#this is the face of a man who knows he's got a royal flush in his hand

[ecoustsaintmein]

#this scene y'all#you know eoin's been running around#trying to figure out ANY WAY HE CAN#to get paddy out of there#the sas should be enough to do it#but just in case#he puts himself on offer too#hoping it will be extra incentive#enough to convince paddy#to save him from himself#even though it ends to costing eoin his life eventually#i'm not okay#paddy/eoin#eoin mcgonigal#paddy mayne#sas rogue heroes @gydima

ughhhh now i'm imagining what eoin must be thinking/doing while paddy's in jail. does he fret in his tent? watching the empty cot beside him? writing letters to his brother about how paddy's messed up again?? and he tries not to show his worry but other 11 commando guys will ask how he's holding up without paddy and if he's heard anything. and then a messenger came from stirling to tell him to pass the news about SAS to paddy and immediately eoin stopped sulking and sat up straight in his cot and his eyes widen in disbelief and excitement and he knows this is his bribe this is his ticket to get paddy out of jail and if everything else fails he will offer himself up too. the best thing? i think stirling knows from the start that eoin is inseparable from paddy and has already said to him that eoin can come too (not just because of paddy but also because of merit).

і𝖿 ᥡ᥆ᥙ ძᥱᥴіძᥱ 𝗍᥆ ȷ᥆іᥒ 𝗍һᥱm…і ᥕіᥣᥣ ȷ᥆іᥒ 𝗍һᥱ sᥲs 𝗍᥆᥆.

[mayullla]

Title: Obsessive Passion

Character(s): Witch's Apprentice (Unnamed character/original work)

Summary: You didn't know how much jealousy and hatred he had in his heart and you didn't know how desperate his love was too. He was greedy and was even willing to break you so that you would love him back. Tags/Warnings: male!yandere, fem!reader, apprentice!yandere x witch!reader, both are adults, general yandere themes, brainwash/hypno, drugging, manipulation, dubious consent, 3.4k words

You were a famous witch in the kingdom. Many sought you out for your spells and potions, and the things created by your hand were highly coveted. You were a woman who had reached fame for her talents in magic, knowledge, and powers at a young age. Many sought you out, including the royal family. However, instead of seeking more fame and money, you chose to leave the public eye and live a quiet life away from the capital. Only a few trusted friends and acquaintances knew where you were. You still made many potions and helped whenever the situation required it, but for the most part, you wanted to make time for yourself. You wanted to research and create spells and potions of your interest instead of what was requested and demanded.

With you, you took your apprentice, a man who had talents similar to yours, yet not as fully developed. Many said that he would not be able to achieve what you have due to his lack of mana, but you believed that he would be able to do more, even with that weakness. You knew he was smart, smart enough to figure out how to overcome that hurdle.

But maybe you should have been more careful with him.

You didn't know of the crazed love he had for you, a lust mixed in with unchecked jealousy and hunger. He loved you, he was so madly in love with you that sometimes he felt that it was driving him insane.

You were, in a sense, his savior, someone who took him out of a dark hole and showered him with positive love and attention. You were the one who saw his potential even with his lack of magic when others tossed him aside due to his limits.

It was an innocent crush at first, his heart beating faster when you got close to him as you helped him figure out a new spell that he was trying to create. He was deeply touched when he found out that you created a spell to move your mana to him when he started to run out, effectively stopping him from making progress in a lot of his work and studies.

To him, whenever you poured your energy onto him, he could not help but feel a shiver down his spine. His face flushed into a dark shade of red, perverted thoughts in his mind. All you needed was skin-to-skin contact, holding each other's hand, or you should hold his shoulder. But to him, it was more than that, more than a hug, more than a kiss. It was far more intimate than that when he felt your magic coiling with his, mixing together in his body. It was addicting.

It was difficult for him to hold himself, some days when you saw him panting so heavily after it, he had to make an excuse of some sort.

However, he also had too much anger and too much pride. He resented those who looked down on him, their judgmental eyes ranking his worth in their minds. You were the only one who looked at him in a different light.

You always told him to think of the good for the kingdom, that even when they looked down on him, he could show them what he could do and then their thoughts would change. You were always too kind and so positive.

You weren't naive. If you were, you would have long become a mere pawn of someone malicious, working endless hours for something empty, rather than being free to do whatever you want. But he had always been the more sly one.

That was what he loved about you but also hated. He hated how talented you were compared to him. He hated that you were more powerful than him, that he was in a sense below you. Because you were gifted, you had access to all kinds of magic spell books, even those that belonged to the royal library, while he was not even allowed into the room. He hated your magic because you had so much, unlike him.

He hated your pity.

You did know of his anger, anger towards the world and around him, but you never knew the extent of it. While you also believed that he could do more, you didn't realize what he could already do.

It was just headaches at first when you woke up. Headaches that would never go away no matter what you did. No potion or spell would cast away the pain in your head. Some days it was a numb pain that you could still function throughout the day, but with a few momentary breaks here and there. Sometimes you could go through your day like normal with a very light headache. Sometimes you could do nothing but sit in one place the whole day, unable to think because of the painful throbbing that almost felt like your skull was cracking.

Moments like those always made you mentally note to create another seal for your mind so that you could avoid these sorts of headaches in the future. But by then, it would be too late.

Your apprentice had taken care of most things while you had those serious headaches, giving him work that he could do when you weren't able to do them.

But while doing those tasks, he always took time to take care of you too, handing you tea that was supposed to soothe headaches. While it didn't work for the most part, you appreciated his gesture. Maybe if you were a little more aware and less in pain, you would notice something about the tea that he gave you.

Deep in your sleep, you would never notice how your apprentice would loom over you, having a smile on his lips, cheeks flushed as he played with your mind.

Being famous, you had always been careful of hidden threats and placed many seals in your body to protect yourself. One was on your mind, a seal that you had placed to protect you from any mind magic and dark magic. Much to your apprentice's amusement, he found it very cute that you were that cautious when dark or mind magic had become so rare.

It was taboo and illegal to dabble in such magic after all. Many who were found to be able to do so were mostly killed and burned on torture stakes. It had been years since someone could use such magic. Most magic of that sort was inherited after all, yet when they continued to kill most who could, there was no heir for such magic.

But it wasn't like all dark magic was gone.

He could not help but laugh when he thought of it, how you were so overly cautious of such magic yet took in an apprentice who could use dark magic. This was something you did not know, nor did you know much of. This was what he had over you.

Your seal, while effective if magic was used suddenly to get in your mind, was weak if it was something gradual, slowly chipped away. You would never notice it, not when your headaches started to worsen and worsen the more he chipped your little seal.

It felt like your mind was ripping apart, yet you could not wake up, a sleep potion that paralyzed you, keeping you in deep slumber no matter what he did to you. The torturous pain would be nothing but a nightmare the moment you wake up. He could not help but pity you a little, yet also find a certain thrill to it. A certain satisfaction that he could make you like this.

That he held power over you.

Your body reacted greatly to the broken seal, stiffening as sounds left your mouth, no matter how much he tried to minimize the pain. When it was forcibly broken, there was bound to be some backlash. Yet just as quickly, the sleep potions dragged you back to sleep, unable to react to the shattered seal, unable to see him right above you.

He could not help but laugh, holding it back as he covered his mouth with his hands. His lovely teacher, the teacher who trusted him so much, now at his mercy. He would finally watch you fall from your little stage right under his arms, weak and nothing like the powerful witch you were.

It was a complicated seal that he created just for you, drawn with magic above your head. It was made just for you, like the spell that you had created for him. It would replace the seal that he had broken, and you would be none the wiser. Even if you checked the seal, you would see and feel that same seal that he had broken still there.

One by one, he would change your thoughts, amusing himself in your confusion as he continued to slowly change your mind to his liking, doing things for his pleasure, yet none the wiser.

It took a while, but when you woke up, the headache you had for weeks was suddenly gone.

It was surprising when you realized that you didn't feel like someone was hitting you constantly with a hard, dull hammer every time you even blinked. You were suspicious of the change, but you also felt nothing more than relief. Even when you checked the seals that you placed in your body, nothing was strange.

Yet you just could not help but feel that something was off. That something was not right, but you just could not place a finger on it. You checked the potions and cabinets in the house to see if you misplaced something or if something was stolen, but it wasn't the case. Your apprentice took care of most of the cleaning and potion making while you were resting in bed. Anyone who visited your apprentice had given them the requested items and potions without any problem, but something just felt off.

"Is something the matter?"

You were startled by his voice, jumping a little as if you were caught doing something you shouldn't do. Turning to him, you could not help but frown. "It is nothing, I am just a little confused right now. I can't help but feel like I am missing something."

You honestly replied to your apprentice, wondering and maybe hoping that he had the answer why you were like this. "I am not sure," he answered, having a worried look on his face, wondering if he had made a mistake while you were resting. "Did I make a mistake of some sort?"

Looking at his thinking face, probably trying to calculate expenses or thinking where stuff in where, you shook your head, raising your hand to stop him. "No, it is fine. Thank you for taking care of everything." Seeing that soft smile on his lips, you decided to give your worries a rest.

Yet it always lingered in the back of your mind. As days passed, you started to pay more attention to your apprentice. When you were in the middle of your own research, your mind sometimes thought of him unconsciously, wondering what he was doing and where he was. If he was in the room, you became overly conscious of him. Your eyes could not help but look at him some days, falling into a daze until you snapped out of it with him calling you with a worried look on his face.

It wasn't like you ignored him in the past; you tried to teach him when you were not caught up with your own research. In fact, you were able to give more time to him after you moved to the village, having more time to do whatever you wished. You invested more time into helping him train and learn.

However, this was different.

Your mind just could not think straight sometimes, finding it hard to concentrate when your mind kept thinking of him. He was your apprentice, and while not really far in age, sometimes you thought of him more as an assistant. He was mature and helped you a lot too back then when you had so much work to do. Even now, when he followed you to the countryside, he continued to help you when you needed it. He was reliable.

It wasn't on purpose when you unconsciously started to look over him more often, seeing and checking what he was doing. You took even more time away from your own research to help him learn more about magic and his own research. A quick learner, you always thought, when he picked up a lot of the things you taught him. He was faster… way faster than you when you studied magic around his level.

As more days passed, you started to think that he was better than you, clearly way more talented than you. More often than before, you would compliment him. You complimented him a lot before too, yet you started to do it more and more often. And every compliment seemed to remind you that he was far better than you, that he was better than you.

But it never changed the fact that, unlike you, his magic reserves were smaller than yours. You frowned at the predicament. You were still researching how to help your apprentice's problem, yet you still didn't find a way to fix it. One's own limits were decided the day they were born, and not much could change to make it larger or smaller. The only way you could help your apprentice was to give him your own.

A light touch on his hand or arms, you concentrated on moving your own magic to him. Yet even that took a long time.

Pushing all your other research away, you started trying to find a way to make the transfer quicker and more clean, as there were moments when magic would just leak out and largely go to waste. You were fine with it, to be fair, born with large reserves that it was difficult to use them all in one day anyway, yet you just could not forget your apprentice's face, the jealousy in his eyes when he looked at you.

"Good job. You are doing so well." Compliments continued to leave your lips. Yet as soon as it did, darkness coiled in your stomach as you patted his head. He… he was better than you… Far, far better than you.

You looked down at his sitting form, a smile on his lips, your hand still on his hair as you zoned out deep in thought. "You should really stop patting my head," he told you in a cheery voice, "I am not like some elementary kid who should be rewarded with head pats." You thought for a moment. Looking at him, you could not help but think that it was true, he was far too old for such a thing, but just that you had a habit of doing so.

As soon as you thought that, you tried to take your hand away from his hair, unconsciously wondering if you offended your apprentice or not, yet your hand was stopped by a larger hand. "Ah, I didn't mean it like that!" he said, looking almost surprised when his teacher suddenly started to avoid him. "It is fine to touch my hair, you know… I don't mind," he told you a flush on his face, looking else ever as he tried to hide his cheeks with one hand, "I always know that you like touching my hair, don't you? What I mean to say is that you can touch it whenever... but I am not a kid."

Yes… nothing was wrong… Nothing was wrong at all.

From there, it spiraled again. You were able to function in your daily life, but there were just moments when your memories blanked, and you barely remembered anything. At one point, you thought it was the tea that you were drinking, the one that your apprentice would always make for you.

You were suspicious of the liquid inside your cup, pausing as you stared at it with narrowed eyes. "Is something the matter, teacher?" You looked up at your apprentice, who was looking at you in wonder, an eyebrow raised as he tilted his head. "Do you not like the tea? I made it as you have always liked."

"It is nothing," you said, moving the tea closer to your lips. The smell hit your nose, the same fragrance that you were always familiar with. For a moment, you hesitated, but when you were watched by your student, you chose to take a drink of the tea…

"It is adorable how cautious my teacher is." Your eyes were glazed over as you blankly stared at the floor. Your fingers that were holding the teacup lost their strength, letting the glass fall to the floor and shatter. "Clumsy. Clumsy~" Your apprentice had a mocking tone as he looked at your sitting form. There was no recognition in your eyes, whatever sliver of it was quickly dragged back into the haze. "What would you do without me?"

Moving in front of you, he spelled the glass teacup to rise from the floor and mend itself. When it was placed onto the table, it looked as if it was never broken from the start.

Looking at you, he moved his hands to gently grab your face, forcing you to look at him. "But then again, I always loved my teacher. So much so that it drives me insane sometimes." Your unfocused eyes stared back at him, making him feel chills that he was the one who caused this. That he was the one who made you like this.

He could not help but burst out laughing.

My precious teacher… my precious, precious teacher!" He kept on chanting, in the middle of a quiet forest where there was nothing to hide. His eyes were red with lust and lovesickness.

"My cautious little teacher, slowly you will fall into my arms, and when I finally have you all to myself, I will chain you to me so that you will never be able to leave me. I will make you think of me just as much as I think of you." One by one, he told you all the things he would do to you when you finally could not think for yourself. When your mind breaks and shatters, he will never mend it; instead, he will accept it into his heart.

Then he will create a piece with it that is submissive to him, that yearns for him, that begs for him. One that places him in a high stage that demands others' attention, yet he will give none to them when his eyes are on you, just as he had forced yours to his. You will tell others that he is your heir and that you will be fully retiring.

He will be the one to take care of you, he will take all your magic from your body, greedily taking everything, leaving you unable to even sit up from the bed. He will take care of your body, telling you how well you have done, letting you rest as he fulfills orders for potions and creates spells without limit, looking for you again and again when he runs out.

He will make you sign a contract to become forever his, he will make you sign your name into something that will relinquish everything that belongs to you and give it to him. He will make you give up your talents, your knowledge, your wisdom. He will take everything and gobble it up, as you scream in pain and anguish he will comfort you in his arms and hushed loving words.

You will be his and nobody will be the wiser. Nobody will notice how broken you become as you can do nothing but follow his orders, when you will tell others that he has now inherited your shop and that you will instead become something of a sort of helper. Nobody will know that it is hard for you to make simple potions as he teaches you how to make an easy potion, when you barely even have enough magic to use for yourself as he continues to steal from you.

He will make you clingy, he will make you feel useless and desperate just as he had felt as he looked at you in the past.

You made him insane, and he will show you what it was like as you drowned in his love.

[urlovebot]

𓆩♡𓆪 Dead Man Walking

──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

c/w: light threats. mafia esque gambler bada. possessive bada (yall know thats my shit). smut. bada fingers reader!

a/n: hiii, just wanted to drop something small i did. i'm feeling a little better today. enjoy!!

──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“god- fuck. you feel so good on top of me.”

bada’s hands are gripping your waist so hard you’re sure you’ll see bruises in a couple hours. she was so angry. she was fucking pissed.

──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

she’d had you perched in her lap as she sat at the oval table, balancing a couple chips in her hand. she brings you gambling and calls you her lucky charm each time. you know the real reason she wins is that she’s got a killer poker face (and knows the dealer personally,) but you humor her anyway.

she’d gotten caught admiring you for a little too long as the man across from her coughs,

“your turn, miss.”

bada doesn’t take her eyes off of you. not to check her hand, not doing a double take as she smoothly drawls out,

“raise.”

bada’s hand moves three forest green poker chips, each worth $25,000, to the pool. the man who addressed her earlier lets out a determined “call”, matching her bet. bada’s eyes stray from yours to his. a smirk stretches across her lips,

“brave of you.”

the man mirrors her smile,

“the money isn’t all i’m after.” his eyes flick from bada’s to your own, scanning your body up and down.

bada’s smirk falters and you feel her fingertips tap against your skin in irritation.

“tread lightly, sir. i wouldn’t want you to regret coming tonight.”

the man lets out a light chuckle, “oh come on miss lee, she can’t be worth more than a couple grand. you can’t give her up for just a night? she’s so pretty.”

bada’s jaw clenches as she tries to keep up her cool facade,

“she is, isnt she…”

bada looks straight at the man as she lays down her hand- a royal flush. she grabs your hand and kisses the back of it,

“you’d be wise to leave now, especially if you want to keep hold of that reckless tongue you have.”

the man’s smirk drops and he pales as he begins to realize that bada is not joking. he takes note in how the entire room tenses and how each dealer seems to stiffen at her words, almost ready to flee the scene at the drop of a hat. he slowly steps out of his chair, dignity stolen and $75,000 poorer. his steps are slow and soft as he exits the room.

bada’s leg bounces as she looks around. everything seems to be pissing her off now. the noise of poker chips hitting the table. cards being shuffled and sorted. all of it- every noise setting her off. she’s pulled out of her stupor by your soft hand tucking her hair behind her ear,

“you okay?”

her eyes close as she takes a deep breath. she counts to three and opens her eyes again. her personal dealer looks to her for confirmation and bada offers a short nod. the dealer stands and announces the following,

“okay, we’re closing up shop. time to go.”

──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

and now you’re here.

bada’s lips smashed against yours, tongue licking into your mouth. her hands gripping your waist like you’re going to disappear any moment now. she takes deep breaths as she parts from you, planting short kisses on your lips in between each pant.

“so pretty.”

you pull away, “only to you.”

bada scoffs, “i wish it was only to me,” she hikes your dress up to your waist, pushing your panties to the side as her fingers ghost over your cunt,

“fucking bastard-,” two fingers start to circle your clit and your legs spread more in her lap, “should’ve taken his fucking eyes out.”

bada’s fingers make their way from your clit to ghost over your opening,

“tell me baby,” her thumb applies pressure to your clit as her fingers dip into you, “who are you?”

you hiss as she starts a slow pace,

“your pretty baby.”

bada hums and plants a kiss at the base of your neck,

“again.”

your hands grip her shoulders,

“your pretty baby.”

bada sighs and decides she needed more. she grunts as she removes her hand from your cunt and lifts you off of her lap. she lays you onto the table, knocking down the mountain of chips in the center.

she fully removes your underwear and one hand circles around your neck, the other goes back to toying with your pussy. she inserts two fingers again and starts at a much rougher, faster pace than before.

“say it again. louder.”

you moan it out this time, hands coming up to grip her arm, “your pretty baby, bada. yours.”

she lets out a low chuckle as she towers over you, leaning down to press her lips against yours.

“so good for me, isnt that right angel?”

you nod against her. she keeps her lips against yours, swallowing your moans. she wanted to keep every part of you to herself. if she was just a little more fucked up, she’d lock you up in your shared home, not letting you leave under any circumstance. the way you’re mewling in her mouth, back arching and pussy clenching around her fingers, it makes her ponder on it for longer than normal.

“you gonna cum for me?” her fingers slow down, opting to curl up and press against your g-spot. you cry out, nearly thrashing against her. the hand around your neck tightens just enough to make you lightheaded. your eyes roll to the back of your head and your body lights up.

bada kisses the top of your forehead,

“cum for me, pretty girl.”

[a5rora]

❤️‍🔥 | Old Flames

billy the kid x rich f!reader

word count; 2k words || dividers by @firefly-graphics

ch. 𝐈𝐈

SYPNOSIS༄In Billy’s lonesome world, comes along his significant former lover from his adolescence that he faces once again after being separated from one another. After not being with you for over a decade, he doesn’t know how to face you when he has begun a life of crime, a wanted man with many enemies. He doesn’t want to lose his lover once more, but could she ever love him along with all his flaws? Will their love prevail despite the reputation of Billy the kid?

content warning: FLUFF, angst, eventual SMUT, violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of memory loss, substance abuse¿, ollinger, mentions of alcoholism, flashbacks intended, smoking, mentions of catholicism, storytelling is inspired by the original show’s major elements/events. (billy’s birth name is henry mccarty)

Suspense collectively consumed each man in the room when the game of poker finally reached the showdown. Each remaining player placed their hands one by one until the last turn to reveal his cards was Billy. All attention was on Billy the kid.

The men watched closely with anticipation as Billy slowly placed his cards to reveal a winning hand of royal flush. The players made distinctive reactions of defeat in response to their losses.

Billy was known to be a lucky gambler among his peers but no matter how good he was, he only gambled occasionally.

He grabbed his winnings off of the table and quickly prepared to leave for another drink.

The night was the same as always. It became a habit for Billy to drink his thoughts away. It felt like his sober mind couldn’t bare the worries of the growing rivalry between Tunstall’s and Murphy’s businesses. In a room with so much liveliness, his loneliness gnawed in his chest. Billy felt lonelier, noticing his friendship with Jesse become more distant since the beginning of their time working for Murphy…

Until he saw you.

Billy couldn’t believe his eyes the moment they landed on you, there you stood metres away from the gambling den.

The lovely sleeveless silk dress you wore fit perfectly on your body, hugging the curves of your figure.

A crafted corset that matched the hues of your skirt and floral lace brushing over your smooth shoulders. His focused gaze fell upon your face and the sentiments of adulation in his soul grew for you.

It was like he fell in love with you once more.

The tempo of his heartbeat rose along with the temperature of his cheeks when he saw your smile. Billy pushed away the feelings of discomfort when he noticed Jesse beside you, clearly being friendly with you.

He slightly turned away, trying to distract himself from the current thoughts invading his mind. Billy reminded himself of the time you had spent together, growing up with each other before your individual circumstances separated you from one another. The little rebels that you once were. He remembered when you both made it a habit to venture into the wild despite the countless warnings that your parents had given you.

A particular moment stuck out to him…

The bright sunshine in the afternoon transitioned into a faint evening. It was soon that your parents would notice that you travelled farther that you both should have.

“Henry!” y/n called out from the trees. But the boy stood still, watching the thieves above the hill as they ambush the farmers who stood their ground by the stables. He was dangerously close to the hill, a clear witness to the petty crime.

“Please Henry, come here now!” y/n pleads once more, startling the boy and bringing him out of his trance. His azure eyes find hers, he begins rushing into the forest.

You took his hand as he got closer and pulled him towards you. You sat down on your knees beneath the fremont trees and gestured for him to sit down beside you.

You looked to him, his gaze focused straight into space. Bringing your hand to his cheek, you turn his face towards you and wipe the teardrops from his sad, doe eyes.

You bring his forehead to yours and he takes your hands in his. “It’ll be okay Henry, I promise.”

Ever since that occurence, you had an unspoken devotion of loyalty for one another.

Before his immigrant family moved away, you and Billy made a promise to find each other again in this lifetime. But over time, his faith and hope diminished slowly after he lost you along with the latter of his loved ones.

