks it, laughing and mouthing stop through his gummy smile after you respond to his TikTok.

[Boyfriend ♡, 7:13 A.M.]

hey, look at this

[Boyfriend ♡, 7:13 A.M.]

https://tiktok...com

[Girlfriend ♡♡, 7:14 A.M.]

Are you trying to tell me something?

[Girlfriend ♡♡, 7:15 A.M.]

Andy Park? 🤨

“Ah, stop,” Jisung blushes. He rubs up your thigh and buries his face in your neck, lips curling into your skin prominently enough to act like another kiss. You sneak your hand around his head, combing out his bed hair.

“What?” you whisper in his ear, brushing away the longer strands. “Not going to propose a third time?”

Jisung covers your mouth and presses a quick kiss to your neck. “Someone’s going to hear you.” If it were any other situation, he would take you on the suggestion, half-jokingly proposing with whatever couple ring he happened to be wearing at the time. Mostly, he wants it to be an intimate proposal, just the two of you, eyes on each other; the after party, when you tell everyone, can be the bigger affair, but Jisung wants to see the ring slide down your finger and hear your answer clearly with his own ears. He peeks an eye and finds you already staring at him, cooing. “Why? Do you want me to propose again?”

Dramatically, you take off your ring and plop it in his palm. He laughs, audibly, breaking the silence again, but slips it down your finger regardless.

“Ehhh,” you grimace at it, playfully, twirling your hand in the sunlight, “Same ring.”

Jisung grabs you by the neck and kisses you quiet this time, only pulling away to peck your lips repeatedly. His thumb brushes into your cheek, fingers drawing you in, tilting your head at the perfect angle to slip his tongue down your throat. Your head falls pliantly, supported by his wrist that you hold, following every twist and turn he makes to kiss you harder.

“Okay! Here! Everyone out of my car!” Mark’s boyfriend shouts, loudly shifting the car into neutral a few steps from the Grand Hyatt Seoul. He looks pointedly at you and Jisung breathing heavily through the rearview mirror. “Especially you two.”

[Girlfriend ♡♡, 12:14 P.M.]

Meet me in the lobby

[Girlfriend ♡♡, 12:14 P.M.]

I have a surprise for you ^^

Jisung waits on a cushion bench, fully dressed in his navy tuxedo, silver accessories hidden under his sleeves and high collar to accommodate Doyoung's wedding theme. He scrolls back through your car ride conversation, since he has the time, smiling to himself, curling into himself, covering his mouth as he kicks his feet forward like a middle schooler with a crush.

You are continuously cute in his eyes, and, as he relives this reminder of just how cute you are, Jisung doesn't know how he got so lucky. Sure, yeah, you two make out ... a lot, as Renjun pointed out, but he also finds you incredibly compatible. You send him pictures of the moon at night and the sun in the morning; you go out with him at 1 in the morning to the good fish-shaped bread cart (the one by Jamsil stadium after all the concerts neither of you attended); you cheer his name after all the physics exams on which he tries his best.

Really, Jisung could go on forever and ever, gushing about pretty much every aspect of your relationship. He loves you so much. And he used to, back when you first started dating, and he still does during your anniversaries (100 days, 6 months, 1 year, etc.). All his friends complain, especially the bitchless ones (Renjun, Haechan, and Jaemin), but he wants you in his life for as long as you'll have him.

“Were you going to text me?”

Jisung jumps in his seat, automatically locking his phone. He relaxes though, the next second, when he sees you, and scoots over enough for you to sit with him.

But you keep standing.

And he raises an eyebrow.

“What are you –“

You kick your foot up, through the slit of your dress. Jisung thinks you wear these dresses often, which he likes, never mind that Doyoung picked this dress out - a fact he tries to ignore, even though he's pretty sure that he confided this secret to his friends and Renjun probably let it slip after a few drinks.

You catch your ankle, showing off the white bottoms under your heels, below the pretty, silver watch that you will have to take off before the ceremony. Jisung, on instinct, hold you steady first, seeing signs of imbalance in your face. He waits until you lean on him more before looking at your foot.

"Why are - Andy?" he reads, vertically down your foot. It takes him a second to react, chest pounding fast, first, mind going blank, eyes flying to search your smiling face. Then, he returns it - your smile. "Ah, you're so cute."

Jisung pulls you into his lap, like a princess on his knee, and kisses you fast. He might have you repeat this when you actually get married, already filing a mental note to save the TikTok for inspiration. For now, though, he can just pretend - pretend that you did this for your wedding, pretend that you will talk down the aisle for him today (well, you go first, so he will meet you at the first row in front of the alter today), pretend that your white-ish dress is for him, pretend that your current rings carry even more permanent meaning than they already do.

You laugh between the repeated pecks, trying to pull away, but he has you vice gripped close by his chest. “You’re so clingy this weekend, Park Jisung.” And he draws back first, briefly looking at you before burying his face in your neck, arms dropping down your waist. “Someone might think you actually like skinship.” You laugh again and comb his hair.

Jisung squeezes your waist, just once, breathlessly laughing with you. He knows – he knows that he isn’t really known for skinship, having waited days, in the beginning, to hold your hand, not even kissing you until your fourth date; and he knows that he has been obsessed with you these last few days, so he kisses your neck again and confesses, “I just … I just …” He sucks in a breath. “Ah, I just want you,” he finishes lamely. “Can we stay a little bit longer? Here, at the venue, without … everyone else?”

You pinch his cheeks upward, puckering his lips at which you coo. “Did you want to get married today, too?” you giggle. And he almost hides behind your hair, if it weren’t neatly tied up, braided forward to your temples, but also, you hold him as steady as he hugs your waist. He wouldn’t mind, you know, getting married today, after Doyoung; the only people missing, right now, are his siblings (and a few other people); he might want to buy you a new ring really quick though. “Hmm? What’s up, babe?”

“Everyone will be gone,” he says simply, and you relax your fingers curiously onto his shoulders, fumbling the lapels. “From the hotel, they’ll be gone. Most of them are leaving during the dinner, and Mark’s already packed up his boyfriend’s car with their bags. We’ll have an entire suite to ourselves; we won’t have to check out until tomorrow morning.” Jisung swallows and licks his lips, giving himself a beat of reprieve before his tongue goes numb, making it impossible to voice the reason for his request. You stare at him, wide eyed and nodding, urging him to go on, even though it looks like you already know what he wants to ask, even though he feels too scared to ask. “We could, um, we could – oh, God.” He likes to think that, since you’ve been dating for almost three years, he has gotten past most of the nervous, honeymoon stuttering, but he (loves you so much) takes a deep breath and starts again, rushing through, “Wecouldhavesex.”

And you giggle.

He wishes you wouldn’t. It sets a bad precedent for the activity he wants to do; albeit, you didn’t laugh those other first times – when he kissed you, when you sucked him off, when he fingered you. So, really, Jisung has no reason to worry. He just needs to suggest it again, calmly.

“We could use the hotel room, later,” he alludes, monitoring your reaction closely, involuntarily stiffening his fingers through your silky, pale gold dress. You give him more encouraging tiny nods, leaning in with each micro-adjustment, and he copies you, nodding to himself, giving himself the same support. “To have sex,” he whispers, then repeats, louder, “Make love. Do you … want to …?”

You exhale shakily, and he hadn’t realized you were holding your breath. “Yeah,” you sigh. “Yes, definitely.” You grab his face, and he wants to propose again, possibly for real, to see you react like this again, possibly more enthusiastic. “Jisung, I love you,” you say obviously, honestly, “Of course I want to have sex with you,” you whisper the last bit, like him, and he kisses your shoulder, suppressing his gummy smile briefly.

“Give me your ring.”

“Whoa?” You blink. “Just because I said yes? Park Jisung, I never thought of you as a player.” You giggle again and hand over the mismatched ring regardless, probably already knowing the question he has written across his face.

He almost apologizes, for not having a new present, a new ring, something new to give you for another relationship marker, but he changes his mouth to say your name and holds out the jewllery between his thumb and index finger, which are shaped like a heart, nail pushing the center design at you. “Will you,” he pauses, dramatically, muffling a sheepish laugh. “Will you,” he restarts, “make love to me tonight, in the hotel room – our hotel room, after the wedding?”

You roll your eyes and push his shoulder, but he stays still, keeping himself upright to drag an answer out of you. And you answer again, definitively, “Yes, Park Jisung, I will make love to you tonight in our hotel room.”

Except, after the wedding, past the foyer at the reception hall, you almost fuck your boyfriend in a supply closet. He’d only been dancing in the makeshift mosh pit with his friends, jacket fallen down his shoulders, mostly sheer white shirt exposing his toned humerus. They kept cheering him on through the popping and locking and body rolls as he wore a pair of cheesy, blue party glasses that Doyoung placed on all the tables with dessert. Then, the DJ – Doyoung’s friend Johnny from high school – slowed the melody, pulling all the couples onto the dance floor.

