#yes they have the same hair style its the only fancy hair I can draw

[da-toaster]

He he hiii... Happy new year and all that crap. Its been a rough few months, but I come bearing lesbians

[nikethestatue]

La Dolce Vita

Summary: Elain Archeron and Azriel - in love, in lust, in Italy

Modern AU *slight TOG crossover. If you read my stuff, you know it’s LONG

Warnings: bad language and THIS IS NSFW (not kidding, this is a story, not just sex, but there is a LOT of explicit material here. You can still read the story, but if you are sensitive or underage, skip the naughty bits)

Comments are always appreciated/wanted/needed. Anon or not, just do it! Obviously, reblogs are appreciated. 

Part I (Flowers)

 La Vie En Rose

De l'homme auquel j'appartiens (Of the man to whom I belong)  Quand il me prend dans ses bras Il me parle l'a tout bas (He speaks to me softly) Je vois la vie en rose (And I see life in pink) Il me dit des mots d'amour (He speaks words of love to me) Des mots de tous les jours (They are every day words) Et ça m' fait quelque chose (And they do something to me) Il est entré dans mon coeur (He has entered into my heart) Une part de bonheur (A bit of happiness) Dont je connais la cause (That I know the cause of) C'est lui pour moi (It's only him for me) Moi pour lui dans la vie (And me for him, for life)

Now

Riding in a Ferrari, being enveloped in its supple, buttery leather, gulping in the cypress and cedar-scented air of Tuscany was everything that Elain Archeron had ever wanted. She never knew that this is what she wanted, because riding in very fast, very expensive, sleek Italian cars wasn’t on her ‘fantasy radar’, but now that she was in one, she suddenly came to the realization that this was perhaps one of the best experiences of her life.

The whole thing, so far, has been the best experience of her life.

Well…maybe not the best-best.

Her happiness was deeply intertwined with and caused by the man in the driver seat of the said Ferrari—Azriel. Azriel Archeron, as he loved calling himself. Even if this wasn’t his last name, he preferred using it over his family name, for a variety of personal reasons. There was nothing better, more sublime, more beautiful and more loving than Azriel. The perfect male specimen, if she could say so herself. No one would argue with her assessment either.

Elain

 They were introduced by her sister’s then-boyfriend Cass, who was giving her a lift one afternoon, and then suggested that they stop by Azriel’s car atelier, because he needed to pick something up.

Elain’s heard of the mysterious Azriel from her sisters, both of whom had claimed that he was the most handsome man that either one of them had ever seen. Elain chuckled at the exuberant praise, doubting its truthfulness. There was no such thing as the ‘most handsome’ man. Beauty was in the eyes of the beholder.

She wasn’t sure what a car atelier was, and when Cassian pulled up to a modern-looking building, she said that she’d stay in the car and wait.

“Come on, petal, don’t be shy,” Cassian urged her, holding the car door open for her in a way that indicated that she’d have to get out and follow him.

They entered the foyer, a vast space with racing stripes painted on the polished cement floor, and a sea of model cars dropping from the ceiling. Behind a wall of glass, Elain spied a row of gorgeous cars, none of which were familiar to her. Some unique European models, fit for James Bond’s consumption. There were also neat antique cars, probably from the 50s. She immediately had visions of Grace Kelly and Cary Grant riding in one of these along the Riviera coast.

“What’s this place?” she inquired, looking around at the mid-century modern building that resembled a spaceship.

“This is Az’s baby,” Cass explained vaguely. “Conceived, conceptualized, restored, outfitted—all by the brilliant mind of one Azriel Bagarat.”

“Are you bragging?”

A deep, sensual voice, that could only be called ‘midnight’ sounded behind them, and Cassian’s handsome, tanned face broke in a mischievous smile. “Only about you, brother!”

When Elain turned around, her breath was knocked out from her lungs.

She didn’t know that it was possible, to be actually stunned by someone’s beauty, but there she stood, gaping, feeling the world slow and move in a different manner for a few moments.

Standing at a towering 6”4 or so, the man was at least as tall as Cassian, and Cassian was the tallest man Elain’d ever met. She was just as muscular, but not as bulky. Clad in all black, from expensive, well-tailored Diesel jeans, to a soft t-shirt that stretched over his sharply cut torso, emphasizing the thick muscles of his arms and shoulders, and the narrow waist, true to her sisters’ word, this Azriel was simply exquisite.

Cassian draped his heavy arm around her shoulders and nudged her forward, just a bit, and said,

“Petal, say hello! This is my brother, Azriel. Az, this is my soon-to-be-sister-in-law, the one and only Elain Archeron.”

At the words ‘sister-in-law’ Elain whipped her head to Cassian, who grinned maniacally at her, nodding and answering her silent question.

“When? What are you talking about?” she exclaimed, Azriel momentarily forgotten. “What do you mean? You’ve only been seeing each other for like three months?!?”

“Baby girl, I don’t need three years to decide…Nes is Nes and she is the one for me.”

He shrugged with his usual ease, acting like they were discussing the weather or a good burger that he just ate.

“If Nes hears even a whiff of this, I will know it’s you, petal, and well, I am not sure what I will do,” he decided upon reflection, but then pleaded, “please, don’t tell her. This one,” he nodded towards Azriel, who was standing still, green eyes peeled to Elain, “I can trust. He hardly ever talks,”

“That’s because you talk for all of us,” noted Azriel with a smirk.

Elain chuckled, and turned back to face him.

He extended his hand to her, with an odd, tentative movement, and when she looked down, she saw old, mottled scars that covered his palm and part of his wrist and forearm. A vintage Patek Phillipe on his wrist.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, and he gave her a surprised look, unsure of what she was referring to.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet another Archeron sister,” he said with a soft smile, which made Elain lose her ability to speak for a good few moments, because she was finally able to take in that face that defied description. The sharp cheekbones and the mesmerizing amber and emerald eyes, almond-shaped and slanted hinted at a varied heritage, and unfairly, the man also possessed a perfect nose, and a full, sensuous mouth. He was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, with skin of burnished bronze, which was so in contrast to his bright eyes and raven-black hair, cut in a fashionable undercut. The physique, as she already noted, quickly skimming over the body, matched the face.

“Yes, me too,” she said stupidly.

Graceful, like a courtier, he offered her his arm and said,

“Would you like me to show you around?”

She didn’t want to be impolite, though she suddenly felt sweaty and nervous, and completely out of her league. But she threaded her hand through his arm and lightly squeezed the firm, alarmingly thick bicep.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

She wasn’t sure what she was thinking him for, so she added, “yes, I’d love to see it.”

“Why haven’t we met?” he inquired, those green eyes watching her with such intensity that she felt almost undressed, bared under the gaze. It wasn’t unpleasant, because it wasn’t lascivious, and he didn’t strike her as someone who’d be disrespectful to women.

“I’ve been busy for the past half a year,” she explained.

“Doing what?”

They walked down the wide passage, past all the cars, which Azriel pointed out with a wave of his scarred hand, and dropped names like Pagani, BMW I8, Bugatti Divo, Bugatti Centodieci, Lamborghini Veneto, Koenigsegg CCXR Trevita and so forth. Elain might not have known a ton about cars, but she was not so unaware not to know that a Bugatti and a Lambo were expensive cars.

Cassian fell behind, gawking at the display.

“I was opening my own business,” Elain said, her head thrown back, looking at an entire toy racetrack mounted to the ceiling, with cars zooming by, and somehow, not falling on patrons’ heads.

“What sort of business?”

“Flowers,” she said absently, once they reached another space—a two story-restaurant, bar, and a patio outside as well.

“Flowers?”

“Oh, a flower shop,” she explained at last. Then muttered, awed, “this is really incredible!”

“A car enthusiast?” he smirked.

She didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, her hand migrated from the crook of his arm to his hand, and now, they walked along the walls lined with Ferrari posters, memorabilia and expensive everything. Walking and holding hands.

“I wouldn’t call myself one,” she admitted, “but I find cars aesthetically pleasing…Never got to ride in anything fancier than a Mercedes or a Lexus,”

“Well, we should remedy that at once!” he decided easily and then said, “pick you up on Friday at seven?”

That sobered her up a bit and she turned to face him. They stopped at the long, chrome-lined bar, and he said, “An espresso?”

“Um,”

But before she could respond, he was behind the counter, playing with a very fancy coffee machine that required a PhD to operate with all the levers and hooks and buttons, and in a few minutes, he poured her a tiny cup of coffee, thick with natural foam, and heady with its enticing scent.

He chugged his own in one go and she followed him, gulping her espresso in two sips. It was better than anything she’d ever drunk in her life.

“Like a date?” she finally asked, truly confused by the offer.

“Would you like it to be a date?” he leaned on the bar, biceps flexing, his arms covered in tattoo sleeves that reached all the way to his fingers. They were quite beautiful, the tattoos, the placement and the design, and Elain recognized the style, since Cassian and Rhysand wore the same kinds of tattoos, if not so extensive.

“Did you draw these?” she asked bluntly, touching her finger to a thick snaking black line, which was shaded with cobalt.

He looked down, at her hand and his arm and nodded, following her finger with his eyes.

“I did. For the three of us. When we made Navy Seals,”

“You are a Seal, too?” she exclaimed.

He smiled and nodded, “Well, we all grew up in foster care—not all, Cass and I,”

“I heard,”

“Until Rhys’s parents adopted us. But we weren’t the…best of boys,” he chortled, “so to get our heads straight, we were sent to the Navy after school. We figured we’d only stay a bit, but we stayed for a while.”

“So, you are retired?”

“We are vets,”

“How old are you?” she blurted. Then blushed and said, “I am sorry. I am usually not so impolite,”

He laughed, “I figured. But that’s alright. I’ll tell you on Friday, though. If you don’t mind?”

“I mean, I don’t mind,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to her espresso cup, “but,”

“How about this—I take you on a drive in one of these fancy cars—and then you can brag to everyone that you’d driven in a,”

He paused and rubbed his chin,

“Any preference?”

“For what?”

“What car you’d like to go in?”

“I don’t know,”

“Throw something at me,” he urged, eyes glinting with feral delight.

Elain, blush deepening, finally said, “Do you have a Ferrari? I’ve always wanted to drive in a Ferrari.”

“Ahhh, a Ferrarista at heart!” he nodded with approval, folding his arms on his chest, “stick with the classic and the best. And yes, gorgeous, I do have a Ferrari or two.”

Gorgeous.

Azriel

The girl who’d arrived with Cassian, was not Nesta, but there was something vaguely familiar about her. The girl who’d arrived with Cassian was the most gorgeous creature that Azriel had ever seen. Gorgeous and completely unaware.

Women like her, if they were smart and cunning and ambitious, used their beauty for all things good and terrible. But this exquisite creature that Cassian was so blatantly hugging and teasing wasn’t one of those women. Azriel was all too familiar with the types—the maneaters, who hounded him like sharks. He was wealthy, and good-looking, and a decent person, if not exactly a saint. He hobnobbed with celebrities who came to order his cars, which he designed and outfitted based on their specifications and desires.

He was finnicky when it came to taste though. No matter how much rappers asked him to clad their Maybach in gold or some vapid Gucci print, no matter how many heiresses pouted and asked for a bubblegum or Barbie-pink Ferraris, he did not betray the essence and soul of the vehicle. Modify, define, sharpen, stylize—he did it all with precision and skill which was unparalleled. But Azriel Bagarat was known for rejecting even the juiciest of offers, if the request did not coincide with his aesthetic or the history of the car.

He was at his shop—that’s what he called it, though atelier sounded infinitely better and more expensive—that afternoon, knowing that Cassian was going to drop by and select a car for his grandiose proposal to Nesta. There was some concern that Cassian would not fit his 6”5 form into an Aston Martin or a Bentley, so they needed to make sure that the car was appropriate for the occasion and the occupant. Cass insisted on a British vehicle, feeling that Nesta would like something classic and timeless. So be it.

What Azriel did not expect to see that Tuesday afternoon was a girl--because he hesitated to call her a ‘woman’, since she looked so lovely and perfect and innocent--who took his breath away.

His breath had been taken away only once before, by Rhys’s cousin, who strolled like a ray of sunshine into their broken lives.

However, Morrigan chose Cassian. And then Cassian promptly impregnated her, causing a great discontent and strife between everyone. Morrigan, or rather Morgana d’Adda, though she anglicized her name, even if Morrigan d’Adda sounded funny, was just about disavowed by her family for tumbling, and being so stupid and blind as to get knocked up by a hulking nobody mulatto, as her father Keir called Cassian. Rather, sneered, at Cassian.

Even if Azriel didn’t impregnate anybody, he somehow got looped into the family bullshit and once he and Cassian turned 18, they were both shipped off to the navy. To the dismay of the entire Darling clan, Rhys followed them, tossing away his guaranteed admittance to Brown. An Ivy League school for rich stupid heirs. Only Rhys wasn’t stupid. Neither was Cassian a hulking nobody mulatto. And Azriel wasn’t just the ‘fucking weird kid, who might be a serial killer’. They served and they passed the insane Navy Seal training, and they proved themselves.

Nowadays, Cassian now ran security for the Darling conglomerate, while Rhys took over the reins when his father was killed in a car accident. Azriel found his own path, though the association with the Darling name certainly helped his exposure and in building relationships and meeting all the right people. And meeting all the women. The three brothers had gone through their share of wild times, but in the past 3 years, things began to calm down for them.

It began with Rhys meeting Feyre Archeron at an art gallery, where she was exhibiting some of her pieces. Azriel had tugged along with Rhys to see the exhibit, because Rhys was looking for some art for his new office, and he trusted Azriel’s taste and knowledge, and wanted a second pair of eyes.