Now here you were, walking and smiling before his eyes. Before this moment, his life seemed to be nothing but desperate and lonely. However, being in your presence made him feel like the hope that he had lost long ago returned to his heart. Billy’s mind was piqued by the irresistible urge to be near you, to meet you and seek refuge in your comfort.

But his present reality prevented him from fulfilling his wish of coming up to you. The aching feeling grew in his heart and flooded his soul. He felt guilty from the betrayal of his promise to you while you stood there, oblivious and looking so beautiful.

Laughter and chatter repeated throughout the entire saloon as you followed your friend Jessie who accompanied you to the bar, “How does it feel to be free y/n?” the blonde smiles at you which you return.

You exhaled and leaned your elbows on the bar counter behind you, “Feels amazin’- Girl like me can only dream of being this free forever.” A genuine sigh left your mouth, in contrast to your previously bright and bubbly mood a few minutes ago.

Your friend frowns slightly at you out of sympathy. The fading conversation between you and Jessie was interrupted by a tall cowboy who entered from the other room.

He towered over you both and you take notice of his wavy brunette hair as he lowers his head to take off his hat.

When he straightened himself, your eyes met with his familiar blue pair. His intense gaze trapped the air in your lungs and you swallowed, trying to remind yourself of the confidence you walked into this bar with.

You were proud of yourself for not getting caught sneaking out from your balcony tonight compared to your weekend night two weeks ago.

At the time of the incident, you didn’t have the best luck when you were sneaking past the gate doors. Your brother having caught you just after you managed to pass by the gate entrance.

Luckily tonight, you were here to have fun. You promised not to be bounded by the standards of your status.

You wanted to celebrate your newfound freedom and feel comfortable in your appearance.

The brunette did not hesitate with his wandering gaze over your body. As much as he wanted to, he wanted to upkeep his appearance as a gentleman towards you of course.

Jessie wrapped his arm towards his friend and brings him closer to you. “This is my good friend William.” you tilted your head, confused by the feelings that consumed you when your eyes met and every moment leading up to this one. You had seen him before but you were unsure why and how he was so familiar to you.

“Names’ Y/n, Y/f/n.” you introduced, your mouth couldn’t help but to return his handsome smile.

Your heart fluttered and so did your lashes when you looked up in his eyes. You shared a moment of awe towards each other, you were lost in his captivating blue eyes.

Jesse stood awkwardly between you two, “Y’all know each other or sumn?” Feeling uncomfortable from the silence that your moment with Billy distracted you from. You shook your head no to answer his question.

Billy looked away and placed his hat back onto his head. “No, but sure would’ve been nice to know such a pretty girl like you.” You pressed your lips to a smile, feeling your heart sieze from his words.

“Luckily you’ve got lots of time to get to know me William.”

“Y’can call me Billy.” He offered. Billy’s usual cold and inscrutable demeanour was swept away when it came to you. A tender smile appearing across his face. “I’ll take you up on that cariña.”

“Well, I’ll leave ya two lovebirds to mingle.” Jessie chuckles, taking a sip of his drink before going in the direction Billy came from.

“So where’d you come from?” He quickly asks you before ordering a drink for himself. His own curiosity getting to him. He needed to know for sure that it was you, not necessarily in the right mind to feed into the thoughts that swarmed his head. It was only your answer that could give him the clarity that he was searching for.

“Damn Billy,” you giggled, “buy the girl a drink first.” You teased, nudging his arm and he grins.

“Hmm, well my family’s from New Mexico originally but we moved to New York for a bit where my daddy started a coal business back there.” You started and leaned your back against the counter, noticing Billy’s concentration on you and what you had say. You felt his sincere reverence towards you and his character seemed unlike most men- If not every man that you usually meet in the towns you had stayed in previously.

You exhaled, “Then we moved from town to town quite a bit to grow our business.” He nodded, his continued fixation on you starting to make you feel slightly nervous from how he acted towards you. “My brother and I are just followin’ my old man to take care of him wherever he goes and wherever the business takes us.” You exhaled before continuing. “Took us to here now, in Lincoln.” You explained, swirling the drink in your hand before finishing the rest of it.

“I see.” He finishes his drink before asking, “You like it here?”

You played with the cup in your hands. “I think so. I’m just startin’ to like it a lot more.” you flirt with a smile and his lips beam with shyness.

“Would you like another?” He points to your glass in your hands.

You grinned, “How could I turn down a drink from you?”

He smiles at you, ordering your drink for you like a gentleman. He grabs your drinks from the bartender, gesturing you to a seat beside him. You sit down on the barstool, Billy pushes your glass closer to you and you take it. “What about you, Billy?” You look to him beside you, swallowing his drink before clearing his throat.

“What’d you like to know?” He gazed at you with an inscrutable expression.

You bit your bottom lip, “Where are you from then?”

Your question didn’t come as a surprise but it still made his heart ache to know that you didn’t remember.

You didn’t recognize him. Which meant you didn’t remember the time you had spent together in your early adolescence. He tried to hold onto his hope but he had himself to blame for not reminding you of those memories sooner.

He drove away the doubts in his mind and turned to you. “My family immigrated from Ireland way back.” He answered shortly, in contrast to the plentiful conversation you gave him and you frown.

“What do you do? You a cowboy too?” You ask out of curiosity. But before he could reply, Jesse storms out of the saloon, he pushes the doors that start swinging hard and bang hard against the walls. The hinges squeak from the impact. “I’ll be right back.” Billy says to you before following after his friend outside the bar. You nod and let out a quiet sigh as you watched him disappear into the darkness.

“Hey beautiful, did Billy leave ya on your own?” A man said from behind you, making you flinch.

The man was Bob Ollinger. You turn to face him completely and you smelled a swift of liquor from his mouth. You tilt your head at the drunk man, “Y’know anything about what’s happening outside?” He looks at you for a moment, Ollinger seemed like he was still trying to comprehend your words. That was all you needed to confirm that he is way too drunk. You blinked repeatedly for a second before your eyes settle to the ground.

Ollinger ignores your question, “C’mon with me. I wouldn’t leave you here just by yourself.”

It didn’t matter anymore what little friendship you developed with the guy, you didn’t want to be disrespected due to his intoxication. “Best you go somewhere else Ollinger.” You drank the last of the alcohol in your glass as he stands there dumbfounded.

“Y’gettin smart on me girl, that it?” He challenged with a sour tone in his growl.

“You can go on your way to bother another poor woman with your vices.” You spat, earning chuckles from the men and women around you.

“Don’t be a fucking tease you little bitch.” There went the last bit of respect you had for him, along with your unrequited friendship. Ollinger definitely did not see you as your friend and to your trepidation, he grabs your arm and pulls you off your seat.

You wince from his hurtful grip, “Fuck off!” Tears starting to pool in your eyes and blur the corners of your vision. You came to the realization that no reaction or intervention would ever come from anybody that watched you struggle.

You scream as Billy abruptly strikes a punch across Ollinger’s face, his body falling to the floor on impact. You could see the blood immediately coming out of his nose when Ollinger picks himself up from the ground. A dark smirk appears across his face. “Sorry didn’t know she was your whore.” You watched in horror as Billy punches him once more. The two drunk men proceeded to attack one another with punches while you shouted for Billy to stop.

Ollinger’s words made your chest twinge in pain. You didn’t want to be just one of Billy’s sluts, although you reckon that they probably enjoyed it.

You tried your best to remember why he looked so familiar.

But what stuck out to you was the longing feeling in your chest of being in his presence and more.

However, that’s when you remember where you recognize Billy from. The same poster you saw prior to meeting Billy tonight was plastered along the pillar that stood next to the saloon doors.

A wanted poster for the outlaw, Billy the kid.

-

thank you for reading <33 this is my first fic on tumblr

im also taking requests for any billy drabbles & oneshots ;)

this will be a short series, follow for pt2! it’s currently in the drafts and ill make sure to post it before finals lolol pls reblog it means a lot <3

[k-marzolf]

More Marine!Billy thots…(thank for all the likes and shares on the first one!! 💋)

Part one //

Cross dressing, gambling, implied sexual abuse, implied physical intimacy aversion, racism & military bias, fluff towards the end.

Do you wanna hear about the deal I’m makin’?

He nudged you. “I ever tell you about the time Frankie and I tried playin’ some Afghani cross dressers at poker, and lost so bad out commanding officer had to pay.”

You laughed, and Billy grinned. He loved seeing you smile.

“So Frank swore he saw some beautiful women, and we approached them, drunk on moonshine and bellies full of shitty stew lookin’ for a good time. The first one said she had a place she could take us for good food and wine.”

You bit your lip, you could see where this was going.

“Turns out they were men quietly tryna take other men for everything they had. I got cocky, told ‘em I could win them in a hand of poker, bet almost everything.” Billy paused, picking at his sweater. “I think they were just surprised Frank and me didn’t give a fuck they were men. They were heavily persecuted there.”

You smiled, “You knew what it was like to be hated.” You said, making him look away, shy. “But you lost though, didn’t you Billy?” You asked, eyelashes fanning across your cheekbones, and admired his long fingers drumming on his stomach.

“Shit, yeah. These men were cardsharps. And I was drunk off my ass, thinking I had a royal flush when I didn’t even have two pair. “Distracted, handsome?” One of them teased me. “Yeah, by the tissue in your dress, it’s fallin’ out.” He looked down, and I grabbed his money. And everyone laughed as the guy flung the tissue paper at me.” Billy mused, remembering the dark tavern full of men in beautiful dresses.

He looked down at you, “I beat one of them finally as the sun came up, I asked for the man’s shawl, didn’t care about the money. They made me feel like more than a pretty face, more than a body. But we still owed. Our commanding officer paid them their due, but we had to run laps until we thought we were gonna collapse.”

You squeezed his knee, “Do you still have the shawl?”

Billy hummed, “In my gun drawer, a reminder of the kindness of others who were different. My commander hated them, thought they were dogs. But the Afghans were beautiful, intelligent. He spoke low of them, but relied on them for scouting and strategizing against enemies.” His fingers picked at a thread on your hip.

You buried your face in his neck, and smiled into his skin. “You’re shit at cards. You still haven’t beat me at rummy.”

He smacked your ass, “I’ll rematch you, anytime and anywhere.” He said, voice low and rough.

You only pressed closer to him, knowing you’d lose more than money to him.

.

.

.

@e-dubbc11 @terry2227 @kayhi808 @firequeensposts @briannareneea985 @thejanecampaign @aoi-targaryen @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @danzer8705 @vaguekayla @zz-kennedy @fictional-hooman @bookloverfilmoholic @cant-help-simping @tortilla-chips-and-allioli @ittybxttykxttytxtty @littleblackcatinwonderland @firexfate @rosaleenablack @idaofinfinity @snowkestrel

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #32] Question...?

warnings: i love this pair so much it's disgusting, freckle kissing, oral (m), praise, head pusher jeon jungkook!, fingering, interrupted </333, the starlovers are randy all the time apparently!! discussions of a chicken shop shag, to the love motel they go!!, acc v cute, the lil games they play, kissing :D, v needy, unprotected sex, missionary, titty sucking, kissing through it :(, creampie, yearning for some 1 right in front of u!!, off-screen second shag that's even heavier sigh, a desperate attempt at communication that falls short </3, silly fools!

a/n: for those of u who never knew me on wattpad, the first line is a reference to another story of mine hehe

wc: 16.7k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

JK: you up?

The message lights up the screen of your phone with such vibrancy you want to claw your own eyes out. It's resting on your pillow thanks to the alarm that had gone off half an hour ago - of which you'd subsequently pressed 'end' on faster than the speed of light.

The rumble of a sleepy Jeongguk stretching out echoes through the walls. Paper-thin, secrets are hard to keep in houses like these. It's the only reason Jeongguk didn't even attempt to get you in his room last night.

Perhaps that's a lie. Perhaps it has less to do with his parents' perception of your friendship, and more to do with Jeongguk's own confusion over it all. Perhaps .

You ignore the message. Groan a little. Had gotten home - or should that be gotten to Jeongguk's home - far later than you had been expecting. Definitely will need coffee at some point in the near future. Sooner rather than later.

A little dehydrated, you're thankful you're not hungover. Had managed to sober up enough before coming home. Sea air helps. So does kissing boys you shouldn't.

And then you're thinking about it .

Thinking about his hands, and how his muscles just know how to hold you perfectly. Thinking about his lips, and how they feel when they press down on yours. The smile on them. The short, sharp breath from his nose against your cheek. How silky his hair is, and how your fingers manage to get knotted in it regardless.

Whining as you press your face into the pillow, you know that you shouldn't be thinking this way. Know it's a recipe for disaster. Know that Jeongguk has a history of blurring lines with his best friends.

His lips in your head are replaced with a ruby red pair; scathing as they hiss out a reminder you never needed:

I just know Jeongguk. I know what happens to the girls he becomes 'besties' with. I wasn't the first 'best friend' he had, and I doubt I'll be the last. Doubt you will be, either.

If there's one thing for certain about Hayun, it's that she leaves a mark. Scarlet. A handprint across your face. A stab wound in your back. Hickies on throats.

Yet as the door of Jeongmin's room crashes open, and a bleary-eyed Jeongguk traipses in without even uttering more than a grunt in lieu of 'hello', you're pleased to see the hickies on his throat.

Yours. All yours.

The hickies, not the man.

Although as Jeongguk chooses to simply pile on top of you, it could be debated that maybe you hold a few more cards than you realise.

Hayun plays a good bluff, but what use is it when you've got a royal flush?

"Oww," you grumble, as Jeongguk quite literally rolls over the top of you.

Jeongmin's bed is a single. There's not enough room for two. If Jeongguk's shoulders were as slim as Danbi's, then maybe - but he's built like an upside-down Dorito. You suppose delicious probably wouldn't be a bad way to describe Jeongguk. In fact, now you come to think of it, it's perfectly apt.

He squeezes into the spot between you and the wall - because he's always on your left whenever you're together in bed - and doesn't bother to get beneath the duvet.

"Morning," he eventually mumbles, shuffling onto his side. Lips pouty, cheeky swollen, nose dewy, he's well rested. Hooks his arm over your duvet-covered body. Doesn't hug you, just keeps you enclosed.

"Mhmm," you mumble right back. "What time is it?"

Jeongguk is slow as he responds, just as sleepy as you. "Just gone 10."

"Fuck."

"Mhmm," he hums in agreement with your curse. "Gonna waste the day away, B."

Part of you doesn't think spending a day in bed with Jeongguk could be considered a 'waste'. In fact, it'd be a day well spent.

"Breakfast?" you suggest regardless, knowing that Jeongguk will never turn down food.

The grumble he lets out this time is primal. "Ugh. Yes."

"Watcha want?

"Don't think I'm allowed what I want."

"Pussy isn't breakfast."

"You're telling me you've never had pussy for breakfast?" He snorts, knowing you'll be full of shit if you say no.

"That's none of your business," you remind him - and he's kind of grateful for it. Doesn't wanna hear about your previous hookups. Hearing about other guys doesn't really bother him so much. Knows he can compete. Knows he can win.

Girls, though? Fuck . He knows how much he likes women. Knows he could never compete against a good pair of tits and a nice cunt.

Issue is, the thought's in his head, now.

They say that jealousy is a disease, and Jeongguk's suffering seems to be chronic. The symptoms simmer down for a while, but they always flare back up eventually. It's a miracle he's been able to keep a lid on things for long.

Except he definitely hasn't. You remember exactly how pouty he was when Seojoon came and introduced himself. His jealousy is always subtle. Subdued. Far more internal than it is external. Not always easy to decipher.

But Jeongguk's thinking about you now; thinking about the fact other people have had you like this. Warm. Cosy. Content. Someone else has likely held your waist like this; made you feel the exact same way he's making you feel.

And he wants to make you feel better .

Wants to be the best .

If there's one thing Jeongguk knows he's good at, it's giving head. Too much of a perfectionist not to be. Discards all traces of dignity when his head is between a pair of legs.

"Let me go down on you," he implores, dignity already slipping. His voice is sleepy, a little croaky. Dehydrated. You'd be doing him a favour. "Slow pace. Nothing fancy. Don't need anything back. Just wanna taste you."

You smile into the sheets. Shuffle a little. Stretch. Get your body even more accustomed to the loose embrace he's got you in.

"You sound like a vampire," you smile, finding his sleepy desperation all rather sweet.

Jeongguk's brain hasn't fully woken up yet. Doesn't fully understand what you mean. Reaches a dreadfully incorrect conclusion.

He asks, "Oh, are you, like, yanno... on ?"

The poor puppy dog of a man doesn't say it explicitly. Isn't really sure how to refer to the menstrual cycle, or periods, or anything like that. Never wants to be ignorant of shit women go through, but also has never really had to educate himself on it all. Hayun would never speak about it, and he'd not really been with Jiyeong for long enough for it ever to be mentioned.

If he were a woman, he'd know all this shit. Would know what to say, what to do. Life would be easier for you. Another shortcoming of the fact he was born with a cock. Makes him a little insecure. Your life could be easier. You could choose an easier path.

Fails to factor in that maybe you'd be willing to climb mountains for sunset skylines. You'll weather a treacherous road if the destination is worth it, and he's an idiot to not realise this.

Still, he is an idiot, and unfortunately they don't have a ' seducing girls while mistakenly thinking they're on their period for dummies' guidebook. Instead, he regurgitates some of Jimin's bullshit. After all, Jimin is a top shagger. Would never leave a girl wanting more. Couldn't be him.

"I hear fucking helps," Jeongguk assures you, quickly when you don't respond immediately. He's panicking. Worries he's put his foot in it. Also does wanna fuck you but that's neither here nor there. He's just woken up. Is just horny. That's all. "Cramp and stuff. Fucking helps that. Apparently."

"I'm not on," you laugh a little. He's not totally wrong about his claims, but still. "Idiot. Although... would you?"

"Would I what?" He asks, throwing questions back on you to deflect from his missteps. "Fuck you on your period? Or fuck you now?"

If your eyes were open, you'd be rolling them. "Not now. I mean if I was on. Would you?"

Jeongguk shrugs, shoulders sinking even deeper in the duvet. "Don't see why not."

"Have you done it before?"

"Few times," he says nonchalantly.

It's normally accidental, and dark rooms are often to blame, but he's done it intentionally before. Towel down, duvet kicked to the floor, sheets in the wash and an immediate shower afterwards. There's little Jeongguk won't do when he wants to cum. Little he won't do to make the girls he likes cum.

"I quite like it," you admit. "The mess? I could do without it. But the feeling? Yeah, it's pretty good."

"We'll do it," Jeongguk sleepily says without much care for the consequence. "Whenever you're next on. Just say the word. Now can you stop being difficult and just sit on my face?"

The heartiness of your laugh lets Jeongguk know that you absolutely will not be sitting on his face any time soon.

It's not that you don't want it. Quite the opposite in fact. You want it almost too much - but also know your head was feeling all sorts of fucked up the night before. If holding his hand for a little too long can have you reevaluating the friendship, then who knows what sitting on his face would do.

There's a vulnerability that comes with the position. A vulnerability that scares you - and the way you were up for hours upon hours thinking about the night before scares you enough as it is.

"Such a randy bastard," you say fondly, pushing the duvet off your body and across to him. He doesn't object. Pouts to himself a little bit as he feels your body weight leave the mattress. Keeps his eyes closed, and snuggles in the duvet. Smells like you.

"Your fault," he mumbles.

Doesn't realise you're not in the room anymore.

Not until he cracks an eye open because of your silence. Panics. Knows exactly where you'll be. Darts off the bed and stumbles out of Jeongmin's room, swinging himself around the doorframe into his own room.

"You little-"

"These are so cute," you giggle, pointing to the little origami hearts beside his posters of Girls' Generation. Why he didn't take them down, he'll never know.

"Stop," he whines, pulling on your waist to drag you away. Turns you to face him. "I was, like, a child."

"Your mum said you moved out when you were nineteen," you remind him of her comment from the night before at dinner. It had been mid-conversation, just another snippet of Jeongguk's life before he knew you.

"I did," he confirms, looking down at you with those big brown Bambi eyes of his. Dewy-skinned, his hair is a mess, a small tuft sticking out awkwardly at the front of his face. It's cute. Give him a boy-next-door charm that he really doesn't need.

"So? Even if you made them as a kid, you still had them up at nineteen," you laugh, pushing away from him to go and look at the rest of his nicknacks.

He can't even counter your argument. Just growls a pouty "shut up."

"Soooo cute."

The walls are lined with relics of his youth; pictures with friends, wristbands from festivals, and notes scrawled on the lined paper of classroom workbooks.

"How'd you meet?" you ask, nodding to a picture of him and Jimin. Far younger than they are now, they're all smiles in a photo booth. There's no QR code on the bottom, because it was taken before they really became a thing. The picture itself is the only memory of such a time. Jeongguk is wearing a lobster hat, and Jimin a fish. Their cheeks are puffy, and their eyes look wired on sugar and a lack of sleep that only teenagers can get away with.

"Parents are friends," he explains, sitting now on the edge of his bed. "Have just known each other since, like, forever."

It's for this reason that Jimin gets an exclusive window into Jeongguk's head. He trusts him. Has never given him a reason not to. Thick as thieves, they grew up together. If anyone ever gave Jeongguk a hard time in school, they'd always have the threat of Jimin pulling them into line. He was older. Cooler. Not really smarter, but they both had their individual strengths.

You notice how frequently Jimin appears in the pictures on Jeongguk's walls, and part of you feels bad. They've a friendship that spans decades. Has seen the good, the bad, and the downright ugly. Has seen lovers come and go (or in Jimin's case, just go). Has seen the test of time and passed with flying colours.

There's a very real version of events that could have ruined everything. If Jimin was a little more possessive, a little more jealous like Jeongguk is, then you could have ruined everything.

While you don't regret it, you know that if you had the chance to relive your life, you would never sleep with Jimin.

Part of it bothers Jeongguk, you think. He can pretend it doesn't all he likes, but he does have a jealous streak. It's never malicious and rarely does it ever impact you, but it is there. Is noticeable in the way his jaw sometimes tenses, and how his pout prevails when competition shows up.

"S'what I mean when I told you he's more like family," Jeongguk adds as you continue to take in the museum of him. "You're my best friend, though," he says quietly. Sincerely. Wholeheartedly. "You know that right? Best friend in the whole world."

You narrow your eyes. Furrow your brows together. "What do you want?"

He rolls his eyes. Laughs quietly. "Nothing. Always such a sceptic, aren't you?"

"It's not my fault you're always up to no good," you banter back. "I've learned to keep my defences up."

"Shut up," he says fondly. "You know you can trust me. You know I'm not lying about shit like this."

And it's true. You believe him without hesitation. Believe in his words as if he's reciting bible oaths, and as if you even fuckin' believe in a higher power. All you really believe is that there's a serenity that comes with being around Jeongguk.

Had never really considered the possibility of a twin flame before, but enjoy the way he doesn't burn you out.

Can spend hours in his company, and not need to recharge. Get lost in the endings of you and the beginnings of him. It's all so effortless. Kinetic sand collapsing in on itself; the colours merge. You'll never be able to pick it all apart. Forever intertwined, yet still separate enough to be distinguishable.

That's the thing about Jeongguk; it doesn't matter how often you get lost - in him, in your own head, in the big scary world around you - he always finds you. Never lets you stay lost. Will dapple your skin in glitter to make sure you shine throughout the darkest of nights. Will never lose you in a crowd. Will never eclipse you, like others have done in the past.