All the couples except you because you stole Jisung’s hand and dragged him out one of the smaller doors behind the furthest unoccupied tables. He tripped over a few chairs on the way, praying that no one heard him, trying to catch up the half-step you have on him, wondering what dastard plans you have on your mind.

“What are you –“

“It’s such a crime,” you tell him, shoving him against a poorly lit shelf, inhaling his lips, running your fingers along his torso, finding the best place to hold him. The door slams loudly, which is oddly comforting, to give you both some privacy. And he drops his hands from surrender onto your shoulders, relaxing you enough to continue talking through the kisses. “You look so good, too good, Park Jisung, and you dance so well. God,” you moan into his mouth, ridiculously close that he can feel your boobs squish on his chest. “I know, we’re waiting for tonight and tomorrow, and – and –“ You pull back swallowing, realigning your breath. Jisung licks his lips. He’s been the one to kiss you all weekend, to initiate it all weekend, so he gets hard, instantly, when you return the same energy, finding him as hot as he finds you. “We’re waiting,” you reiterate, and he presses his forehead against yours, “but – but can you do that dance move again – that body roll again,” you glance at him through your lashes, “on me?”

“Here?”

You nod, biting your lip. “If you don’t – we don’t have to; we can go back. I just – Jisung, ah, fuck.”

You rarely swear, never finding a reason unless you’re frustrated or really turned on, and Jisung always wants to hear it, claiming that you sound really sexy when you say things you’re not supposed to, especially, like in this case, when you are doing things you’re not supposed to. So rather than responding, he complies, pulling his face down, legs pliéd to accommodate your height, then rolls once, thigh grazing through the slit in your dress, dragging it up and behind your waist.

Jisung groans, deeply, pausing to settle his nerves. He repeats, even closer, grinding across your chest, twisting your dress around the buttons of his shirt. And you fall into him, a hand braced on the shelf behind his elbow. Jisung bites his lip. Something juxtaposes deeply in this moment, but he cannot place his finger quite on it. He feels like a middle schooler again, waiting to kiss the prettiest person at the party; he also feels like a teenager with raging hormones, back to 19 right before his military service, jacking off in his room with lotion and a box of tissues; but he also feels like an adult (or the most adult a person in their 20s can feel) in an adult relationship doing adult things. So he does it again – the body roll, breathing into your mouth, chasing your lips down for another kiss.

“I don’t want to make love to you in here,” he whispers, despite rolling his fully hard dick in the crevice between your thigh and vulva. Jisung fists your dress at your waist, bunching it higher. Your panties expose, thin and transparent. His resolve nearly falters, almost completely fucking you in this supply closet with his family and closest friends a few meters away. He kisses you again and again, burying his words with his tongue down your throat, exhaling shakily. Then, he shakes his head, slowly pulling away, holding your face in place, hand around the front of your neck. Jisung opens his eyes and finds you already looking at him, your fingers wrapping around his wrist one by one. “I want you –“ He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, that fell out of a tight braid. “– so bad, you have no idea.” He grinds his dick up your leg as proof. “But not here, not like this.”

“I know. I don’t want it like this either,” you tell him, smoothening the wrinkles in his shirt, staring down his chest. “I just … You looked so hot out there, and, God, Ji, I want you so, so bad, too.”

Jisung brings his hands down, fumbling this thumbs back and forth across your hips, your dress bunched up as you practically sit on his lap while he barely sits on a half-empty shelf. You snake your hands behind his neck, fidgeting with the tag in his coat. He tries to fight the smirk that appears in the corner of his mouth, sweeping his long hair in front of his eyes, but you catch him and bury your face in his neck this time.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you whine, voice going up an octave at the last syllable. You tease him more than he teases you, verbally at least (he likes to think that he does more than you in bed), so he’s not entirely accustomed to his whiny girlfriend, and he kinda likes it.

“Never,” he tells you, sarcastically, chuckling a hair away from your lips before he kisses you again. “I like that you think I’m sexy.” He smirks, inhaling a deep embrace, literally taking your breath away with a slow and gentle kiss. You moan into his mouth, mumbling his name between colorful expletives. It lets him slip his tongue inside, confidently, crushing his lips harder and harder, needing you to come equally closer, to ease the pressure on his dick. He knows – he knows what he just said, but, “We don’t have to … have sex in here,” he tells you, whispering like it’s a bad word. “There are other things we can do.” He groans, throatily, chest rising faster.

You’ve done worse, honestly, in worse places than dry humping in a supply closet at a family friend’s wedding. He can think of several blow jobs in the library’s reference section (which has no cameras, by the way); or that time he held a vibrator on you the entire Starbucks drive-thru, resulting in him plastering his failed differential midterm over the windows as a cover up while he ate you out in the back seat. Actually, just last Tuesday too, at the gym, after he locked the door to a communal weight lifting room, you bounced on his long, agile fingers. Granted, it was 4 AM, so the place was already empty, save for a couple employees, thus easing his anxiety. And you could do it again, right now. You don’t have to take his dick inside your cunt, but you could give each other sloppy hand jobs, using spit as lube (or not; he's probably leaking so much pre-cum). The thought makes his knees buckle, making the both of you stumble.

“Sor –”

You cut him off with another kiss, your fingers flying to his pants, undoing his fly quickly. He grunts, involuntarily thrusting up. His dick was already pointing tip-up, the entire length, even flaccid, unable to sit snugly otherwise in his pants. You curl your nails in his waistband, scratching under his boxers. He nods his head, mouth parted, gasping, giving you all the green lights to touch him more, which you do, sliding one hand down his pants and the other onto his cheek, allowing you to deepen the kiss. Jisung grunts, again, plump lips biting your tongue, and he copies you, one hand behind your neck, under your head, anchoring himself to this moment (also, before he completely evaporates).

“Shh,” you whisper, mouthing across his jaw. “We have to be quiet.” But you make it hard for him (pun intended), holding your thumb on his throbbing slit, breaking his pre-cum into uneven globs down the sides. “Everyone keeps interrupting us, baby," you pout.

You take your hand off his dick and bring it to your mouths. He watches you, intently, lick your palm, pink tongue peeping just above the web in your hand, and he falls – not literally. Jisung bends in half, lowering himself to your boobs, silently thanking your heels, which have his name branded on the bottom. He kisses the highest part on your dress, halfway down your chest, then slides the straps down your pretty arms. You repeat his name, verbally – his proper name, after he takes a nipple in his mouth, tongue flat against it, massaging the entire areola. He sucks lightly, hollowing his cheeks, bobbing up and down, opposite hand enveloping under your unattended tit, but he’s too big, as is everything about it, and his palm rests on your ribs. His thumb and index finger pinch repeatedly, automatically, increasing hardness each time a digit swipes over your nipple. You have to bite your hand to stop from moaning too loud.

“Jwiseong,” you stammer, accented by the muffle.

You edge a little closer to him, pushing the shelf into his lower back, and he yelps. But it comes out as groan, vibrations making you match him. Jisung stands up fully again, taking a wide step on the outside of your thighs. He grabs you by the face, kissing you in the way he has been all weekend, a hand behind your neck and another supporting you by the ass, this time dipping you toward the ground. His cock flops completely out the fly of his pants, balls still trapped behind the slit in his boxers. The heavy air hits the veins in his dick first before it rubs against your inner thighs, and you squeeze them around him, both of you groaning, your skimpy underwear adding friction for both of you. Jisung moans your name, accidentally biting your bottom lip. But you say nothing, instead wrapping your arms around his neck, doing your best to slide his cock between your thighs. And he grunts. He can feel his cock pulsing to release.

“Jisung,” you mumble more coherently, “Jisung, Jisung,” you half-chant between kisses, but every time you open your mouth, he slips his tongue in farther, twisting inside your mouth, licking behind your teeth, goading your tongue inside his mouth to suck on. Your panties twist at the crotch, like a substitute thong, and his long cock, ridges and all, rubs your clit to ass and back again. “Jisung,” you moan again. “Jisung, you can’t cum – you can’t – oh, my God, Jisung,” you whisper-shout, forcing him to kiss you harder. He can’t cum on your clothes.

“I know,” he mumbles, giving your tongue one last suck before he pulls back, sitting on the same half-empty shelf, you back on his lap/ish. He lightly fingers away the hairs curtaining the front of your face, tucking the thicker ones behind your ear. “I know,” he repeats. You’ve given him thigh jobs before, humping between his legs, which landed cum on your ass, and letting him hit doggy style, which landed cum on your stomach. So, here, in the random supply closet, it – his cum – would ruin both of your outfits, something you wouldn’t be able to explain on your goodbye rounds. And he cums so much (it was embarrassing the first time, then he found out how much you liked it). Jisung glances at his cock, shortly, jumping between it and your face. He steadies his breathing and takes off his jacket; he undoes more buttons down his pecs and rolls up his sleeves. “It’s so … hot in here,” he justifies.

You nod, pulling at your dress. And he sees it – the wrinkles in the skirt, the slit pushed toward your strapless bra, your panties even tinier.