Rhys followed Feyre like a dog throughout the evening—Azriel was there to witness the pathetic display—and then they ended up at a bar, doing shots and feeding Feyre virgin Cosmos, since she wasn’t even 21 yet. They went to some dance club, Azriel playing the third-wheel and ‘chaperone’, though by the end of the night, Rhys and Feyre disappeared together and weren’t heard from for the next three days.

… “What if he killed her?” proposed Cassian for 100th time, pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his long black hair. “Or what if she killed him?”

“I thought that I was the serial killer among the three of us,” drawled Azriel, sprawled on a sofa, watching a game. He wasn’t as concerned, having seen Rhys dripping with intense lust at the sight of the brown-haired teen. It was unusual, since at that time Rhys was almost 25, and Feyre only 19, and the three of them typically tried to avoid teenagers like the plague. But Rhysand Darling seemed genuinely enthralled.

“No, you are the guy with the sex dungeon,” corrected Cassian.

Azriel rolled his eyes, “serial killer with a sex dungeon, huh? Sounds like an interesting story. Alas, much as I’d like to, I don’t have a sex dungeon.”

“Aren’t you building one? In that new garage of yours?” Cassian shrugged.

“Only cars. No sex toys,” sighed Azriel, looking like that might have been an omission on his part.

“Gents, I think I am in love!” the door burst open and a wild-eyed Rhys appeared, his normally pristine hair in disarray, his cheeks flushed, wearing only a white t-shirt and jeans.

“Where the fuck were you for three days?” growled Cassian, showing considerable relief at the sight of his brother.

“Falling in love,” crooned Rhys, falling into a chair, a stupid, dazed look on his face.

“You look like Audrey Hepburn in ‘Sabrina’,” noted Azriel.

“I feel like Audrey Hepburn!” exclaimed Rhys. “She is perfect. Feyre is perfect.”

What the fuck? Mouthed Cassian in confusion.

“Feyre Darling,” whispered Rhys with delight, eyes closed, tasting the sound of the name on his tongue. “Feyre Archeron Darling. Or Feyre Darling Archeron?”

“You alright there, buddy?” Cassian frowned. “A little early to be talking last names?”

“She’ll be my wife,” announced Rhysand with his usually unwavering confidence.

And that was that.

Now, the ‘society wedding of the year’ was coming up in three months. Rhysand Darling and Feyre Archeron, the toast of the town, the power couple, the young and beautiful billionaires.

 Now, Azriel stood in front of the most stunning female he’d ever seen and for once, he felt like Rhys. His brain turned into a soupy mess, and he found himself tongue-tied and concentrating was suddenly difficult. He wanted to be a gracious host and a confident, formidable man, who had a reputation to uphold—though he wasn’t sure if Elain was aware of his reputation—but inside, he was a mess. All his insecurities, doubts and self-hate rose to the surface at once, and he hesitated to extend his hand in greeting to her. His mangled, horrible, revolting hand, which was sullied beyond its extensive scars. A hand that killed, and touched way too women, some of whom he probably shouldn’t have been touching at all.

“Beautiful,” she murmured softly, that gorgeous blush spreading over her rose-petal cheeks.

He was so taken aback by the comment, he was nearly flabbergasted when she didn’t pull away, didn’t frown or grimace in disgust, didn’t display any of the usual signs of revulsion that most women did when they saw his hands. Perhaps it was the Patek Phillipe, he tried to convince himself, but deep down he knew—she called his scars ‘beautiful’.

And then she took his arm, her hand strong, surprisingly calloused, if light, and small.

And from that moment on, Azriel became obsessed with that touch.

His body heated and as he led her to the bar, and showed her around his pride and joy, watching for the subtle reactions, for the gleam of wonder and appreciation in her eyes, he couldn’t release…wouldn’t release her hand from his. She asked questions, took in all the memorabilia and gawked at the cars, and then the guest area, and finally, when he sat her down at the bar and made her a coffee, he stepped closer. Trying not to scare her, or seem obnoxious, he couldn’t help invading her personal space, and stood next to her, pretending to take interest in his drink, while hoping that her arm would brush against his own. Skin to skin.

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t shy away.

He didn’t expect himself to ask her on what amounted to a date, because he wasn’t even sure how dates worked. His usual ammo consisted of a brief introduction, an even quicker seduction and then a hook up. That’s how he liked it. He preferred no-strings-attached approach to his involvement with women, and it’s been working rather well for him. He never had to sleep with anyone in the same bed, he never had to make anyone breakfast, there was no room for idle chitchat, and usually no second or third dates. It was so easy.

This fucking girl, with her caramel-brown eyes, her golden-amber curls, her soft lips and that damn blush on her cheeks—she was driving him veritably insane with her unique mix of immaculate beauty and a friendly, almost naïve, strangely innocent disposition. And he wanted to go on a date with her. Without an ulterior motive, because at it stood right now, he didn’t care to even get her in bed. That would come later. He was absolutely determined to have this happen later. But…later.

Cassian

“Alrighty, I think I am going with the Bentley,” Cassian sidled to the bar, and interrupted.

If Azriel was annoyed, he didn’t show it.

Cassian spied them at last, making his way through the cavernous entrails of the garage, with all its gleaming cars, the beautiful patrons who were discussing options with no-less beautiful sales people,  and even on-premises tattoo shop, which specialized in Azriel’s sketches and catered to those who didn’t have money to actually outfit their Bugatti to their heart’s desire, but could at least claim that they got a Bagarat tattoo inked on their skin.

Elain and Azriel were standing side by side, somehow melding together nicely, her pretty dress and high-heeled sandals and piles of loose hair in drastic contrast with Azriel’s all-black ensemble, his massive height and the span of his shoulders. But she did not balk from him. Cassian also noticed that she didn’t react to the scars, which Azriel was very self-conscious about, and seemed genuinely interested in the garage.

It was inevitable that the two would eventually meet, especially with the wedding coming up and all the wedding related brouhaha. However, Cassian wanted to have the dibs on gloating down the line, and reminding the two of them, forever, about how it was he who introduced them. Yes, Azriel fucked a lot of models and rich girls, for whom he, strangely, was a riff on a ‘bit of rough’, while being hardly ‘rough’ at all. Azriel was elegant and possessed excellent taste in everything, and he probably had the best manners out of the lot of them. But the tattoos, the cars, the aura of brooding mystery about him, and his generally quiet ways were like honey to the throngs of women who lusted after him.  

About Azriel, Cassian had no doubts.

Cassian knew Azriel probably better than anyone alive, and even that wasn’t saying much, but he was very aware of Azriel’s ‘secret type’ of woman. Basically, it was Elain. Everything about Elain Azriel would like—of that Cassian was certain. Elain was the elusive ‘ideal woman’ of whom Azriel dreamt, but never actually pursued. Slightly unconventional, soft, kind, generous—lovely, would be a good word—Elain was everything that Azriel never had with any other women.

Cassian could already see the hunger and flicker of completely besotted adoration in Azriel’s normally cold eyes.

He was less certain about Elain, having never seen her with a boyfriend. When he had asked Nesta about Elain’s situation, Nesta shrugged and said that Elain was beautiful, but naïve, dreamy and rarely dated.

“A Bentley it is then,” Azriel turned around, though his elbow still touched Elain’s arm. “You’ll fit, big boy?”

Elain giggled.

“I am not Rowan,” Cassian muttered. “I am human sized.”

“Only just.”

“You are the same height,” Cassian reminded him coolly.

“I am a little more human-shaped too.”

Cassian rolled his eyes and said, “Come on, petal. While I love to stand here and listen to his insults, we gotta go.”

Elain’s face dropped into a sad frown only for a second, but she recovered immediately. Cassian noticed it, nevertheless. His petal of a girl didn’t want to leave his brother’s side.

“Bye Azriel,” she said, taking his hand in hers again, of her own volition, and squeezing it lightly. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he said. His fingers wrapped over her palm, and he said, “I’ll walk you two out.”

So, his brooding brother didn’t want to release the newfound petal of a girl.

How interesting.

Once they were in Cassian’s Jeep, Elain looked out the window, a dreamy look on her face.

“Oh-oh,” Cassian chuckled, as he navigated the narrow NYC streets.

“What?”

“I know that look,” he winked.

“What look?” she frowned.

“The ‘oh gods, Azriel is so handsome!’ look. Oh, he is so gorgeous look. Oh, he is so sexy look.”

“He is handsome,” she agreed blandly, knowing that arguing would be silly.

“I hope that you gave him your number,” he said. “Because if you didn’t, I will.”

“It’s none of your business,” she crossed her arms on her chest, and Cass howled loudly.

“You are welcome, by the way,”

“You are ridiculous,” she muttered. “I don’t know how Nesta tolerates you!”

“Oh, Nes tolerates me and then some,” and winked again.

Now

“My love, slow down a bit,” Elain requested, as the road zigzagged among rows of cypresses.

“I thought that you wanted to make it to Florence before traffic hit?” Azriel squeezed her fingers and brought her hand to his lips.

“Seeing that we are already running late, we might as well enjoy the drive,” she shrugged.

A honey-coloured strand of her hair fell out from under the gauzy wrap that she wore around her head a-la Grace Kelley.

“Good.”

“Good what?” she turned her face to him and knocked him out all over again. By the Mother she was superb in every way, and she was his. He couldn’t believe his absurd luck. Things like these didn’t happen to him. Elain was not meant to be his. Yet, here she was, his lovely gentle girl, who loved him with incomprehensible passion and devotion. His.

The hefty, borderline outlandish ring on her finger was proof of that.

He’d worked hard on that ring, designing it himself, wanting to incorporate everything that he loved about her and about the two of them into the design. The result was this stunner that glittered madly in the Italian sun, sitting on her manicured finger, the skin of her arm kissed by a golden tan.

His beautiful girl loved flowers, and she loved him, so her ring, in its platinum setting was a remarkable rose, reflecting Elain’s green thumb and life’s work. He selected the diamond himself, and the amethysts that comprised the petals, even the tiny onyx inserts, to signify him and the black ink of his tattoos. The ring was both extravagant—especially in carats—but intimate as well, a flower that spoke of his eternal love for this woman.

“I am going to take you somewhere, which I think you’d like,” he teased.

“Where?”

“How does lots of flowers sound?”

She smiled. 

Azriel

For gods’ sake, he was nervous. Azriel was not prone to nervousness or panic or discomfort, but this date, or whatever it was, filled him with dread.

He shouldn’t have asked her.

He was stupid and blinded by her beauty, by her deliciously voluptuous body, by the long, slender legs, by her shy, sweet smile. Those blushes. For the love of everything, those fine, adorable, sexy blushes.

She was part of the family network—both of his brothers were now in love with her sisters. It was cliché and unrealistic and unbelievable that she and he would end up in the same boat. Besides, he wasn’t so lucky as to have someone like her accept him. So, he was making a huge fucking mistake. If this was all going to go sour—which inevitably it would, of that he had no doubt—he’d mess up the delicate balance that existed between the Darling, Bagarat and Cavalhe brothers and the Archeron sisters. She’d reject him and then it would be awkward. Awkward for the upcoming wedding, in which he and Elain were supposed to couple up and be together in the wedding party. Rhys said, ‘fuck it’ and asked both him and Cassian to be best men, while Feyre had both of her sisters as maids-on-honour. There was no escaping it. Therefore, it would be awkward for the wedding, and then for Christmas and all the summer BBQs and pool parties and…well, he might just have to find excuses to never attend anything, ever.

But here he was, standing in front of an old-fashioned, cute corner storefront in the Village. Flower displays spilled on the sidewalk, and the windows, along with the marble edifice reminded him of Paris. This was exactly how he’d picture Elain’ store—slightly whimsical, elegant, classic, but modern. Au Nom de la Rose – The Name of the Rose—perfectly appropriate for Elain’s store name.

She wasn’t waiting for him outside, and he circled the block three times before, by some miracle, finding a parking space and leaving the silver Ferrari, and then made his way back to the store, arriving 4 minutes late, which was completely unacceptable. The store was technically closed at this hour, but he knocked and heard Elain’s voice telling him to come in. Some internal pressure inside of him released at the sound of her voice.

He entered and whistled,

“That’s a lot of flowers!”

Yep, definitely a glamourized 50’s Paris vibe.

“Azriel, I am so sorry, I am not ready,” Elain came from behind the counter, looking a bit frazzled.

“It’s alright I will wait,” he assured her, but she shook her head and said,

“No…I just received a huge order. An emergency order for an anniversary party. Azriel, it’s my biggest order ever!”

“That’s excellent!” he found himself feeling genuinely happy for her, if not for her concerned expression. “What’s up?”

“I…I,” she stumbled. “Feyre or Nesta would usually come and help out if I need them, but Feyre is in LA, and Nesta…” she swallowed, “Nesta is indisposed.”

Nes is on her period and is feeling like crap, read Cassian’s text from earlier today. I am going fishing. Care to join? Or are you busy romancing a certain Archeron sister?

Nesta was indisposed indeed, though Azriel didn’t feel like he needed to know the details.

“It’s a 25th Anniversary, and I have to make 25 bouquets and 15 centerpieces. The couple’s original florist fell through and they contacted me, in a panic, and I agreed,” she babbled, tugging on her long braid nervously. “And it’s for tomorrow,”

“Alright then,” he shrugged, “what’s the problem then? I am here.”

She looked up at him, her gaze both hopeful and confused.

“You? What are you going to do? I am sorry, Azriel, I am so sorry, we’d have to postpone,”

“We’d have to postpone our drive, but I am here. Use me.”

“Use you?”

“Use my body,” he chuckled, and she giggled an amused laugh.

“I appreciate the offer,” and when he thought that she’d continue rejecting his offer of help, she did the right thing and was a smart girl, nodding at last, and said, “will you truly help?”

“I am not a flower expert,”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” she grinned.

He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and said, “Teach me, Archeron. I am an apt pupil.”