And so you simply shrug your shoulders. Smile. "Don't need to say it. I already know."

"Was just making sure," he mumbles.

"Do you worry?" You ask, thinking about his history, and how badly losing a girl he considered his best friend bothered him. "Do you worry that what happened with Hayun will happen with us?"

He's quiet for a moment. A million words screaming in the silence.

Jeongguk will never lie about the sincerity of his feelings, but he will hide the true nature of them. It's self-preservation 101. Can't get his heart broken if he's the one holding onto it. Made that mistake before.

And so he smiles.

"I literally just friend-zoned you, B," he teases. Doesn't want the focus on him, and his emotions, so deflects. Puts the spotlight back on you. "Plus, you've got a boy hitting up your DM's don't you? Who would I be to stand in the way of true love?"

"One date does not equate to true love," you remind him. "I barely know him."

"Might not equate to it, but could very easily start with just one date," he counters. "And so? That's what dating is all about. Testing the waters. Seeing if you work together."

You're quiet for a moment, until eventually, you whisper, "it scares me."

"Why?"

You shrug.

The question you had asked him about Hayun? Projection .

You're scared of repeating mistakes you made with Seokjin. Scared of giving your all, only for the best of you to be left in tatters; scared, because love has only ever frightened you. It goes boo in the night - although 'boo' is far less scary than the alert tone of a dating app you don't recognise, coming from the phone of the man who used to sleep beside you.

It's been spoken about enough, you think. Fears and insecurities are important, yes, but Jeongguk has had to listen to you whine so much about your own. You must sound like a broken record by this point. You're sure of it.

You're the one who has to change the record. You know he'll just let it play out, otherwise.

Reaching over to the back of his desk chair, you smile. Pick up the striped baseball shirt that matches the myriad of shirts in his brother's room.

"Giants fan, too?"

Jeongguk notices your change in topic, but chooses to let it slide. Will never force you to talk about things. Built a friendship off of mutual respect for one another's boundaries. Ain't gonna push them now.

Instead, he smiles. "Busan born and raised. 'Course I am."

"01," you sound out loud, tracing the number on the back with your index finger. "For your birthday, right?"

"Right," he nods, nibbling down on his bottom lip. Feels nervous, for some obscure reason.

This? Right here? You exploring his childhood bedroom? This is intimacy, to him.

It's why 'take a girl home' was on one of his birds.

The way he's feeling right now has no logical fucking explanation. Can't make sense of it. Doesn't understand it. Just understands that anything you do now will only deepen the complexities of how he's feeling.

And so when you turn, and give him a look he knows all too well, he knows he's done for.

"Don't give me those eyes," he warns. Has missed them.

"What eyes?" you flirt, totally unaware of the fact Jeongguk thinks he might die if you do keep giving him 'those' eyes.

He laughs. "Your bedroom disco ball eyes."

There's not that much glitter on you now. It's scattered all over your cheeks, remnants of the previous night's glitter still staining you. It doesn't matter even if you don't deliberately wear glitter - you're always covered in it regardless. Just another thing for him to obsess over when he's alone at night and thinking about you.

"Close your eyes, then," you tease.

He's in no position to let himself get carried away.

So he does.

Sits prettily, posture perfect, hands in his lap. Still just in his sweats, there's something about Jeongguk like this that makes you wanna make bad decisions.

When he hears the crumple of your shirt hitting his bedroom floor, he closes his eyes even tighter.

"Fuck you," he grins.

"What?"

"Fuckin' undressing in front of me when I'm trying to be good. It's like you want me to have a raging boner."

Laughing, you tell him that he can open his eyes. "I'm covered."

He doesn't believe you. Turns his head slightly. Cracks just a single eye half open. Whines.

"What?!" you feign innocence, knowing exactly what you've done. It's written all over the smug smile etched into your cheeks.

Raking the sight of you in, Jeongguk only groans more. Flops down onto his bed. Buries his head into his pillow, and groans even louder.

"What?" you repeat this time with a giggle, as you finish buttoning up the front of his baseball shirt. It finishes midway down your thighs, a little shorter than most of his shirts. Slightly more fitted. Is a little tight across your chest.

"You would have been less hot if you were naked ," he whimpers rather pathetically. Sits back up. Looks at you as if you've just put one of his Girls Generation posters through a paper shredder. A little bit of anguish. Betrayal, almost. "Fuckin' Lions girl in a Giants shirt ."

Saying it out loud is too much. He groans again and flops, once more, back down into his sheets. Pretends to cry.

"You're torturing me. This is torture . Look it up in a dictionary. Torture. Will just be a picture of you right now. Tortuuuuuure. Won't let me fuck you, but will go and do shit that you know will give me a hard-on." He pouts. Pulls his head up a bit to look over at you. "This is very unfriendly, B."

"What?" you tease. "Me wearing your shirt? Or you having a boner because of it?"

He frowns. Huffs. "Both."

"You need to learn self-control," you deadpan. "Consider this training."

"Consider this the end of our friendship."

Laughing, you don't take his petulant little remark seriously.

You really should do.

Not because your friendship is going to end, but because Jeongguk doesn't think your friendship can ever be the same. Not now.

And that in itself is a terrifying prospect.

The fact you don't even seem to realise?

It's the kinda shit that's gonna keep him up at night.

"C'mon," you call, satisfied with your teasing, unaware of the limbo he's in. "Breakfast."

You're already out of the room and walking down the hallways by the time Jeongguk gets himself together. Shaking his head, he rubs a hand over his face, pushing it back into his hair.

Just like you're fearful of making the same mistakes again, so is Jeongguk. He can already feel it happening, and he hates himself for it. Wrecked his friendship with Hayun 'cause he couldn't control his feelings. Is terrified the same will happen with you.

He's gotta rein it in. He has to rein it in. There's no other option.

After Busan, he tells himself. I'll sort myself out when I get back to the city. Will get my head straight. Stop myself from ruining things.

But for now?

He'll let himself indulge in his romanticisation of you. Will express his desire without care for the consequences. Will show you, once and for all, that intimacy can be fleeting without it being harmful.

Eventually, Jeongguk comes to stand beside you as you wash your hands in the kitchen. Washes his too. Says nothing. Just smiles. Flicks you with the water instead of drying them off.

"Asshole," you smile, not fussed in the slightest, but wary to fight back. You weren't born yesterday. You know how shit like this goes - so you don't wet him. You dry your hands off normally, much to his disappointment. "What are we having?"

He shrugs. "Not fussed. Could just cook some ramyeon?"

"Fine with me," you nod. Aren't really much of a breakfast person, so you'll just have whatever he wants. "What kind?"

Jeongguk walks over to a tall cupboard beside the stove, opening it up to reveal supermarket-level organisation. Years of living with two teenage boys meant his mother had created a robust storage system. She had to, given the amount the pair of them ate.

Standing behind him, there's a cautiousness to your hands as they gently hold onto his waist. Your nails scratch ever so slightly, in that same way that always makes Jeongguk melt into your touch.

"Hey," he says quietly.

"Hi," you smile, as he continues to peruse the cupboard. He's already spotted the ramyeon he wants. Doesn't wanna lose your touch, though. Will pretend to look for a little while longer.

Jeongguk's toned back is all you can see; the valley of his spine so deep you think it'd be a great place to get lost in. Warm skin, hard muscles, he's a myriad of complexities that not enough people appreciate. Deserves to be adored.

"You have so many teeny tiny freckles," you observe fondly. Have always liked it about him. Think that if they really are kisses from angels, then it only makes sense Jeongguk has so many.

"You think?"

"Mhmm. Loads."

"Where?"

It's a silly question. He knows it is. Just wants to keep you exactly where you are.

"Right..." You raise to your tippy toes. Hold his waist a little tighter to keep you balanced. Let your lips softly against his shoulder blade. "...Here."

One of his hands rests against yours. "That's only one. You said there were more."

You let his fingers lace with yours. Smile against his back. Sink down from your tippy toes. "There are."

He's so quiet, so sincere, as he says, "Show me."

Your lips trail down his back. Press against the small dark fleck a little lower, slightly closer to his spine. "There."

The way he inhales as your lips apply a little pressure lets you know he's trying to control himself. His urges. Wants. Needs. Desires.

"Where else, B?" he whispers.

Your lips trail even further down. Move to the other side of his back. Plant a pretty kiss on his skin, and yet it's his heart that blooms.

For all Jeongguk knows, you could be lying. Never really looks at his back other than when he's checking his form in the gym. Doesn't pay attention to the freckles dappled on his skin.

"Any more?" he asks, not wanting you to ever stop.

There's no objection from him as you turn his body around. His sweats are tenting, the loose fabric now strained - and yet you ignore it. Make no mention of it. Don't even let your eyes drop.

And so he doesn't mention it either. Just watches you. What you do. The way your lashes splay on the top of your glitter-stained cheeks as you press a kiss into the freckle on his ribcage.

On your tiptoes again, your lips find the freckle beneath his collarbone. In the dip of his muscles by his shoulder, there's something about this one that you especially love. You're not sure why. Maybe it's because you know very few people will know where to find it. Maybe it's because you like his chest just as much as he likes yours.

You reach for his hands as you do so. He doesn't object. You aren't holding them. Just holding onto them. Wonders when the fuck you would have noticed the freckles that he knows must be coming next.

Sure enough, you pull away. Don't look up at him. Just look at his hands as you raise them to your eye level. Check them over. Find what you're looking for. Just below the knuckle of his pinky is yet another freckle. Oh, he's covered . Adorned in so many tiny little blessings. His cheeks, by his eyes, down his chest, on his thighs; mapped out like constellations, they're endless. His very own glitter.

You're not certain if it's intentional, but Jeongguk's head tilts. Exposes his throat a little for you. Gets his neck freckle in prime position.

You ignore it. Save it for later. Keep his hands elevated. Kiss his palm; the pad beneath his thumb.

"How do you even notice them?" Jeongguk says fondly as he looks down at you with ever-adoring eyes. "You're so obsessed with me."

Shaking your head, you lower his hands. "Just observant."

Using his hips to balance yourself, you lower yourself, now. Jeongguk's breathing is a little irregular, lungs beating all out of sync. Just makes that freckle on his ribcage even more precious, now.

"Oh yeah?" he encourages. Brings that freckle-adorned hand of his down to stroke your cheek. "What else have you observed?"

Your hands slide from his hips to his thighs as you crouch. Eyes parallel to his crotch, you're sure he doesn't really want the current answer. Thick and firm, his cock is a sight to behold even when it's hidden beneath his grey sweats.

"Let me see your skin," you say instead. Glance up at him. Don't even realise you're wetting your lips. Are too consumed with anticipation - and so is he, judging by the way he fucking twitches.

Jeongguk could push his sweats down. Could give you total access.

But he knows you. Knows you're a fucking tease, and that the only way he's gonna get what he wants is if he plays you at your own game.

Hand still on your cheek, he uses the other to palm himself. "Don't think I've got any freckles here," he lies.

You're impatient. Forget that you're the one taking your time. "You should let me check."

He purses his lips together, as if to feign uncertainty. Is a little insolent in his tone. Deliberately bratty, 'cause he wants you to beg for it. "But I'm hard , B. You don't want my big hard cock in your face."

Oh, on the contrary.

"A sacrifice I'm willing to make," you assure him, as if you aren't salivating at the thought of it.

His tattooed thumb strokes your cheek. Brushes against your lip. There's no freckle there, but you press a kiss to it regardless. Part your lips. Let him sink his thumb onto your wet tongue. Eyes wide and focused up on him, the air around you both seems to get thinner. 

Neither of you breathe properly. 

Shallow breaths keep you alive, but only just.

Lips closing down around his thumb, giving him the kind of visual that'll finish him off in ten seconds flat if he's not careful, Jeongguk shakes his head. "Sounds like you don't want it."

It's in times like these that you hate Jeon Jeongguk. He knows how much you want him. Knows you wouldn't be in a position like this if you didn't. Knows that he's asking you to swallow pride.

Sliding his thumb from between your lips, oh-so-satisfied with the way it feels, Jeongguk shrugs. "Tell me what you want, B. Big girl words."

The urge to roll your eyes is resisted. Fine. You'll be pliant. Be good for him. Get him all stuttery and whiney, then you'll remind him who's really in control.

But for now you pout. Get a little closer. Study his outline. Press a kiss midway up his shaft where you know a freckle hides.

"There," you whisper, looking back up at him as he releases the claw clip from your hair. Wants it loose. Wants his fingers in it. "I'm pretty sure your freckle is there. Just let me check. Please, Jeongguk."

He takes a moment. Wants to make you beg more - but fuck. He's so fucking hard. A full day since he initiated this little stalemate, and he's regretted it ever since.

And so he nods.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay, baby." His hand pushes into his sweats. Wraps around his firm length. Keeps it hidden. Strokes once. Twice. Rasps, "show me how good your memory is. Smart girl, aren't you? Smart, pretty baby."

You nod. Feel so pathetic, and needy, but it's been so long since you've been this desperate, and he's saying all the right things. You love it when he gets a little derogatory, granted - but when he compliments? Oh, you really will be smart for him. Would do fucking equations, if he asked.

"Tell me," he husks before he reveals himself to you. "Tell me how smart you are."

He likes it when you're kind to yourself. Always makes your eyes glow a little differently.

You shake your head. Say, "don't wanna tell you. Wanna show you."

And who is he to refuse?

One of his hands stretches his waistband a little, as the other pulls his cock free from its cotton restraints - and you fucking whine . Oh, it's perfect . Your disco ball eyes fucking glimmer. Shine.

As soon as he lets go of his cock, your hand replaces his. Grips around his base. Strokes a little. Thick and engorged, he's so pleased to see you. His slightly flared tip is so pretty and pink, his small slit dewy and wet from the excitement of the build-up.

"Just checking," you whisper as you slowly begin to wank his shaft. One of his hands is already in your hair. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip as he watches you, catching on his lip ring.

He nods. Encourages you to keep 'checking'. Can't even remember what the fuck you were checking for, now.

"Like that," he mumbles. Almost chokes on his own breath when your tongue licks against his head. A wet strip of your spit cools in the air. Feels in-fucking-sane. "Oh, fuck."

You do it again. Whatever he says this time is incoherent. Seems like he's forgotten how to talk.

And when you pull back a little? Ease his foreskin back? Get him all exposed and pretty for you? Gather enough spit in your mouth to make your hand feel like your pussy? Yeah . You know he's gonna forget how to breathe, too.

He squirms a little when he's fully retracted. Loves the grip you have on him. Doesn't know what's coming next - which is probably a good thing. He'd nut if he had to think about it for more than a split second.

You line yourself up. Tease a little wetness through your lips and onto his head. Stroke it across with your thumb.

"Fuck."

The noise that Jeongguk lets out when you finally spit on his cock? Heavenly.

You've never been one for religion, really, but think that God must have spent a little while longer crafting Jeongguk. It's why he's got so many damn freckles. Marks of a great creator, or some bollocks like that. A stamp of approval. One for each body part. Wouldn't be surprised to find a freckle on his big toe. They're bloody everywhere else.

Spreading your spit with the hand wrapped around his cock, you begin to pick up the pace. Wank him off like he deserves. Get him twitchy and whiny - but you both know he deserves more .

"That's it," he manages to say as you begin to tease him with your tongue. Up his shaft; around his sensitive head. Wet, needy kitten licks are paired with long, slow stripes, your wet lips kissing against him as if you don't have an aversion to such an intimate act.

One hand wrapped at the base, your other is gripping into his tight to keep you balanced.

It needn't be, for as soon as you take him in your mouth, Jeongguk's hands are in your hair.

"That's it," he rasps, head thrown back briefly as he pulses his hips to fuck himself a little further into your mouth. He can't look away for too long. Needs to see how pretty you are with his cock in your mouth - and yet as soon as he does, he knows he can't look at you for too long either. Too gorgeous. Too much glitter. Too fucking good for him. "Fuck yeah."

Your pace increases for him. You wanna keep him feeling this good. Keep him moaning. Keep his lip shaky and his tummy tense. He's so pretty when his brows are pushed together, chest heaving. His lip ring catches in the morning light that pours through the kitchen, as his deep dark eyes drink you in.

Working your way up and down his shaft, it's impossible to keep your eyes on him, and you hate it. All you wanna do is watch his face as he comes undone, but this isn't about you. It's about him, and making him feel good.

"Shit," he husks as he hits the back of your throat for the first time. You're surprised it took this long, but he's only just started to fuck your face like he wants to. Hands in your hair, hips a little erratic, he's the one in charge of the pace. "Such a good girl for me."

You whine, the sound vibrating around him. Pulling back, you release him, desperate for fucking air. It's not like he was cutting off your airways, you just sort of forgot that you had to breathe for a bit.

"Oh, fuck," he rasps, entranced by your breathlessness. The way you don't really stop? Spit on his cock again? Work your hand up his shaft? Yeah. He's obsessed. "Good girl, aren't you?"

Nodding, you hum in agreement. "So good for you, Koo."

You're surprised by the way Jeongguk encourages you up. Edges you back. Gets your ass perched against the island counter. He dips. Lifts you. Cleans up the evidence of a sloppy blowjob from your chin with his thumb.

Knows that if he'd have spent even a moment longer in your mouth, he would have cum.

It's too soon for that. He wants this to last, now that you're finally giving up on the bratty act. Spent a day going insane; delirious almost from his need to fucking finish. Funny, how now that it seems like an attainable goal, he's putting it off.

Of course he is, though. His favourite thing about fucking you isn't his own orgasms. It's yours .

There's no thought to your movements as your legs spread, just like there are no thoughts in his head as he stands between them. Hands on your thighs, Jeongguk's eyes are on yours. There's a fire burning behind them; a desire to ignite you, too.

The flames are too bright, you think. He'll scorch the earth. Reduce everything to ash.

And yet you don't take your eyes off his. You let him scar your soul. Time and time again, you let him.

It's the only proof you have that Jeon Jeongguk wants you. Wants to have you. To fuck you. To belong to you. Belong with you.

You shake the thoughts from your head. Know it's getting dangerous. Know that you just need little relief to start thinking normally again. You may have been torturing him by not putting out, but it hasn't been easy for you either.

His deft hands stroke up your thighs, a finger hooking beneath your underwear. He doesn't care for niceties. Get your pussy exposed. Is so fucking pleased to see how soaked you already are. Doesn't even need to tease you.

He just sinks his fingers straight into you. Two of them. Thick. Strong. Curved just right. Gets you gripping his shoulders, a gasp being bitten down into his skin. There's no wasted time. Jeongguk doesn't let you adjust. Doesn't ease the rhythm. Just picks up pace. Always fucks you so well with his hand, and now is no exception.

"Fuck," you whimper, because it's all you can manage.

"God," he husks, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. Grits his teeth as he says, "you're so wet for me, B. So fuckin' wet. All from having my cock in your mouth, huh?"

"Gguk," you rasp back, breaths stuttering on account of how well he's edging you. Hands reaching for his cock, you're pleased when he moans into your touch. It's gentle, and half the speed at which he's pumping into you - but you aren't trying to make him cum. At least, not yet.

His breathy sigh of pleasure vibrates against your ear, his head shaking ever so gently. He's not saying no; simply expressing disbelief that it's possible to feel so fucking good. The sensation is suffocating; steals the air from his lungs, and yet his heart has never beat faster.

"Let me fuck you," he begs quietly, breaths heavy. "Let me fuck this cunt."

His thumb begins to work against your clit. He strokes. Caresses. Touches you just right. Gets you mewling. Gets you wanting more. You whine his name.

"Yeah?" he husks. Presses a kiss to the top of your ear. "You want that? Want me inside you, huh? Tell me what you want, baby. Tell me."

All you can do is nod. Whimper.

There's a tremble to your lips; a plea waiting to tumble from them.

Until all rather suddenly, Jeongguk's fingers ease. Brows furrow. He glances behind himself, and curses. Withdraws. "Hold that thought." Taps your knees. "Down, baby."

Panic written all over your features, you hop off the kitchen counter as Jeongguk lunges to flick the kettle on and rip open a packet of ramyeon. He's covering his tracks. Trying to make it seem like he wasn't about to do inexcusable things with you in his family's kitchen.

"Your cock is literally out," you hiss quietly, frantically smoothing down the shirt of his that's over your shoulders. You move quickly. Reach for the claw clip on the counter. Twist your hair up.

"Fuck," he curses, hissing just as quietly as you, both trying to restore some form of dignity. His sweats are quickly tugged a little further up, but his boner is still just as present. "Hands, hands, hands."

You're not sure if he's talking to you or himself, but he darts to run his hands under the tap, ridding his fingers of you.

There's a beep. The keypad of the front door slides up. Four more beeps. The passcode is being typed in.

"Shit," he whispers. Looks across to make sure you're decent and thanks the lucky stars you caught on to his panic as quickly as you did. "Take over ramyeon duty. I gotta stand behind the island."

He doesn't need to explain. He's still hard. Has to hide it.

You do as you're told.

Jeongguk's shirt covers you decently, but you're not a total idiot. You know how it looks.

"Oh!" The sound of Jeongguk's mother rounding the corner almost makes you grimace - but you've got a role to play. Gotta pretend like you haven't just had her sons- No. Shut up. Don't think about it. "Didn't realise you two would still be home!"

"Mum," Jeongguk smiles, sitting on one of the island stools while you add boiling water to the pot by the stove. "You're home early?"

There's a rustle of bags on the counter, the sweet smell of her rose perfume filling the air. "No, I'm not - it's midday!"

"Since when do you only work until midday?!" Jeongguk questions, absolutely baffled.

"Morning," you interrupted, turning to give his mother a smile. She reciprocates, and laughs when you say, "or is it afternoon? I never know what midday is."

"Afternoon, I think," she says, then pauses. Shifts her weight to one hip. Looks into the distance. Hums in consideration. "Actually, I'm not sure now you mention it."

Jeongguk looks between you both in the same way he'd look at two puppies chasing their tails. Arguably the two most important women in his life - fiercely independent, incredibly smart and generally better than him - and wonders how the fuck you don't understand how days work.

"Think I'm losing brain cells," he simply states, to which his mother scolds him. He widens his eyes. Pouts a little. Hides a giggle. "Sorry."

"And anyway, young man!" She changes the topic, and begins to put her shopping away. It's just a few bits and bobs from the mart across the road; peppers and a bottle of sauce that Jeongguk's father loves. "Why are you making our guest do the cooking? We both know you'll be the one scoffing it all down!"

There's something incredibly considerate about Jeongguk's mother. She didn't have to refer to you as 'our' guest. She could have said 'your'. Instead, she groups herself in with Jeongguk. Likely groups the whole family together in that statement. Is a woman of inclusion; sunshine on a cloudy day.

Jeongguk whines; behaves exactly as you'd expect him to when at home. Is the youngest child through and through. You knew he could be pouty, but it's tenfold, now.

"Honestly, I raised you better, Jeon Jeongguk," she tuts - but she's smiling. Throwing you a playful glance.

It's a back-and-forth: Jeongguk's mum pretends to tell him off, and he pretends to be upset about it.

"Does he make you do all the cooking back home, too?" she sighs, turning her full attention to you - and that's when she notices what you're wearing.