“You can cum in my mouth,” you whisper thickly, “so – so you don’t stain your tux.”

“We could just go back to our hotel,” he offers instead, really feeling the need to cum elsewhere.

“You’re fine walking out with this –“ You slide your hand down his penis, fingers not entirely touching despite getting tighter at the base. “– poking everyone in the eye?”

“N-no, yeah, you’re right. Please let me cu-cum down your throat.”

You rearrange your dress comfortably folded beneath your knees, hit jacket adding extra padding. Jisung sucks in a breath, then even more when you swallow the entirely of his dick, or whatever you can, stuttering halfway down. It seems he got bigger, all his cum girthing at the tip, waiting to flood. You skip the foreplay, the teasing, immediately hollowing your cheeks around the bit you can get in your mouth without destroying your esophagus (again, you still have to say your goodbyes), but he still grips the shelf behind him, knuckles turning white. Jisung bites his lip, forcing himself to keep his eyes open, to watch his sexy, sexy girlfriend blow him, so that he cums fast. In almost any other scenario, it would be embarrassing how fast he cums, especially with how much volume he expels, but you make it so difficult not to overflow the crevices of your mouth. You press your tongue under his cock, sucking in your lip over your top row of teeth, feeding his cock down your throat, and massaging the half you can’t take. He feels a vein scrape the corner of your mouth and twitches forward, pushing more dick inside. Your eyes water a little bit, lashes blinking them away, so he takes over, slowly thrusting his cock to gauge how much teeth with graze it on the drawback. Once he finds the perfect length, he sets a faster pace, squeezing cute little dimples in his ass until he grunts erratically, incredibly close to cumming.

“Almost there,” he whimpers. He knows that he sounds frustrated, but it’s not at you, never at you. He just wants to make love to you in your hotel room right now. “So close,” he pleads, again not at you, more at himself.

You pull off his cock and open your mouth wide, as circular as possible, and he grabs his dick back, rubbing your spit and cum and his pre-cum up his length, pointing the tip inside your mouth. The first rope shoots down your throat perfectly, then the next rope lands on your tongue. It keeps sputtering out this way, like a spray bottle, until it doesn’t, and his cum clings to his cock, dribbling down his veins, prompting you to lick him clean.

And you make eye contact the entire time, which makes his cock twitch. After you finally finish cleaning him off, you stand up and show him all the collected cum in your mouth, holding your tongue still like a cup. Jisung grabs your neck, holding your pliant head as you swallow what you can, in two breathy gulps. He wipes a little excess bubble from the corner of your mouth to inside, then presses a kiss on your neck, squeezing your collarbone, tighter with his thumb.

“Mmm,” he grunts. “My turn.”

Jisung sinks to his knees, pushing your hips against the shelf. He slides your skirt to the side, making a bigger slit for him to get under, and raises your leg over his shoulder. Slowly, your fingers tread into his hair, pulling at the top. He falls forward, closer to your wet pussy, lips ghosting a breath on labia. Jisung tilts his head to the side and wraps his tongue around the crotch of your panties, a teasing excuse to pull them out, to give him better access, his wide tongue swiping your skin briefly.

“Jisung,” you whine, shaking your butt on the shelf. “Hurry.”

He laughs. “Shh, no one can know we’re in here.”

Jisung pushes his middle finger inside your cunt, gradually making the interphalangeal creases disappear, moaning when you do. Outside, he kisses your vulva, jaw coming up, raising his tongue to your clit. He flicks it with his entire tongue, desperately sucking the little knob between his lips. You tug his hair again, and he swears that his dick twitches – not a good sign, so he works faster, adding a second finger. He sucks again and again, releasing your labia with suctioned gasps, working his nimble digits knuckle-deep repeatedly. In, out, in, out, halfway in, out, all the way in, out, in again.

His knuckles hit your pussy harder and harder, confining him to the small space as your leg wraps around both of his shoulders rigidly, his hot breath sighing back in his face. Jisung hums again on your clit before sucking harsher, lips biting every time his mouth turns into the flat part of his tongue to the tip to nothing, then back again. When he feels your feathery walls squeeze his fingers, he adds a third, despite the taut stretch. He presses all three to the roof of your vagina and curls, flexes each one in different directions, tickling that spongy little spot if two happen to land on it simultaneously. Your legs stiffen and shake side-to-side, but he keeps going, goes faster, not slowing down.

Until you relax.

Your legs go numb, and you almost fall off the supply shelf, so he holds you up, still licking your vulva clean as you cum and cum and cum across his lips.

It takes you pulling his hair again to stop him. And Jisung stands up, breathing just as heavily. He hugs you closely, around your waist, and you bring your hands to his arm. Both of you stabilize your breaths to each other.

You move first, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “We should go say bye to everyone.”

Jisung nods, blindly, not fully coherent enough to process the suggestion. He is trying to lengthen his refractory period, make his partially hard cock go back down. You’re so sexy, too sexy right now, and he desperately needs a bed to make love to you.

“So we can get back to the hotel,” you clarify, voice light.

And suddenly, Jisung is halfway through tugging on his jacket and ordering an Uber.

It takes every nerve, every ounce of self-control for Jisung to make it through goodbye rounds.

The first thing you did, before the rounds, other than sanitize your hands or fix your outfits, was drink water and pop a breath mint from the dessert table, then he kissed you quick, mumbling some random excuse about a mouth check, which turned into a five minute make out session halfway out the door that Jaemin commented on, on his way out. Even one of the groom’s cousins mentioned how he – Jisung – is always touching you, always has a hand attached to you, despite not even really liking to share food.

Chenle, he thinks, was the sole person to explicitly say something, catching onto Jisung’s mismatched buttons and your new ponytail, frizzy curls hanging loose. Jisung prayed his hands together, begging his best friend not to say anything. So he didn’t. But Jisung knew that he would hear all about it on Monday, from everyone in his friend group.

Jisung could only get through two or three more conversations, suddenly feeling like a kid trying to leave the Chuseok dinner, before his cock (which never fully went down, by the way) started straining his pants again, the idea of getting you in his bed as the single motivator to leave as soon as possible. He ended up pushing you, by the waist, in front of his crotch to protect his decency, no longer carrying his jacket because you wear it, because Chenle pointed out some discoloration, another bump low on your neck. You spoke for him, lying to all the aunties that he drank too much or danced too hard. They believed you, especially after he giggled into your shoulder, snapping his body in half to lean on you. It hurt his ego that they believed you so easily, but he’ll deal with all those feelings later. Everything else drowns into white noise, going in on ear and out the other, almost forcibly removed by the horny hormones his hypothalamus orders.

Also, he really wanted to avoid clean up duty. His hands need to be clean for post-nuptial activities, you know.

You have to know by the time he gets you in the elevator to your hotel room, your shared hotel room. He backs you into a corner under the camera, at the blind spot. You look up at him, wide-eyed, gasping when he rubs his thigh between your legs. He grunts, deeply, softly, and kisses you quiet. And he thinks, there have been way too many situations this whole weekend where you were required to be silent. But still, you moan and raise your arms around his neck (and he hopes that the security cameras are old and have no sound). Then, in his next move, your elbow accidentally hits an extra button.

“Are you sure about this?” Jisung breathes as the doors open to the third floor. Your room is on the seventh.

“Yes, of course.” You frown, brushing your hair through the middle, resting your arm on his broad shoulder. “Why?”

He scrunches his nose. “Just making sure you’re not looking for a way out or anything.” He tilts his head to the going up sign, and you hit his arm.

“I told you not to make fun of me,” you pout.

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughs, then kisses you again.

And he doesn’t stop kissing you all the way to your room. Just changes the location. You stumble out of the elevator, tripping on your dress as you pull away from him, and he catches your hand, giving your knuckles a princely tap. He pushes you on another wall, hissing – because he dick points toward the ceiling and, every time he presses up against you, it bends to meet you, practically drawn to your pussy – hissing something about wanting you so bad, right now, just another reiteration. He doesn’t know what else to say. Most of the time, you just moan into each other’s mouths, just mash your lips together, trying to keep quiet, so his dirty talk skills are … lacking. He just hopes that he makes up for it with body language.

Jisung kisses and hisses all the way back to your room, both of you knocking into the furniture. “Sorry, I just need you right now,” he keeps saying, excusing the way he practically rams you against the closed door to your bedroom. He protected you from sharp corners and your head from the impact, but he just hurts his hand. Jisung inhales. His hands cup your face like flower petals, bringing you taller, even more on your tippy toes. You steady him by his shoulders, relaxing your jaw, accepting his tongue, and he kisses you chastely, thumbs rubbing into the apples of your cheeks.

And he’s the first one to pull away. Well, you can’t exactly open the door without making the both of you collapse, neither of you balanced correctly on your feet. You’d crash to the floor in an instant.

“I love you.”

Your lips twitch at the corners, curving up your smile wider than it already is. “I love you, too.”