He was. Elain showed him model bouquets and thankfully, he wasn’t dumb or clumsy enough to screw them up, once he began copying the originals.

Night fell, and they ordered pizza and he went to get a bottle of wine from the store across the street.

Sitting on the floor of the store, surrounded by piles of flowers, vases, ribbons and twine, they ate pizza, laughing throughout the evening. She stretched her long, bare legs in front of her, crossing them at the ankles, and he couldn’t get enough—the pretty toes, the pale golden skin and the sexy pink nail polish. He didn’t want to seem like a creep, but he snuck more than a few glances at her feet when she wasn’t looking.

It was well past midnight when they were finally done.

He stretched on the floor and tucked his arm behind his head.

She kneeled above him, at his side, and said, “Azriel, thank you. I can’t, honestly, thank you enough. You saved me. Maybe my business too!”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he retorted gently, “but this was fun…and educational.”

“How can I repay you?” she asked.

“Well, well,” he drummed his fingers on the floor, pretending to think. “So many possibilities,”

At that, she flushed, and he licked his lips, loving the sight of that pink on her cheeks.

“Let’s make a bargain,” he proposed at last.

“A bargain?” her brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“For my exceptional assistance during your time of trouble and despair, you will agree to an outing with me, of my choosing. To do whatever I want.”

Elain stared at him, biting her plump lower lip.

“Are we going to do something bad?” she finally asked uncertainly.

He grinned and without thinking, cupped her cheek.

She didn’t recoil.

He drew his thumb over her soft skin and she leaned into his palm just a little bit. Gods it felt good. So good. So good to have her so near, so receptive, so unafraid. But he dropped his hand.

“You think I will take you to knock off a couple of 7-11s?”

“Well, if I am entering this death bargain with you, then who the hell knows?” she shrugged.

He laughed, “Death bargain? A little dramatic, are we?”

She was still sitting there, biting her lip, and all he wanted to do was drag his tongue over it. Kiss her large, brown eyes. Fist his hand around the thick mass of her hair, tilt her head and kiss her until she was breathless.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He never acted like this!

He never thought like this.

He was a rational, controlled, some said, cold man.

Not to say that he wasn’t able to find a woman immediately attractive, or want to fuck her, but this was different. This was unknown.

“Fine,” she shrugged.

“Fine?” he repeated, smiling.

“Don’t make me do anything bad,” she warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” he promised. “I wouldn’t lead you astray. But,” he sat up, draping his forearms over his knees, “where do you live? Let me take you home,”

“I can take an Uber,”

He gave her an incredulous look and she nodded without further arguments.

“Where do you live?” he asked, once they were outside, somehow internally thrilled that perhaps, she’d invite him inside. He wouldn’t expect anything, obviously, but it would be nice see where she lived, what her private space looked like. So far, he couldn’t pinpoint her style with any accuracy, an interesting mixture of vintage and modern, of flowers and thorns.

“Just two blocks down,” she said, as she locked up the shop.

He gave her his arm, and it seemed like she almost expected it, because she immediately thrust her hand into the loop and he smiled softly.

The little white shorts and the flowery top did things to him, and he was glad to walk side by side, so to prevent himself from staring at her long legs and her neat, lush ass. He was already a mess over her legs, over her bending and squatting in front of him for the past four-five hours.

It was dark and quiet on the street, and they walked in a comfortable silence, each thinking of something of their own.

And then,

Elain sprawled face down on the pavement.

She cried out, landing on her knees on the asphalt, just barely having the time to brace herself on her hand, and ripping the skin of her palm.

Azriel was instantly on his knees in front of her.

Tears glistened in her eyes. Possibly from pain, because as she flipped on her butt, they saw that her knees were torn and bleeding, as was her palm, or maybe from shock, as well as embarrassment.

“Shhh,” he cooed gently to her, “are you okay?”

She shook her head. A lonely tear spilled from her eyes.

“Tissues?” he asked quickly, surveying the damage. Bruises were already blossoming on her scuffed kneecaps, all around the wounds.

She wordlessly handed him her bag, allowing him to rummage through it and he found a packet of old tissues, which he gingerly pressed to her bleeding knees.

“My ankle hurts,” she muttered, reaching down to inspect it.

“Let me,” he took her legs and looked over her ankle. She glared questioningly at him, still in some sort of stupor, not understanding what had occurred, and why she was now sitting on the ground, bleeding.

“You broke your heel,” he nodded to her foot and she glanced down, finally realizing that her heel caught in a crack in the pavement. The impact was so strong, it actually fully detached from the sole of the shoe.

“I am sorry,” she mumbled.

“You should be,” he chuckled, “you gave me quite a scare. I thought you were shot; you went down so quickly!”

She pushed at his arm, half laughing, and have crying.

“Stop making me laugh!” she ordered, sniffling and giggling. “Auuu, it hurts...”

He was lightly pressing on her ankle, and then said, “it’s just twisted. You’ll need ice, but it should be okay…”

“Ok, Doctor Azriel,” she even rolled her eyes slightly and he laughed, flicking her nose.

“I am trained on how to treat combat wounds and catastrophic field injuries, I’ll have you know,” he said and then gave her his hand. “On your feet, soldier! Let me see if you can stand.”

Moaning and groaning, she managed to stand up, but putting any weight on her foot caused a yelp to escape her lips.

“Alright, come on now,” he stepped and opened his arms, “jump in.”

“Jump in where?”

“Jump into my arms, of course.”

“What are you planning to do? Swing me around?”

“I could swing you around, but I was planning on carrying you home, and then making you an ice pack and disinfecting all your cuts.”

Without waiting for her to decide, he scooped her off the ground and she gasped, and he wasn’t sure what the little huff meant.

“But it’s like two blocks!” she protested feebly, and unconvincingly, “I am heavy.”

“Ooohhh,” he groaned dramatically, hefting her to his chest, as they started off. “Sooo, so heavy!”

“I am the fattest of my sisters,” she argued, and even in the darkness he saw that she was blushing realizing how silly her comment was.

“Well, considering that Nesta is like 90 lbs. and Feyre 110 lbs., that’s not saying much,” he assured her.

She was soft and warm in his arms, and when, without prompting, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, he felt utterly at peace. Because the pieces of them fit. She fit him.

Blood still dripping, and her arms thrown over his neck, Azriel walked steadily, cradling her to his chest, until they finally reached a pre-War building, and she said, “There is no elevator.”

“Don’t tell me you are on the 6th floor!” he laughed, looking up.

“The third.”

“Guess I will have to haul the fattest of the Archeron sisters to the 3rd floor!” he sighed, and she smacked his arm, protesting,

“You can’t say that!”

He was laughing and she began to laugh as well.

“You said it first,” he reminded her.

 Her apartment was small, but she’d arranged the furniture in such a way that everything seemed more spacious, and orderly, without unnecessary frills. Mostly grays, turquoise, cobalt and creamy-white. For some reason, he thought that there would be much more pink and general fluff. This though, this he liked.

He sat her down on the sofa and went to the bathroom to find bandages and plasters and other items. She called out from her spot, telling him where to find things and he finally emerged and began working on all her wounds.

“Haven’t lost a soldier yet,” he told her with a chuckle. He kneeled in front of her, and his touch was firm, but surprisingly gentle, as he thoroughly washed every scuff and tear, and then disinfected and decided what needed bandages and what didn’t.

Elain remained mostly silent throughout the procedure, watching him from under her lashes.

“You are nice,” she said suddenly.

He looked at her and smirked.

“Not with anyone.”

“Everyone just says how handsome you are,” she lay her head on the back cushion, watching him. He gave her a painkiller, and it was making her drowsy. It was also late. She rarely stayed up this late. “But you are also very nice,” she added.

Elain

She woke up that morning, and was struck by the unfamiliar environment. And pain.

Her knees ached and screamed and hurt, as did her palm.

Light poured through the windows; the curtains still open.

She found herself on her sofa, haphazardly covered by a throw, and with her legs resting on Azriel’s lap.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He was here. With her.

He never left after last night’s debacle.

She was a clumsy cow, as always, but the incident was unusually embarrassing, even for her. She always spilled or dropped stuff on herself, tripped, stumbled, and fell on her ass at inopportune times, but last night…By the Mother!

The man was gosh darn saint. Not only did she screw up their evening plans, made him work and make bouquets with her, which, probably wasn’t the most exciting thing for him to spend the evening on, but she also almost ate the pavement, and then he carried her for half a mile! And cared for her when they came here. And spent, what must have been a horribly uncomfortable night in a half-seated position, with her, no doubt, pushing at him with her feet.

Yep, she was never going to see him again.

Good going, Elain. Fine job you did of this ‘relationship’. Now, for the rest of her life, she’d be forced to see him at family gatherings, probably with some stunning model of a wife, and he’d always remember her as the girl who tore her heel on the pavement.

She wanted to cry.

Not that she ever, even for a second, believed that this would go anywhere. Her and Azriel. That wasn’t possible. Things like these didn’t happen to her. She was strange and solitary and even if others claimed that she was pretty, going so far as to call her ‘beautiful’, she never felt like that. When Nesta got mad at her, she’d call her a ‘petty idiot’ and Elain felt like that more frequently than she cared to admit. And Azriel…he was cut from a different cloth. He was…

She looked at his face, still perfect, but ever so slightly relaxed and softened in sleep, his eyelids heavy and enviably long, thick lashes fanned over his golden-brown cheeks. He was funny, with a quick, dry sense of humour, intelligent and interesting, and when they talked last night, she couldn’t get enough! He told her fascinating stories from his time in the Navy, about his dream, which resulted in the creation of his beloved garage. It took him three years to open the place—conceptualize what he wanted, how to deliver it, the items to showcase. The result was not just the ‘garage’, but also the popular bar, and recently, a restaurant as well.

Scarred fingers touched her hand and he opened his eyes.

“Good morning,” he whispered, squinting at her. “How are you? How’s the pain?”

“Azriel,” she murmured, not even knowing how to thank him, but she attempted, “I want to,”

“Pancakes?” he asked eagerly.

She glanced at him with incomprehension.

“May I make you, or us, pancakes?” he proposed. “I’ve been sort of thinking about this all night. How I’d like to make you pancakes,”

“I want to thank,”

He lifted his finger and shook his head,

“No, no. My Italian mother would tell you that you should never thank anyone for providing medical help,”

“Why?”

“According to my psychotically superstitious Italian side of the family, the remedy or healing won’t take, if you offer thanks. Imagine, I was forbidden from ever saying ‘thank you’ to a doctor,”

She chuckled.

“So, you are Italian?”

“Mom’s side is half Neapolitan and half from Lazio—near Rome.”

He sat up and rolled his neck.

“Can I at least say that I am sorry that you had to be so uncomfortable and sleep on the couch?” she asked.

“It’s alright. Not the best night I’ve ever had, but not the worst one either. The company was nice too,” and he patted her legs.

A tiny flare of hope lit in her belly.

But she didn’t allow herself to have it take root.

Maybe not until he gathered her legs together on his lap and drew his fingers up and down her calf.

“But really, how is the pain?” he asked at last, watching her with his intense, warm eyes. The eyes didn’t warm frequently, it seemed, but when they looked at her—

He was different somehow.

Kind. Approachable.

“It’s fine,” she waved her hand, not wanting to burden him any longer with her dumb injuries.

Those long, scarred fingers glided over her skin, and a small smirk touched his lips, “May I kiss it better?”

She blinked at him.

“I hear that I am very good at making pain go away,” he added proudly, and then, his lips descended on her scuffed and bruised knees. She kissed each one, tenderly, and then took her hand and brought it to his lips, and pressed his mouth to the inside of her palm. Her breath hitched and she stared at him, wide-eyed, as he watched her, unblinking, gaging every minute reaction. He kissed her hand, inside and then out, and then kissed the other, even though it wasn’t injured, and then returned to her knees and kissed them again.

At last, “Better?” he asked.

She only mooed incoherently.

…Azriel, by the stove, flipping pancakes was the sexiest thing Elain had ever seen in her life.

Clad in dark slacks, in his white shirt from last night, with sleeves rolled up and the tattoo sleeves on full display, he stood in her kitchen, barefoot and flipped pancakes like a pro.

“You cook too?” she asked incredulously.

He laughed.

“Too? In addition to what?”

“I don’t know,” she was still perched on the sofa, like an invalid, but after she washed her face and brushed her hair, he ordered her to sit and not make unnecessary moves. “Everything?”

“My repertoire is limited, when it comes to the kitchen, but what I know how to make, I make well. Cassian is a better cook.”

“Cass?” she smiled.

“Nesta is lucky to have him,” Azriel added, somewhat wistfully.

Elain looked at him and nodded. “I think so too.”

“He is a good man. Maybe the best man I’ve ever known. Where my own family failed, he stepped in, though he is a year younger than me. But he taught me…how to be. Accepted me. Unconditionally. Taught me how to swim, how to ride a bike, how to fight.”

“And you?”

“I? I helped him with his reading,” Azriel rubbed his chin, his stance a little tense.

She didn’t say anything, waiting to see if he felt like sharing more.

“It was neglected,” he said at last. “His reading and writing. So, we sat together, late at night, at our foster parents’ house and read.”

He then asked, “coffee?”

The moment of reminiscing was over, and Elain did not press.

She nodded to one of the cupboards and he pulled out a tub of coffee and grimaced.

“This is what you drink?”

“Hey, it’s good coffee! I buy it at Trader Joe’s!” she laughed defensively.

“Baby, we are drinking Italian coffee in this house,” he decided, and there was no arguing with that logic.

 That’s how Elain became Azriel’s ‘baby’.

In their house, they always drank Italian coffee.

 Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

“Thanks Nu,” Azriel greeted a lanky, very thin, very tall girl, who handed him two packages and then winked at him and disappeared wordlessly.