You're in a striped baseball shirt. Lotte Giants. At first glance, Jeongguk's mum is incredibly confused - but then she notices the 01 in place of the 12 that is on Jeongmins shirt. The name arched above the number? Jeon Jeongguk.

You think nothing of the way her eyes flicker over to Jeongguk, a knowing smile on her lips. Think that she's still just mucking around.

Jeongguk interrupts again, because of course he does.

"Back home?" he scoffs at the implication. "We're not dating."

You laugh now, too, because the suggestion seems absurd.

Before his mum can call bullshit on him, he adds, "she does make a mean pasta though. Shit's delicious -"

"Language."

"Sorry. I mean, it's really good. Next time you come to visit, I'll hire her as our personal chef."

"Do I get a say in this?" You laugh, taking the ramyeon off the heat. "Strainer?"

Jeongguk's mum pulls open a drawer in the island, where the sieve is sitting on top of some pans. Realises you're a little too far to reach it, so kindly passes it to you.

"No," Jeongguk says, then turns his attention to his mum again. "You got plans this afternoon?"

She nods. Snacks on a grape from the punnet she picked up in the mart. "Remarkably, my life doesn't revolve around you."

"I'm literally your child."

"You're twenty-five years old."

"That is beyond the point," Jeongguk scoffs in faux offence. "So it doesn't matter if we're not around?"

She shakes her head. Finishes her grape. Reaches over to the sink draining board to get you both a pair of chopsticks as you dish the ramyeon up into a stainless steel bowl that Jeongguk had already set out for you. "Of course not. It's a nice day, you two should go out. I've got a hair appointment and then I'm meeting your auntie for coffee. Won't be around until this evening. Do you two fancy dinner? I could see if your cousins are around?"

Jeongguk shakes his head as he begins to chow down on the ramyeon before you've even hopped up on the stool next to him. He can be the most considerate man in the world, but as soon as he's presented with food? All manners evade him.

"Don't put yourself out," he eventually says, pushing the bowl a little further over so that it's between you both equally. Kicks you gently with his foot as you take your seat. Doesn't let his satisfaction show when you kick him back. "I'm not sure what we're doing yet, so don't worry about making plans. We'll figure it out."

"If you're sure?" she offers, but Jeongguk insists. "Alright then, I best be off. Clean up the kitchen before you go out, hm? You, Jeongguk." she emphasises, before she smiles at you. "Not you, sweetheart. He needs to learn how to give and take." Sighs. "Boys."

"Hey!" Jeongguk protests, mouth half full. Swallows it down. Rants. "I always wash up when she cooks. Every time! She never has to ask!"

His mum simply raises a brow. "So you do cook together back home?"

For reasons you can't pinpoint, your cheeks flame. That mouthful Jeongguk had just swallowed? Yeah. He chokes on it.

She doesn't wait for a response. Just heads for the door with a chuckle. "Clean up!"

"Heard you the first time!" Jeongguk stresses back, but the door is closed behind her before any more can be said.

As soon as the lock whirs, confirming it's shut, Jeongguk tosses his chopsticks down. Slouches his posture, and lets out a breath so deep it's like he hasn't been breathing the entire time. Shakes his head. Laughs.

You do the same.

He looks over to you, face a little bunched up. There's a small grin on his face, but you know it's from relief more than anything. "I'm so fucking sorry."

You laugh, now too. Nudge his knee with yours. Don't object when his hand rests on top of it, thumb stroking your skin.

"She so fucking knew ," you whine, pouting as you lean forward to rest your forehead against the island counter. Groan. "Mortifying."

Jeongguk shakes your leg in his grip and lets it go again. Strokes your back now, instead. Soothes you.

"She didn't," he deludes himself. Considers it for a moment. Decides, "well, at least I don't think she knows we were like... yanno. She definitely thinks you're in love with me, though."

You sit up. Pull away from him. Look at him with the utmost disgust.

"ME?!" You roar. "In love with YOU?! Oh please."

"You were cooking for me, wearing my shirt, in my house," he reminds you. "It's like you've got a little crush, B. So cute."

"Please," you scoff, getting to your feet, and heading back to Jeongmin's room. You wanna get changed and ready for the day. Think that maybe going out would do you good. "Wouldn't fancy you even if you were the last man on earth."

Jeongguk just smirks as you walk away. "Weird. If you don't fancy me, why was my cock in your mo-"

"SHUT UP!"

Quietly laughing to himself in the kitchen, Jeongguk curses suddenly - because apparently even the mere mention of you sucking his dick makes him twitch. He throws his head back. Groans. Whyyyy .

He decides against trying to reignite the fire that was burning between you earlier. The moment is gone - and you really ought to do something with your day.

"How do you feel about a hike?" He calls through to Jeongmin's room as he walks into his own.

"How do you feel about masturbating with a cheesegrater?" You reply, because like fuck are you hiking in these temperatures. It's still winter. The air is dry and the winds burn.

"What is wrong with you?!" he shrieks, clearly putting a little imagination to your question. "That's grotesque."

"So is a hike in this weather!"

"It's nice!"

"The sun is shining. That's all. Still bloody freezing."

He knows you're right - he just really likes one of the coastal trails, and thinks you'd like it, too. He's not gonna push for you to do it, though. You can always just do it next time.

"Alright then," he concedes through the wall. "You wanna be tourists for the day?"

"I've never seen Gamcheon," you admit. The culture village - a myriad of colourful houses and murals - is a little far out. A steep hike up hilly streets or a rickety green bus is the only way you can access it. You hate those buses almost as much as you hate hills - and it's a shame, because you know it's iconic. You just always choose to spend your time in Busan down by the coast, instead.

"Never seen-" he shrieks again, this time in disbelief. "Alright. We'll go there. We'll get the bus, though. Ain't parking up there. It's a nightmare, even in the winter."

You agree, because you know no matter how much you dislike those buses, Jeongguk being there will make it so much better. He has a way of alleviating your stresses. Makes everything okay. Just like a best friend should.

And so you set off on your afternoon. Follow his lead.

He's your unofficial tour guide for the afternoon. Shows you around the myriad of colourful houses. Tells you bullshit stories about their origins, and you pretend to believe him. He shows you a mural of some idols.

"Not sure who they are. Handsome, though."

You agree. "One of them looks a bit like you."

"You think?"

"Mhmm."

"I'm better looking."

"Sure you are."

The afternoon is lost and found in a maze of patterns and paintings; mosaics and murals. He takes you to his favourite cafe. The coffee is shit, but the owner has pet ducks that waddle around, so it makes it all worth it. You get every stamp on the little map around the village. A hundred photos are taken. Jeongguk photobombs a solid 50%. Laughs at himself every time. He doesn't mind it when you photobomb his. In fact, he prefers those pictures.

By the time you're done with the village, you're starving . Have been on your feet for so long that it feels like they might fall off.

The area you're in is a little run down; paint peeling off the walls of old retail buildings. There's half a dozen hostess bars, and just as many motels to accommodate the illicit deals that are made in the dead of night.

There's a KTX station just a few blocks over, so it makes sense. Just because red-light districts have been outlawed doesn't mean they don't still exist. The neon signs are just pink now, and the girls do technically work in the service industry - they just earn their tips from a slightly different service.

"Okay, I know it seems sketchy, but trust me," Jeongguk promises when you walk past a Greecian-themed motel, complete with nude statues by the entryway. "The neighbourhood is questionable, yes, but I swear it's got the best chicken in Busan."

Again, just like earlier, you follow his lead. Blindly trust him. Let him drag you into a chicken place that looks like it was built in the middle ages - and that's how you know it's good.

"Not sure what I want," you muse, checking over the menu in front of you when you eventually pick a table towards the back of the shop. It's outrageously large. A3 sheets. No menu needs to be so huge. Kind of irritates you - but everything does when you're as frustrated as you are right now. Your eyes flicker up to his, a smile resting on your glossy lips. "What's tasty in Busan?"

Jeongguk looks at you. Shrugs. 

Throws you an expression that you just know means trouble.

He doesn't even bother to look at the menu before he replies.

"You should know. You've already had a Busan delicacy in your mouth this morning."

Such a boy.

"Was it really that good?" you banter back. "Can't remember. Think I'll have to try it again."

"Can't remember?" he snorts. "You couldn't stop going back for more, B. You know you loved it."

"Did I?" you toy with his ego a little, just because you can. "Maybe I just didn't want the chef to feel bad."

"Oh really?" he laughs. "Well fine. In that case, I'm sure you won't mind if someone else tries it, instead?"

"Someone else?"

"Anyone else," he nods. "Just cause you didn't like it doesn't mean someone else won't. Might even become their favourite food."

Sounds like a threat - and for some reason, it works.

"Said I'll try it again," you insist. The idea of him letting someone else have him? Yeah. You don't like it. "Don't deprive a girl of a perfectly good meal just 'cause she isn't sure if she likes it. Sometimes you need a second taste."

"Is that what you want?" Jeongguk asks as he reclines into his seat. Your mind flashes to his bedroom; his tie around your wrists. Fuck . "You want a second try?"

You shrug your shoulders. Recline, too. Mirror his body language.

In tandem, your bodies feel naturally inclined to reflect one another. It's innate. Intrinsic. Night and day.

You think he's midday; sweltering heat and nothing to hide. Think that maybe you're midnight; a shooting star to make an ill-fated wish upon.

If Jeongguk were to ever learn of these thoughts, he'd probably agree - but thinks you're midnight for a dozen different reasons. None of them bad.

He thinks, primarily, that you're the embodiment of every star that has ever burned through the height of midnight. You're all of the secrets ever hidden away, illuminated only by moonlight, whispered between friends. You're nervous touches in darkened rooms, and the cosmic entities that dapple his brain whenever his eyes are closed.

He met you at midnight, and time has never really functioned normally since.

The concept of days are lost on him. He doesn't count in minutes nor hours. Now, it's simply time passed since he last saw you , or time yet to pass until he sees you again .

And in those fleeting moments when he's looking at the cosmos herself? 

Well, time stands still. Ceases to exist.

Romanticisations of you are typically reserved for moments alone; when Jeongguk's brain is empty of everything except the scent of your perfume and the loss of your touch.

More often than not, it occurs at midnight - and that just solidifies his conclusions of your character.

The restaurant you're in is busy. There are people chattering, vibrant oranges coating the walls and rogue neon lights polluting his vision. Fryers sizzle, alarms ring, tills ding. There's chaos. Pandemonium. An overload for anyone's senses.

And yet, Jeongguk's brain is working just like it does when he's alone. It's you, you, you. That's all he can focus on.

"How hungry are you?" Jeongguk asks, reading into the way you're mirroring him.

He isn't asking about food. You both know this.

"Fucking starving."

His head tips back, lips pressing together, his silver ring flipping ever so slightly in the corner of his mouth as he withholds a satisfied laugh.

As he looks back down at you, he edges forward in his chair. Rests his elbows on the table. Clasps his hands beneath his chin and glances to the side. Checks who's within earshot. Figures the rest of the people in the restaurant are too far away to hear. Is so hard in his jeans that he doesn't give a shit even if they do hear. Let them.

"Me too."

"Oh yeah?" you tease, sultry in how your posture remains as it was. "Watcha fancy, huh? Watcha wanna taste?"

Stupid fuckin' question, he wants to laugh, but now isn't the time. If he didn't know better, he'd think you were flirting.

And so he shrugs now.

"Same thing I wanted this morning, B."

Again, you both know the insinuation - but you wanna be vulgar. Wanna be direct. Wanna get him all hot beneath his collar and hard in Calvins. Aren't aware he's already throbbing.

"Oh," you purr, subtleties well and truly abandoned. "So you wanna eat my pussy?"

He has to stop himself from groaning. Thinks he might die.

Looks around himself again. Hates that you're in the booth seat. Wishes he was on that side with you. There's a safety that comes with it. A little extra darkness. The ability to hold a hand and have no one know.

Not that hand-holding is commonplace for you. Yesterday was an anomaly. A bird. Might be revised one day, but it's best not to make a habit of it.

"Say it," you smirk regardless, clearly enjoying the tease. Lift your chin a little. Challenge him. "Tell me how much you want it."

You're not even sure why you're doing this. Just enjoy the confirmation that you're still wanted. You like how you're able to get Jeongguk hot under the collar, even if you don't make his heart beat faster.

Though you may not have his heart, you have his attention - and after everything the pair of you have weathered, it's comforting.

"B, there are people-"

You don't care. "Tell me how much you wanna eat me out."

"B," he warns. There's an agitation in his voice. Frustration.

You pout. Give him your best wide-eyed gaze. Make sure you're extra whiny when you beg, "Please, Koo."

"Fuck," he curses. Adjusts in his seat. Presses down on himself. Thinks if he was ever gonna cum in pants, it would be now. "Don't call me that."

If you do it again, he'll surely die. Decides he can't risk it.

"Tell me-"

"I wanna fucking drown in it," he grits, interrupting you so harshly it actually shocks you. Makes you gasp. Tongue ties you - and oh, how Jeongguk loves it when you're lost for words. So he continues. Get nastier . Whispers. This is just for you. All for you. "I wanna make you cum, B. Wanna make you cum like I did on New Year's. Wanna make you squirt . And then? And then I wanna fucking drown in it."

It's only when he stops talking that he realises his chest is heaving a bit. So is yours.

He smirks. "Better?"

You look around now, too. Aren't really sure what you'd been expecting, but it wasn't that .

Letting out a small laugh of disbelief, you run your fingers back through your hair. Regain your poise. Pretend to be unaffected. Pretend like you didn't feel yourself getting wetter.

From the look on his face - Smug. Arrogant. - you know that he already knows. Asshole .

"We should order our food to go," you say, nodding as if that will make him agree. Don't know where you'll 'go' to, just know that you need privacy. A room with a door that can be locked and curtains that can be drawn. Soundproofing is preferable, but not essential.

He nods back. Thinks you should have suggested it from the get-go.

"B I'm not fucking kidding. Been fucking hard for like, 48 hours. I gotta-"

"I know," you laugh fondly. It's been aeons since you were this ravenous. Love his outfit, but Christ . You wanna tear it off of him right this instant. "I'm not kidding either. Order to go."

"My mum's at home."

"So? I never said we'd go home."

"So what? You wanna get me arrested for public indecency?" Jeongguk smirks.

"Cuffs are kinda hot," you tease back - and then you're reminded of his room, and that stupid fucking tie that acted like a pair of cuffs and fuck . You don't even care about the food any more.

"You're not wrong," he says, then calls over to the server. As he approaches, a pleasant smile on his face, he's none the wiser that Jeongguk's cock is so hard it feels like he may die. Kind of makes you smile. He masks it well. Cute. "Can we order to take out, instead? Had a change of plans."

It's no problem. The waiter is happy to accommodate. Tells Jeongguk there'll be a ten-minute wait on the food.

"It's fine," Jeongguk smiles. "No rush."

And yet as soon as it's just the two of you again, Jeongguk whines.

"Swear if it takes even a second longer than ten minutes, we're going to the bathrooms."

"You're not fucking me in a chicken shop bathroom," you deadpan, realistically knowing you'd let him fuck you anywhere he likes.

"It's that or the table," he assures you, face just as straight as yours despite his ridiculous claim.

"Then you really will be arrested for public indecency."

"So will you," he reminds you. "How very Bonnie and Clyde of us."

"They die, yanno," you remind him right back. Think that he needs to brush up on his failed romance lore. "We'd make the local news."

"And I'll die if I don't cum in the next half an hour," he assures you. "We better not end up on the news for a chicken shop shag. My parents would disown me."

"That'd really blow my chances with your brother, wouldn't it?" you sigh. "Maybe we shouldn't."

Jeongguk doesn't like this suggestion. Frowns. Clarifies. "Shouldn't fuck? Or shouldn't fuck here?"

"Oh, just here," you assure him. Bite down on your bottom lip, cheeks rosy from just how indecent this entire conversation is. "Think we'll both die if we don't orgasm soon."

"Don't think I'm gonna last even, like, a minute," Jeongguk pouts, admitting his biggest worry. Wants you so bad, but doesn't think he'll be able to savour it like he wants to.

"So like normal, then."

"Fuck you."

You resist the urge to make another joke. Tell him to behave himself. You've only got a little while to wait for the food. Need a plan of action. Need to decide where the fuck you'll be able to relieve yourselves of the pent-up frustration. It was fun while it lasted, but it's unbearable now.

"Look, I won't lie, B," Jeongguk sighs. "There's only one solution here."

"Abstinence?"

"Are you fucking mental? No," he shakes his head. "Worse."

"Worse?"

"Worse."

You know what he's gonna suggest, 'cause you considered it too.

After all, the district you're in is known for them.

"You're not taking me to a fucking love motel, " you whisper in judgemental horror.

You know Jeongguk; know how particular he is about his laundry and cleanliness. He might be filthy in bed, but he's always the filthiest in the shower. Likes being able to wash away his sins. You think a motel would kill his boner instantly.

But it's the forbidden nature of them that makes him a little curious. He's never used one. Never needed to. Not until now. Used to be far better at controlling himself.

You kind of make him go a little crazy.

He can't remember ever choosing sex over food. Would always eat first.

But then again, you were never an option before now.

"Private room or public bathroom," Jeongguk simply shrugs, a little impatient. He's not in the mood to be making deals. "Take your pick."

"You'd rather die than use the bathroom," you say.

He agrees, but also says, "gonna die if you don't let me fuck you, regardless, so who cares?"

There's something oddly charming about that, you think.

There really isn't it. You're just too horny to fully comprehend the language anymore. Everything Jeongguk says sounds like a sonnet. He'll continue to whisper Elysian words worthy of Shakespeare himself until you reach post-cum-clarity.

And then you'll realise his words are just those of a boy desperately trying to get laid.

Until then, you'll bestow upon him admiration reserved for the greatest of poets. Will convince yourself no man has ever used language in the way that he has; that the twist of his tongue sounds as pretty as it feels when it's on your skin.

"And if I agree?"

Jeongguk looks at you like the answer is painfully obvious.

"You get fucked?" He shakes his head a little, confused at how you didn't already reach that conclusion. "Oh, just one thing, though."

The way he begins to grimace lets you know that you're not gonna like whatever it is. Still, you encourage him to continue.

He grits his teeth. Winces. "Gonna have to use your ID for check-in."

The facade slips, like glass shattering all around you. His status as your cheeky, yet infuriatingly charming best friend returns.

"What?!" You pout, voice all distressed and pathetic. "Why?"

"Because," he stresses. "What if the owner knows my parents?!"

"You look just like your dad," you remind him. "If they know your parents, they'll know it's you regardless of your ID."

"Plausible deniability," he counters. "But if they see my ID? No denying that I'm a Jeon."

You laugh, because you think Jeongguk's got the kind of face that stands out. Think that anyone who had met him even once would be able to pick him out from a crowd. He's not the type of person you just forget. One little flick of his lip ring? Yeah. Ain't no way anyone could get him out of their head.

"Look, we can make up a cover story," Jeongguk offers, clutching at straws. A playfulness returns to his eyes. "What if... we're a young married couple on the run. Nothing sleazy."

"On the run?!"

He grins. Finds your slight horror funny. "Yeah. Dangerous. Sexy."

You narrow your eyes. Decide to entertain him, 'cause how can you refuse?

"Fine," you eventually giggle. "How long have we been married?"

"6 years," Jeongguk says. Doesn't even have to think about it. Has always been good at playing make-believe. "Eloped as soon as we could. Our families don't approve."

"Oh?" You question, a little surprised. This doesn't bode well. "Still? After six years?"

"Still," he grins, enthralled by your willingness to play along despite your incessant need to challenge him. "I'm the son of a powerful businessman. You're the cleaner's daughter."

"Oh, a Cinderella-type story," you purse your lips. "But also fuck you. Feels very gender-role-conforming. How did I win your heart?"

It's a funny story... he thinks, but shakes his head. Now is no time for the truth.

"Firstly, it's not about gender - you're the smarter one. You work harder. Are the underdog of the story," he assures you, but you don't really buy it. Think he's just stupid. And a boy. And realise that actually maybe it's fitting. "You used to come with your mum to my parents' house. Would rearrange my sculptures-"

"Dolls."

"Shut up. Would rearrange them just to annoy me, and it did."

"But then?"

"Then I started arranging them back," he nods, pleased with the little story he's concocting. He really is a true romantic, you think, even if this is all just one long-winded attempt to get laid. "One thing lead to another and - boom - in love."

Okay, so maybe he isn't a fine detail kinda guy (although he totally is), but it's the thought that counts. He twinkles his fingers when he makes the sound effect, his big brown eyes just as sparkly.

Laughing, you can't help but find the whole situation ridiculous. Your order is getting bagged up by the front desk. You should get up. Should go.

But you don't.

You indulge in the fallacy of him, and his big ideas. Grand plans. Revel in them. Adore them.

"Okay," you begin to clarify the tall tale. "So we eloped. Been together for 6 years. Why are we in a motel?"

"Like I said, baby. We're on the run," he grins. You burst out laughing, so he just continues. Both pretend like he didn't just call you baby. Will chalk it up to him already being in character. "We're wanted by Interpol."

"Interpol?!"

"We scammed a Vegas casino," he tells you with a face straighter than a spirit measure. "Fled to Busan. Now we're darting into a motel because we think we're being tailed."

"And are we being tailed?"

"No," Jeongguk says. "Just paranoid. It will be our inevitable downfall - but for now, we're high on adrenaline and maybe a little something else, I don't know, so a motel seems like a safe bet."

"And once we're in?"

"I'll shave my head and you'll dye your hair," he deadpans. Has seen it in half a dozen films that always end in disaster. Naive of him to think yours won't. "Secure our new identities."

"And then?" You encourage once more.

"Well, then we'll fuck," he says nonchalantly, as if he hasn't just declared his intentions to the restaurant around you. Not like anyone heard. Not like he'd care even if they did. Let them know. Let them think about the way he'll claim you as his own. Let them imagine your pretty little face as he gets you coming undone. Let them know. "Re-consummate the marriage under our new identities."

He's looking at you with an intensity you don't quite recognise. You don't realise the thoughts behind his dark eyes. Are unaware his brain is as territorial as his cock is hard.

"Can we skip the hair part?" You whine. Don't want him to shave his head. Like his hair, and how it feels to lock your fingers in it.

"No."

"Please."

"No-"

"But I wanna fuck you," you pout softly. It takes him by surprise. Had momentarily forgotten how bold you were both being earlier. Was too lost in his fantasy. "Dying hair takes the best part of an hour. I can't wait that long. I'll die."

The way you stroke his ego makes his heart swell. Cock, too. A rush of blood pumps through his body. He's all testosterone and bad decisions, but he doesn't give a fuck. Won't give a fuck until he comes.

"God, you are horny," he teases. Likes it when you play hard to get, but likes it just as much when you're desperate.

"I was on my knees for you earlier," you remind him. "There's a reason we hadn't done that before."

"The reason being?"

"Gets me a little insatiable. I put the worship in cock worship," you sigh, an air of indifference to your tone. Despite the flirt, you're still able to pretend like you don't really give a fuck - and that just makes him want you more. "You put in the cock."

"Thanks," he laughs. "Guessed that much. You really like giving head, huh?"

"I like power," you simply say.

The truth of the matter is that yes, you like it. Love it. Adore the way men sound when they're all whiney and pathetic just as much as you like a guy who takes control with it.

"Power?" He raises a brow.