Jisung remembers when he had a crush on you like three years ago. He doesn’t remember when his feelings started, but based on the way everyone teases him, you included sometimes (if you’re not kissing him appreciatively), he’s always had them, from the moment he laid eyes on you reading at the café . And this feels a lot like that – the-the fluttering in his empty stomach, the tingling and hyper-awareness of his limbs, the rush to say anything, just to see what makes you laugh or what makes you stay. He even doodles little hearts in your cheeks with his thumbpads.

“I –“ he swallows. “I –“

“Jisung?” you interrupt, breath shaking out your nose, “Can we have sex now?”

“God, yes.”

Jisung kisses you again, having regained some balance in the beat. He thrashes a hand behind you, fumbling for the door knob, and when he gets it open, he dips you back again, walking you inside the room, supporting you mostly by the ass, hanging you around his neck like jewellery; he should really buy you a new couple ring later. Honestly, he’s mostly surprised by his – and your – breath control and not his core strength (that is what the gym is for!), never getting winded between all the kisses or tongues or teeth. And you – God, you – keep leaning backward, hauling all his 180 centimeters toward the bed, making him more and more impressed by your commitment to zero space for Jesus. You suck his bottom lip inside your mouth, sealing your top lip inside his, and he whimpers, knees buckling again, so he lifts you up and pushes you on the bed, kicking away the stupid bench that slows him down.

“I’m gonna eat you out,” Jisung decides, towering over you.

“Ugh, no,” you whine, squirming the bed into another mess of sheets.

“No?”

“Jisung, I need you to please, please fuck me now, cock inside. We did all the foreplay already, and – and I’m ready, I promise. I want you so bad. You’re so sexy. I –“

He returns his lips to yours, this time softer, sweeter, slower, cutting you off, this time, before you ramble yourself into oblivion (before he has the chance to take you there himself). And you relax again, shoulders slumping into the mattress as he crawls over you, showering you with attention from lips to feet. Jisung builds up his momentum again while you gradually undress, starting with his blazer, pulling one arm out, then the other, redirecting your hands down to his waistband again, starting with the zipper. You creep your nails over the tip of his cock, and he thrusts upward, pushing your hand into a claw around the girth, fucking your hand a few times. His length is too big, you both know, so it bounces over your stomach, almost like a premonition for how deep he’ll go. Jisung tries to get more comfortable, but he slips on your silky dress, the skirt flailing out to the side. The way he falls moves you on your obliques, and he brushes your hair behind your ear, away from your neck. You throw your leg over his, tangling your limbs lackadaisically.

“I – my – it’s too big.”

“A huh,” you nod all the way through your chest, toppling him, straddling one of his thighs. “I know. It’s hot.” You don’t grind him (much to his disappointment), because he is still wearing his tux and your panties are just way too thin and wet at this point (he hopes), but if you ask, and maybe even if you didn’t, he would make this the designated sex suit and fuck you in it whenever he wears it, regardless of the function (actually, there’s a charity gala coming up, when he has to wear this ensemble again). But he wants the intimacy of closeness, of vulnerability, of nakedness this first time.

“No, I just,” Jisung whines, “I need to prep you before you can take it – t-take me.”

You inhale sharply, and he feels it. He trails his eyes up, wide, to meet you, staring at your face, noses touching. Jisung waits for your answer; he knows that you want this too, so he gives you both a moment to collect yourselves, mentally preparing himself, too, for the next step. And a beat passes. Then, he unzips your dress at the back; it’s not long, the zipper, so he doesn’t have to wait even more, but the drag slows time and you squeeze his biceps, encouraging him to go faster. He slides the entire material off you, stripping you down to just your panties. When he goes to do the same for himself, standing at edge of the bed, you kneel, still shorter than him, on the blankets, and do it for him. You start with the tie, slowly loosening it side-to-side. It pulls him forward, and he braces himself on your hips, fingers twisting in the waistband of your panties. You get shirt and under-shirt off quickly, but stop at his pants, the top button already undone and fly down.

“Is – is something wrong?”

“I really want to suck you off again,” you confess, jumping from his dick to his eyes.

Jisung pecks your lips. “You can do it later. We have all night.”

“Yeah, okay, yeah,” you nod, kissing him languidly, leaving him to take off his pants.

“Turn around,” he mumbles on your lips. And this time, you comply, standing on your hands and knees, all fours. Jisung copies you, kneeling eye level with your pretty, glistening lips. He grabs your ass first, in both hands, pulling your vulva apart, panty crotch to the side, two fingers each, middle digits dipping inside, just an interphalangeal crease deep. “Don’t cum yet.”

“Jisung, ple –“ You squeal, falling on your forearms, when he cautiously licks outside, around his fingers, up your slit, and you shudder an exhale. “What h-happened to prep-ping me?” you stutter and whine. “You’ll feel so good inside me, Jisung – ah.”

Jisung drags his thumb down the line of your makeshift thong, rubbing round your asshole tentatively before slipping two long and flexible fingers knuckle deep inside your cunt. His other hand pushes your cheek into the pillow, giving you a head rest, making you ass pop up. And slowly, he draws his fingers out, then pushes them back in three-quarters of the way. He does it again, pulling out, extracting your moan, and pushing in, all the way this time. Jisung sets that steady pace, slow and controlled, and he kisses your ass, leaving a bite mark. It makes you yelp, and you squeeze your pussy, accidentally pulling off. You grind back down, meeting his rough knuckles. And soon, he’s finger fucking you harder, with three fingers, and you’re bouncing on his hand, your panties hooked on his thumb.

“Ah, Jisung, fuck, Park Jisung, that feels so good.”

Blindly, he finds his cock and holds it by the base, squeezing his hand like a cock ring to keep from cumming without you.

“I think,” he pants, “I think I need to fuck you now.”

You nod, enthusiastically, turning on your back. “How do you –”

“Missionary,” Jisung answers too fast, already dragging you into position. “I want to see your pretty face.” He hovers his cock above your pussy, between your plushy thighs, hand around the top. The thrusts once, heavy tip dipping to your stomach, that bulging premonition hitting him all over again. His knuckles rasp, kneading your folds, rolling your clit in the wetness, and your knees fall in, so he has to spread them again. “What if it’s too big?” he wonders out loud, shifting his cock to your entrance.

“I can take it,” you promise, bobbing your head. “I can take it, plea –“

He cuts you off with a firm kiss, smashing his lips ungracefully on yours, and slips the first quarter inside you. The kiss is less to muffle you, since neither of you have to be so quiet right now, more to share this intimacy with you. He adds another inch, shallowly thrusting to get his dick wet.

“Ah, you’re so tight,” he hisses. “I could fuck you like this.”

He thought he prepped you enough, but halfway deep, his cock already hits an impasse, so he tries something that he saw in a porno. Jisung moves your right leg over your leg, giving him access to your ass, jiggling your boobs. The motion pulls his cock out a little, and he pushes it back in, pushes more in, making you both groan.

“Full, so full, Jisung.”

“Oh, God, I’m going to cum if you keep talking.”

You grind your hips down. “You should.”

“I’m not wearing a condom,” he reminds you, gritting his teeth. You pull your ass, showing off the way you take him so well, and he rips your panties, exerting his lack of self-control elsewhere. He throws the tiny material at the wall and falls on your lips, repeating, “I’m not wearing a condom, and I – I cum so much.”

“I know. It's hot, you're so -” you moan, fucking yourself on his dick, slapping his thighs, taking him completely. “F-fill me up, Jisung. I want all of you.”

“I want – I want you, too,” he stutters, brain struggling to multitask between answering you and fucking you.

So, he pushes his palms into the mattress, squelching the rest of his dick inside your pussy, basking in your moans. You boobs bounce circularly every time he bottoms out, and he doesn’t know where to look – your cunt sucks him in, contracting around him without reprieve; your nipples taunt him, showing him something to bite and lick and suck; your lips part perfectly for him to shove his tongue down your throat, expelling a series of staccato moans mixed in with his name. Jisung settles for your collarbone, burying himself in the scent of his cologne marking your skin from earlier. His lips bite the bone, groans getting louder and louder.

“God.” He clutches your knees, dragging you so close. “Is this – is this okay?” he asks, despite not letting up, going faster actually, driving you higher up the bed, making him climb even more on you, chasing you.

“Yes, yes, please don’t stop,” you cry. “I’m gonna cum, Jisung, I’m gonna cum.” And you choke on your words, babbling incoherently, talkin’ nonsense.

“Come on, baby, you can cum,” Jisung encourages you. He stands up straight, thrusting in, and in, and in, bottoming out. He holds his cock fully sheathed, deep, circling his hips over your labia, naked thigh sliding up and down your clit. You claw his arm, dropping into his hand, and he intertwines your fingers. You squeeze his hand, and your pussy clenches on his cock. Everything starts choking him, and he loses his breath, inhaling and inhaling, mouthing at your neck.

Then, you cum, back deflating into the bed, lulling pliantly in his hands, toes releasing the tension.