“My assistant, Nuala,” he explained, showing Elain two packages of Lavazza coffee. “This will do for now.”

Elain hobbled to the small butcher block island that she’d restored from a console that she found at a flea market. “You text someone and they just appear?”

He grinned and shrugged innocently.

“I know a guy.”

“Of course you do. Are you in the mafia?”

“First of all, rude,” he placed a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of her and then poured her coffee, “second of all, I just know a guy.”

“Who knows where to buy Lavazza on a Saturday morning?” she wondered, tucking into the pancakes.

“I have a network of spies,” he winked at her.

She sipped on the coffee, perhaps not as good a cup as he’d made her at his garage, but glorious nevertheless. “Are you in the CIA?”

“Not in the mafia or the CIA. Just a lowly car guy.”

“Uh-uh.”

They toasted with their coffee cups and Azriel said, “not bad for a first date. Blood and flowers. Very romantic.”

It was that morning, that sunny Saturday morning, over a plate of pancakes and some Italian coffee that Elain Archeron fell in love.

She fell in love completely.

Utterly.

Irreversibly.

And forever.

Now

Azriel turned off to some side road and how he knew where to go, Elain had no idea, but she just enjoyed the scents and warmth of the day.

“You know,” she laughed. “We are literally under the Tuscan sun right now!”

“All your dreams are coming true,” he ran a loving hand over her bare arm and she tore her gaze from the scenery around her.

“My dreams came true when I met you,” she confessed. “That was the day.”

“So easily impressed!” he teased, but she saw that her words touched something in him. His face softened with happiness.

“Az, slow down,” she whispered, an almost painful pull to kiss him spreading over her. “I want to kiss you.”

He looked at her, eyes hidden behind his Aviator shades, but slowed down and she leaned towards him and planted her mouth on his cheek.

“Lips,” she murmured with audible desperation.

“Baby, I don’t want to bust up this nice Ferrari,” he laughed. “And you, who is riding in it.”

Pouting, she ordered, “Then pull over so I can kiss you!”

He laughed louder, throwing his head back, his gorgeous tanned neck annoyingly desirable.

She wanted to bite his vein, lick the salty skin of his neck, and then sink her teeth into his shoulder. Elain was a biter. And a scratcher. Good thing that Azriel was a benevolent lover, who didn’t care if she left his body marked with her love, and didn’t mind the pain. In fact, he encouraged it.

His heavy brown hand lay on her knee, under the hem of her summer dress and he said,

“Why don’t I do something nice for you… then you can kiss me…”

“But I want to kiss you now,” she frowned playfully.

His hand slid a little higher, up her bare thigh, and he pressed his scarred palm into her thin, tender skin, rubbing slowly, indulgently. This was just as much for her as it was for him.

She threw her head into the back of the seat, eyes closed.

Until she yelped softly, when his wicked hand slipped higher and higher, pushing her dress up as well.

“Azriel Bagarat,” she murmured, “what am I going to do with you? And your love for public nudity and lovemaking…”

He shrugged oh so innocently and said, “firstly, it’s Archeron to you, and,”

“Not just yet,” she wiggled her ring-clad hand in front of him, “not until we got the paper and all, to make us official,”

They rolled their eyes at the same time and then laughed.

“And secondly, who can blame me?” he leaned and kissed her shoulder. “You are very hot. And I sort of want to fuck you all the time.”

His long, very experienced fingers made their way even higher, until he drew them along the cotton of her underwear, lightly pressing into the cleft, teasing ever so lightly. She shifted against the fingertips, her thighs falling apart in silent encouragement.

Elain was a giving and a receptive lover, innately knowing what he wanted and accommodating both of their needs thoughtfully, and easily.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmured.

“To kiss you,” she insisted stubbornly.

He huffed his amusement, and then pushed his finger deeper, firmer against the cotton, whispering,

“How about this?”

“This is nice, I suppose,”

“Only nice?” he withdrew his finger in warning and she grabbed his wrist, and thrust it back in place.

“Maybe a little better than ‘nice’, huh?” he teased.

“A little,” she agreed, gasping when he cupped her fully, swiping his heel of his palm against the length of her folds, feeling the dampness against his skin. Bold, as he always was, he moved the strip of cotton to the side, and hiked up her dress ever higher, exposing her to his exploration.

He snuck a glance at her perfectly peachy, pink pussy, bare and succulent, like a ripe fruit dripping with its sweet juices.

He groaned and then hissed, “I am stopping, right now. I want you coming on my tongue in the next four minutes,”

“So confident, ombre?”

She took to calling him ombre or ‘shadow’, when, early in their relationship, he kept materializing in front of her out of nowhere, stepping out of the shadows. He laughed, but didn’t mind the endearment. What’s more, it became a private thing between the two of them—he’d call her ‘rose’ and she’d call him ‘ombre’. It wasn’t nauseatingly sugary sweet and could be used in public without making people gag. Unlike, for example, the Darlings, who, for whatever reason called each other ‘my darkness’. Or Cassian, who sometimes went with ‘schmoopie’, braving Nesta’s wrath.

Azriel laughed, while incessantly dragging his finger back and forth over the wet slit, without doing much else, and making her gasp and squirm.

“That I can make you come on my tongue in 4 minutes? Fuck yeah! Want me to prove it?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she shook her head, “you don’t get to just do whatever the hell you want, when you want it. If I don’t get my kiss, you don’t get to,”

“What? Lick your pussy? I feel like the punishment is unreasonable,” he protested.

She gave him a sultry look, a look that only he was privy to, and then murmured, spreading her legs a little wider for him,

“Maybe I want to lick something of yours?” she proposed, her voice husky, pouring like honey over his ear.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” he choked out, finally parting the soft cushions of her folds and dragging his knuckles over the wet spread of her. The intoxicating scent of her arousal, mixed with the Italian sunshine and the smell of grass, flowers and cypresses was so heady, he almost swerved, stopping only quick enough to grip the steering wheel tightly in his left hand.

Gods, if he was going to make it to their next destination, he would be impressed with himself. But it was close.

Azriel

Elain loved getting fingered. That was the first thing he learned about her sexually—kissing and fingering.

In the privacy of their world, he fingered her constantly.

It was almost an obligation on his part by now, to have her wake up, tucked into his side, while gently, but thoroughly pumping her soft, indescribably tight center. No matter how many times he’d been inside of her, she remained tight, as tight as the first time. That was a blessing, but a curse as well, for all he could typically think about throughout the day, was sinking into that glorious tightness.

When she was finally semi-awake, she rolled on her back and spread her legs in front of him, so he could finger her in earnest. Two fingers first, nice and deep inside of her, as he knelt in front of her and watched her come undone before him. And then, there was always a moment when her eyes flew open, and her back arched, and he slipped the third one in. The plush, warm walls of her sex stretched and pulled to accommodate him, but he went slow and deep, only grazing the sensitive spot in her, making her moan low and begging, the pressure of his hand steady and firm.

She cried and cried into the pillow, head thrown back in utter extasy, her hair a tangled halo about her. She wasn’t permitted to move her hips, his only order in that early-morning game of theirs, therefore she was wholly dependent on him for her pleasure. If she ever did begin a sensual undulation of her hips around his hand, he’d allow her to continue for a few moments, aware that she was lost in her own pleasure, before cruelly yanking his hand out of her.

“Was my girl allowed to do that?” he’d ask simply, and amidst her disappointed panting, her pleading for more, her sweet, innocent “sorry. I am sorry,” she’d beg him to fill her again.

Then she’d lay still, eyes wide and pleading, her little opening vibrating at the loss, before he placed her feet on his shoulders and thrust in her anew. This time, his scarred, rough, brown, inked fingers disappeared in her completely. She buckled and let out a wild moan that reverberated from the very depth of her, because all four fingers were inside, and his thumb finally, finally began a gorgeously slow torment around her clit. She just lay there, tense and unmoving, watching him, the slurping, obscene sounds of his hand inside of her filling the sleepy morning air around them.

Elain came quietly. She moaned and twisted and gasped as he rubbed her clit, but when the waves finally descended upon her, when he felt the tight, silky flesh grip and pump all four of his fingers, which were now pressing up into her perfect spot, the exhale was soft and intimate. Only for him.

Now

“Don’t wreck the car,” Elain muttered, eyes barely open.

“Will this be the second one?” Azriel asked, while Elain wrapped her hand around his wrist and forcefully jammed his hand inside of her.

Four.

Four orgasms daily. That was his promise.

He’d provide her with at least four daily orgasms. So far, he typically exceeded expectations. It wasn’t particularly difficult, because he often played with her at odd times—when they were watching TV, he’d slip a finger onto her clitty and rub her slowly and leisurely, until she melted from the stimulation. She enjoyed it when he bent her over counters or sinks, and sunk his fingers deep and hard into her perpetually ready hole.

Elain, to his complete delight and fascination, was always just a bit aroused. Always, always just a bit wet, just a little damp for him. He’d make an unscheduled stop at her shop and if it was empty, he’d step behind the counter with her, and soon, she’d be splayed over the counter, his hand between her legs. Yes, they’ve been almost caught plenty of times, but Azriel had the ability to disappear into shadows as soon as he sensed someone coming. Sometimes, when someone would walk in the store, Azriel even pretended that he was a customer, buying flowers, watching her patiently, while she got his bouquet ready for him. Never mind that his hand might have been soaked with her slick, or that he smirked, watching her press her thighs together, while she wrapped the flowers, as she avoided eye contact with him, and handed him the bouquet which he’d inevitably bring home for her.

When he was around her, she jokingly complained that she was of constant need for him, and it was his very enviable and pleasant task to soothe the ache inside of her.

 Azriel

Their friends, family, found their relationship perplexing. But Elain kept her sisters firmly at an arm’s length when it came to the discussion of their sex life. No matter how they tried to pry, she gently, but firmly rebuffed them. Nesta complained and said that they were too obsessed with each other. That Elain was too in love and that Azriel was too dependent on Elain’s love for this to be normal. Elain only shrugged and didn’t argue.

 “It’s not normal!” seethed Nesta, watching Elain and Azriel wrapped around each other on the dance floor, Elain’s body shimmying and swaying around her, arms raised in the air, her hips swooshing to the beat, bumping into his pelvis.

“You think they are gonna do it right on the dancefloor?” Cassian contemplated quietly, not sure if this was outside the realm of possibilities.

“He would!” she spat and gulped down her Aperol spritz aggressively. “I am surprised he is not bending her over…more surprised she isn’t agreeing!”

“They never argue,” Cassian nodded.

“They never—never—argue. It’s not normal!”

The way Cassian saw it, as long as the two were happy, he had no right to judge.

Nesta was a hot pepper. Feyre, an apple—solid, tasty, dependable. Elain—whipped cream—a delicious topping over anything, but especially Azriel.

 Nevertheless, the word got around.

One day, Azriel, Rowan and Cassian were sitting in Elain’s flower shop, toiling diligently over a huge order of flowers.

They wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not to each other, or their women, but they quite enjoyed hiding in that flower shop and arranging flowers. They claimed that they were doing it for Elain’s sake, to help her out, so she didn’t have to hire additional help just yet, but,

Well, they liked it.

At first, Elain wasn’t sure if Cassian was cut out for the task, because the very first try was a little rough.

“Cass, these are not your enemies that you are about to smite,” Elain instructed gently, prying his fingers from the stems of irises, which he was clutching like he was about to throw a lance.

“Pfff, you look like you are about to choke a chicken,” Nesta teased. And promptly realised her mistake, biting her lip.

Cassian cocked his brow and murmured seductively,

“What chicken am I choking, sweetheart? My own,”

“Oh no,” Elain stepped in between them, hands on her hips. “No. No. No. Absolutely not.”

“Lainey, don’t allow Cass to choke his chicken in front of us,” begged Azriel, working quickly and deftly, and soliciting an envious look from Cassian, whose flowers were in complete disarray, compared to Azriel’s neat piles and methodical assembly line.

“Yes, no one is choking chickens, penises or each other in here,” ordered Elain sternly, while Nesta and Azriel were laughing silently.

“Hehe,” smirked Cassian, “Elain said ‘penis’!”

“Take your dirty talk and deeds,”

Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, dirty deeds done dirt cheap

Cassian began rocking to his own singing, imitating the gravel of Brian Johnson’s voice rather successfully, headbanging over his babybreath, bluebells and irises.

Chicken choking forgotten for a moment.

 As Cassian fussed over a vase, working on each stem and arranging them just so, wearing a little white apron no less, he asked casually, “So, brother, four?”

Azriel was in his own headspace, and he didn’t even hear Cassian, as he was busy with his own flower arrangement.

There was, expectedly, a competition going on—who’d complete the most arrangements in an hour. Rowan, a veritable giant, and Cassian’s best friend, also wore an apron, but a long one, like a butcher, and was significantly ahead of the pack. That bothered Azriel more than he cared to admit. So, he was re-strategizing his strategy.

“Four what?” Rowan inquired, not taking his eyes off the flowers, working like a machine.

“Ask Az here,” Cassian suggested. He was catching up to Azriel with an alarming speed.

Azriel had never lost, so far. He wasn’t going to lose today.

“Stop speaking in riddles. What are you talking about?”

“Word on the street is that our Az here provides the flower girl with a minimum of four orgasms on the daily,”

Azriel started and finally tore his eyes from the flowers.

Both Rowan and Cassian were watching him, smirking.

“I guess it’s true then,”

��Fuck off.”

“If that’s true,” Rowan drawled, “good for you, man. Though you are putting us to shame with this ridiculous offer of yours. How do you keep up?”

“Easily,” Azriel shrugged. “But it’s freaking me out that you two are talking about my sex life so casually.”

“But fucking four? Daily?” repeated Cassian, shaking his head.