You smirk. Won't give him the truth. Instead, will reclaim your status as just a friend.

"One bite and I could ruin your life."

Jeongguk's smile explodes onto his face, a stunted laugh catching in his throat. "Okay, so I'm never putting my cock in your mouth again."

"No!" You say a little too quickly. "I mean, I wouldn't - but I could ."

"Yeah, nope," he just laughs, now. Is glad you're diverting the conversation a little. He needs to be able to stand up, soon. Needs his boner to soften a little. "Never again."

"But-"

"Absolutely not."

" Koo ."

"Don't call me that."

"You know you liked it," you remind him with a teasing grin. "You know you wanna fuck my mouth again, Koo ."

And God, you want it, too. Want his hands in your hair. Want his raspy little moans soundtracking the lewdness of him hitting the back of your throat.

"I'll stick it down your throat just to shut you up," he deadpans.

"And they say romance is dead."

"You're the one who loves sucking on my cock," he smirks. "Not exactly romantic."

"There's nothing more romantic than swallowing spunk," you say all very stoically. "You think I'd let just any man finish in my-"

"Y'know, sometimes I think you don't actually want to fuck," he laughs, cutting off your train of verbalised thought. "The shit you say is just so..."

He doesn't finish. Doesn't need to.

Unhinged? Confusing?

Either could apply. They'd both be correct.

"Put your cock in my mouth and you won't have to hear it."

He shakes his head. "Don't trust you not to bite, now."

"Pussy," you pout, realising you may have fucked it. Shouldn't have threatened violence against a cock as nice as his. Rookie error. Desperately try to claw back control. "Live life on the edge. Take a risk. Gamble a nibble to win a swallow. Worth it."

Regretfully, he thinks it is.

"Are you always like this?" Jeongguk asks, a little bemused. Gamble a nibble. You really are something else. "Like, is this how you seduce boys? Just confuse them into obsession?"

You shrug. Grin. "Sometimes. Not often, though. I'm not actually trying to seduce you, idiot. Just messing with you 'cause you're my best friend."

"Do you offer to suck all your bestie's dicks?"

"Danbi doesn't have a dick," you remind him. "Now, pussy on the otherha-"

"I don't need to know," Jeongguk decides. He's already got Jimin confirmation. Doesn't wanna have to think about you fucking anyone else he already knows.

"I'm just joking," you laugh. "Dan is straighter than a ruler."

"They're quite bendy, actually," Jeongguk corrects you.

"Maybe," you admit. "But they always snap back to a straight position."

He can't fault that logic. Thinks it's probably the best way to describe himself. Has his own curiosities and wonders, granted, but can't really imagine himself exploring them with anyone who doesn't have long-term partner potential - and when it comes to romance, he really is straighter than a ruler.

Kind of likes how open you are about your experiences. Makes him feel safe in exploring his own desires with you.

The conversation is ended by the server coming to retrieve you both. The bill is rung up, and Jeongguk pays. You let him. Will just transfer him half of the balance a little later.

Curiously, as he holds the door open for you, Jeongguk grabs onto your hand. Slides his fingers between yours.

"Making it believable," he just says when you chirp slightly. "We don't have rings. Gotta make the couple thing seem legit."

You don't have to do that in the slightest. It's perfectly acceptable for two young people to show up to a love motel together and rent it for a few hours.

Yet he keeps on holding your hand.

And you let him.

There's a motel a few blocks up, but you're hesitant.

"It's on the main road," you hiss just above the noise of traffic. The tips of your fingers are icy cold, but Jeongguk's keeping you warm for the most part.

"The quicker we get inside, the quicker this is over and done with," he assures you.

"Rude."

"Didn't mean it like that," he grins. Squeezes your hand. Pulls you a little closer as you continue down the path. Rests his lips against the crown of your head. Is quiet as he says, "gonna fuck you for hours, B."

You withhold a small laugh. "You're gonna nut as soon as you get in the room."

"Maybe," he admits with a soft grin. Presses a kiss against your head and pulls away a little. Restores his posture. Is confident in his strides. "Got a pair of hands and a mouth, though."

The mention of them almost makes you groan. "Fuck it," you concede. Pull on his hand to guide him towards the entrance of the motel.

You're no-nonsense as you get to the front desk. Let go of Jeongguk's hand. Get your ID and card out as he stands a little sheepishly behind you.

The place is dreary. Drab. Dark. Sin lines the walls and desire laces the air; a cesspit of human acts that are as hedonistic as they are hellish. The room rate is tacked up on the wall, thick black lines putting a price on privacy. Half a dozen numbers have been scribbled over, the price increasing with every stroke of the pen. Far more expensive than the going rate online, but you don't care. Will pay anything at this point.

There's no price that can be put on how it feels to be desired by Jeongguk. No monetary value could ever compare to the whisper of his lips against yours as he finishes. Priceless .

Card charged, ID photocopied for their records, you're given a key. Room 305. Your check out is the next morning, 'cause you couldn't bring yourself to ask for a day rate.

Silent as you step into the elevator, Jeongguk stands across from you. Food takeout in one hand, there's a casual arrogance to his stance. He leans back against the wall. Rakes down your body with his eyes as you press the button encouraging the doors to close.

Glancing up, you spy the camera in the top corner. Know it's flickering onto a grainy screen behind the front desk. There's an audience. Just one slightly older man who's probably seen far worse offenders than you and your 'husband' for the afternoon.

Jeongguk bites down on his lip. Grins. Lets his lips ring to do the thing. Shakes his head as if he can't believe his luck. Lets his eyes drop to his feet a little before the focus is back on you. Wants to speak. To say something impressive. Something that will make you want him.

But he's stumped. Just continues looking at you; your glitter, your pretty little smile, your sparkling eyes.

And so you're the one to break the silence. "Come here."

He does as he's told. Stops just an inch away from you. Looks down. Presses his lips in on themselves; makes sure they aren't dry. Whispers, "here."

Your hands trail up his throat, arms wrapping around his neck, as your feet press up to their tippy toes. His empty hand cradles your back, keeping your balance neutral.

"Missed a freckle earlier," you whisper. He hums. Encourages you to continue. Knows exactly which one it is. You lean closer. Let your lips graze his. "It's right here. Just below your lip."

So close, your nose nudges against his. Eyes close. Lips press down.

He reciprocates. Whines a little into the kiss. It's a luxury. One he knows not to waste. Grips your waist. Parts his lips. Lets your tongue stroke against his.

Hands in his hair, you know that anyone watching the CCTV stream would believe your lovebird story.

There's an unbridled desire between you both, one that can only be remedied naked - although you're pretty sure he could take you right here in the lift, and it would be just as satisfying (but then you really would get arrested for public indecency).

He pulls back slightly. Rests his forehead on yours. Keeps his eyes closed. You're breathing him in to stay alive.

"I didn't think we did 'that'," he husks. Didn't want it to stop. Just wants to be sure you want it.

And so when you press your lips back against his, ever so briefly, he smiles.

"We don't," you simply shrug as the elevator pulls to a stop. Loosening your grip, you smile. Wait for the doors, and pull him down the corridor as soon as they open. "But we aren't 'us', remember?"

Oh, how Jeongguk loves that you're always so willing to play. You'll feed into his make-believe, and pretend as if it doesn't affect your reality. The game is dangerous, but Jeongguk is safe.

The scrunch of his nose as he enthrals in your acceptance of his childish nature is evidence enough that making Jeongguk happy is the most rewarding task on the planet.

You think, for this reason, that you shouldn't blur the lines between friendship and fucking - but the key is in the door, and Jeongguk's lips are on your neck.

There's only one way this will end.

Turning to face him as the door clicks open, you let his lips find yours again. Will worry about the consequences later. Maybe.

"Gguk-" you mumble against him, eyes closed, following his guide as he pushes you both into the room. Your words are interrupted by the intrusion of his tongue licking against yours. He's desperate. Wants to be yours in every capacity he can be.

The way you grip a little tighter onto him, nails digging into his skin lets him know you don't mind.

Still, he takes a split second to grunt, "What is it?"

You're the one cutting off his words now as you press back up into his lips. Let his hands run all over your body. Pause only when the back of your legs hit something. You assume it's the bed. Are proven right when Jeongguk manoeuvres you both onto it. There's little discussion. Moans. Grunts. Nothing of any substance, yet it says so much more than any fucking word could.

He prizes your shirt off of you while you frantically unbuckle his belt. The sound of clattering metal unleashes something in you. Gets you so desperately needy. Has you taking your own trousers off as Jeongguk quickly stands to rid himself of his jeans.

"So fucking hot," Jeongguk praises as he prowls back on top of you, lips finding yours instantly. His tattooed arms keep him supported by your head, while his over dips to rub your clothed cunt. Precision nor accuracy matter. Above anything else, he just wants to be holding you. Claiming you. Your moans are an added bonus.

His lips break from yours to scatter wet kisses up your throat, tongue massaging the spot that always gets you panting. Beneath his body, you're squirming, overwhelmed by the way he's making you his.

He's rarely ever this quiet. You think it's because he's busy - and he is - but it's not why. It's because he doesn't trust himself. One lost thought spoken too soon could ruin everything, so he keeps his lips busy. Nips at the soft flesh of your chest. Wishes you weren't wearing your bra still. Is oddly perplexed to notice the set you're wearing. It's black. White banding. Calvin fuckin' Klein stitched into it. You're fucking matching him. He finds your lips again, 'cause it feels like his head is gonna explode.

Your hand clasps his wrist. Can barely make it halfway round. You're not stopping his movements. Just need a little control, or you're gonna finish too soon.

"Fuck me," you beg into his lips. "Please fuck me."

"If I fuck you I'm gon-"

"Fuck me," you reinforce your plea. "I don't care. Cum inside me. I don't give a fuck."

You really should. You know such a primitive human act is one that's gonna leave you feeling all sorts of fucked up - but you already feel that way, so what's the harm? Maybe it will help.

Jeongguk pauses. His chest heaves. Pulls away from you, hands stroking all over your body. God. He'll never get bored of this. Of you. Of how this feels.

The lights are off and the blinds are closed. Neither of you has inspected the room like you really should have done.

Small streaks of light sneak through the Venetians. They paint you in gold. You glitter. Of course you do.

Eventually, after what feels like a lifetime of him drinking you in, glossy brown eyes all star-drunk and cosmic, he nods. Whispers. "Gonna fuck you."

You nod, too. Watch as he takes off his boxees. Rid yourself of your bra and he strips you of your panties. No words are exchanged. Why would they be? You both know what you want.

He climbs back onto the bed. Presses a chaste kiss to your lips as one of his hands grips your cleavage. His fingers are tight. Possessive. Intolerant of the idea that you might not be his.

So fucking keen for you, the tip of his cock rubs up against your folds without his guidance. Has done this dance with you enough times now to know the right steps. Sink a little lower and he could push himself into you without any assistance. You're wet enough. Fucking soaked. Will be leaving evidence of your desire on the sheets. His cock is no better. Precum is smeared in his boxers and all over his slit. You're both pathetically needy right now.

Reaching your hand down to stroke his cock as his lips latch onto one of your nipples, you find yourself whining. There's nothing you don't love about the way Jeongguk fucks you. Doesn't forget a single part of your body - and how could he ever forget your tits? He's a changed man because of them.

He sucks harder as you encourage the head of his cock to press against your sopping-wet entrance. Just a little push is all it takes - and yet he doesn't relent just yet. Regretfully eases the suction his lips have around your nipple. Kisses you again. Husks, "Gonna cum so fucking fast."

You just nod. Kiss him again. Cradle his jaw. Nudge up against his nose. "Want you to cum. Fast is okay."

He swallows back a feeling of uncertainty. "Sure?"

"Please just fuck me, baby."

Oh, it's sin . Filth . Gluttonous, how badly he wants you; how insane hearing you call him 'baby' makes him.

He doesn't kiss you, but instead watches your face as he finally fucks his thick cock into you. Wants to see everything. How you gasp. How your brows furrow, eyes wide. How your cheeks blush. The way the heartbeat in your neck matches the heartbeat in your chest. How you whisper his name and desperately pull him back into your lips.

Jeongguk had a hundred and one things he wanted to do to you in these four walls, but with every stroke of his cock into your pussy, one of them melts away. Eventually, all that's left is his need for you to know every atom of his being wants to melt into you, too. Close will never be close enough. He has to fuck his cum into you because he has to fool his body into thinking maybe he could become at one with you.

"Shit," he husks, barely a few minutes into it. Hooks one of your legs over his elbow. Encourages it further. Gets it over his shoulder. Ruts himself ever deeper inside of you. "Oh, shit, baby."

"You good?" you check, to which he just nods. Pants. There's a sheen to his skin. Sweat. Like his very own glitter.

His hips stall a little. Brows furrow. He's trying to hold back - but you don't want him to, so sink your finger down to rub at your clit. Want him to see that it's okay. That he can cum. That you're just as close.

Because you are. All it takes is a little extra help from your hand - and then you're squeaking. Keep his gaze locked on yours. Letting the ripple of what it feels like to cum undone around him make itself known.

Jeongguk curses. "Keep doing it."

You do. Don't stop. Get yourself pulsing around him. Torso shuddering. Cunt desperately trying to milk his cum - and then all rather suddenly, Jeongguk whines.

"Yeah. That's it. That's it. Oh, fuck, baby. Fuck." His hips thrash against yours; his cock using your tight walls to reach his orgasm. You watch his pretty face as he comes undone; mouth open, whines stuttering from his throat. "I'm cumming. Fuck. Oh. Fuck. I'm cumming, baby."

His speech is a mess, and so is he. So are you.

Thick and creamy, his cums spurts into you with unrelenting force. The build of the last twenty-four hours means there's so much more than usual - and it's all yours. Every last drop.

The sound of your cum-filled cunt as he continues fucking himself into you is lewd. The kinda shit you could only imagine. He keeps going. Pushes his cum deeper and deeper into you. Has no desire to leave your walls. Keeps fucking into you until the overstimulation gets so unbearable he could fucking cry - and yet it's still so good.

He curses as he pulls out, body spent on top of yours. Is gasping for air as if he's just gone three rounds in a boxing ring. Buries his head into your neck as you wrap your arms around him.

"So good," you praise, 'cause you think he needs it. Think he deserves it. "Always make me feel so good."

He nods against your skin. Agrees. Presses a kiss to your neck, but can't bring himself to do anything else. Just needs to be still for a little while. Just needs you to stay with him, like this. Needs to know that the little piece of soul that he's just given up is safe with you.

A full five minutes pass before he rolls off you with a sigh and a deep-rooted desire to fuck you again. Harder, this time. For longer. Better. He's not ready, though. Not yet.

Not ready for anything. Hasn't processed any of his feelings. Just knows he doesn't even need to give you a verbalised response when you ask, "Shall we shower?"

He presses a kiss into your shoulder. Nods. Sits up, taking your hand in his. Leads you to the bathroom, which is surprisingly nice for a place like this. Has a tub. He dreads to think of what horrors it's seen.

Neither of you really speak much. There's a heaviness. An understanding that whatever just happened isn't what usually happens. Yes, it was sex, and yes it was still just you two, but something about it was just... different. The silence isn't uncomfortable. It's just noticeable.

Just like it's noticeable when Jeongguk gets hard again a little while later. Just like it's noticeable when you straddle his lap and sink down onto him. Just like it's noticeable when he directs your hips to grind instead of bounce. Just like it's noticeable when he kisses you through a climax. Just like it's noticeable when he cums inside you for the second time that afternoon.

It's not bad. It's just noticeable.

"We gonna talk about it?" You ask as the pair of you sit on the bed, a shitty cable movie on the motel television as you finally snack on the chicken you'd picked up earlier.

Jeongguk plays it cool. Keeps watching the TV, as he says, "about what?"

You're not sure if you should continue. Jeongguk is in his underwear. You're wearing his shirt, and that's it. You both know you aren't done with the sleazy motel room. Part of you worries that your question might lead to an argument. Post-sex conversations have a way of doing that with you two. Emotions are always heightened. Both of you always try and act like stars don't align whenever he's inside you. Think that by playing it cool, you're playing it safe.

Issue is, you care too much about Jeongguk to be playing things safe now. You need to play honestly. Openly. Without fear of losing.

"Well," you hesitate. Dust off your crumbs into the container. Don't look at him. Are scared his gaze will put you off. "What is this?"

The childish part of Jeongguk wants to answer 'fried chicken,' or something dumb like that. Thinks it would be funny. Know you would laugh. Instead, he nibbles on his bottom lip. Briefly glances over to you. The way you're avoiding his eyes makes him nervous.

"What do you mean?" He asks. Knows exactly what you mean. Still wants you to spell it out for him, just in case he's jumping to conclusions.

But he's not.

"Us," you say quietly. "This. What is this?"

It doesn't surprise you when the silence returns. Jeongguk doesn't want to misspeak. You know him well. Anticipated such a response. Don't push for more, because you know it will just take a little time.

Your friendship is well established. He's your best friend, and you are his. It had been agreed upon.

"It's just us," he eventually states. "We're best friends. Right?"

"Right," you nod. Feel a little deflated. Ask, "but, like... the fucking?"

Jeongguk thinks his lungs might collapse, just like your slightly misguided sense of hope. Is certain if the conversation continues, that he will simply die.

"Oh." He hums. "Right. Yeah. That."

You've done this before, his brain taunts him. Don't fuck it up. Don't fuck it up. Don't fuck it up. You know how this works. You'll lose her. Don't fuck it up.

"I'm not, like, in love with you, if that's what you're worried about," he laughs a little sheepishly. Is a terrible liar, but you're too much in your own head right now to realise.

"Oh. No. I didn't mean - I'm not accusing you of anything," you insist - and you really weren't. Was just searching for clarity. Kind of wish you hadn't now.

"No, I know," Jeongguk says back with a kind smile, not that you're looking at him. "I just didn't want you to get the wrong end of the stick, or anything like that."

"I haven't," you promise, finally looking over at him.

Neither of you really appear convinced. Not with yourselves, not with one another.

"And, I mean, you've got that guy," Jeongguk doubles down. Pretends to forget his name cause he just can't help himself. "We've been working on intimacy stuff literally so you could date again, right?" He waits for a response. You don't give him one. "So you're doing it. And that's great. And I'm happy for you... and, like-"

"Do you not think it will cause issues?" you blurt out, a little frustrated with how cool Jeongguk seems to be about it all. You don't realise it feels like his brain is on fire. He's masking it well. The only giveaway is the nervous sweat that's building beneath his arms - but you're hardly gonna notice that.

"Will it cause you issues?" he simply counters. Never wants to be the first to admit things. Has been burned too badly before.

You take a moment to think of a response, but realise nothing will do your feelings justice.

You think of your friendship with Jeongguk, and how he's somehow gone from a once-in-a-blue-moon bartender that would serve you magic in the form of a tiny purple shot to a permanent fixture in your life.

And it scares you, too. He was temporary once. Maybe one day he could become that again.

It doesn't feel like he will be.

Feels like you'll stoke one another's fires and keep your twin flames alive for years to come - but there's no promise that someone won't try and seek warmth from his burning embers. He's a good guy. Wouldn't wanna leave them to go cold. Would forget about you in the process, 'cause he's so used to having you there. Your flame could die out before he realises. Would spend forever trying to reignite it, but ashes just don't burn.

It's unlikely, but it's possible.

And so it seems silly depending on him as your only source of flame preservation. Perhaps you should see where things with Seojoon go.

"How... How does anyone know if they're making the right choices?" You ask a little sheepishly. Feel just as confused as you did at the start of the conversation. "How can they be sure?"

"They're not," Jeongguk simply says, reaching out to nudge your knee. Is as warm to the touch as he usually is, but kinda feels like he burns, now. "We take chances, and hope that they work out. That's all we can do."

"But love-"

"Isn't what we think it is," Jeongguk interrupts.

He's had so many ideas of love in his lifetime, yet refuses to believe any of them were real. Thinks he knows what it is, now. Finally truly understands the concept of setting the ones you love free.

He's trying to do that for you. Doesn't want to hold you back.

"It's not the wind blowing in some dude's hair, or roses appearing behind a pretty girl," he doubles down. "It's not that heart beating out of your chest shit that happens when you first see someone you like. Love isn't what's peddled to us in the movies. It's not."

"No? So what is it?"

"It's peace . It's not struggling to breathe, or panicking, or nervousness. It's none of that. Love... love feels like coming home. I know your ex fucked with your head a bit," Jeongguk says quietly. Looks at you. Feels right at home. "But love isn't supposed to hurt."

And yet as he speaks, Jeongguk's breaking his own fucking heart.

Better me than you.

Just doesn't realise he never had to.

All you ever needed was security. Safety. The rest would come with time.

But you're nervous, now. And you are a little hurt.

So whatever foolishness you were letting yourself indulge in with him is promptly abandoned. You're not about to wreck things. By his own admission, you can't possibly be feeling anything as heavy as love - and the friendship you have with him means more to you than, well, anything.

"We're okay, right?" You ask, a little desperate for things to feel normal.

Jeongguk smiles. Grabs the half-empty chicken box and tosses it down to the floor. Reaches for your hand, and drags you up to his lap. Messes with your hair. "We're fine, B."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Jeongguk's a terrible liar.

"Okay. Good."

And so are you.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

[twoidiotwriters1]

Chapter 5. Drawing Lessons

Summary: Very well, if she wants Benedict she will get Benedict. Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Words: 1,736 Listen to: SET YOURSELF ON FIRE -by Ruel A/N: I feel like we're moving too slow bc I'm used to posting three times a week, should I post more often? -Danny

When a story involves a princess, she never misses her happy ending. When a story involves an artist, happiness is constantly missing.

Lady Whistledown, October 1815

Dear Diary,

I have attended my first ball in London. I was ready to write a long and tedious complaint wishing for my stay to be shortened unexpectedly, but the night wasn't the bland ordeal I thought it'd be. 

Benedict Bridgerton, who is fun, intelligent, and keeps secrets, has caught my attention. He is to bring his sister Hyacinth today, and we are to discuss my drawing lessons. When I mentioned it to my parents, they were pleasantly surprised that I've taken an interest in broadening my talents and Queen Charlotte offered to call in the best art professor in London. 

I politely declined, declaring I had found one. When I mentioned his last name, the Queen said his mother was an agreeable woman, I suppose that means my decision has been approved. My sister is the only one who thinks I've got a secret reason to ask for him. She saw me leave the ball with him, but I assured her this was all very innocent. I'm only looking for a friend.

Benedict can't believe it's been a week since he slept in someone else's bed, the stress is taking over his life like the time he applied for the academy. He would've dared to ignore the princess's ultimata if it hadn't been for Hyacinth, over the moon when she received the formal invitation, she almost cried when Benedict confessed he'd talked to the princess about her. His mother praised him for being a good older brother; even Eloise found it sweet.

Benedict isn't sweet or good. The princess trapped him knowing Hyacinth would, under no circumstances, decline the invitation. The night of the ball he did his best to oppose her, but alas, she isn't a regular lady of the ton, she's a royal who gets what she wants. What an infuriating trait he can't help but envy.

Very well, if she wants Benedict she will get Benedict. He will be so himself that the princess will end the day shocked and scandalized, and she'll never want to see him again. Hyacinth can do well on her own even if he vexes the woman, the young girl is lovely enough to get a second chance.