Jisung picks up his pace, brutalizing your cunt, and you whine and squirm, moaning. He feels the veins in his cock catch more prominently in your pussy, like you don’t want to let him go, so he just keeps pushing and pushing and pushing, your canal practically wringing him dry, and he cums too. Thick ropes control the way his cock jumps inside your uterus, bouncing on your spongey, little G-spot before more spills out, forcing him to remove himself. He planks above you, head hanging low, sweat matting down his hair.

You raise both your hands, brushing it back to see him better, and you prop yourself on your elbows, raising yourself high enough to kiss him, slowly but deeply.

Jisung sighs dreamily, flopping down next to you on his oblique. He tilts your chin up at him.

“You,” he starts, pecking you quickly, “are so perfect.”

“Then,” you giggle, taking his left hand. You run your thumb and index finger down his ring finger. “Will you marry me, Park Jisung?"

[bohemian-nights]

Swear Daemyra shippers are the only ones whom can look at a man teach his niece who at the time was a minor by real standards and fantasy standards sex acts, and say he loved her. I was reading a fic where Daemyra popped up in the background and they had Daemon say “I’ve loved Rhaenyra since the time she was a girl” and it’s like no shit. Then again in the show it’s just so…. Like I can acknowledge that Matt and Mily had chemistry (which would’ve been great for a book!Daemyra where he is very cleary a groomer) but even then all their scenes had an underlying pervy feel to them. Also Daemon is always ABANDONING Rhaenyra when it counts. Instead of staying with her after the death of her brother and mother he goes out drinking and makes the “heir for a day” comment. Then ( knowing Dragonstone is the seat reserved for the heir) he takes possession of Dragonstone (which also could’ve lowered her standing as heir) and the dragon egg that Rhaenyra placed in the cradle of Baelon. Then he leaves her alone for three years fighting in what was technically an illegal war before coming back and trying to ruin her reputation in order to attain the throne. He does this by taking her a crown Princess into a whore house, ensures that she will be recognized, engages in light sexual content with her before leaving her ALONE in a whore house half naked. And the worse part? Not a single fuck was given. Then later on at her wedding she practically begs him to take her to Dragonstone and marry her. In response to this he marries another woman (who he also treat like shit R.I.P to book!Daemon and Laena). Fast forward ten years where they (on the day of his wife’s funeral) have sex on the beach (sex that didn’t even look pleasurable) and she wakes up ALONE. Mind you prior to the sex she’s essentially begging him to fuck her as well. Following him around like a lost dog. Then we once again have the begging for marriage only this time he accepts. Fast forward down the line he’s not showing any support really in Kings Landing (why didn’t he go with Rhaenyra to talk to Rhaenys) but yeah he killed a man for her so the fandom ate that shit up. Back on Dragonstone she experiences a still brith where she calls out and begs for him so she won’t be alone and he just doesn’t come(I’ve seen some people excuse this staying maybe he had trauma from Laena so I’m 60/40 on it) and then upon learning that she doesn’t want to immediately jump to WAR he chokes the shit out of her.

Their fans are special.

Even if you want to take out the obvious grooming or only want to focus on book canon, Daemon still ends up abandoning her after she ordered him to return back to her, saving another woman(Nettles) after she ordered her to be beheaded in her sleep, and then either offs himself or lives out his days with Nettles.

How they turned that into Daemon died to defeat her greatest enemy(which the text specifically states is Daeron and not Aemond) will never not be absolutely hilariously.

If you only want to consider the show as canon(why?), he’s physically abused her (and is allegedly going to do so again) and abandoned her on countless occasions (after seeing her beg for him to love her 23 million times) with no concern for her physical or mental well-being.

(The trauma excuse is a poor one when he chokes her out 5 seconds later. That is not how you respond to trauma or your brother dying).

Book canon, show canon, grooming, no grooming, it doesn’t matter. It’s a hot mess any way you slice it(which is why they start crying when you bring out the actual text).

I get morally ambiguous ships(all but one of my favorite ships fall into this category). Still, I don’t get shipping something where the guy outright does not care about whether the woman lives or dies and then claiming that those who aren’t deluded are the crazy ones. This shit is straight up pathetic.

I’m all about ship what you want, but these are the same people calling characters the n-word and actively wanting a Black character to be cut cause she “gets in the way” of their ship so they use the excuse that there are already enough Black people on the show. So if this comes off harsh it’s because this ship attracts racist assholes who need psychiatric help on top of them being so fucking delusional they can’t see the forest from the trees.

[the-travelling-witch]

WHO DID WHAT FOR GOJO?!?

I See it.. It’s GOJO I would to/j (WHY?!?)

basically what i got from it is that (allegedly) a guy broke up with his fiancée, cancelled the wedding and all, over a tattoo she got of gojo

apparently it’s not even one of those crazy realistic ones but basically a meme panel of him; when he did not react positively she even was like “you could get a geto one and we’d match” (which is basically a second marriage proposal)

but (allegedly) he’s been saying some really nasty stuff like how “he’s been tolerating her anime hobby before” (she isn’t one of those crazy fans but like a normal one, like you and me, just enjoying the shows, reading fics etc) and how “she’s branded by another man now” girl ciao—

yeah so this situation is crazy enough but the internet wouldn’t be the internet if other people weren’t coming out with their own stories now, like i’ve seen one girl who said a guy literally broke down over her crush on kuroo tetsurou

gojo’s not even real and he’s ruining real life relationships, the hidden power of the six eyes—

[dgknightblue]

Fic idea:

Simmons is the ring bearer for Carolina’s wedding.

Donut decided to pull a Simmons and stab him in the back by using whatever time power he retained from his villain arc.

He sends him into the past near their dear friend wash. Simmons realized he still had the rings and that Carolina will kill them both. Bolth. Shut up Grif.

Simmons finds himself in the custody of the Freelancers. Future Carolina calls him and they are talking casually and without care of who is listening.

The director interrupted as he sees this as proof, they say things not a lot know about.

She tells Simmons to turn the screen so she can:

“You’re not invited to my wedding. I’m uninviting you. You are not good enough to go. North, if you weren’t dead I would invite you to my wedding. Simmons turn me to face Tex. Hi mom. Anyways, when I find Donut- retrieve the rings (and good old Simmons right?) and you, Simmons- I’m going to kill him.”

Then Carolina teases Simmons about the love triangle he’s in with Locus, Wash, and Grif.

“That’s not a love triangle and there is nothing going on between me and any of those guys!”

“Is that why Caboose flirted with you?”

“Carolina, we both know he only said I was cute because he was being nice.”

“…”

“Okay, I know that sounds like I have low self esteem.”

“You do.”

“But I’m telling the truth here. Caboose’s only love interest was Shelia and she was a tank dating Lopez, Red team’s resident Spanish speaking robot.”

“Allegedly dating.”

“…oh god you two are friends, aren’t you?”

“What’s wrong Simmons? Afraid she’ll tell me all the embarrassing things she’s learned when she adopted you onto Blue team? Or gossip she learned from Lopez?”

“Fxck. What kind of shxt does have on me!?”

“I’m not obligated to say. It’s not like you did anything crazy like kissing Wash.”

“…”

“….Holy shxt. Really? W-What about the rumor of you and Grif making out, drunk, in a closet one time?”

“…”

“WHAT THE FXCK! WHAT ABOUT THE RUMOR THAT LOCUS FXCK YOU????”

“Who. The hxll. Told you that?”, a deep voice could be heard from out of view.

Future Carolina turned to face the direction of the voice.

“Locus! How long were you ease-dropping? Did you really Fxck Simmons? You know he’s Grif’s! What the hxll, man? I thought you were friends?”

“WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP SAYING THAT??? We are just friends, Dxmn it!”

“You sleep in the same room!”

“We are roommates!”

“Exactly!”

“The hxll does that mean? Huh!?”

“Whatever. I’m going to go now, Simmons, wait for me. I’ll be right back.”

“That’s exactly what my dad said before he left me on the side of the road until police showed up and took me back to my mom. Couldn’t even bother to kidnap me all the way. What? Am I not good enough to keep? To stay? Fxcking xsshole.”, Simmons muttered a little too loud.

“…”

“…”

“….I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Simmons, when you get back, I’ll have a session with Dr. Grey already scheduled for you.”

“You can’t do that! I’m on red team! Red team doesn’t do feelings! We all repress that shxt! Blue team might talk about it, not red team! I’m on red team and you’re a blue! You can’t make me go!”

“…”

“…..I-I’m not scared o-of you!”

“…”

“ Okay okay! I’ll do it!”

———-

Okay so I also want to add donut saying “You know how it is when you make a deal with malevolent false gods that want to destroy the universe and reconstruct it in their own image!”

Note:

They are all wearing their armor underneath their clothes. It was a wedding rehearsal so they got dressed up.

Caboose is the flower man. On Carolina’s side.

Wash is the best man. On Carolina’s side.

Simmons is still the ring bearer.

Donut will be pummeled later.

Tucker will be a brides man. On Carolina’s side.