“Yeah, Elain, man,” Rowan rubbed the back of his head, mussing his silver hair, “who would’ve thought?”

Cassian nodded, “No offense, brother, but Elain doesn’t strike anyone as particularly adventurous in the bedroom,”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Azriel said simply.

“Very beautiful,” offered Rowan pacifically, “but…you know…Kind of like Elide, I guess. You wouldn’t know it, looking at her,”

Cassian was nodding. “Yeah, she looks like she eats macaroons and reads Jane Austen,”

“Macarons,” said Azriel.

“What?”

“It’s macaron. Not macaroon.”

“What the hell is the difference?”

“One is a French biscuit, made with almond flour and filled with a creamy filling. The other, is a coconut concoction that one usually eats at Passover.”

Rowan was chuckling. Cassian was shaking his head, grunting, “you would know. So, does she? Eat maca--,”

“No, she doesn’t even like macarons. And she doesn’t read Jane Austen. She reads espionage novels. She likes Daniel Silva. Any more stupid questions?”

Elide. Of course. He should’ve guessed.

Elain and Elide met through Rowan and it was friendship at first sight.

Azriel couldn’t argue—the two women were similar in many ways. Both were on a quiet side, polite, well-mannered. Elain—a ray of sunshine, tall, slender and curvaceous, smiling and affable, with piles of golden-brown locks and warm brown eyes. Elide—the opposite—small, pale, with perfectly straight, silky black hair and dark, midnight eyes. Both—crafty in the ways of the world, charming, when needed, capable of getting into everyone’s good graces, and therefore, getting what they wanted.

“No, no more stupid questions,” said Cassian. “Just don’t know how you two grumps attracted such lively girls,”

“Lorcan and I aren’t ‘grumps’. We just talk when we need to and don’t have the need for instant gratification or to be the center of attention. Something I can’t say about you,”

“It’s not about me,” Cassian protested, but Azriel stopped him, by raising his finger,

 “Now, if you are not going to shut the fuck up about my woman and me, I will spread a rumour amongst your women, that it’s not four, but six. Daily. Let’s see how you measure up then.”

Silence fell.

Azriel won.

His 36th win.

 Now

 “Yes, the second,” Elain nodded with a satisfied smile.

 Azriel

 Naturally, today, he woke her up properly, as he always did.

They stayed in an adorable little villa, near Montepulciano. It was everything a Tuscan villa was supposed to be…

including the dust that settled in its 800-year-old walls. And Elain coughed and coughed and coughed, surprisingly not coughing up a lung.

“We can’t stay here,” Azriel said, frowning.

“Where are going to go? We are in the middle of Tuscany and it’s 10 pm,” she reminded him.

Ever resourceful, he dragged the mattress off the antique bed and plopped it down on the floor of their small balcony.

“We sleep here. Under the night Tuscan sky.”

It was a lovely, if chilly night, and Elain would’ve enjoyed it if she didn’t fall asleep almost immediately and slept through the night.

She was still asleep, when the birds began their morning song and Azriel positioned her on her hands and knees, and carefully removed her nightgown, baring her to the dry, cool morning air.

“Someone will see us,” she murmured sleepily.

She tucked her hands under her cheek, and followed the direction of Azriel’s hand on her hip, rising her butt high up, and arching her back for him.

Azriel loved having sex out in the open. Especially if she was completely naked. He wasn’t overt about it, but the thrill of being found out, the titillating desire to be watched was always present. She knew it. She indulged his fantasies.

“I don’t think anyone would mind watching you,” he whispered hotly in her ear and lightly bit the apple of her cheek. “But it’s also like 4:15 in the morning. So maybe they are still sleeping.”

He settled behind her and she felt his hands on her back, smoothing over the sharp cut of her tight waist and then the soft curve of her hips.

“Spread your legs for me, my love, I want to play with you a little bit,” he guided her, and she followed his direction, squatting inelegantly on her knees, thighs wide apart for him. He cupped her fully in his palm and then pinched her clit, hard, twisting it and rubbing it between his two fingers, until she bit her forearm, trying to stifle her cries of instant pleasure.  He pinched again, then again, rubbing tightly, while he bit her buttock playfully, but hard enough to leave a pink mark.

“Mmmm,” she groaned, when he nibbled on her flesh again, tugging on the swollen clit with relentless dedication. She managed to twist enough to kiss his knee and whispered, eyes still closed, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” he leaned forward and kissed her wet, stretched opening, dragging his tongue around and around the rim, “and you are so nice and wet for me in the morning. My good girl, what do you want?”

“Only you,” she vowed. “Only you, my Az.”

“Let’s fill your pretty little hole then,” he licked on it again, and then slid one strong, long finger inside. As he began to pump her slowly, he proposed, “When I fill you with my cock later on,”

“Uh oh,” she moaned dreamily, smiling a loving smile, enjoying his finger to the fullest.

“I think I’d like to add a finger or two as well. What do you think?”

“I’d like that, I think,” she complied easily.

Elain was not a particularly imaginative lover, but Azriel was the opposite—he had too much imagination when it came to everything. Especially Elain, and what he liked to do with her sexually. What was absolutely fantastic, and he thanked all the gods for this phenomenon, was that Elain was willing to try anything. She was an absolutely willing and eager lover, who learned from him and learned of her body with readiness and joy. He dominated her completely, but that was the nature of their relationship, and they easily fell into their roles, from the very beginning. She was submissive, loved praise, and loved being guided and told what to do. More than anything else, she loved pleasing him. There was never any pull and push, no competition, no power struggles. Elain was made for him, created and carved from something that was innately his, whether it was his body or his mind, and they lived and loved harmoniously. He complimented her perfectly: her temperament, her needs, her wants. He treated her with admiration, gentleness, adoration and respect, and while his own expectations were high, she met them all with ease. She took control when she needed to. Received what she wanted from him, however she needed to. And he gave and gave.

Some, or many, called them soulmates.

Perhaps that’s what they were. Or maybe, they were even more than that.

Azriel stretched his legs on either side of her curved body and then added another finger inside of her sopping, slippery opening, reaching deep into her and pumping her firmly.

“Auuuu, babe, it’s good…” she squealed, “it’s so good.”

Unable to wait any longer, he pulled her buttocks apart with his available hand and swept his tongue over the tiny opening, causing her to seize with surprise and pleasure. Instinctively, she moved her hips against his tongue, pushing her backside into his lips. He licked the little hole in earnest, dragging his tongue back and forth between both of her openings, making her tremble and shudder every time his tongue reached one or the other.

As he sat to the task of licking and sucking her tight hole, he thrust a third finger into her dripping passage, feeling her shift against his face to accommodate the stretch. It was a lot, and she whimpered and moaned from the pressure, but he knew that she could take four, though he wasn’t in a hurry, and worked her diligently and steadily, his tongue laving the other hole just as eagerly.

She was shaking between his legs, her toes curling beneath her, rapid pants escaping into the morning mists, her hair draping the tiled floor in front of her, even spilling through the balcony rails.

Somewhere they heard sheep bleating and Elain laughed softly, before arching her back even further, not caring how splayed she looked. There wasn’t a part of her that he hasn’t seen, hasn’t touched or licked or kissed, not an inch of her that wasn’t caressed by his rough hands, not an orifice that he hasn’t penetrated with his magnificent cock. He’d burrowed inside of her so deeply, so wholly, he possessed all of her and she knew what it’s like to truly be part of another person, to be loved with egregious passion.

He fed another finger inside of her and she cried out, trembling and grunting, as she grabbed and squeezed his foot with mighty strength.

He tore his lips away from her bottom and grinned,

“Love, when you are in labour with our baby, I am fully prepared for the fact that you will break my fingers, maybe even my hand.”

“I am sorry,” she laughed, and kissed his foot, dragging her tongue over his toes.

There wasn’t a part of him that she did not love, did not worship with everything she had. No part of his body remained un-kissed, un-touched, un-caressed. A lazy Sunday, especially if the weather was crap and they had no plans to go out, was her favourite time—she could spend the day loving her Azriel. On those days, she pleasured him. And if she spent hours with his cock buried in her throat, or his balls between her lips, or her tongue in his ass, she was only too happy.

The tips of his fingers crawled into that hidden spot inside of her, curling just so, so he could massage and rub her into a frenzy. He stilled for a moment, to allow her to adjust to the fullness and the stretch, as she bit his foot, trying to stifle her screams. She leaked slowly over his hand, as most of it was situated in her clutching, hungry tightness.

“Very good, my baby,” he praised, kissing her buttocks and then giving her anus a few approving licks, “taking all four inside of you,”

“Oh my god, oh,” she groaned, “it’s so tight…Az, my love, I am so full,”

“I know, love,” he coaxed evenly, his hand beginning a steady, firm barrage of deep, pounding thrusts, “but it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeess,” she only managed, voice thin, pleading. She could barely hold herself up, so he wrapped his arm around her hips, keeping her ass up. She grabbed the balcony wrought-iron spindles, squeezing them tightly, forehead pressed into the mattress, as he pumped her harshly, keeping her on the verge of constant climax, but pulling back just so, for her to moan and beg him in a never ending litany.

“Baby, you want to come?” he teased, still busy with her butthole, which softened under his furious sucking and if they had more time and privacy, Elain would be ready to take him anally soon enough.

“Yes,” she grunted, “yes,”

“Ask nicely, and maybe,”

“Ugh, you are such a horrible tease,” she complained, biting his foot in spite, and he laughed, before slapping her firm, soft buttock.

“Biting a person who is making you come so nicely?” he slapped her again, and she yelped with pleasure, wiggling her ass, silently asking for more.

The walls of her passage clenched desperately over his fingers, and she made a choking, frantic sound in her chest, now beyond pleading or even moaning. He sucked, and slapped, and bit, and thrust, pumping her open, the sounds of the wet and the skin inside of her completely obscene, and music to both of their ears.

Azriel noticed a man, either a delivery guy or a grounds keeper, watching them wide eyed and shocked from a distance. Probably not something he expected to see at 4:40 in the morning. Not that he made a move to leave.

Azriel opted not to alarm Elain, who was coming violently on his hand, her body trembling and jerking, her beautiful, quiet orgasm sweeping everything in its path. His girl deserved a proper wake up, deserved and needed her climaxes, and deserved to be watched, because she was so beautiful. Her teeth and tongue clamped tightly on his foot, his toes, as she bit and licked, completely undone, turned inside out by his expert hand.

He still worked her hand in her, his thrusts shallow and not as strong, when she collapsed on the mattress at last, eyes closed, panting.

He smiled and finally slipped on the mattress alongside her, though he kept a finger between her folds, rubbing soothingly. She’d bite his head off if he removed his hand from her this quickly.

“Good morning my love,” he whispered at last, kissing her cheek.

“Mmmm, good morning,” she sighed with satiated pleasure.

“Some guy caught an eyeful,” he whispered, but she only snuggled to his chest.

“I don’t care…As long as you were watching me, that’s all that matters.”

“I wouldn’t mind sliding into your little bum right now,” he confessed, stroking her hip and her curvy backside.

“Do you want to take me?” she offered sweetly, eyes fluttering open.

He kissed her head and smiled, “So tempting, but not here and not now. Let’s jump in the shower and then be on our way. We’ve got a decent amount of driving to do today.”

She nodded.

“Did I tell you that I love you?” she stroked his cheek, the sharp, angular cut of it, the dark bronze skin.

“You did, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

“I love you, Azriel.”

“I love you, Elain.”

 Elain

Their day was long.

They had their cappuccino and cornetti at some café on the road.

Their trip had a purpose—they were actually driving to Maranello, to the Ferrari headquarters where Azriel had 3 days of business meetings.

When Az told her that he was thinking of going to Italy, it was no brainer to say ‘yes’.

It was the first time she was going to leave her business, her shop, for an extended period of time, but Feyre promised to oversee the operations, while Cerridwen, whom Elain recently hired as a full-time employee and who was Nuala’s sister, was going to be responsible for the day-to-day.

The last time Elain’s been to Italy was when she was barely 10 years old. A few years before everything’s went to shit. Back then, her father completed a very lucrative business deal and there was a lot of disposable cash, so the family decided to take a grand trip to Italy.

Little Feyre who was only seven screeched and begged to go to Disneyland, while Nesta and their mother voted for Italy. No one asked Elain, assuming that she’d go wherever she was told.

The trip was extensive, almost four weeks, and they hit all the glamorous Southern parts—the Amalfi coast, with their headquarters in a rented villa near Positano. Then they went to Portofino, and their father rented a yacht for a few days, the trip culminating in Capri. It was a whirlwind on sun and the sea, of lemons, eating grilled squid, at which Feyre stared in horror, though she liked the taste, amazing fruit, endless pastries and gelato. Even their mother yanking a few pastries away from Elain, hissing that she ‘grow fat and not find a husband’ didn’t mar the experience. Elain, always the plumper of the sisters, was used to the warning by then.

 This time around, Elain could eat as much pastry as she wanted.

They landed in Rome, spent four days there, since she insisted on going to the Vatican Museum twice, hear Mass at St. Peter’s, and she didn’t know if she annoyed Azriel with her endless excitement and tales of art, artists, and biblical stories, but she couldn’t help herself.

She was an Art History major in NYU, receiving a full scholarship to attend. She loved it. Didn’t like college all that much as a whole, but loves studying. When everyone was partying, drinking, fucking and skipping classes, she went to the Met and to MOMA and learned and enjoyed herself. She loved history of religion, of other cultures and though not at all religious herself, none of them were, her knowledge on the subject was thorough.

Azriel, it seemed, liked her passion, her excitement, and listened attentively when she went on long explanation of what this or that Saint did and what grizzly death they’d suffered. And what was the significance of the painting or sculpture of the said Saint. Obviously, he was very artistically inclined as well, though his preference lay in design and industrial art, but he enjoyed listening and discussing. They spent hours and hours meandering the halls of the museum, and of the cathedral, and both spent a good half an hour in front of the Pieta, staring in silence and quiet contemplation at the sculpture, holding hands.