You wait in the tea room with your sister and parents, a sketchbook in your lap, brand new and unopened. Your foot lightly taps on the tea table's leg while trying to be patient, then a servant comes in announcing your visitors and the four of you stand, but you push the table on accident and spill your tea.

"Mr Bridgerton," you smile while two maids clean the mess behind you. "Thank you for coming. Is that your sister?"

"Your Majesties, Your Royal Highness. Benedict Bridgerton, I thank you for the invitation," he bows at your parents and your sister. "Your Royal Highness," you catch a bit of heat in his gaze that makes you nervous, "my sister, Hyacinth Bridgerton."

Hyacinth bows, face flushed and eyes sparkling. "I'm so very pleased to meet you, Your Majesties. Your Royal Highness— Your Royal Highness."

"You may call me Y/N, we are to be friends," you step forward and offer her a seat next to you. "Your majesty, this is the man I have chosen to be my art teacher," you inform your mother. "His sister wanted to meet me but she's not of age, and I heard so many great things about her I couldn't bear not getting to know her." The girl blushes more, deeply flattered.

"We are happy to welcome her as a friend," Queen Amelia says sweetly. "Mr Bridgerton..."

They all look at Benedict and his soul leaves his body for a few terrible seconds. It is frustrating to be regarded like cattle... he feels bad for teasing Eloise when she complained about her place in the world.

"Our daughter has chosen you, and we have no reasons to oppose her decision," the Queen looks at him as if she can see the devious plan he wishes to set in motion. "Good luck."

The way she says it reminds Benedict of something the princess mentioned in the garden. Something about mishaps, although surely she exaggerated. What kind of accidents can a princess cause that could be worse than what he's experienced with six younger siblings?

Once the Queen and her husband excuse themselves from the room and Marie takes Hyacinth for a walk, Benedict and you are left to discuss the lessons. "We should set the days in which you are to—"

"I will not teach you," Benedict smiles tightly, not wanting the servants to notice something's amiss. "I came to pay my respects and to please my sister, but there is nothing you can do to convince me to teach you."

You stare at him mildly surprised. "Beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," he narrows his eyes. "I don't like to be toyed with, and I won't cater to your demands. I don't know what you want, but you won't get it from me."

"You think this is a game of cat and mouse?" You grin. "That I've chosen you to be some kind of prey?"

Benedict chuckles dryly. "Your Royal Highness, I rather busy myself doting on debutantes than bore to death here just because you think you've got a right over my time."

"Good lord, do calm down, Benedict—" 

"Mr Bridgerton," he corrects you.

"Mr Bridgerton." You scowl. "I thought I'd made myself clear when I said all I wanted was your friendship. Unusual as it is, I find it insulting that you think me a bore when you were rather keen to see me again when you didn't know who I was. Or was it the belief that I was attainable and easy what drew you in, Mr Bridgerton?"

Benedict wishes to disgust her, so he confesses with a smirk on his face. "Yes. I wanted nothing but lewd fun. Had I known you were a princess I would've stayed well out of your—"

"But you didn't, so now you've got to own your blunder," you retort steely. "And even so I happen to find you quite worthwhile, smart mouth and all, so I refuse to look past you."

Benedict is caught off guard by the simple, yet meaningful statement. Him, the second Bridgerton, the not-so-bad, yet not-so-good. The brother most people looked at and shrugged, with not much to say other than he was good-looking in the same fashion as all of his siblings were good-looking. And mannerly. And intelligent. And so many other dull adjectives that he wishes he could paint himself a different last name.

He's so used to being barely perceived that to have a Princess looking right at him is uncomfortable. "I'm a sketch artist, not a professor. I dropped out—"

"It wasn't because of lack of talent," your hands tighten on the spine of your sketchbook with discrete passion. "I saw the pieces you forgot in the academy. You had potential."

Benedict's face heats up. "Have you been spying on me?"

"Mr Bridgerton, as a princess, I have to be careful when choosing the people I interact with," you run your palm over the cover of your sketchbook, and he can tell you are a bit embarrassed. "I only did some research on the man I was contemplating as a possible tutor."

"Your life must be deathly boring," he says, encouraged by the fear of having his... preferences discovered and exposed to the ton.

You laugh as if his words weigh nothing. "You think I've summoned you to be my tutor for ulterior motives, and although they're not as cruel as you imagine them, they do exist. I wish for good company, Mr Bridgerton. A friend."

"The ton has plenty of good ladies that could—"

"I do not mind your gender, age, or social status," you brush it off. "I've chosen you because you chose me first. No one else has."

"You're not judging me fairly. I approached you when I didn't know who you were."

"Which makes your decision even more special," you smile. "I'm not a frivolous thing, I've been told no many times, believe me. I know what I want."

Benedict doesn't know why your demeanour and words make him upset, but they do. He wants to kick the furniture and throw it to the fire, yet he stays rooted, clinging to the armrest like you're pulling on a lever that sends bolt after bolt to scorch every inch of his body.

You clear your throat, taught to appear calm even when every muscle in your body demands you to react. You push through your anxiety and speak once more. "Should we try again, Mr Bridgerton?"

Benedict is trapped, not because of a young sister's fancies or a clever strategy from a well-educated woman. He cannot bring himself to turn his back on whatever you're made of. 

Has he ever truly known what he wants, like you? Even while studying he was only pursuing fun, not something that he intended to turn into his entire life. But if not art, what then? He couldn't see himself as the head of a family, and certainly not a businessman. You were right, this was his blunder and he ought to take care of it.

"Tuesdays and Thursdays are good. It would be best to use a study or library if the Queen is willing to provide the space. If not, the garden can do."

"I believe she's not fond of people wandering through the halls, they make her King nervous," you conceal the joy his compliance brings you. "The garden will do."

Benedict nods, then pushes himself out of the chair and bows. The remnants of his rebellious self try to repel you one last time. "I wasn't capable of completing a semester of lessons, Your Royal Highness. You'd learn from me as much as you'd do in solitary practice."

"Then maybe this is more your opportunity than mine," you imply unbothered. "I wrote to the Academy to tell them I find your art promising. If you ask for a second chance, I'm quite certain they would be happy to welcome you back. And wouldn't it be nice to know better than me, for a change?"

You smile, and the man swallows thickly, knowing you're teasing but still having a hard time stopping himself from crying with gratitude. You look more like his saviour and less like a fussy witty goblin. 

"I'll see you soon, Your Royal Highness," he excuses himself, battling his rapid heartbeat.

Next Chapter –>

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[violettduchess]

Hello Vi! I have a request for you, only if it inspires

Tutor AU! With one or more of your fave suitors tutoring you for your upcoming exams;

Leonardo, Comte, Gilbert, Leon, Silvio and Clavis!

I'd love to see what you come up with ❤️❤️❤️

A/N: I had a very immediate idea for Comte so I went with him for this request!

Comte x Reader, Tutor AU/ Modern AU

WC: ~1.9k

The library looms large as you hurry up the wide, slate-colored steps under a sky exhaling its last breath of evening color. The stars are slowly blinking into existence, determined to shine before they are hidden behind the slow-moving blanket of clouds heading their way. You would pause to enjoy the ephemeral moment when dusk ebbs into night.....

Except Comte is inside, waiting for you.

You’re still not sure how it’s come to this. Comte as your tutor. Your mind travels back several weeks….

Several weeks ago:

One minute you're balancing an armful of books along with your backpack and several bags of uneven groceries that are seriously testing your stubborn decision to do it all in ONE trip. The next, however, everything is falling onto the polished grey tile floor of your building’s lobby, the objects seeming to leap like lemmings out of your arms. As you stand there, staring defeatedly at the scattered mess, lost in the gravity of your poor decision, the elevator doors you were originally trying to reach slide open and like the pearly gates unveiling an angel, Comte de St Germain steps out, in the process of buttoning his elegant camel-colored coat with one hand.

Before you can say a word, he takes in your forlorn expression, the embarrassing pile of your things at your feet, and he is by your side, kneeling, helping you gather up your stray apples and the mini-boxes of cereal you are probably way too old for but love anyway. Your cheeks flush as you stammer a thank you. 

You know him more by reputation than actual acquaintance. He lives in the sprawling penthouse at the apex of your building, the crowning glory of the gothic structure, and is usually spoken about in whispers and sighs by the other residents:

“Comte? He’s a museum director downtown.”

“I hear he is a world-famous antique dealer who has made millions.”

“He’s gotta be a tech-millionaire with all that dough.”

“Well I know someone who knows someone who swears he’s a member of the royal family of some tiny European country.”

“I don’t care what he does. He’s got to be loaded to live up there.”

“I hear he’s never been married.”

“My cousin’s best friend’s neighbor's babysitter says he’s divorced from someone super famous.”

“You know what he is? I'll tell ya. Drop dead gorgeous.”

This mysterious man with eyes the color of desert sands is on the ground in his expensive suit and coat, helping you gather your plebeian things and oh, do you want to melt into the floor and disappear.

Until……

He stops, holding one of the books you had been juggling, a surprised expression crossing his classically beautiful face.

“‘The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire’ by Edward Gibbon. Fourth edition.” He seems impressed, curiosity flaring to life in the mesmerizing gold of his eyes.

And you take that lifeline, words stumbling over themselves across the knot of your tied tongue as you explain you are a graduate student, majoring in history, mentally preparing yourself for the avalanche of final exams heading your way.

And how he smiles, his long fingers tracing the embossed lettering along the spine of your book, borrowed from the local library. Entranced by the movement, you can't look away from his hand, reverence hushing his voice as he explains how he works for a museum (Points to the woman in Apartment 15B for getting that one), how he also studied history.

And then one thing leads to another and your rambling about the stress of your exams and crunch for time has evolved into Comte St. Germain, the mysterious Bruce Wayne of your building, offering to tutor you.

The Present:

And now here you stand, the night of your final session, heart prowling, turning circles in your chest like an unruly feline.

Taking a steadying breath, you continue up the steps and head inside, enjoying the sound of your heeled boots across the polished wooden floor. Past towering shelves filled with books you go until you reach the narrow iron staircase in the back, the one that spirals upwards to the second floor. Your feet follow the path they have gotten used to over the last few weeks, through the racks, down a narrow gangway until you reach the small cluster of tables at the western corner of the library, the ones underneath the imposing arched window that allows you a clear view of the darkening sky and the pale orange glow of the streetlamp across the street.

Comte looks up from the book he has been reading and offers you a smile, at once familiar and exotic.

“Ah, there you are, chérie. Ready for our final session?”

Something inside you constricts at the thought that this is the last time you will be here with him like this, tucked away in the surprising intimacy of a large public library, listening to his honeyed voice as you discuss not only history, but also the mundane: what music he listens to when he goes on long drives, his favorite type of wine, the best tea for a rainy Sunday morning. And it isn't just his speaking….Comte listens. He really listens when you talk, when you ask questions, when you give an opinion. He rests his chin on his hand, head tilted ever so slightly, his entire attention focused on you, whether you are explaining the fine points of one of the many Treaties of Paris or doing your best to convince him that dipping your French fries in your milkshake really does make them taste better. 

With the glow of remembrance in your smile, you slide into the seat next to him, running your fingers along the soft grain of the elegant wooden chair as you settle in.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” you say, returning his smile while looking at the array of books he has spread out across the table. “Let’s do this.”

“Oui,” he says as his smile curves into a grin. “Tonight we’re focusing on art for your art history final. You already sent me the list of pieces your professor wants you to know for your exam so we can work our way through those.”

You breathe in, trying not to get distracted by the warm, earthy scent of his cologne.

“Professor Leonardo is great but it’s such a long list….” Your shoulders slump at the thought of tackling everything on it. And then you feel Comte’s hand there, on your forearm, warm even through the soft material of your blouse.

“Then let us begin.”

He spends hours, guiding you through Girl with the Pearl Earring, The Birth of Venus, Las Meninas, and Water Lillies. You wander through the great masters like an enamored visitor in an enchanted garden, listening as Comte helps you to remember what you have learned about the paintings as well as unlocking secrets you have never heard before. He leads you through the design of the Colosseum, the Parthenon, Hagia Sofia, Notre Dame, his voice a golden thread that spins you across the architectural wonders. And now, in your final hour of study, he opens the book of sculptures. You visit Rodin’s Thinker, Michelangelo’s David, the Venus de Milo. And finally, you come to the last sculpture on your list: Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss by Antonio Canova.

“Ah…” He pulls the book closer, the photograph of the sculpture filling the page. “This….is a masterpiece of….” He glances over at you, brow lifted as he waits for the answer.

“Neoclassicism…but with strong elements of the Romantic, given the subject matter.”

“Bien joué.” The praise falls from his lips softly, slides over you like melting wax, sends a jolt of heat across your skin. He doesn’t seem to notice as he flattens down the pages with both hands, his bright eyes roaming over the image.

“So you know the story of Cupid and Psyche?”

You try to remember what Professor Leonardo explained in class when he had introduced the sculpture. “She opened a forbidden jar and was put to sleep as punishment?” 

Comte nods. “Venus forbid Psyche from opening the jar. It supposedly held Divine Beauty. Psyche could not resist temptation and instead of beauty, she was overcome by the Sleep of Innermost Darkness.” He grins slowly. “Very dramatic. Cupid sees his lover unconscious and pricks her with an arrow, awakening her. This sculpture captures that moment.”

Outside the library window, the streetlamp glows a soft orange. A light rain is now falling, making the light seem as if it is dancing, shimmering against the night.

“Just look at the lines,” he murmurs. He takes his index finger and slowly begins tracing the line of Psyche’s body. It follows the curve of her torso as she stretches up towards Cupid. “Her arms reach back for him.”

You lean in, closer to Comte, watching the path his finger makes along the glossy page. Your heart is suddenly hammering a woodpecker’s song against your breastbone.

“Her hands are in her lover’s hair, the gesture so familiar, so loving.” He traces down the line of Psyche's neck. “And here….she is bent back to him, so exposed and vulnerable, tilting to look up into his face. What do you see there?”

His voice winds itself around you, wrapping you in golden vines of warmth and want. You need a moment to find your own. When you do, it is only capable of expressing itself in a breathless whisper.

“Tenderness. Joy.”

He nods slowly, trailing his finger down Cupid’s strong arm. “And what do you see in him?”

Your thoughts are bright butterflies, sparks that fly up into the haze of your mind and explode in little pinpricks of light. Blinking, trying to control the overwhelming wave of attraction that threatens to pull you under, you reach out and touch the same page, your fingers scant centimeters from his.

“He’s…..adoring. The way he holds her head, his fingers touching her face. And he’s smiling at her, affectionately. Openly.” Your gaze drops down to where Comte’s finger points to Cupid’s left arm. You clear your throat and continue. “He covers her breasts with his arm, shielding her from the viewer, and yet that one hand holds her in a way that’s….it’s so intimate. It feels somehow more intimate than if we would see her bare.” Your voice is a whisper, soft and woven through with delicate wisps of yearning. “He touches her as if he’s done it a hundred times and still revels in it…..” You trail off, pressing your lips together, unable to go on.

Comte’s fingers brush against yours and you turn your head, startled to find that your faces are so very close. Outside the rain gently rolls down the massive glass window. The streetlamp flickers. Comte’s gaze is a steady golden sun.

“He adores her,” he murmurs, his voice rolling through you. You feel his fingers move, covering yours on the page. 

“She marvels at him,” you answer quietly, your fingers curling around his in response.

He leans down ever so slightly, his mouth so close you can feel the warmth of his words on your lips. “He dreams of her……” 

“.....and he is what makes her waking sublime…” The words are hardly more than the breaths between heartbeats.

His mouth brushes faintly against yours, the softest touch, a silken feather, a velvet caress.

“....He wants nothing more…..” His hand tightens around yours, his chest rising and falling with the contained power of his emotion. “...than to kiss her….”

“He should,” you say, soft as a nightingale welcoming a summer evening. "He should kiss her."

And he does, pressing his lips against yours as the wave that has been looming ever closer pours down upon you both. One hand rises, gripping the nape of your neck with tender ardor. You plunge your free hand into the soft wilderness of his tawny hair, opening your mouth to taste him.

Your other hand? It is still tightly holding onto his, a promise you won’t let go.

An echo of Cupid and his beloved Psyche.

Pysche Revived by Cupid's Kiss- Antonio Canova, 1793

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @fang-and-feather @bubblexly @kiki-tties

[corpsebasil]

forced marriage to knight Nikolai au.

basis: going off the barmaid idea let’s say someone was harassing you and in order to defend you Nikolai lies and says he’s your husband. well guess what? now all the knights are stunned and think he’s being serious and he doesn’t know how to back down.

DRABBLLLLLE UNDER THE CUUUUUUT

You don’t know how you got here. One minute you were working at a tavern getting harassed to no end by some drunks and the next you’re sharing your cottage with a knight who you met only weeks before.

You know it’s for your safety; the men who were trying to paw at you were nasty brutes. Men who wouldn’t think twice before taking advantage of your sweet self. Men who would force themselves upon you if you refused.

Then there was Nikolai.

Sir Nikolai Lantsov, the captain of the royal guard for saint’s sakes.

He’d stepped into the argument quickly, his hand grabbing the wrist of the man that was reaching for your dress without your permission. ‘My wife’ was all you could hear before the men cleared out, Nikolai’s fellow knights gaping at him in shock.

You both had to keep up the ruse for your safety, you know? If word that Nikolai lied about your marriage came out then those men would surely seek you out. Without him being your big scary guard dog you’d be hurt, no doubt about it.

So now he’s in your home.

You’re washing the dishes when he comes inside, barely sparing you a quick ‘hello’ before setting his weapons down on a shelf, rolling his shoulders back to relax his muscles. He’s had a long day with his fellow knights patrolling the city and handling squabbles, all petty tasks that annoy him more than anything.

He’s supposed to be on a campaign. He had planned on leaving your town weeks ago but now, with your safety on the line, he’s taken up a post here so that he can keep the ruse up for as long as he can.

It doesn’t hurt that you’re beautiful. Or kind.

The minute you hear him set his weapons down you’re walking over, offering a glass of water to your ‘husband’. He accepts it with a nod, a small twitch of the mouth the only semblance of a smile you’re going to get.

“Thanks, Love.”

Love.

You’ll never get over how it feels to be close to him. The smell of him, how handsome he is, god. It feels like you’ve been permanently flustered since he interrupted the men at the bar, placing his hand on the small of your back and calling you his wife. You’d played along, leaning into him as soon as you realized this was the captain you were being rescued by.

It’s Nikolai Lantsov, sweetheart. Of course you trust him.

“Did you have a good day?” You ask quietly, watching him as he sets the glass down next to his weapons. His eyes, so fucking blue, are locked onto yours as he speaks.

“Mhmm.” He hums. “You?” He tilts his head thoughtfully before a small grin forms on his face. “Did my wife have a good day?”

You’ll never stop getting nervous every time he calls you ‘wife’. It doesn’t matter if it’s fake; it wouldn’t matter if it were real. You’re flustered and he knows it.

“Um..” you reply brilliantly. “I made fresh bread if you want some.”

“Hmm.”

“And there’s wine in the cabinet. And butter and..stuff.”

“Yeah? What else?”

“I made…jam.”

He snorts and you give him a shy smile. He’s amused at how adorable you look with your flushed cheeks and that look in your eyes every time you see him. He may not be your chosen husband but he sure seems like it.

“I got you something.” He tells you, guiding you gently by the waist back into the kitchen. “I think you’ll like it.”

“What is it?”

“Close your eyes.”

“Nik—”

“Close them, woman.” He teases, covering your eyes with a hand. You grin and extend your palm, waiting for whatever he brought you.

Then he surprises you.

When he removes his hand from your eyes and moves behind you, you tense. But then he’s moving your hair and clasping a necklace around your neck and you look down, surprised to see a beautiful gem on a chain.

“Nikolai you—” You spin around, clutching the large emerald in one hand as you look up at him. He’s watching you with a soft smile, his eyes never leaving yours. “This is too much. I cant—”

“You’re beautiful.” He blurts out, one hand moving to your waist as he watches you. “So beautiful.”

And when he leans down to kiss you, you let him.

He’s your husband after all.

[link-eats-rocks]

The First Night Home

On the day of defeating Calamity Ganon, Link and Zelda can rest easily with all of the terror behind them.

~

"A bed for the young couple tonight?" asked the friendly stable-master.

They wanted to lay low, way too exhausted to cause a fuss as the knight and princess who vanquished the Calamity. So if they were assumed to be some ordinary husband and wife, they could be left in peace.

Link nodded.

Zelda lowered her head, face concealed under the hood of the cloak Link had given her. She longed to change into some ordinary clothes. She was anxious about standing out in her floor-length royal garb, even if it was covered by a cloak.

She heard the clink of rupees being set on the table.

"Ah, for that price, our best bed for the lovely couple. That's the bed on the far right."

"Seen Beedle around?" Link asked.

Zelda was still getting used to hearing that sweet, boyish voice with her own ears again. Her heart twisted when she thought of how badly she'd missed him.

"Beedle's always around," the man chuckled.

Link gave a weak laugh.

"Just inside."

Link stepped back and gently took Zelda’s arm in hand.

She leaned into his touch, moving closer until she was against his side.

Link responded by hooking his arm over her shoulders as he walked her inside.

Zelda closed her eyes and the darkness spun her head, her body begging for sleep.

"Yaya! My favorite customer! And you've brought a pretty girl with you, wowee!"

Zelda forces her eyes open and smiled at the stranger, assumedly Beedle.

He had a friendly face and was surrounded by various bags and boxes.

"Got any clothes?" Link asked.

"Whatcha got in mind?"

He tightened his arm around Zelda. "Something that will fit her."

"Sure thing! I know I have something here."

After a few minutes of searching, finding, and money changing hands, Zelda was holding a simple brown dress and a pair of boots that she could lace up to fit. Link bought her a hairbrush too.

For now, the outfit would be unnecessary. Behind a small privacy curtain in the back of the stable, Zelda washed up and changed into a long, soft tunic of Link's to sleep in.

Link silently pointed to their bed before brushing past her to get ready for bed himself.

Zelda awoke from the beginnings of sleep when the bed shifted beside her.

Link's arm fell next to hers and he sighed heavily as he pulled the blankets up over him.

Zelda turned on her side to face him.

He laid on his back. His eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling. She drank in the familiar sight of his face, unharmed, flushed, alive.

A lump rose in her throat and she placed her hand on his arm.

He turned his head to meet her eyes.

"Link," she whispered, "thank you for the clothes and the bed." It wasn't what she'd meant to say, but he did deserve gratitude for every kindness he showed her. "I hope it isn't a hardship."

A faint smile lit his eyes. "It's no trouble, Princess."

"Zelda, please."

The smile reached his lips and he turned fully to face her, folding his arm under his head. "It's no trouble, Zelda."

He'd never said her name before.

Her skin tingled and warmed. "Thank you for saving me, too."

He barely nodded, his amused expression unchanging.

"I...I missed you." Her eyes welled and her heart lurched at her own admission.

Link inhaled a deep breath through his nose and his eyes lit with surprise. "I missed you too. I didn't know how much until I saw you."

"That's how it was for me too. Although," she hesitated, dropping her eyes, "I felt it sharply all along, since I didn't get to say goodbye. My last sight of you—I tried not to think of it but..." Her eyes blurred with tears. She was overtired. She should have stayed quiet and just let him sleep.

"I'm sorry."