Kai will be a brides maid. On Carolina’s side.

I don’t know who Carolina is marrying, it could be Kimball, but maybe she officiates the wedding or whatever instead. Definitely a girl though.

A lot of character are bi or pan and stuff.

Like Church was confirmed Bi. He was totally okay with Male Tex.

Anyways. I don’t know if Carolina wants a Jewish wedding or something else. Church was Jewish and maybe she is too?

This is a rough outline ish idea.

I say ish a lot.

That’s how rough it is.

That’s what she said bow chica bow wow!

Somebody shoot Tucker, please.

Okay!

Caboose no!

There are not a lot of colors :(

[onekisstotakewithme]

I was tagged by @mihrsuri so thank you 💜

Tag Game: 9 People You'd Like to Get to Know Better

-`♡´- last song: "Pure as the Driven Snow" from The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (I love the vibes of the songs from the movie + Rachel Zegler has a GREAT voice, she also killed it in west side story)

-`♡´- currently watching:

sports night (just finished season 1)

m*a*s*h (always. or at least select episodes 😂)

and the west wing, again, both on my own and with my mom.

-`♡´- three ships:

CJ/Danny

BJ/Hawkeye/Peg

either Casey/Dan or Casey/Dana

-`♡´- favorite color: purple! 💜 (if it wasn't obvious)

-`♡´- currently consuming: nothing! I had a couple of sour candies about an hour ago.

-`♡´- first ship: oh er. Percy/Annabeth from Percy Jackson, probably.

-`♡´- relationship status: lol. single.

-`♡´- film: I'm so bad at watching movies! It was probably when I watched You've Got Mail again over the holiday season. Either that or Die Hard.

-`♡´- currently working on: not my master's thesis. I'm allegedly still working on my mash noir AU, along with my 'wedding' fic set six months after the end of the Bartlet administration. But the depression and horrors and stuff have kept me from really doing either of those. What I'd like to be working on but haven't been is presidental campaign!CJ and the requiem first time smut fic but alas. here we are.

tagging anyone who feels like it.

[cheesybadgers]

(GO TO PART 1 AND PART 2)

PART 3

74. The poets listed in the epilogue refer to a few names I’ve mentioned before in this fic, plus a couple of new ones:

Federico García Lorca (see point 17 and also Sonnet of the Wreath of Roses, Night of Insomniac Love, To Find a Kiss of Yours and Blood Wedding)  

Jorge Gaitán Durán  (in particular, see I Know I’m Alive… and Death Could Not Beat Me)

Jotamario Arbeláez (in particular, see After The War and this article about the group of poets from Medellín who called themselves the Nadaistas)

Pablo Neruda (in particular, see One Hundred Love Sonnets and Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair)

Octavio Paz (see Touch, Counterparts, Colophon and Sunstone/Piedra de Sol)    

Rosario Castellanos (see point 8, plus there are several poems here, I particularly like Amor, Telenovela and Pasaporte)

Gabriela Mistral (see Drinking, Slow Rain and Gabriela Mistral's Letters to Doris Dana Doris Dana was Gabriela Mistral's alleged romantic partner – see more here and here)

75. In the epilogue, there is a reference to Operation Orion (more info here as well) which was a series of controversial military operations in Comuna 13 in 2002.

Although the Colombian military and government declared it a success, there were questions raised about disappeared individuals and an Army General, who allegedly colluded with far-right paramilitaries (including none other than one of Don Berna’s underlings) and the CIA to bring down FARC. It’s also worth noting Plan Colombia existed at this time as well, which was a US initiative to provide foreign aid to Colombia.

Here are also a few articles about what became of Comuna 13 in the subsequent years and the regeneration of Medellín after so many years of violence:

Medellín: Front Line of Colombia’s Challenges

History of Comuna 13

Medellín, Colombia: reinventing the world's most dangerous city

76. I mentioned in point 69 about the INS re-branding as ICE. This happened in the wake of 9/11 when ICE was brought under the Department of Homeland Security, and this is what Javier alludes to in the epilogue.

Speaking of 9/11…here are a few articles about the impact it had on everything from the War on Drugs, the DEA, the immigration system and illegal border crossings:

The Costs of Homeland Security

Narco-Terrorism: The Merger of the War on Drugs and the War on Terror

How September 11 Changed the U.S. Immigration System

9-11 and the US-Mexico border: New challenges 20 years later

77. The Supreme Court decision referred to in the epilogue is Lawrence vs Texas (see point 62 above), which was heard in 2003 (the epilogue is set on 15th December 2004), which struck down America’s remaining sodomy laws.

It wouldn’t be until 2015 when the Supreme Court heard Obergefell v Hodges that same-sex marriage became legal in all 50 states (Texas was one of the last to legalise it off the back of this case).

I didn’t want to skip that far ahead in the epilogue, but I shall leave readers to draw their own conclusions about what they think Javier and Horacio might have done in 2015…

78. The inscription on Javier’s ring is, of course, the same one as Elena’s ring from chapter 22. I couldn’t really mention this when I talked about that chapter, as it would have been a spoiler for the epilogue lol.

The epilogue is named after Suerte by Shakira (the Spanish version of Whenever, Wherever). The lyrics of both the English and the Spanish versions are just so very them. And obviously, Shakira is Colombian, the story ends in Colombia...I had to make it happen lol.

79. I had always intended the epilogue to be all about the callbacks, especially to chapters 1 and 2, so I hope people spotted some as there are a few in there. Tolú is where the story started and it’s where it ended ❤️

I randomly remember dyeing my hair at some point in 2023 and it just came to me over my bathtub that “Old habits die hard, he supposed” was going to be the final line. It’s a thought Horacio expresses in chapter 1 but in a very different context and with a very different meaning. But that line was where the fic title came from, so it just felt fitting for it to be the last line as well. They’ve come full circle, but everything is different. I’m such a sucker for that trope lol.

And I think, that’s all folks! If I think of anything I’ve missed off (which is a distinct possibility), I’ll add them as and when I remember.

Thank you to anyone who has followed me down these rabbit holes of absolute insanity. I don’t think I even put this much effort into my degree tbh lol. But I’ve had a blast learning so much, challenging my ideas and expanding my understanding of countries and cultures other than my own. If I’ve encouraged anyone to go off on and explore, then I’d be thrilled and would love to hear from you 😊

[violetmessages]

The Doctor Who Saved the World - a Martha Jones fic rec list!

Besties I find that there is a severe lack of good Martha Jones centric fic! And so it’s up to me to make a rec list with some of my favorites, so you don’t have to go searching for it yourself! And, as always, feel free to add your favorites too!

Allegedly Superior Biology by RockyMountainRattlesnake

While trapped in 1969, the Doctor falls ill with a mysterious sickness. With the Doctor's life in jeopardy, can Martha figure out what's wrong and find a cure in time to save him?

Set during the events of Blink.

Updates Fridays.

One Day by Prix

Martha decides that joining Torchwood Three is inevitable.

[Canon-divergent scene tag from the end of Journey's End.]

  Crowned with Consolation by sigmaforsale

Martha is insider enough to share their grief, and outsider enough to help them through it. 

You and me in the war of the end times by Beleriandings

Martha met Jack's team once, about six months in.

  The Werewolf Paradox by wheatear 

In modern-day Edinburgh, a man has been murdered by a great beast said to emerge during a full moon. The Doctor and Martha investigate, but this gruesome tale isn’t quite as straightforward as it first appears.

now everyone can see me burning by aloneintherain  

“Robing your past companions in stars.” Jack smiled as though he were joking, but the tone of his voice, the lingering way he glanced from the newlyweds to the Doctor, belied his grin. “That’s rather sentimental of you, Doc.

”The Doctor sniffed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The Doctor attends Martha and Mickey's wedding (in the wrong order), and delivers a pair of Gallifreyan wedding tributes and a long-awaited apology.

One Day at a Time by Settiai 

It was just another normal day in 1969.

That Word Is Doctor by cosmic_day

“You underestimated us, “ she said. “This is what humanity is. This is what we can do.”

Or: How Last Of The Time Lords is a completely different episode if you rewrite just one specific scene in one specific way.

I Don't Do Fake Love by aliciajazmin

 Martha Jones meets another time traveller, and realizes that she's tired of pining after the Doctor. Besides, John Hart is very pretty.

duty of care by bevcrushers (dothraloki)

This is him. Still. Stock-still inside Martha Jones’ kitchen, clutching her mug of tea and facing her judgement.

--

twelve turns up on martha's doorstep.

call my name or walk on by by bevcrushers (dothraloki) 

“When I said ‘don’t be a stranger’…” she starts, grinning at him toothily as he pretends to look put out.  “Not like that. I just mean it isn’t like you to drop in.”

He reaches for her thermos, and she lets him. “You’re right,” he says, suddenly serious. “Perhaps I should’ve done it more. It’s not always easy, you know. Coming back.”

--

five run-ins martha had with the eleventh doctor.