It was when they were sitting at a café, sipping some bitter Campari cocktails and watched the sprawling vistas of Rome that Azriel confided to her. Told her of his childhood. She knew some of the details, but he never talked about his childhood, and she opted not to pressure him. It was clear enough that it was horrific in many ways, and bringing up all those memories didn’t make sense to Elain.

Told her how his father, who was rich and vicious, won custody of him from his mother, not because he wanted his son, but out of spite, to torment the mother. And then it was years of solitude and loneliness and emotional and physical abuse. Azriel’s only reprieve was drawing, making designs, sometimes with chalk on the pavement, sometimes on scraps of paper. His stepmother threw everything out as soon as he made it. He languished in his father’s world for 8 years, until a catastrophic event took place—his stepbrothers doused him, his hands, in gasoline and lit him up. They didn’t call the paramedics either, and simply stood there, watching, as he burned. Finally, the neighbors heard his screams and police and ambulance came at last.

Because he was young, he recovered most of the sensations and feeling in his hands, but the skin was permanently scarred and his father refused skin grafts.

He’d met Cassian at the hospital, who came there having been beaten so badly by his foster father, that he had a concussion, broken ribs and a punctured eye socket.

Mrs. Darling, Rhys’s mother, who was one of the biggest benefactors of the children’s hospital where they were recovering, heard their stories and thankfully, her wealth opened every door. Her influence and wealth were no match for Azriel’s father. Hence when she decided that she wanted to adopt the two boys, little could be done to dissuade her. Azriel and Cassian still spent some time in foster care, while the documents were being processed and all the formalities legalized, but at the end, they ended up with the Darlings, as their adopted sons.

Elain wanted to cry for him, for his destroyed childhood, for his tormented youth, for his injuries, for the lack of love in his life. For his sake, though, she didn’t.

Sensing that he needed her support, she didn’t release his hand for the remainder of the day.

And she told him how much she loved him and how happy he made her.

 They left Montepulciano, and then drove for a few hours and stopped at Orvieto, and explored its unnecessary enormous Duomo, which was situated on the hill, amidst the Umbrian lushness. The tiny town did offer spectacular views and great wine, which they enjoyed with lunch.

 Now

Azriel worked his fingers into the supple warmth of her damp pussy and looked down, before ordering, “wider, Lainey”.

She spread her legs wider, her knit dress folded haphazardly over the belly.

“Wider,” he said and she placed one foot on the seat, exposing herself completely to him.

It was never wide enough for him, for he liked to see everything, liked to spread and open and pull her wide apart for his eyes, for his exploration.

He pressed his thumb to her plump pink clit and began to rub.

She whined impatiently and he smiled,

“We are almost there…”

“I need you,” she moaned, kissing his shoulder through his shirt.

“I need you too, my beauty,” he nodded, “but I think once we get there, you’ll forget all about me.”

She tsked and announced, “I don’t know if anything will impress me as much as your cock in my mouth,”

He started at the blunt words, her amused grin and then burst out laughing.

“Naughty.”

In a few minutes, he rounded a small green hill and Elain’s breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, gods…Az…”

He was smiling.

He’d never been here before, but he’d done his research, finally finding the right spot.

A tiny hidden valley, nestled between a few rolling Tuscan hills, with a small turquoise lake sparkling in the late afternoon sun. In the distance, a mandatory Tuscan villa.

And poppies. Fields of poppies, stretching as far as the eye can see. A blanket of ruby-red poppies, gently swaying in the pine-scented air.

This place was a damn Walmart painting come true, and Azriel loved it for its kitsch, its predictability.

“It’s gorgeous!” she gasped. Then chuckled, adding, “Like one of those mass-produced paintings,”

At that, Azriel roared with laughter, killed the engine and they got out of the car.

“My thoughts exactly!” he nodded vigorously.

She ran into the poppies, brushing her palm over the petals, “But it’s worth it! No painting can ever do this justice! Az…it’s so beautiful!” she twirled in the field of red, her white dress a stark contrast to the vibrancy of the colours around her—the cobalt of the cloudless sky, the emerald green of the hills, the blood-red of the poppies.

He folded his arms and said, “I am glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it!”

She inspected all the wildflowers that bloomed among the poppies, picking a few purple ones and a daisy and tucking them behind her ear. Another daisy she brought to him and tucked it into his hair.

“There is a blanket in the trunk,” he jerked his head towards the car, and unbuttoned his shirt almost to the navel, “if you want to picnic,”

“I want to picnic!” she squealed and ran to the car to get what she needed.

Soon there was a blanket on the grass and a few bottles of wine in a basket.

He slid down, stretching on the blanket, toeing off his shoes, rolling his shoulders. This was nice. He also relished her happiness, how her high ponytail bounced about as she ran through the field barefoot, and then began twirling, arms outstretched and singing loudly,

The hills are alive with the sound of

Griswold, he helped out.

“Are you coming here?” he called out, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“No,” she yelled, “I am picking flowers!”

“They’ll wilt,” he muttered reasonably, but she didn’t hear him.

Azriel dozed off, surprising himself. But the pleasant heat, the sunshine, the breeze, the birds—all lulled him into sleep. He stirred only when he sensed Elain near, and when he opened his eyes, he was treated by a lovely surprise. He propped himself on his elbows and watched his beautiful girl walk towards him completely naked, with a heap of flowers in the crook of her arm. What she did with her dress he didn’t know and didn’t care. But he drunk in the slim, curvy silhouette of her body, the long, slender legs and the toned thighs. Her smooth, pink sex glistened just a bit with her usual arousal, and full breasts bounced with every step. Her hair flowed behind her, unbound.

“I got hot,” she announced.

He grinned.

“I can see that. I like it when you get hot like this.”

She stood over him, her delicious slit taunting him and he made to touch it, but she dumped all the flowers on him instead and said, “get up”.

“Why?!” he frowned. “I am so comfortable.”

“I can make you a little more comfortable,” she promised, “but for that, you have to get up.”

With a groan, he got on his feet, only to have her slide on her knees in front of him. She looked up and murmured, “by the time you are done with me, I only want to have gelato to soothe my throat.”

He swallowed audibly, watching her unbutton his trousers and then his shirt. She removed the pants completely, but left the white shirt on, before placing a few soft, loving kisses on the thick slabs of muscles on his stomach. The well-defined outline of his Adonis Belt she traced with her tongue, inevitably making her way from his hip towards the final destination.

“And I want my knees bruised,” she added with a wicked smirk.

He flicked her nose and shook his head, “such filthy words coming from this pretty little mouth.”

She licked her lips with impatience, hungrily watching him fist his member and give it a few rough, preliminary strokes.

“Gods, your cock is gorgeous,” she gasped with admiration, watching him work himself with practiced determination.

“You like my cock?” he drew the thick, smooth head of it over her full lips and she whimpered with anticipation, nodding, kissing it affectionately, with slow, open mouth kisses, as he continued to pump it lazily.

She admitted, “more than anything. Az, Az,” she begged impatiently, as he smeared a trickle of liquid that dribbled from the tip over her lips, “please,”

“Please what?”

She rested her hands on his thighs, kneeling close enough so that her breasts brushed against them, “I want it in my mouth. Please.”

He lightly smacked the thick girth of his shaft over her half-opened mouth, making her shake with anticipation, smiling down at her. Her eyes burned with raw, overwhelming desire.

“But I like it when you ask me, baby. Tell me more,”

“That your cock is gorgeous and ridiculously huge?” she chuckled, relishing in his rubbing the tip insistently over her lips, as she licked the little slit.

“Keep going,” he encouraged.

“That I love you and can’t wait to suck it?”

“Alright, babe,” she nodded at last, “I guess you’ll just have to suck my huge dick,” and with that, he slid between her lips.

She smiled around him and pulled on it deeper, dragging her tongue over and under the thick shaft. It was always just a little too big for her, so she gasped, as he filled her mouth more and more, sliding in steadily. She eased her throat as much as she could, accepting the thrust and feeling the smooth head dip down, brushing the back of her throat. He was watching her intently, every bob and swallow of her throat, making sure that she was comfortable enough to hold him in. “Big?” he murmured. Her eyes teared up, but she managed a small nod. Her hands squeezed his thighs nervously, tightly, stroking the backs of them, while he began to pull out slowly, before sliding back in.

Nothing was more exciting than Elain’s ability to mould her throat around his shaft, while those big brown eyes blinked at him, seeking approval. He put his hand over her head, stroking it, then caressing her face, her hollowed cheeks, while giving her mouth a few exploratory thrusts.

She readied herself and pulled back, releasing the cock with an audible pop, and then licking the underside, from the balls to the tip.

“Just like that, my love,” he nodded, watching her tuck her face in the crease of his hip and slide her tongue up and down the sides of his cock. “Is that good?”

“It’s the best,” she vowed, “I love licking!” she added enthusiastically, proceeding to do just that.

He always remembered that she was very innocent and whatever she knew, no matter how sensual, erotic or even perverse, it all came from him. He taught her—gently, firmly and thoroughly the art of the bedroom and whatever they did, he was completely assured that she enjoyed and wanted every moment of it. Thankfully, she was so innocent that she didn’t know how to pretend or fake anything, especially when it came to sex, and didn’t know how to play games. She was eager and loving and excitable because what they did together, with each other, pleased her, and for no other reason. Azriel cherished this level of honesty more than anything.

Therefore, when she said that she loved licking, she showed him just how much she enjoyed it, licking up and down voraciously, over the sides, watching him unblinking. He cupped the pouch of his balls in one hand and carefully eased it into her mouth.

“You are so good to me,” he groaned, as she wrapped her lips around the ball and began to suck eagerly, not caring if she was loud, smacking her lips, tongue working non-stop, caressing the flesh. She hummed appreciatively around the balls, sending a pleasant shiver down his thighs, her mouth completely filled with him. “That’s good, my girl,” he stroked her head, “just like that. Keep going,” his head fell back with satisfaction, and she swallowed hard around his balls, almost moaning at the sight of his neck, the expression of pleasure written on his face.

“Can I tell you a story?” he muttered huskily, looking back down at her, his eyes dark and his face tense. Elain nodded. He gripped his cock and then slid it back in her mouth, almost to the hilt, making her choke and gag at once, watching her eyes widen.

She was drooling, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the pressure of her member in her throat, or from the visual display of his stunning body above her. The thick pectorals, adorned with black and blue ink twitched as he began to pump in and out of her mouth, hard and steady. He held the back of her head, but the clutch of his hand was light and casual, only keeping her in place, as his narrow hips flexed with each deep push. A delicious bead of sweat ran down the cobbled network of his abdominal muscles, slowly making its way to the deep V etched into his hips, towards the thick cock that he was currently ramming into her mouth.

She drooled. She licked and laved and lapped. She didn’t care how messy or ridiculous she looked, because her man loved her and loved her on her knees in front of him.

“I couldn’t stop watching you talk,” he grumbled, “the first time I saw you. Your plump lips…Oh fuck, baby, you feel so, so good,” he rode her smoothly, with deep, expert strokes, “you wore that rose-tinted lipstick…and all I could think of afterward was those lips wrapped around my dick.”

She smiled over his member, lightly shaking her head, as much as her current position would allow.

“I am sorry, honey,” he smiled at her, “this pervy mind couldn’t think of anything else but getting my dick down your throat.”

And demonstrating just that, and the resolution of his dream, he pushed further.

“Alright?” he asked, carefully holding her jaw. She blinked her approval. He was unable to take his eyes off her, her lush lips wrapped tightly around the dark mass of him, her beautiful eyes tearing from pressure. He wiped the tears with his thumbs and then gave a brief nod, “give me those flowers, baby.”

Obviously, she couldn’t glance down, so she blindly grabbed a handful of flowers and handed them to him, her expression amused, a little surprised.

“What’s more romantic,” he murmured, stroking her hollowed cheeks and then pulling out a little, before pushing back in, “than putting pretty flowers into my Lainey’s hair,” and he plucked a small poppy from the heap, and pushed in into her hair, “while she deepthroats me?”

He was heavy and thick in her mouth, salty, delicious and familiar, and as he began thrusting firmly, the thick head hitting the back of her throat, Elain settled in for a ride. She wasn’t kidding when she asked for her throat to be raw by the end of it—she liked being sore somewhere in her body from him, at all times. Between her legs, inside her rectum, in her throat—it didn’t matter, though it was nice if it was everywhere, but she loved being marked by him in some way.

The hum and rumble in Azriel’s throat, that of masculine satisfaction and some kind of primal dominance made her so wet, she leaked down her thighs. But he didn’t tell her to touch herself, so she didn’t. He just fucked her throat steadily, the audible sound of her choking and sputtering around his cock and the satisfied snarls emanating from him, the only sounds around them. His hips rocked hard, pumping deep, as he garbled endearments and praise to her, “is that so good, honey? You feel amazing…”

She squeezed his thighs in affirmation. As he worked on her, he kept putting flowers in her hair, admiring her sucking and his work, “so gorgeous, baby. My beautiful girl…Good cock?”

“Mmmm,” she only managed, saliva bathing her chin and chest, her eyes rolling back with pleasure and exhaustion.

“Can you handle a little more?” he begged, “I don’t want to come yet, my love,” another flower in her hair. “I love you on your knees with my cock in her mouth.”

He set a brutal rhythm, muttered, “choke, baby…” and she did, gagging and panting over his member, the lack of oxygen making her pliant and obliging, her mouth existing for his pleasure. When they played a little rougher, he could request to squeeze her throat a little with his hand, while he choked her with his cock, but today, he was feeling romantic, as was she.