"No, I see you now, healthy and strong. I can breathe easily."

"Mm."

They were both silent for a few long moments, gazing into each other's eyes. Even in the darkening room, his large blue eyes took her breath away.

"I wonder if it will ever feel real. It's truly over. We're safe. And together."

Link blinked in his little way that signified agreement. "It will, Zelda." His voice was small as he tripped over her name.

The sound caused the same sensation as the first time she'd heard it. She closed her eyes, blissful. And as soon as she'd let her heavy eyelids fall shut, she was drawn back towards sleep. "I know we need to get to work. There's much to do. Many people to see." Her words were slurred. "But, I'd like to see your house. I was aware you got one while I was watching over you, but of course, I hadn't a chance to get a good look."

"I'll take you there first thing. I bought it with you in mind."

"Really?"

"Of course. Everything...had you...i-in mind." He sounded sleepy too.

Zelda was falling asleep but she couldn't stand missing a single second with Link after all this time. She wished her body wasn't fighting against her. "I wanted to tell you something once I was freed."

"Hm?"

"But it can wait until tomorrow."

"Okay," Link said airily.

She inched closer, imboldened by her own tiredness. "But I'll still be forward tonight. May I...It's been a frightening time. May I come closer?"

She felt Link moving beside her and her heartbeat sped up.

He laid on his back and draped his arm across her pillow.

She lifted her head.

He tucked his arm beneath her and rolled her to him, then dropped his other arm to her waist.

The movements were so fluid, it was as if he'd been waiting on her to ask.

She dropped her head to his chest and curled her arm around him. "Thank you, Link," she whispered, lips brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt.

"Thank you, Zelda," he mumbled in reply, running his hand up and down her back.

Again, she fought sleep to soak in the experience. But he was so cuddly and he was holding on so tight and the slow rise and fall of his chest was too powerful a sedative.

After one hundred years of waiting, Zelda spent the night sleeping in Link's warm, loving embrace.

~

I always write an element of awkwardness to Link and Zelda "confessing" because it's generally a nerve-wracking experience, especially for two teens who are new to the whole thing.

But then I was thinking, I never really notice them acting nervous around each other, even once the subtext is there of them developing feelings in the game scenes. So I thought I'd try writing their friendship shifting into more naturally and comfortably this time ❤️ And I like how it turned out! It was a fun little exercise for me. Hope you enjoy. Maybe I'll write more to go along with this little scene idk 🤷🏼‍♀️

[donotnomi]

WIP Wednesday Monday

Guess who's the genius who decided to make Wednesday her publishing day—on the same day as WIP Wednesday? Yep, that’s me.

So, I'm jumping the gun a little here. Thanks @london-cowboy for tagging me—I really needed an excuse to share a sneak peek from not one but two WIPs!

For all MOTA readers, here's a little snippet from Chapter 2 of  Stripper, Occasionally Hooker aka the MOTA Lap Dancer AU. Still in the middle of revisions, so keep that in mind!

“Six whiskeys and a ginger beer, miss,” Fukunaga called out, clearly excited. Bucky turned sharply toward Gale, draping an arm around Fukunaga's shoulders as he eyed the glass in front of Gale. “Someone here doesn’t drink on the job.” Gale couldn’t resist correcting him. “Someone here never drinks.” Bucky took it in stride, slipping two fingers into the pocket of the delegate on his left, pulling out a golden cigarette case without even looking. Gale was speechless. Bucky flipped the case open with a snap, took out a cigarette, and only then turned to the Japanese man for a nod of assent. The man, his face flushed, offered him the entire cigarette case, likely made of gold. Bucky placed it back in his pocket after taking out a second cigarette. He put one between his lips, and at that moment, five lighters flicked open. The entire Japanese delegation paused for a second in a Western-style standoff. Then, four lighters retreated. The head of the delegation leaned in. Without leaving Fukunaga’s lap, Bucky craned his long neck toward him, locking eyes as he brought the cigarette to the flame. Half the room was watching. Bucky leaned back, resting completely against Fukunaga’s chest, letting his head fall onto one shoulder as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. Gale observed his broad, powerful neck stretch impossibly, much like it likely did in other acts. He felt the need to look away, aware that Bucky’s robe was beginning to slip off the sides of his body.

For Slow Horses readers, yes, Paris Rules will be back soon, next Sunday I hope, with a massive new chapter. Again, it's a draft.

He needs to vanish from anyone who might review the footage later, in case someone starts tracking him. That’s why he’s already got a second hat stashed in his pocket—a different color, a different style. As he exits the station, of all things, it’s Spider’s voice that guides him. Spider, lying lifeless in one of the city morgues, his body no less cold than the metal cell he now occupies. Not now, River mutters to himself. “Style and taste, Cartwright, don’t depend on money but on intelligence. You, for example, couldn’t dress to save your life even with the royal family’s budget, whereas I, with 25 pounds and a Salvation Army store, could easily pass for one of them.” River hoped the store was still there, the one they ducked into to see who would win that bizarre bet. Just a few weeks before Stansted, River had willingly accepted Spider’s challenge, fully aware of his own weakness in that area. Their relationship had felt strained, both knowing how strong River was in the skills that mattered for their work, their internal competition. River had deliberately exposed his vulnerable side, choosing to take a hit to the gut rather than extend a hand and embarrass them both with the implicit, mutual acknowledgment of the imbalance between them.

Just realizing it's the first ever relevant appearance of Spider in one of my fics. Crazy! Tagging @middlingmay @c-goldthorn @whirlpool-blogs @soliloquy-dawn @angelfruittree @joeyalohadream

[somberauthor]

could u write eridan with a flushed crush on a mutantblood troll reader?

omg. Back when I got into the fandom I had such a huge obsession with mutant bloods, and basically the hemospectrum in general. Idk why I felt compelled to tell you, but I did!

ERIDAN AMPORA ♡ MUTANT BLOOD! READER

you would be too scared to even MENTION your blood color around this man. He is very intense about the hemospectrum, but not as much as Equius. But intense nonetheless.

The only trolls who know about your blood is Karkat, and Kanaya, the probably most understanding trolls you were close to.

Although you're not in a relationship with him, he is quite obvious about his flush-crush. As he is with, literally everything.

''you look quite nice tonight y/n..''

he twirls his hair too, to make it even more obvious. But he doesn't use those silly pickup lines. You wish he did, but sadly he's ''so high-class'' Once you finally got up the courage to confront him about his advances, and inform him of their reciprocation, you royally fucked up. You most literally slid over to him, and ate shit. You fell on your face, and got a nose bleed. Once you got up, you realized what had happened and how screwed you were. You quickly covered your nose to hide your hideous blood.

''holy sh- Are you okay y/n?? That wwas a nasty fall.''

He waddled over to you, attempting to move your stone hands from your face. They didn't budge, since you were horrified of his reaction to your blood. You were lucky no one was in the room other than you two, but still unlucky enough to have ERIDAN AMPORA in the room. Out of the 11 other trolls that could've been in his place. Once he caught on to the fact you were deliberately hiding your nose from him, he god a bit irritated.

''I swwear, if you dont showw me your wwound I wwill be... uh... vvery angry wwith you.''

he was very weak with that insult. wow. you moved your hands nonetheless, letting him see what your blood color actually was. His eyes widened at the sight, you flinches slightly when he began to speak.

''so... this is wwhat you wwere hiding. you knoww i dont care that much, right?''

you looked away in shame, not admitting that you actually did think he would care. You then felt his arms wrap around you, and then he moved away.

''Well,, I know now. I'm sorry, Eri.''

You smiled, and he returned it. You kissed his cheek, and then went to Kanaya, hoping she'd know where to get bandages.

this got a little off track, but it's done and it's decent. woo!!! I also got an Aradia cosplay recently, idk why i told you that either. This post is just useless information central ig

[nathaliawoa]

The Angel and Devil (2)

One-shot collections featuring The Legendary Devil Hunter, Dante, and The Sole Nephilim, Celina. Celina is an original character with her own personalities and backstory but feel free to read it as a reader-insert. Angels Do Exist AU: The existence and information of angels are limited. Where they are and why they left humanity to demons are up to speculations and rumors, making many believe that they don’t exist anymore. Not until a sole angel, Eserio, descended to Earth many eons later after their supposed disappearance. Celina is Eserio’s daughter but she never knew her late father was an angel until she crossed paths with Dante.

AO3 version | Masterlist

Chapter 2: Nose on the Devil

Dante enters the bathroom to a stinky surprise.

(Dante)

Dante did not expect walking into the nine circles of Hell when he opened the bathroom door. The devil hunter had smelled a lot of things in his life but this—this was something else. Hell, even he couldn’t put it into words of the horrific stench lingering in the air. The poor man almost buckled to his knees as he stumbled out of the room. 

“What in the—!” He gagged in a far away corner. Eyes watering, he struggled to breath without retching. His stomach threatened to reject the lunch he ate earlier. 

In the midst of his chaos, someone was laughing hysterically behind him. Someone who was having too much fun for her own good.

Registering her maniac laugh, Dante connected the dots. “Why you—! Did you do this?!” He staggered to Celina, who was doubling over on a nearby couch, and started swatting at her shoulders.

Although his scowl remained, it softened, and a chuckle slipped through his clenched teeth as Celina continued laughing her ass off, undeterred by his attacks. It was impossible to stay mad at her even at the cost of his own misfortune.

Between her laughs, Celina managed to choke out in mock anger. “Now you know how I feel every time you take a shit in the bathroom!” She jabbed a finger at him. 

Dante winced at her accusation. He knew he never had the best bathroom etiquette, but he thought he was making progress.

“Oh c’mon! It’s not that bad!” he protested while running a hand through his locks, but Celina met his gaze with a hard look.

“Not bad, my ass! Dante, I swear a dead carcass is shitted from your ass every time you do number two! Almost makes me want to die each time!”

Dante groaned out loud, knowing damn well he could not refute that, especially with the bomb Celina’s recently dropped. “Okay! I’ll do better next time.”

A satisfied smirk spread across her face, clearly pleased with her victory. “Good, for now on you close the lid, flush the toilet, turn on the fan, spray the air freshener and close the bathroom door. Got that?”

Dante nodded as he mentally jotted down each note. Raising a scout honor sign, he said, “Got that. I’ll be on my best bathroom behavior and make sure it smells like nothing but a field of roses for your royal highness next time.”

“You better cause, if you slip up, there’s more where that comes from,” Celina pointed out.

A chill traveled down his spine as his face fell at the implication. “Are you serious? Dear god, what on earth are you eating that results in THAT smell?” He would not dare remember the stench, but he could not imagine what diabolical food Celina ate to turn her stomach into a bio weapon.

Celina crackled like a hyena as she reached behind the armrest and pulled out a small perfume bottle. Very feminine in design and pink.

“It’s called Nose on the Devil. An angelic spell made out of a concoction of innocent herbs designed to ward off demons.” Celina gestured at the bottle with pride.

A fittin’ name, that’s for sure. Dante grimaced at the thought but Celina continued.

“The smell is putrid to demons but, to humans and angels, it’s one of the most pleasant aromas out there.” 

Dante’s jaw dropped at the revelation. “You’re telling me that, while I suffer in the deep ass cracks of Hell, it smells like sunshines and rainbows to you?” he asked in disbelief. That’s not fair! He started mentally cursing at whatever angel created that godforsaken spell, already imagining them laughing at his ass from up above.

Celina shrugged nonchalantly. “So?” she asked before taking off the cap to get a whiff. She blissfully sighed. “Smells soooo good.”

Alarm bells went off in Dante’s head as he watched in horror when Celina was about to spray some on herself. He lunged forward and grabbed a hold of her offending wrist. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! No need for that!” he exclaimed in desperation.

“You don’t want me to smell good?” Celina feigned sadness, but Dante rolled his eyes, knowing that she was trying to get a rise out of him. The thought of her enjoying that so-called pleasant fragrance while he suffered—it was too much.

“Don’t give me that look. You know it’s not fair.”

The half-angel threw her head back and laughed out loud. “Okay.” She capped the bottle. “I’m just playing with you but, seriously”—she pointed a finger at him—"don't make me use this again,” her voice dipping into a mock scowl. 

Dante released his grip and stepped back, raising his hands up in surrender. “Don’t have to tell me twice, babe,” he warily said.

A moment of silence passed between them before Celina spoke up, “You know, I wonder how a full blooded demon would react to this if it nearly took you out.” She eyed at her creation in contemplation. 

It would be a lie to say that Dante had not thought of that as well. “No doubt would probably kill ’em,” he mused with a light chuckle, finding the idea of a perfume bottle sending demons to their graves obscure. Then again, he had felt like dying when he first got a whiff of it.

“I could make more and sell it to make money.” Celina grinned, clearly excited by the prospect.

The idea of selling an anti-demon repellent in the underground market was not lost on Dante. He knew that there would be a market and, as much as the idea of making more money was tempting, he didn’t like the thought of more of that stuff being out in the world. He may be a demon hunter but he was part demon himself—a double-edged sword. 

“You could… but I think the world is better off without the horrendous smell, don’t ya think?” He sounded apprehensive at the idea. 

It seemed that Celina understood his connotation. “You’re right,” she then teased, “Wouldn’t want you to face a client who’s wearing this perfume on the job.”

A smirk tugged at his lips as his body relaxed from their playful banter. “Exactly, else I’d be out of commission in seconds.” He nodded.

“Mmhmm, can’t have my man suffering out there, can I?” That made Dante’s smirk widen before she continued, “Say, don’t you have to use the bathroom still?”

Honestly, Dante had no idea where his bladder went when he was assaulted by the stench. Probably almost died along with him or something. But, despite the memory of this recent trip still lingering in his mind, his bladder was protesting again.

He let out a defeated sigh, nodding. “I swear, if there’s even a hint of that noxious stench, I’m taking a piss in your laundry.”

It was still there, and his nose was assaulted again the moment he stepped closer to the bathroom door.

“Ugh, damnit!” Dante took a step back, holding his nose. The smell was just as strong and revolting as before. “How the hell is it still this bad?!”

Celina showed up next to him, unbothered by the smell. A sheepish chuckle escaped from her lips as she rubbed the back of her neck. “I may have accidentally made it potent.”

Dante’s eyes widened in disbelief at her nonchalant confession. As if she just added a bit too much salt in her cooking.

“Accidentally, my ass. More like intentionally designed to torture me. Damnit, I need a gas mask just to take a piss!” Dante groaned as he took another step back, waving his hand in front of his face in an attempt to dispel the lingering stench.

Celina patted his back with a knowing smile. “Let me go get it and bring it outside. You may want to step back.” 

Dante watched in horror as Celina casually strolled into the bathroom. He had to stop himself from reaching forward to prevent her from venturing into that godforsaken room. After all, he reminded himself that she could not smell the horrendous odor he was smelling.

A second later, Celina came out, holding a small cardboard box in her hand. That had to be the item she sprayed on cause the stench was following her like the damn plague. Dante had to take a few steps back, nearly tripping over a rug.

The way Celina’s eyes gleamed at Dante showed that she was up to no good. “What if I chase you with this?” she teased while holding out the offending object.

Dante grimaced. “Oh, hell no. Don’t you dare!” Holding his hands up in mock surrender, he shouted, panic and irritation evident in his tone, “I swear I’ll unleash a hell worse than that smell if you come near me with that thing!” Thankfully, Celina didn’t. 

The sound of her obnoxious laugh echoed through the agency as she rushed through the front entrance to dispose of the vile box outside. Dante breathed out a sigh of relief when the stench in the bathroom dissipated.

”Thank god,” he muttered, hurrying into the bathroom to quickly relieve himself. Being able to pee in peace was a small victory Dante rarely relished in. 

A mischievous smirk tugged at his lips when Dante heard Celina’s footsteps around the corner. “Don’t think I won’t get payback!” he called out, already brewing crazy ideas in his head.

Celina snickered at his threat before responding in a defiant tone, “Try me.”

“Oooh you can bet your sweet ass I will, dollface.”

[featheredclover]

Carmine Veils

Chapter Three

Read from the beginning

Also on Wattpad

Chapter Two< > Chapter Four

The clock struck one, and it’s bell gonged its hourly tune. Khushi woke up startled.

She looked at the the door separating her from bodyguards’s chamber. She was waiting for the royal physician to bring her some news about his progress.

She swallowed painfully as she recalled the events which lead to his injury. It was her stubborn self which had caused him to be hit by the poisoned arrow meant for her. Her eyes smarted with tears. She stood up, pacing restlessly outside, where he lay fighting for his life.

The creak of the door broke into her repentance as the physician stepped out.

“ He is all well, just needs to rest for one more day and he will be alright. He is a quite a warrior, a lesser man would have succumbed by now” he replied with a genial smile and bowed as he left.

She let out the breath she was holding. Straightening her relieved posture, before she could stop herself, she barged into his chamber.

His good arm was resting over his eyes, while the other was bandaged up.

He looked up at the interference.

Khushi had to steel herself to not break down crying.

But her woe begone face was enough for Arnav to know.

He attempted to sit up, succeeding only partially.

The sight of his bare torso sent shivers down her spine. It was glistening with sweat beads in the moonlight.

She shook her head to stop herself from ogling at him.

His wince dragged her attention back to him.

She rushed towards him, grabbed his arm and entwined in both of hers. Pressing it against her lips, she began to speak,

“ Arnav, I am so sorry. I can’t imagine how you must have felt saving this stupid girl from killing herself. I should have listened to you! I am beg you to forgive me. I can’t believe you got hit by that…that arrow…

I swear you don’t even have to speak to me, just know that I take responsibility for this and I will never do anything you tell me not to do. In fact, I won’t move an inch ! Yes, if you order me to remain in my bed all day I will remain in the same pose for the rest of the day I promise!”

She stopped then because she felt Arnav shivering. Concerned she peered into his face, and to her surprised relief found him shaking with silent laughter.

His eyes met hers then. He gave up and succumbed into a flurry of laughter.

“Khushi”, he pressed his thumb against her lip “ I accept your apology. And yes I’ll make sure you don’t go running into a forest again, even if it means chaining you to your bed” he said with a grin lighting up his face.

Khushi stared at him as if struck.

Arnav raised a perfect brow.

“ You called me Khushi “

It was Arnav’s turn to be flustered.

“ I am sorry Rajkumari…I am drugged by your physician that’s why I am not in my sens-“

Resting a finger on his lips, she whispered

“ I like it.I don’t want you to call me anything else. “

——————

Clambering to her feet, Khushi poised her sword as she faced Lavanya again, who infuriatingly stood with a smirk lining her perfect face.

“ Focus Khushi! “ Manorama instructed “ I don’t know what’s gotten into you but if you continue to miss out defending such swings you’ll find yourself splattered on the battle field without a head to your name!”

Khushi sighed as anxiety filled her being. She couldn’t help glancing at Arnav. She thought they had made progress that he could finally be with her the way she knew he was with others. It hurt her to see him back to his formal, ever polite self after that heartfelt moment they shared that night.

She still flushed recalling the feel of his lips under her skin. The next day he had been asleep most of the time and she had fluttered around him making sure to not let him feel an ounce of discomfort. But the day he got back to duty, seemed like the end of the bond they had shared.

The afternoon went by with Khushi performing half heartedly in Manorama’s lessons.

Her despair only swelled when she saw Lavanya using a feather to mark his bandaged arm with her beautiful ink. She had no where to run today, so she sat through the torture as the sun began to set.

—————

A knock resounded in Arnav’s chamber. Khushi stood with her fists clenched, determination clouding her eyes.

As soon as Arnav let her in, she spoke “ Do you hate me?”

“ What? Rajkumari…has there been a lapse in my duty? “ a frown creased his forehead.

“ STOP IT! There is no need to call me Rajkumari and you know it! And yet you persist. You draw this line between us-“

“ That is my place in this court and you are the rajkumari. This is our hierarchy. And you expect me not to follow it?”

Khushi stared at Arnav. He looked strangely agitated, his teeth biting into his lower lip and his eyes refusing to hold hers for more than a second.

She breathed in deeply.

“ And yet that hierarchy doesn’t apply with Lavanya and Payal? They are both minister’s daughters. And yet, Lavanya gets to make you laugh, paint on you with her ink, touch you ? Admit it Arnav you just don’t like me. You can tell me. I’ll ask my father to let you guard Lavanya…maybe..maybe marry her soon. And I’ll get a new guard. You shouldn’t have to put up with-“

She looked up to see Arnav had crossed the distance between them, and held her hand in his.

Before she could register the battle in his eyes,her eyes fell shut, as she felt his lips slam onto hers.

Arnav slid his hand across her waist and pulled her with a hard tug towards him. The soft movement of his lips,the feel of his hand against her waist, the slight tremble rising within both of them was too much for her. Her arms slid up his shoulders, the nails biting into his skin. She thrust herself forward, not caring that there wasn’t an inch of space between them. Arnav groaned, as he grasped her jaw and pushed her against the wall.

Pulling away, Khushi found his beautiful eyes arresting her in a spell. He held her arms above her head, while peppering short kisses across her jaw, down her neck.

She hissed in shock as she felt his teeth bite into the skin at the nape of her neck. She moaned helplessly, biting her lips as she felt overwhelmed.

He didn’t give her time to think as he took her lips between his again. Minutes or hours passed, she wasn’t sure. She pulled away, her eyes still shut, as she tried to catch her breath. She felt Arnav resting his forehead against hers.

She fluttered her eyes open to see him. She smiled softly, and her heart sprang up again as he shyly grinned back.

Next chapter>>

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[hauntedkidpersona]

Once upon a time// Chapter-5

Pairing- Polybts x reader

Summary-Choosing a husband is not easy, but bring in the seven princes and your in a lot of trouble.

Warnings: Duality of humans, Mistress, Y/N is a badass, Detachment issues, Cold behaviour, Strangers to enemies, Nudity, sexual jokes, talks of orgasm (nothing we don't know)

Overview: Life isn't like fairytale. You knew it the moment you reached a ripe age of nineteen. Which meant, your now a women who is in a hurry to be wed and bring prosperity and fame to your Kingdom. For this, you have readily accepted the self-groom event which requires you to select your husband out of all the potential Kings and Princes alike. But what happens when you select, not one. Not two but seven grooms? Chaos.

Masterlist-

A/n- Taglist is open for now.

Tags- @singukieee @shadowyjellyfishfest @inlovewithallmusic @lachimolala22019

The laughter of your maids echoed across the inner quarters, it was a peaceful afternoon. Even though the place outside was burning through the onslaught of the summer, like hot coal it would burn anyone unlucky.

But inside here, you were enjoying the breeze near the kadamba trees that were in full bloom. Looking over the crystal clear pool whose stage was graced in lotuses of all colours- purple being the most dominant.

"She is cheating, Princess." A shrill noise had you turn into the commotion, watching as the maids that littered around for a small play of chausar break into an argument.

Anika glares, "I wasn't, the rules didn't say you could back away your dices."

You sigh, taking measured sips of the cool lemonade. The Sky Palace was breathtaking, made of white marbles. It stood in stark contrast to its name, resembling the sheer vastness of the benevolent King that reins the land you trudge in delight. He sure has taken a great deal out of the small request you had of him.

But who knew your peaceful days would end soon.

Young and naive. That's what your father calls you. But how can one expect a 16 year old to behave like some matured person. Your days were peaceful, passing with the vivid imagination of the books you read. You had no interest in anything, and so you were even described as a lazy wart. For except beauty you possessed no special qualities of a royal. You were pampered and spoiled rotten, throwing tantrums was second nature by now.