Once Upon Beacon Hill by Lemur710 

“Excuse me,” Martha said. She tried not to pant, but Beacon Hill was more hill than she’d anticipated, and the corset wasn’t helping. “I’m looking for the doctor.”

After the events of "Human Nature/The Family of Blood," Martha has some wounds that need healing. Fortunately, she knows just where to go.

[rigginsstreet]

yes!! ive stanned many actors who take so long to be in projects hshsh hopefully dacre will be in that horror movie then :)) and btw do you happen to have any fluffy harringrove fics? or where billy's super soft once he gets with steve?

i have a few soft harringrove fics ive written myself (idk if youre asking for my fics specifically or just ones ive read but i will offer both lmao)

be my baby (G) - Billy and Steve are parked at the quarry. Steve is a cheeseball.

i'm getting tired and i need somewhere to begin (M) - Steve Harrington had been another new development after returning from the dead. Turned out, that crush Billy had been harboring since his first year in Hawkins hadn’t died with him. What was more shocking was that Steve had even grown to return it. (i feel like this counts as fluff? yeah lmfao)

not my type (T) - For someone who's allegedly such a ladies' man, Robin sure has a hard time getting a read on what exactly it is Billy looks for in a woman. Until one day she realizes maybe she's been asking the wrong questions. (again... dont know if this counts as fluff mainly bc i wrote it years ago lmfao so... i feel like it had light energy)

ok now other peoples work:

31 Flavors (G) - Billy becomes addicted to flavored chapstick. Steve makes a game out of guessing the flavor whenever they kiss.

in my brain (taking up space) (T) - It's the beginning of March, which in any other place in the whole world would mean the beginning of spring, and the time of year when he doesn't have to pretend not to be cold wearing only two layers of clothing, and also the consistent appearance of the sun, Billy really doesn't think he's asking too much here, but Billy's not in any other place, Billy's in Hawkins, where nothing ever arrives on time, and Billy thought that meant movies and fashion trends, but apparently it extends to seasonal changes as well, and isn't that just his luck. alternatively; Steve has a cold. Billy has a crush.

The Blackout (M) - Steve worries about Billy during a blackout. Venice Beach Verse!

a cure for sleepless nights (T) - It’s been weeks since Steve has slept properly. He doesn’t know what brought it on except, maybe, a pair of blue eyes and the logical conclusion to a couple of months of self reflection. Whatever started them, they don’t show any sign of letting up.

When he invites Billy Hargrove to one of his and Robin’s movie nights on a whim, he could easily write it off as lack of sleep. But maybe there’s more to it and maybe Steve will find the cure for his sleepless nights, yet.

The Couch Predicament (T) - “Who knew couch shopping would be so difficult. I feel like we have looked at over a hundred. Not the right color. Not the right size. Bad quality.” Steve mumbles, peeking at Billy from between his fingers with his ridiculously large eyes.

“We’ll find one Bambi.”

paper rings (E) - Dustin bets Steve he can't get a date for Mike's wedding. AKA the What's Your Number au nobody asked for

[cuteconsortboys]

How would the Naruto consorts react to the empress bringing in Haku ( in your fic he was a dancer) even though all of them are from royal/important families? Based on your harem so it would be easier I think 🤔 😉

Hmm, based on the harem from my fic? I can do that!

Itachi:

He views it as a challenge, but one he welcomes.

He thinks Haku is a very lovely man, and certainly has the beauty and grace needed for a consort which is good because those things are hard/impossible to teach.

But also, Haku is going to be seriously lacking in the etiquette and cultural department, and it's going to be Itachi's job to catch him up and oversee his education.

He's happy to help, but it's going to be a lot of extra work and he is a little apprehensive.

Luckily, Haku is a talented and diligent student and Itachi grows very fond of him during their time together.

Neji:

He doesn't like it one bit.

He definitely has some misguided opinions about certain groups of people because he only got to hear his clan's opinion and he doesn't meet these groups on a daily basis in a way that could change his opinion.

He associates the kind of dancing entertainment that Haku did with promiscuity.

Even if Haku or you claim he's a virgin, Neji thinks Haku is lying.

And Neji fully believes that this is a terrible thing. It is a man's duty to remain a virgin for their wife and he doesn't like how Haku (allegedly) broke that rule.

He is harsher than he should be with Haku whenever he doesn't know something that a husband from a proper family would know.

For that reason, Shino and Itachi mostly oversee Haku's move into the harem.

Shino:

Shino doesn't have many strong feelings.

He is a little more nervous than normal to meet Haku because Shino feels he will be harder to predict because of his upbringing.

There are rules that new husbands are taught to follow so there is a certain degree of predictability normally. Haku doesn't have that and it does set Shino on edge.

But Haku is very soft spoken and quiet and respectful and Shino finds no fault with him.

He is very neutral overall.

Naruto:

So! Fucking! Excited!

This man must have had a thousand life experiences that Naruto hasn't been able to have!

What are taverns like?? What kind of dances did you do?? What kinds of food did you eat?? Do you have any of your old clothing?? Can I see it??

He probably overwhelms Haku with his endless questions, but he's just so excited that there's someone who's different and he's convinced that Haku must have some really good stories to tell.

Naruto does romanticise common life a little bit, so his reaction isn't really surprising.

The night after Haku's wedding night, Naruto hosts the normal games in the common room to introduce him, but he makes everyone plays a version of 21 questions so he can find out more about Haku.

Normally card games are his go to, but not with Haku.

Iruka:

He's really worried about Haku and how he's going to adjust.

This life is complicated for the people born into it, let alone someone who's dragged into over night.

He constantly checks on him and arranges for other people to accompany him when Iruka is busy.

He definitely also volunteers to help Itachi with Haku's rapid fire education.

Iruka doesn't look down on Haku for his background though, he's just worried for him.

Once Haku finds his footing, Iruka treats him the same way he treats everyone else (so he still mothers him lol)

Shikamaru:

He's mostly annoyed that he's going to have to play PR for the Empress now.

He's indifferent to Haku as a person, but the sons of various important families who were turned down for roles in the harem are not going to be pleased when they find out a space went to a common man.

And the Empress is going to ask him to help handle it.

And he can't be bothered.

He encourages the Empress to play the whole thing off as purely a physical attraction thing and warns her to keep any affection for Haku inside the palace walls.

Once everything dies down and looking at Haku no longer gives him a headache, he's cool with him being there.

Gaara:

He is curious about this new husband.

Gaara had a very sheltered upbringing and the only common folk he's been around have been servants.

But other than a little extra curiosity, he like Haku and doesn't hold his background against him.

It also helps that Naruto likes Haku so much, because Gaara is often inclined to trust whatever Naruto thinks lol.

Sasuke:

Is interested for half a second, thinking that maybe this man will be more willing to spar and train at the training grounds because of his background.

But the second he hears 'dancer', he checks out with a 'whatever' and just hnns in greeting when they meet.

He might get a little huffy if Itachi is obviously overworked trying to help Haku, but that feeling is negated by the pity Sasuke feels for the rigorous etiquette training Haku is being forced through haha.

(I think that was everyone?)

[lezziemanville]

[ request by glitter-and-be-gay: PART 3! I need a part 3! I am begging you ] 

Y'all I probably should have just written a stand alone fic for this! oops (Continuation from previous chapter)

To lift their moods and ease the tension, they decide to go to the conference’s final reception. It’s a formal affair. Melissa’s wearing a glittering sequin evening gown and Barbara, oddly, had chosen a suit with trousers that inadvertently matched Melissa’s dress. It wouldn’t have felt weird at any other time, they’ve both been so in sync for years that it’s not the first time they've had a similar thought. But now, with the added weight of their earlier conversation still very present in the air, it’s challenging. The challenge made infinitely more so by several people at the party commenting how they’ve been married for so long they’re beginning to dress alike, and isn’t it great how they planned their outfits to match?

Dinner’s okay. The reception has large circular tables and they end up being seated with people that neither of them know. It makes for some banal conversation, which is probably best. They don’t have to explain their relationship, though Brian? Dave? Whatever his name is from the day before comes over and says to Barbara, “Your wife is a knockout tonight,” in full earshot of everyone seated with them.

Melissa forces a reluctant smile.

Later, the dancing begins and this is the worst part of the evening. Barbara plans for an early exit, thinks she can get both of them out in one piece before anything starts but Carl? Dave? Brian? Whatever his name is who clearly has a thing for Melissa (despite her being an allegedly married woman) asks her for a quick 'friendly' dance.

Melissa’s trying to find an excuse but the man is obnoxious and a few drinks in. When he actually puts a hand on Melissa’s arm, Barbara steps in. She places her own firmly on his chest and nudges him away.

“Now now, that’s my wife there. I think I should get the first dance, at least.”

He lifts his hands in mock surrender and steps aside, gesturing for them to pass him onto the dance floor.

Barbara swallows, her pulse is loud in her ears, blocking out the last of the Beatles song currently playing. When it fades away, a slow familiar song plays. It’s Crystal Gayle’s ‘Don’t it Make my Brown Eyes Blue.’