Her hair dripped with flowers of all kinds, as he fashioned her into some kind of Summer Lady. Or maybe a Dusk Lady, since the sun began its descent and shadows spread over the pretty little valley.

“Fuck me, you are so beautiful,” he grunted, looking down at her. “My flower girl, with my cock in her mouth. Bob a little, love, show me how much you like it,” he encouraged and she immediately began to bob her head  up and down on him, drool sliding down his shaft, her eyes pleading for his approval, which he gave generously.

He gently, kindly stroked her face, her throat, feeling his cock deep inside it, moving in her, rubbing at the indentation with his thumb. Then, he cupped her face between his large hands and murmured, “open up”, thumbs brushing over her damp cheeks, as tears slid down when he started to thrust intently, battering her throat. “My girl is sucking so well,” he was relentless now, pounding and pounding, an Elain thought that she might just pass out from the sensation, feeling lightheaded. Azriel had inhuman stamina when he was between her legs, but that also translated to when he was in her mouth, which meant he could ravage her completely. “I’ll feed you all the gelato myself, if you can suck a little more,” he promised with a smirk, pulling out completely. “Breathe,” he ordered, and she gulped in some air, before he thrust back inside, “are you tired?”

She shook her head ‘no’. She was never tired for him. She moaned, though his cock pushed down all sound with brutal, excited enthusiasm, as he cupped his balls tightly in his hand, readying to finally come. “Fuck, baby, you suck so well,” he squeezed her shoulder, stooping over her, the muscled of his abdomen twitching and tensing, his balls tight against her chin. Grabbing her shoulder with one hand, he cupped her under the jaw and kept her head still, as he exploded in her mouth. He poured down her throat with a pleased, blissful moan, throwing his head back, pumping harshly and erratically, filling her mouth over and over. She sucked and drank, swallowing quickly, gluttonously. Azriel always tasted heavenly, but perhaps it was something about being in Italy and all the fruit and wine that they’ve been consuming, but she couldn’t get enough of him now. He shot rope after rope down her throat and she lapped it all with pleasure. He dropped on his knees, exhausted, his cock still in her mouth, and she stroked and caressed his body soothingly, swallowing the last of him.

“Gods, Elain,” was all he managed, as he finally withdrew in an endlessly long pull from her lips.

She gasped, and licked her lips, before placing a loving, playful kiss on the pink, wet head of the shaft.

“Did you have fun, my love?” she cooed tenderly, as Azriel slumped on the blanket, head her on her lap.

“Baby, why do you spoil me like this?” he moaned, reaching for her bare plump breast and cupping lightly.

“Probably because I love you more than it’s prudent,” she smiled, her voice hoarse. “More than anything. Love you like I didn’t know I could love anybody. Also,”

“Yes?”

His chest constricted from her simple admissions, from the pure earnestness of her words, from the love that was shining in her brown eyes. He was undeserving of this woman, of her overwhelming love for him, of everything that she gave him so selflessly. But he listened and listened, because everything she told him was like a balm on all the wounds of his soul, and music to his heart.

Her lips were gorgeously, obscenely swollen, and he dragged his thumb over their plumpness. She added, “you are very hot.”

“Ahhh,” he chuckled. “So you are using me for my body?”

“I’d be stupid not to use you for your body. You got one hell of a body, my mysterious, shadowy Azriel.”

“Well, flower girl, you go ahead and use my body as much as you want, for anything you desire. It’s yours.”

He kissed her hand. Then, reached up and kissed her pretty pink nipple.

“As is my heart,” he added softly. “Anything you want. It’s all yours.”

She lay next to him, both of them sprawled in the blanket of flowers. She picked a poppy and stuck it behind his ear.

“Pretty boy Azriel.”

He propped his cheek and turned to face her. She was still covered in flowers, from all his handiwork.

“We are good together, aren’t we?” she murmured, laying her hand on his neck.

“We are. We are very good together, Lainey.”

She bit her swollen lip and then said, voice quiet, a little uncertain,

“Maybe you want to marry me?” she proposed.

He stilled, waiting for more.

She squeezed the back of his neck a little tighter and continued, no stopping her now, “I know we were thinking later, maybe next y-,”

“Yes,” he nodded, “yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Elain, I want to marry you now.”

She gasped, tears of joy moistening her eyes, “In Florence?” she begged.

“Yes. In Florence,” he cupped her face in his. “Let’s go get married!”

[gothhisoka]

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖕 (𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔 𝖝 𝕱𝖊𝖒𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗)

Title: Worship

Pairing: Chrollo x Femreader

Warnings: Smut, minors DNI, 18+, explicit content

Word Count: 3116 (I promise it is worth it. Oh god is it worth it)

Note: This is from my cross-published fanfic called Hunter University! It is available if you click here on Wattpad and AO3. My fanfic is x OC, but I upload x Reader versions of some chapters here on Tumblr. In short, it is a dark academia college AU with Chrollo as the main love interest.

Background: You are an artist in college and Chrollo is your fellow classmate. You just returned from a night out at a ball, drunk. Chrollo appeared at the door to your dorm room as he promised he would after you danced with one another at the ball.

Chrollo was surprised you looked so intact. He was sure you would come waddling to the door in pajamas as you did the last time he visited your room. Although it had been an hour since the ball ended, your makeup hadn't smudged a bit. Sure, it was faded, and your hair was significantly messier, but overall you looked as remarkable as you did at the start of the ball.

Your tired eyes widened with surprise at the sight of him. He was just as unimpaired as you were. Though now he was missing his suit jacket. His hair had become slightly disheveled, losing its styled waves. He still had on those signature silver rings and little cross earrings.

You attempt to soak in his sight with your intoxicated brain. He looked even more captivating in this particular state.

“Hi…” was all you could utter.

“Can I come in?”

You realized he was waiting for your permission. He didn’t need it.

You stepped aside to let him in and shut the door. Your room was the same as the last time he saw it, with your drawings hung on the walls and lights strung above the desk. Their small bulbs reflected against the night-stained window.

Upon shutting the door, the tension noticeably rose. It was dark in the small space and you were alone. Chrollo took his black dress shoes off near the door, placing them neatly side by side.

So he plans on staying. You tried to hide a smile. The hour of his visit was surely suspicious. There could be only one thing on his mind.

"So what're you doing here?" you spoke nonchalantly, acting like you didn't just fantasize about what could happen in the next few minutes.

Chrollo opened and shut his mouth, his response escaping him. He turned back to you and used his eyes to convey a craving far deeper than any words could admit.

"I said I would come to find you, didn't I?" He said lowly.

He had begun to walk around the room, absentmindedly stopping at a piece of art from time to time. You were too tired to care. The collection included nature scenes, portraits of people he didn't recognize, anatomy studies, and...

He paused, noticing a drawing on the wall behind the place where the door would otherwise be covering.

It was a full-body anatomy study of yourself. To be specific, it would fit further in the category of a glorified nude. It was on a miniature piece of parchment sketched in charcoal. It was obviously you: the woman had your (hair color) hair and distinct mouth and nose. The paper was hardly noticeable amongst the scatter of papers. You wouldn't see it unless you had a careful eye such as that of Chrollo.

You hardly noticed when he reached the particular spot on your wall. Your tiredness had waned significantly with Chrollo's entrance, but it still fogged your mind.

Additionally, you had long forgotten about your secret behind-the-door location for your drawings that were not meant to be seen by a single soul.

Chrollo attempted to hide a mysterious smile. He turned to you, “You draw wonderfully.”

“Thanks?” you reply, with more question in your tone than you hoped to show.

The heat in the room shot through the roof. You were sure if you checked the temperature it would be well above its normal chilly state. Perhaps it was the heat in your cheeks that was causing such a change.

“So…” he began.

“So,” you replied, trying to avoid eye contact. Please, just let it happen already.

You thought you had a good idea of why he had come to your room at one o'clock in the morning after a night of drinking and questionably close dancing. You couldn't be certain, though, because that was just how he was: unpredictable and exceedingly complicated.

You didn’t think him so complicated as to not be able to admit why he was at your room, though.

You waited as he thought about what to say next. This is taking too damn long.

Luckily, you prepared an excuse. You never failed to come ready for something you could expect. And this, the direction in which your encounter is headed, is inevitable. You had been rehearsing the line in your head for the duration of their conversation like reviewing terms for a test.

This was the only way to test if your assumptions are correct.

Blame it on the champagne if I am wrong. But I really hope I'm right.

You look directly at him. Time to be daring.

You took a breath and did your best to look directly at him, "Well, I actually do need some help. You see, this dress is quite difficult to take off by myself..."

Walking towards him, you place a hand at the hem of your dress. Your delicate fingers wrap around its lacy fabric.

Chrollo looked amused. He sizes you up, looking from your hand holding the hem of your dress to your unfazed expression. Unfazed, yet your cheeks were slowly turning a shade of scarlet. Nice try, Chrollo thought.

He gestured, "Turn around."

You obeyed. You desired something far more than the unzipping of your dress, but you were not presumptuous enough to say it. The expression on Chrollo's face told you that he was hoping for the same thing. He hid many emotions well, but being turned on wasn't one of them.

Chrollo brushed your hair away from the zipper, delicately placing it over your shoulder. His fingers purposefully grazed your back as he did this, causing your breath to hitch slightly.

His hands moved to the zipper, carefully pulling it down. It went past the clasp of your bra to your lower back. There was complete silence. Both of you were still. Are we still hesitating?

Chrollo was the first to move. He pulled you close to him so that your back was touching him. His left arm wrapped across your chest possessively, holding you in a tight embrace. With his other hand, he brushed your hair back from your ear. He smelt of sweet alcohol. Clearly, he was slightly drunk as well, for the next words he said couldn't be uttered by a sober man.

His whispered breath tickled your neck, husky with the threat of sleep, "I want you so bad right now."

You tensed with a sudden surge of desire. Your impression had been right. He let his strong arm remain around you, patiently waiting for a response.

You choked out your reply, "The feelings' mutual."

Under his touch, your streak of audacity from earlier dissolved into compliance. You suddenly wanted nothing more than to submit to his words.

With complete control, Chrollo took your shoulder and turned you around. Your dress was now loose on your shoulders. He placed his hands around your hips firmly. He looked at you under his thick eyelashes and slowly leaned in. The pressure was growing to an unbearable level, but he still wouldn't go all the way.

Then his lips crashed against yours with the force of weeks of pent-up desire. This kiss didn't speak of courtesy, of patience. This was raw passion. It was furious and messy. you preferred this to sensitive steps around the intensity they both craved.

"You must still be drunk," you said playfully as you both pulled away to catch your breath. You held your hand to Chrollo's chest. His heart was beating surprisingly fast.

"If I'm drunk, then what are you?" Chrollo said with a lazy smirk.

"I'm drunk as well."

Chrollo threaded his hands through your hair, pulling the long strands through his fingers. He pulled you in close again with his hand at the back of your head.

You opened your mouth to allow for Chrollo's tongue to slip in. He lessened the intensity and slowly moved his tongue against your own tongue and lips. You couldn't help but let out soft moans that made Chrollo weak at the knees.

He pushed you against the wall to deepen your kiss. Drawings fluttered down, becoming detached with the sudden movement. Including that drawing.

Chrollo pulled away, much to your shock. You were left panting with reddened cheeks. Please don't let this end now.

He displayed a shit-eating grin. Even with his ego, in the current moment, his expression made you melt. His face was inches from yours, looking down into your (eye color) eyes.

He shifted his gaze down to the floor and said, "Nice drawing you have there."

You finally noticed what he had been so smug about. Shit. Your face flushed ten different shades of scarlet.

Chrollo leaned in as he did before and murmured in your ear, "I wish I could see the real thing."

You failed to not show your excitement. The way your eyes lit up exposed you. "I can arrange that."

At that, Chrollo leaned in again, this time moving to your neck. His lips fluttered down your throat to your collarbone. You leaned your head back and tried to control your uneven breath.

His lips reached the edge of the neckline on your dress. He raised his eyes to meet yours, asking for permission to go further.

You let out a breathy, "Yes. Please."

What you wanted to say was, Please, take me now.

It could be too soon for him. But based on how this was going, you expected it was leading to something more. Whatever that was, you wished you could know right now. The growing tension between your thighs began to ache.

Chrollo slipped his hand across your skin to the hemline of your dress, moving it completely off of your shoulder and down your arms. Your black see-through bra was now in full view. Your nipples grew hard at the sudden exposure.

At least I went with my fancy bra. You suddenly grew very shy. The last time you went even this far was years ago.

He evidently liked the lingerie for his hands immediately traveled to your breast to caress it as he continued to kiss you.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered against your neck. Your heart fluttered at his words.

Chrollo then moved his lips progressively further down as he slipped your dress off of your body. Soon your underwear came into view, then your feet. He helped your step out of the dress.

"Your turn," you said, unbuttoning his shirt. All the while he continued to distractingly leave lazy kisses upon your face, one on your forehead, your cheek, your lips.

After an agonizingly long time, you pulled off his shirt. Fuck.

You knew he would be defined. But him, this boy standing in front of you, resembled more of a greek statue than an actual human. It looked like his body had been sculpted by the finest stone on earth. He had a six-pack, defined pectoral muscles, and prominent collarbones. His biceps flexed as he leaned his hand against the wall, bracing himself. It was you who needed to brace yourself. Your breath hitched again at the sight of him.

You ran a hand up his firm body as you planted your lips upon his once again. This time Chrollo put his hands beneath your thighs, his fingers pressing into your soft skin. He picked you up easily.

You wrapped your legs around him as he brought you to the bed, kissing him all the while.

He dropped you down gently, releasing his grip off of your thighs. You took this time to look up at him and admire the beauty of his aroused state. He had a dangerous and wild look, with tousled hair and a constant smile playing at his lips. His heavy-lidded eyes were lazily focused upon you.