But all that changed when you fell for him, the sweet man who would bring all your imagination to life. But who knew he was just a vile human waiting for an opportunity. Which he got.

You shut your eyes tightly, fisting your palms wherein the warm water failed to match the intensity with which your heart burned. You hissed, inspecting the now bloody palm pierced by your nails. The blood swirled into the water, burning through and through. You imagine his blood pouring out as you ruthlessly kill him, without an ounce of mercy. You can't wait to be blessed by his screams of terror, him begging for his life while you get the upper hand. You can't wait until you meet him again.

They were right. When a woman decides to take revenge, even the devil sits down to take lessons.

You have a deal with the King of the Sun Kingdom. You keep the Princes from leaving their duties, while he in return gets you what you want.

Simple as that.

Getting out, you wrap yourself in a towel.

Not waiting to call out Anika to bring your clothes, you walk out. Face stoic and heart made of steel.

"Princess," you somewhat hear Anika gasping at your blatant disregard of modesty.

You look ahead, glaring at Jin who was now looking at you with a wide open mouth. Is that your book in his hand? Did he fucking read it?

The fuck.

Jin couldn't take his eyes off of you. Your wet hair, swirling and parted as it clung to your hips. Your curves being defined but he cursed that cloth that was in between. He can't admire the beauty in front of him. The book and revenge was long forgotten as he spluttered, cheeks flushing in embarassment while you glared at him.

Poisonous, that's what your looks are. Dangerous and deadly, it could kill a man if you chose that body as a weapon of seduction.

"Get. Out. Right. Now." You shouted, partly screamed so loud that he knew the palace guards would be coming to check. Scrambling out of the bed, he almost falls but nonetheless he stands up quickly. Coughing a bit, as he rushes out with prominent red cheeks that burns in shame and embarassment.

"Are you mad, you were almost naked in front of him. Have some shame Princess, what will he think of you?" Anika blabbers as you plop onto your bed, effortlessly hiding your book for which you became so defensive.

"Are you even listening-

You rolled your eyes, the next second, a cloth was strewn right at your face. Knocking you off from the train of thoughts you boarded long time ago. You sit up, furiously, "So what, He is my husband and moreover I don't care. I am confident on my body, whoever sees it will die for it."

Your tone drops, dripping in arrogance. Why not? History is proof of how men kill, die and wage war for beauty. Your a women who knows how to manipulate pathetic men with your charms. You don't shy away by them who eye you in lust, knowing they can't ever have you. Same goes for that Prince Jin. He can watch you but can never have you.

Giving you a solemn look, Anika helps you in dressing. The quiet that follows is suffocating, but your in no hurry to pause it.

Decked in gold, you shimmer at the red robes that make you look lethal. That's what you like to do, terrorize others so they don't overstep their boundaries. With power comes responsibilities and with that, you build walls; too high to climb.

"Princess—" Keeping a hand on your shoulders, Anika turns you around; "You should know that the fire that burns in you will one day burn you too. I know it demands and reckons you to be rude, mean, cold and rebellious. But someday, this fire will burn out and all you will be left with is loneliness. So please try to be nice to the Princes, so that in future you have someone to care for you."

Pushing her hands away, you smile at her. "Loneliness doesn't scare me, people do. For you know what to expect from being alone but you can never say the same for the other. I am not here to make friends, for I have far greater enemies to take care of."

Jin clears his throat, avoiding looking at anyone as he speeds up inside the common place where all of his brothers from another mother gather. Maybe he can find someone free from his duties.

Entering inside the room, he is met with Yoongi, Taehyung and Jungkook who seem to be busy in their own world. Taking a seat, Jin pours himself a drink and gulps it down in one go. Which did not go unnoticed by them.

"Brother, you look like you ran a marathon." It was Taehyung who takes a jab first, as Yoongi chuckles.

"I did, that witch." He groans, unable to get the image of her out of his mind. You had no shame, whatsoever. Walking like that in front of him. What were you upto? He now knows, why your beauty is praised by all. It was as if you were carved by the celestial beings, and no you weren't petite. You had curves in all the right places and damn that white cloth of yours hid nothing to his imagination. Hiding that body beneath all that robes should be illegal. As soon as that thought arises, he bites his lip upto the point of bleeding.

No way.

He can't fall in your trap. Your purposely seducing him, trying to seperate him from Irene and he won't let you do that. Never.

Sensing whom he was calling witch, Taehyung inquires, "Why, what happened?"

"I saw her naked." He shouts, mad at God knows whom. Him, you or the situation.

Taehyung gasps, as Yoongi who was in the process of enjoying his drink coughs violently. While Jungkook, the innocent lamb's eyes were as wide as saucers. Cheeks tinting a dark shade of red.

After gathering himself, Yoongi and the others bombards him with questions,

"Are you kidding me? How?"

"Damn, It should have been me."

"How-w, I mean did you two do it?"

"What about Irene then?"

Jin sighs, glaring at Taehyung who was accusing him of seeing you like that. It should have been him, not his elder brother.

"Guys, do you think we can do it. I had rather die and she had rather kill me than bed me. As for seeing her naked, she had a cloth wrapped around her. I saw her cause she might have thought nobody was there and came out of the bath in minimal clothing."

Yoongi hums, not interested in knowing anything. While Taehyung smirks, clearly amused.

Entering inside the royal library, you heave a sigh. But that quickly changes when you see no guards on sight, where are they? Lacking on their duties like this. Shameful. Going inside, you frown. You can feel it in your gut, something isn't right. The silence being far more merciless than you. You look around, the sun rays exuding rays across the large windows that keep it's brilliance intact. You keep walking, your footsteps being the only companion.

A rustle, snaps you as you strike; pulling the stranger hiding behind the shelves as your knife is freed from your robes and clutched against the intruder's throat in blatant disregard of their life. You press it, drawing blood that takes a coppery path along the pale skin of that women.

Irene.

She screams, flailing against your arms but it was futile. "Leave me, Prince- someone save me."

"Shh, damsel in distress. From when your allowed inside the royal library huh? Who gave you the permission and the audacity?" You push back the knife, grabbing her chin harshly. You bring her close, nails digging into her flesh.

Irene flails grabbing her hands to free herself, "Prince gave me permission."

You smirk, "But the King told you to stay far away then how dare you to have the courage to spread your whore legs inside my quarters and on my bed bitch. Tell me, from where this defiance comes. Let me end that for once and all." She hissed. You were so done with her. You push her away, as you continue; "Get this in your damn head. If you love Prince Jin so much than stay where your put. Don't try to meddle in affairs your not allowed to. Your just his mistress, so don't try to anger me otherwise I would have you thrown out of the Palace faster than you spread that damn legs of yours."

Irene glares at you, "That will only happen if you come out alive, Prince loves me and it's you who has to get out of here."

"Oh Finally, I was waiting for when you drop the act and now here we are." You laugh, her empty threats not stirring you in the slightest.

Having enough, Irene raises her hand to slap you but your reflexes ground her, holding her hand you attack her eyes, stopping mere inces away. Her eyes widen in fear, as she stands in absolute terror. "One wrong move, and I will kill you."

She trembles, "You call me a whore but the real slut is you who has seven men as her husband's."

"Atleast I am not running behind other's husband. Poor you, living as Mistress and already soiled and ruined. If in future the Prince leaves you-" You mock her, hitting a nerve when she grits her teeth.

"What's happening here?" A voice thunders, as you quickly back away. Bowing down to the King that strides in with his guards on tail. Beside you Irene defiantly falls on the ground, disregarding all your warnings. Such an actor.

"My King, Princess hurt me. She wants to kill me, please save me." She wails, as you cringe at her act. Wrong move women.

The King raises an eyebrow, looking at you who shakes her head. She is really looking for trouble. Testing your patience, all because she was the beloved of Jin. You internally smirk, you will let her know today who holds the real power. Enough of the drama.

Hearing the commotion, Prince Namjoon and Prince Hoseok also arrive at the scene.

"Is it true?" King looks at you, as you feel the gaze of others burning upon you.

"Why would I? She is Nobody. It's actually her who thought it would be nice to fuck my husband in front of me. My King, she was inside my inner quarters the other day and she dared to soil my bed alongside Prince Jin. I was just warning her not to push her luck. And lastly, I have to defend myself if someone tries to raise their hands on me." You speak, keeping your mind calm and tone strict.

You didn't want to bring their act up but she left you with no options. If in future, she wishes to harm you than its better if you steer clear of her. For proof you called for the maids and guards that were present while this happened. They gave the same reply, even revealing your act of burning the sheets and everything that had soiled your room.

Irene gasps, "No, she is lying My King. Believe me."

"And If you had a problem then why didn't you say it the moment it happened? Why wait for now?" Namjoon interjects, clearly supporting Irene. You scoff.

Another thorn on way. Very well.

You smile at him, "I wanted to have peace with the Mistress of my husband but she clearly doesn't want that. Instead she is showing her powers, acting on wimp just because Prince Jin supports her. No maid is allowed inside the royal library, unless they are cleaning it and yet here she was. I warned her to stay in her place and in return she threatened to unalive me. Just because Prince Jin loves her." You mock, eyes glaring down at the women who refuses to look up. But judging by how tightly she is fisting her hand, you know she is furious. What a sight to see.

Hoseok looks astonished, "You threatened to kill the Princess, Irene? Is that true?"

Irene shakes her head, but that all stops when the King speaks, "Enough, you crossed your limits today. Guards, throw her out for she dared to raise a hand on a royal and moreover she had the audacity to enter the inner quarters of the future Queen. Going as far as threatening her—" he paused, looking down at the women his son dares to love, "But not before whipping her 200 times."

Just then, you heard hurried footsteps. Looking up, your met with a furious Jin and behind him an equally mad Yoongi who is accompanied by other Princes. "Father, leave Irene. She did nothing." Rushing towards her, he is about to take her in his arms but is stopped abruptly by the King who shows him a hand that clearly indicates him to stay right where he is.

"My decision is final. She is nothing but a servant slash Mistress. As far as I know, the law doesn't allow servants to attack Royals which she did and you even brought her to your wife's chambers to—" he stops, taking a deep breath to calm down the fury which is eager to erupt on his elder son. "—Shameless. Your blinded by her, how would you know what she does huh? Guards take her out, and If the Prince does something behind my back then kill the cause. Once and for all."

It was as if ice cold water was smacked against Jin who stared at his father with a blank look. Irene is taken by guards, while you try hard not to fidget. You know Jin won't leave you for this. Never. And damn you for not stopping the punishment of Irene. Your mind berates you. Jin used to spend the night at Irene's and in return you had a peaceful sleep.

But now your doomed.

Tch. Gone was your peaceful sleep. Better keep an eye on this raging Bull who might kill you in sleep.

The commotion soon dies down, as the King is escorted out. You also join him, cause only a fool will stay inside with seven wolves who are waiting to rip you apart. Anika would have your head for this. She told you to befriend the Princes but here you are, already making more enemies.

It's night by the time your done with your royal duties. Your returning to your quarters, limbs aching for some relief. Anika has found you, and she is berating you for the chaos that you didn't cause. You ignore her.

A maid rushes to you, "Princess, please do something. Prince Jin has gone mad and is destroying everything inside the inner quarters. He is also very drunk."

You sigh, nodding at her as you step inside your chamber. Not before ordering others to stay outside. The door is closed behind you, as you walk towards the man who throws the jug of water across the room with a force that cracks it in half.

Sensing your presence, Jin grins like a maniac.

"I was waiting for you."

You frown, already hating the stench of alcohol that graces you the second he moves close. Backing away, you maintain a dignified distance for you know Jin is not in his right mind.

Getting hurt is the last thing in your mind, especially when your dead tired.

Looking down, you show respect for the Prince. "Sorry, but we will talk later."

"You—," Jin comes to grab you, but before that you attack his pressure point. Knocking him out cold.

Going limp, Jin tumbles down. But before he reaches the rock hard ground, you grab him and pull him up.

Daylight comes as a fresh ocean current carrying birdsong and the aroma of petals, her rays deep-soaked in the love and laughter of the ages. But to Jin, it was like a wake up call for the pounding headache that he feels. Groaning, he turns around the soft bed. Opening his eyes, he is met with the unfamiliar room. It suddenly clicks.

Getting up, he is furious to know that you knocked him out. The whole room is back to how it was- neat, elegant and serene. Unlike the destruction that he matted out in drunk stupor.

He will kill you today for sure.

[starker-raving-mads]

For You: Part VII

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX

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To say that the next week was hectic was to put it lightly. Peter didn't surface from the lab for anything - Not Aunt May (and her terrible lasagna that Peter loved so dearly), not Ned and MJ, not even for Bucky, who had taken to texting Peter fairly regularly with things like lunch requests or questions about pop culture.

(The man was, hilariously, Steve's opposite in that regard. He still didn't remember much of his time on ice, but he reveled in all of modern technology instead of simply trying to deal with it, which was Steve's approach. He and Peter had partaken in more than one text conversation that ended after 2 hours with, 'Steve's taking my phone because he says I'm becoming a zombie staring at the screen. I think he's just jealous because he doesn't understand modern…anything, really. I think he might be a himbo. Am I using that word right?')

No, Peter instead spent that time with Tony, having the longest, craziest, most wonderful lab binge of his life. His sleep schedule was royally messed up because of it, taking to just falling asleep at his desk or on the couch instead of going back up to the penthouse. He only got a few hours at a time like that anyway and it just didn't seem worth it to put an official pause on their work.

What was their work? Integrating Tony into everything.

He was already fully incorporated into the lab, that was easy enough after the confirmation of the program's success. But they made small tweaks to improve his core functioning systems, defined a few things, and Tony went from almost being Tony Stark to really being Tony Stark. The first day or two, the man had stilled unnaturally in a way that Tony just never had. He'd also not remember certain things, important things, until reminded of them.

"I have a daughter?" he'd asked, overwhelmed awe spread across his face. "I have a daughter!" He looked at Peter then, that same unfamiliar softness in his eyes. "I made you her godfather! Isn't Morgan just amazing?"

"Sorry, Mr. Stark," Peter grimaced at the perplexity on the other man's face. "Since Ms. Potts has been kind of…upset about the whole SI thing, I haven't been allowed to see her." And he'd tried, he really had. He wanted to know the little girl that was half Tony, who was his family in all but blood. But Pepper had responded to every request with a resounding 'no' and she was Morgan's mom, so she got the final say.

Tony had a look of determination on his face at that. "Yeah, we'll see about that."

But all those little issues had been flushed out in the first few days, and now they were working on incorporating his program into everything. Peter already wired him into the Spider-Man suit, tapped him into the tower's network architecture, and into the smart glasses the man had pointed out to him that were, apparently, never finished in the face of the Peter Project.

EDITH, he had called it, but based on all the features she had, Peter was mostly positive it was better that project was never finished. Peter kept the glasses, though, body having an all over shiver the first time he heard Mr. Stark's voice directly in his ear.

Now, they were putting the finishing touches on getting Tony wired into the penthouse, which had its own individual network infrastructure and security protocols. Having Friday helped with a lot of the grunt work, but there were some fine tuning things that Peter had to do to wrap it up.

"There!" he said, leaning back on his haunches as he slid the discreet panel back over the hidden network rack in the living room (carefully hidden behind tall, leafy vegetation he was vaguely sure was called a monster plant). "Okay, Fri-baby, fire it up, let him in."

"Are you sure, Mom?" Friday said, voice warm with humor. "Shouldn't guests knock first?"

"Your father is not a guest, dear," he joked back with her, loving the rapid way she grew with him. He was weirdly proud of her, seeing all these changes in behavior and temperament.

"If you say so."

And then - Tony.

Adding the holographic projection system was another touch Peter had to manually install, like with a drill and everything. It was absolutely worth the time spent crawling around on the ceiling when the man bloomed to life in front of him, craning his neck around to check out the apartment.

"Man, I forgot how bland this place was," he said, eyeing the all-white leather couch and black slate flooring of the sunken living room.

"Bland?" Peter asked, aghast. "This place is great!"

Tony gave him a look. "Kid, I know your taste runs to the science pun t-shirt side of the spectrum, but all black and white isn't exactly that much of a step up from beige."

Peter flushed. "I mean, it's simple but it's nice! And why did you even pick it if you didn't like it?"

"Oh," the older man responded, casually walking around the space. "I didn't. Hired some expensive decorator and told them to go crazy with it." He shrugged. "The lab was always my space, so I didn't really give a damn went on up here as much. Pep was the one to put the art and stuff up - which I see she took."

"Yeah, it was gone by the time I got up here, but not much else thankfully. And I guess that makes sense. The lab just…feels like you, Mr. Stark."

Tony gave him another look. "Kid, you've gotta start calling me Tony. It's cute when you say it, but since I'm essentially a ghost, I think we're past the point of titles."

"I mean," Peter said, struggling not to let all the blood in his body rush to his face at how enflamed he felt at Mr. Stark calling him cute. "If I'm only cute when I say it, I guess I have to keep it up, right, Mr. Stark?" He was falling far short of the playful retort he was going for, mostly because there was too much sincerity in the words.

"Pete, you're cute with or without the 'Mr. Stark' schtick," Tony chuckled casually, as though he wasn't uprooting Peter's entire existence right now.

"O-oh, okay." This was one of those things that made Tony differ from Mr. Stark and Peter had to say, he appreciated it. The openness and honesty, the lack of barrier he could always feel was there before. He wondered how much of it was anxiety and part of the physical pretense of being Tony Stark that made him that way, that he lacked now. Whatever it was, Peter liked it. "So, Tony."

"That's my name, kid," he winked, "don't wear it out."

Peter rolled his eyes. This was the Tony he was used to.

"But seriously," Tony continued, picking their previous conversation back up. "You should redo this place, liven it up a little! Some paint, new furniture, yada yada," he waved a hand around the room. "I've seen your bedroom, not to mention the apartment you shared with May - eclectic is in, and now you've got all the money in the world to make your space your own."

"I hadn't really thought about it like that," Peter said, walking over to where Tony's glowing blue form was. "It just - it feels so weird to change things in your house, you know?"

"Peter, and I say this sincerely," Tony said and yes his tone was playful but sincere nonetheless. "I never cared about how this place looked, it was a matter of convenience. It was a bed and a kitchen and a respectable place to have people over but that's about it. And it's your house now."

Peter furrowed his brow. "But the media center and the blankets and pillows - ?"

"Yeaaaaah," the man dragged out and turned to look over at the TV set up in question. "I may or may not have bought that after you mentioned wanting to binge Star Wars with me when you'd realized I hadn't seen all of them." He shrugged but the casual gesture was ruined by the side-eyed sincerity.

"You bought," Peter started, "an entire TV set up, surround sound, and game console just to watch TV with me?"

"Sure," the man shrugged again and Peter knew for a fact that his whole casual-whatever he was doing was put upon, but he didn't know how to call it out - or if he even wanted to.

What do you say when someone spends a few thousand grand on something because you mentioned it offhand in one conversation?

"Listen, kid," Tony sighed, looking over at him finally. "I told you I was too much and this is what I meant. I do - too much. Extravagant gifts and shit like," he waved his hand at the media center wall, "whole media center set ups and custom blankets without asking." He shrugged, and it was probably the first time Peter had ever seen the man truly awkward, for all that he fidgeted normally. "People've been telling me that my whole life but I just can't ever seem to break the habit." He sounded truly apologetic and that was the moment that Peter snapped.

"Stop," he said, voice firm, face rigid. Tony looked at him, chagrined, like a kid being told off after putting his hand in the cookie jar. "There is nothing wrong with you," Peter continued and watched as the man's glowing blue face snapped up at him in surprise. "Your love language is just gift giving, is all," he explained. "You show people you care by giving them things and I bet it's always things like this," he waved toward the media center. "Things they've mentioned or things you know they'll need or care about. Right?" Tony nodded, eyes wide behind his square framed glasses. "Then, there you go," he said, running out of the confident steam he'd been using for his little mini-rant. "You just want to give people you care about things to make their lives better or things they want or way to enjoy themselves better. There's nothing wrong with that. Sure, it can feel like a little much sometimes due to the expense of such things but at the same time - it's your money, you can afford it, so why not?"

The look on Tony's face clearly said that no one had spelled it out like that before and that he wasn't totally sure if he believed Peter.

Peter smiled, a little sadly. "Tony, if I had thought you were giving me things to make me in debt to you or buy my loyalty or something, I'd have turned them down. But it's obvious you don't, and why would I try and hurt you by being a dick about it?"

Tony cleared his throat. "I gotta say, kid, you're like the first person to not give a damn about it. It's always either people after my money, or people who think I'm trying to buy them with it. It's…refreshing."

"I mean," Peter said while he walked over to the large, squishy chaise side of the couch he liked. "It's not like I don't think about it? It's just - like I didn't grow up with a lot of money, right? And neither did my friends. And so when Ned or someone went out of their way to get me something it really meant a lot. And while you have the ability to probably buy a small country - " Tony laughed, " - that doesn't negate the fact that you put thought and energy into it just like anyone else would."

Tony sat down on the other side of the couch from him, their usual seats, and the normalcy of the action soothed Peter. He was starting to look past the faint blue glow of the other man and just see Tony.

"Thanks, kid," Tony said, looking over at him. "I mean that."

"I know you do," Peter smiled softly. He curled in on himself, snuggling into the cushions, wishing he had his movie blanket.

Tony's mind seemed to go the same direction. "Where's that blanket of yours?" he asked, craning his neck to look at the space where the basket of blankets and spare pillows for the living room used to be.

Peter sighed. "It was one of the things Ms. Potts took," he shrugged. "I haven't gotten around to replacing it yet."

The older man frowned. "You should have Friday do it," he finally said. "I didn't buy it, I crafted it out of the same textile I used to make Steve's stuff with." At Peter's look, he explained, "Capcicle has a similar texture issue that you do, senses cranked up a little under yours. Your first Spider-Man suit was made out of an off-shoot of the formula, but the base is perfect for blankets and things." He furrowed his brow, looking away, thinking. "Pepper knew that," he muttered to himself. "Fri? Get on that, will you?"

"You got it, Boss."

"Maybe she had them grab it by accident when she sent people up to get the artwork and stuff?" Peter pondered.

"Yeah, maybe," Tony agreed though he didn't sound convinced. "How about," he said instead of whatever seemed to be on his mind, "you go grab a blanket from somewhere and we watch something. You wouldn't believe how fast my brain runs now," he chuckled. "And I don't really sleep anymore, so being online and zoning out a little would be nice."

Peter smiled and agreed, stopping at the kitchen to pop a bag of microwave popcorn in before heading down the hallway. He paused by his room first before ultimately going to Tony's and grabbing the bundled up comforter. It was just so much softer than the one in the guest room, and it still faintly smelled like the other man. That wasn't too weird right?

Pushing back the anxiety in him that screamed, 'uh yeah it's weird he's going to call you out on it,' Peter walked back out to the living room and dumped it onto the couch. He tried to be casual about it, twisting on his heel to grab the popcorn and pour it into a bowl before coming back to the living room and snuggling down into the blanket.

He tried not to pay attention to the long, long look Tony gave him when the teen asked, "Anything you're in the mood for?"

After a moment, the older man said, "Fuck it, let's watch Star Wars again."