“Oh my God. I danced to this at my wedding.” Melissa winces.

And she’s not sure why, but that comment makes her tighten the hand at Melissa’s lower back, drawing the woman flush against her.

They sway gently to the music and Barbara’s a little shocked how well they dance together. There’s the odd missed step, but generally they're fairly smooth and in time with the music.

When Barbara pulls back a little to look at Melissa, the redhead is smiling, a bright and infectious smile that overflows and lights her eyes. Barbara can’t help but return it, lifting her hand to allow the other woman to twirl once, a quick step that makes them both laugh.

The song eventually begins to fade and they are almost nose to nose, Barbara’s hand still at the small of Melissa’s back, their others clasped between them.

The lights of the dance floor have cast a romantic pinkish purple glow in the room and they’re so very close. Barbara knows it’s wrong, knows she shouldn’t but she feels herself leaning just gently forward, Melissa’s lips so close to hers that she can feel her breath against her mouth.

The song changes suddenly, an upbeat melody blasts over the speakers and causes a flurry on the dance floor. Eventually they manage to drift away from the crowd and out into the lobby, the music and the moment just a din in the distance. Barbara knows she's dodged a bullet, they still haven't crossed any physical lines. It's of little comfort though, when she can still taste the air between them, can still smell Melissa's perfume warmed by the pulse at her throat.

—

Barbara clears off the red lipstick at her mouth on a tissue, the water from the faucet warming the cloth in the sink.

“Should one of us sleep on the floor?” Melissa is leaning in the doorway, looking at her through the reflection in the mirror. “I’ve got a bad back, you’ve got a bad hip so we might be rolled out of here on a stretcher.”

Barbara smiles wryly, wrings out the cloth and begins to remove the makeup from her face. “I think I can manage to restrain myself in the bed.”

“You sure about that? I’m a Philly 11 remember?”

Barbara shakes her head and then dries her skin with a soft fresh towel. When she turns she almost bumps into Melissa still standing in the doorway watching her.

Barbara clears her throat, flushing at the sudden proximity.

Melissa looks up at her, their small height difference much more noticeable when her colleague is out of her heels. Barbara's averting her gaze when she notices Melissa is wearing leggings beneath her oversized pajama top. It’s a sweet, small, respectful gesture even if it is a bit of a disappointment.

“Do you always sleep in that t-shirt?” Barbara asks, wondering if her voice is as uneven as it sounds to her own ears. She allows her gaze to drift to the other woman’s lips just briefly, even though it makes her stomach somersault. When she finally meets Melissa’s eyes, the other woman’s expression is unmistakable.

“When I’m not sharing a bed with my co-worker, I sleep naked.”

Melissa sways forward an inch and they’re close enough that their lips could touch with little effort.

Barbara has always been a woman of God. She has never before in her entire life felt so close to giving in to temptation as much she has with this woman. She feels like she's wearing the wrong skin. Like if she could just get free of it, she could stretch and fit against Melissa, and start anew.

“This is getting very dangerous,” Barbara whispers.

“And that’s bad, right?” Melissa asks, all flushed cheeks and darkened eyes. Barbara can feel her breath against her skin again... and it would be so easy to give in.

“Yes.” Barbara finally answers firmly, though it pains her to do it. She knows she has to.

It’s enough to make Melissa ease off, to back out of the bathroom, her hand steadying herself on the door frame.

They get into bed quietly and this time Barbara doesn’t bring out a book. There’s no pretending now, no trying to hide feelings. She knows that if either one of them give in now it could jeopardize everything in their lives, including their mutual futures.

She wants nothing more than to slide Melissa’s Phillies t-shirt off of her curvaceous frame, to watch the redhead come undone beneath her. She wants to see the way their naked skin looks against each other, hot and damp and eager.

Instead she says a gentle ‘Goodnight’ and turns towards the wall, clenching her thighs to quell the indecent ache and bites down on the fleshy part of her index finger.

In the morning when she awakens, Melissa is wrapped around her. There’s an arm fully draped across her middle and a curl of red hair against her cheek. She should stop it immediately but she can’t. The natural instinct to arch her backside into the curve of Melissa’s pelvis is too strong, and when she does it, a moan escapes her own mouth before she can resist it. Melissa doesn’t stir at the sound, a small win, when she’s had so few victories.

Melissa’s fingers flex and tighten at her stomach and Barbara can feel a new heightened surge of arousal. It’s enough to make her finally shift away from the redhead’s embrace, slipping from the covers and all but running to the bathroom. She turns on the shower, as hot as it will go, the steam choking the fresh air from the room. Barbara strips her pajamas off and steps into the scalding water. It stings her skin, but she relishes the feeling. Wants it to wash away each sinful thought, each painful truth. Within hours they'll be on their way back to Philadelphia, back to school, back to responsibilities, back to a kind husband that loves her much more than she loves him.

Right now though, they're alone. Melissa is on the other side of the door, asleep in a bed warmed by their bodies and Barbara stands under the stinging hot water wanting nothing more than to lock the door and spend the rest of her days worshipping a woman she can't have.

[shotgun-cake]

you don't understand

A remarkable tale by @sorrydearie​ brought back to you with a spin by yours truly with the never ending support of @bi-and-dangerous​: THE FACULTY AU

We shall look at the memes scene by scene:

Attack on Martin’s  Before the Budget Meeting:

The Faculties: 

Andrés’ Reasons To Hate Martín :

THE EPIC OF GILGAMESH (Too long and ancient to explain. Just except it and move on.)

Private Conversation Between Sergio and Andrés:

Martín & Sergio:

Sergio is not surprised just disappointed:

Ariadna & Alison. They don’t deserve to suffer:

Sergio when there is no new complain from either of them:

Ágata  is love,  Ágata is life:

Andrés while drawing Martín :

(Is this shameless self promo? Maybe. It’s from Wedding Photos of @bi-and-dangerous​‘ fic)

Martín  trying figure out what went wrong:

Meanwhile Andrés:

Bonus:

[sitp-recs]

Hello!! You probably have already asked this question but do you know any fics where one calls the other with pet names?

Hi anon, I hope you enjoy these! Thank you @tackytigerfic, @bluebutter-art and @orange-peony for the amazing additions!

Sweetheart by leontina (2019, E, 2k)

Draco and Harry are Auror partners, and for some reason Draco has taken up the habit of calling Harry "Sweetheart" like it's a normal thing. It gets Harry all hot and bothered.

in charge by @bonesliketambourines (2020, E, 2.4k)

Draco's bossy. Turns out that extends to the bedroom, too. Harry likes it—a lot.

Terms of Endearment by @heyitsamorette (2019, E, 4.5k)

Harry doesn’t realize how much he enjoys Malfoy’s affection and adoration, until he gets it.

The Way You Say My Name by InnerLilith (2023, E, 5.3k)

In which Malfoy calls Harry pet names to get him flustered and riled up, and Harry gets flustered and riled up because he secretly likes it. The problem is that Malfoy is only teasing…or is he?

Rather Be A Potter by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (2016, E, 8.7k)

“What we have is fucking incredible, Potter, and nobody can fucking deny that, capisce? Except my father, of course.”

The Darling Curse by @orange-peony (2021, E, 9k)

It was just a slip. Harry didn't mean to call Draco 'love' in front of the other Aurors, especially because they have no idea they're a couple. Well, Harry could always pretend to be cursed and use pet names with everyone. What's the worst that can happen?

Lusimeles by spqr (2021, E, 23k)

“You’re not special, Potter,” Kingsley informs him, not looking up from his work.

Blood and Fire by @lqtraintracks (2017, E, 45k)

Harry has spent the last twelve years in Romania, not returning to England as often as he knows he should. It's complicated. But when Ginny asks him to be her best man and help her plan her wedding, he can't say no. Having a reckoning with his choices, with himself, won't be easy. To say nothing of seeing Draco again.

December Never Felt So Wrong by @maesterchill (2018, E, 50k)

‘Twas the month before Christmas and sixteen year old Draco Malfoy had never felt worse. His attempts to kill Dumbledore were failing and, as usual, Harry Fucking Potter was a constant thorn in his side. All that suddenly changed when Draco woke up 15 years in the future and discovered that not only was he allegedly shagging Harry Fucking Potter, he also had thinning hair and a five year old son, and no fucking clue how he got there.

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (2020, E, 61k)

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is.

That Old Black Magic by @bixgirl1 (2019, E, 77k)

Centuries ago, marriage contracts were the norm — ready-made alliances between families, expected and complied with, without complaint. But norms have a way of changing, and when a long-dormant contract flares to life, Harry has to navigate an unexpected splintering of the path he'd thought would be easy after the war... with Draco Malfoy.

Far From The Tree by aideomai (2020, E, 112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

Grounds for Divorce by Tepre (2019, E, 122k)

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter. A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

Away Childish Things by @letteredlettered (2018, T, 153k)

Harry gets de-aged. Malfoy has to help him.