You continued to make out on the bed, its white silk sheets creating an angelic halo around you. Chrollo couldn't stand looking at you like this, underneath him. It was far too much power for one man to hold.

You reached to your back to undo the clasp of your bra. You threw it to the ground. Chrollo immediately began to touch your naked tits in a way that made you want to dissolve. He moved in circles around your nipples first, watching as they grew harder under his expert touch. Then he moved his mouth to the sensitive area, playing with you and biting slightly. You audibly moaned at the gesture. Damn the neighbors.

Chrollo sensed your desire to take it further. He looked up, grey eyes filled with lust, "Y/n...let me pleasure you."

It wasn't the suggestion you were expecting, but you were satisfied nonetheless. You didn't care about anything in the world besides what he could do to you at this moment, whatever it may be.

"If you say my name like that you can do anything you want to me," you said breathily. It was exactly what he needed to hear.

Chrollo smirked and moved to take off your soaking underwear. Under his pants, his dick grew visibly harder. He threw the underwear onto the floor.

Gently placing his finger at your throbbing core, he began to stroke. Upon receiving his touch your back arched involuntarily. You were beyond eager.

"Fuck... Chrollo..."

This served as encouragement for him to insert his finger deeper into you, curling it slightly. It hit your g-spot repeatedly, eliciting ungodly sounds from you.

As he was doing this, he slowly positioned himself on top of you, grabbing onto the bed frame with his spare hand. He just wanted to look at your face as you opened your mouth in delight.

He inserted one more finger which caused your arousal to heighten. God, he really knows how to do this.

Just as you felt the heat in your core escalating, he slid his finger out. You whimpered in protest.

Chrollo looked down at you with a wicked smile. "Beg for it."

Oh fuck.

You gladly would. It was more your instincts speaking than any coherent thought.

"Please... Chrollo..." you said between breaths.

You wanted to not only plead for him, you wanted to worship him.

"More."

This is what you had been missing out on all those weeks. And oh god, did you eat it up.

"FUCK please do that again," you exclaimed.

It was enough to convince him. Chrollo moved his face towards your slickened pussy.

Is he about to...

He pushed his hair back out of his face with his clean hand, his forehead tattoo revealed. For only a second, he raised his eyes to gaze into yours. You fell for him all over again at that simple glance.

Then he entered you. His tongue made you want to weep. He devoured your insides, soaking up the salty juices. You couldn't help but hold his head, pulling it closer to your body. You ran your hand through his soft black hair. There was so much heat between them that you were both perspiring.

You began to shudder." I'm going to... oh... fuck," you gasped.

You felt the sweet release of cum spread below you onto the sheets and Chrollo himself. You felt self-conscious for a moment. That is until Chrollo began to lick up your juices. He ran his tongue up your soft thighs.

"You taste so fucking good, darling."

Chrollo looked at you like he had fallen all over again as well. You grinned back at him. Your cheeks grew even redder, if possible. Your heart screamed to continue but you were too physically exhausted to move. Still, wouldn't Chrollo want his turn?

You laid there, naked and panting on the silk sheets. Chrollo flopped next to you, unaffected beside his flushed cheeks and a wide grin.

The lights were still low in the little room. Looking out the window, you saw that the sun had yet to rise. This was a positive fact because the only thing you needed to do now was to sleep. And preferably, cuddling with the boy next to you. You hoped he would stay. It was more than hope, really. Your body couldn't spend any more time away from him after that.

Damn. He was good. He was really, really fucking good.

He knew his way with words, to begin with. He said exactly what needed to be said to escalate your arousal. You wanted to worship those fingers, the way he so expertly felt around you like he had memorized a map. And his tongue was even more worthy of revere.

You flipped over to your elbows. Your breasts brushed against the bedding, noticeably making Chrollo gulp. You boldly reached to touch the front of his pants.

"You don't want a turn?" you smirked.

"This was more than enough for me."

He stared into your eyes as if he was calculating a complex math problem rather than looking at the person who just received the best head of their life.

You yawned, despite yourself. Your body ached with all the action of the night.

"Go to bed, sweetheart. I'll be here."

Those were the last words you heard before your eyes drifted shut. Exhaustion stilled your naked body. Chrollo reached over you to turn off the bedside lamp.

He wasn't nearly as tired. He could've gone for a couple more rounds, perhaps take it a step further if you so desired. But he knew you needed the sleep. Most of your makeup had rubbed off, displaying the dark circles under your eyes.

He slipped off his pants and threw them onto the floor with the rest of the clothes. He found the soft sheets and pulled them across you and himself. The bed was small but cozy. His strong chest was flush against your back.

Your (hair color) hair smelt of a summer day, like sunlight and wildflowers. He took this opportunity to feel up the rest of your glorious body. He ran his hand lightly from your shoulder to your hips, to your thighs. All of it was angelic to him.

He moved you closer with his arm, protectively wrapping it across your front. Somehow holding you like this felt far more intimate than any sexual activity. The way the moonlight graced your skin was majestic.

How had he fallen so hard, so fast? It was unlike him to act with such recklessness.

Through it all, he still had his mind. you had no way to tell the extent of his feelings. He made sure of this. His libido could act one way, that was clear from tonight. But he was an expert at controlling his outward emotions. You would never know. If you did, it would be over for him. All the planning will be for naught.

He closed his eyes before he could fall upon any more worries. He had already pondered the issue for many sleepless nights.

He fell into a dreamless slumber with you safe in his arms. You both slept soundly until the sun peeked through the window.

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH17

The queen has arrived ;)

Previous     First    Next     AO3

----------------------------

Chapter 17: Kings and Queens

“Look out!” Chloe shoved Marinette out of the way of a red beam of light. Her knees buckled, and Marinette scrambled to catch her.

“What a shame. I missed.” Black boots climbed long legs, kissing the hems of a ripped dress at the top. A dark tiara crowned flowing red curls, framing the dark green eyes glaring at them from behind a black mask.

“Gabrielle?” Marinette gasped.

“I go by Heiress now, but don’t worry, Marinette, your stupidity has bought you a free pass. I just wanted to make sure my powers were working, and it looks like they do.” She nodded to the girl coming to in Marinette’s arms before strutting off.

Chloe sat up with a groan, rubbing her head. “Ugh, what was that?”

“Chloe, your-” Marinette clamped a hand over her mouth.

Her once shiny hair hung dull and stringy at her shoulders, now resembling straw more than soft silk. Perfectly manicured nails had shriveled into dirty stubs, and her Gabriel-original dress was replaced with a knock-off.

“What?” Chloe’s shoulders heaved, escalating until a shrill scream echoed through the hall.

“You saved me—I think.” Marinette winced. “It looks like Heiress’s power made you-”

“Poor!” Chloe screeched. “Oh, Ladybug better get here soon and fix this! If I see that akuma, I’ll teach her to put me in off-brands!”

“Wait, you saved me. You saved me!” Marinette realized. “Aw, you do miss me.”

“No, I don’t!” Chloe’s cheeks flushed. “I didn’t even know what was happening. I just reacted, okay?”

“Please, you don’t have a selfless bone in your body. You saved me because you miss me,” Marinette said.

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not!”  At Marinette’s smug grin, Chloe folded her arms over her chest with a huff. “Whatever. I’m going after that akuma to give her a piece of my mind. You can go get help or… go buy some shoes that aren’t awful!”

“I don’t think you’re one to talk about awful shoes right now.” Marinette pointed to the ratty sneakers on Chloe’s feet.

“Just go,” Chloe said through clenched teeth.

Marinette raced up the hall, a smile tugging the corners of her lips. She hated to admit it, but in a weird way, she did miss Chloe Bourgeois. Wow. She never thought she’d say that.

“You’re changing a lot of mean girls today.” Tikki remarked when Marinette ducked into a closet. “I think that was Chloe’s way of protecting you.”

“I’m not holding my breath. She probably had too much wine,” Marinette said. “But never mind that. Transform me!”

Ladybug sprinted back up the hall, palming her yoyo in one hand. She should have known Gabrielle would get akumatized once her secret got out, but now wasn’t the time to play blame games. There was an akuma to catch.

Rounding the corner, she collided with another person, scrambling to catch their hand before they both fell backward. “Sorry!” she gasped, but when gorgeous green eyes locked with hers, her heart took off into a sprint.

“Ladybug?” Adrien blinked in surprise. “What’s going on?”

Why did she have to find him now? Even if she defeated the akuma quickly, she needed to be there for Gabrielle. Lisette would have to help her look cute for him another time.

“There’s an akuma on the loose. You should find somewhere to hide,” she said.

“Right.” He flicked his gaze down to their hands, still twined.

Ladybug let go, cheeks burning. “Um, stay safe, okay?”

“Good luck, Ladybug,” he said before running the other way up the hall.

She watched him go with a longing sigh. What she wouldn’t give to be a normal girl right now. Then they could snuggle up and hide together, and maybe he’d finally kiss her. They could get married, buy a house, and-

She patted her cheeks to snap herself out of her trance. There was no time for that now. Akuma first, then Gabrielle, Adrien later.

Terrified shrieks signaled that Heiress had found the rest of the party. Thomas was the one who outed her, so he was likely Heiress’s first target. Ladybug needed to get to him first, even if he was one of the skeeviest people she’d ever met. It wasn’t her job to pick who needed saving. Why did she have to be such a good person?

Bursting into the dining room, she skidded to a stop as Heiress zapped Thomas before she could even draw her yoyo.

“No!”

The tall boy transformed in front of her. Perfectly combed brown hair shriveled into shaggy clumps, and a once flawless complexion broke out in angry, red zits. Stylish clothes turned to tattered rags as Thomas became a shell of his former glory. He scurried away from Heiress with a squeal, and she turned to Ladybug with a triumphant smirk.

“Too slow,” Heiress said, “but don’t worry. Now I have plenty of time for you.”

Ladybug dodged the red beam. She might have been too late to save Thomas, but there was still time to save Gabrielle. This battle was far from over. She just needed to focus.

“I know you think there isn’t a way out of your situation, but teaming up with Hawkmoth isn’t the answer!” Ladybug pleaded.

“Please, I’ve lived among these people long enough to know that they don’t appreciate what they have. I know I didn’t…” Heiress lowered her gaze, jaw clenched. “My family lost everything, but now I can take it all back!”

Ladybug flipped out of the way of several blasts, taking the time to examine her opponent closely. The barcode scanner shot red beams of light that stripped its victims of their fancy clothes, jewelry, devices—anything expensive. Gabrielle wanted everyone to feel the pain of losing everything, so she was taking all of their wealth for herself.

A metal baton struck Heiress’s hand, skewing her next shot, and a black-clad feline cast his partner a smirk. “Having a party without me? I’m insulted.”

“Your invitation must have gotten lost in the mail,” Ladybug said. “You and I both know it’s not a party without your sweet dance moves, kitty. Care to show us how it’s done?”

“It would be my pleasure, LB.” Chat Noir winked.

Heiress pointed her scanner at him. “I wonder how much that cat suit is worth.”

Chat Noir dodged her attack easily. “This cat’s style is one-of-a-kind. All the money in the world can’t buy this swagger.”

“We’ll see about that,” Heiress growled.

The heroes took turns charging in, dodging and weaving around beams from her scanner. Ladybug hooked her yoyo around Heiress’s legs, swinging her around into the China hutch. Realizing she was outmatched, Heiress retreated to the living room where more party guests were hiding, but Ladybug and Chat Noir were hot on her trail.

“Run!” Ladybug ordered, and terrified teens scattered.

Heiress ducked out of the way of Chat’s baton, scanning anyone who passed her between blows. Lisette’s older brother raced from behind the couch, and Heiress wasted no time scanning him before he reached the door. She caught Chat Noir’s staff on the next swing, a grin curling on her lips.

“Looks like someone’s watch was worth a lot. I wonder how much this costs?” She scanned Chat Noir’s baton, leaving him with a plastic copy.

“Hey!” Chat Noir gasped.

Ladybug snagged her yoyo around Heiress’s wrist before she could scan him, but Heiress kicked him through the large window with one long leg instead. Before Ladybug could react, Heiress gripped the string of the yoyo and spun her out after him.

Chat Noir braced as she landed on top of him in the bush, her yoyo bouncing onto the grass beside them. They rolled over with groans, untangling their limbs, and Ladybug grasped for her yoyo.  

“Everything she scans makes her stronger depending on its worth. We need to think of a plan,” she said.

“I’m all ears, Bug.” Ladybug eyed him. “What?”

“You haven’t called me m’lady or Bugaboo all evening. I think it’s a new record for you.” She flicked his bell with a smirk.

“Well, I- you hate it when I call you that,” he said pointedly, cheeks flushed.

“That’s never stopped you before. Has another lady finally stolen your heart?” she giggled.

“I-”

“Ladybug!” Chloe shouted. “What are you two doing out here? The akuma is turning more people into dried up peasants. Have you seen what she did to my hair? Bring me my Miraculous, so I can beat some sense into her!”

“Chloe, this isn’t the time for revenge.” Ladybug sighed.

“I’m not out for revenge,” Chloe said matter-of-factly. “The faster we defeat the akuma, the faster I go back to looking fabulous. So bring me my Miraculous, and let me help you, please?” Chloe pressed her palms together, and Ladybug pursed her lips.

Chloe was right. They needed to defeat the akuma quickly and save Gabrielle, but did she really want to give Chloe her Miraculous back? With her identity blown, Chloe was in even more danger every time she became Queen Bee. Not to mention trusting Chloe in general was risky, but after she sacrificed herself for Marinette earlier…

Something was different about Chloe. Sure was still the same bratty, primadonna, but her blue eyes were steadfast and sincere. Ladybug once believed that giving Chloe a Miraculous would help her be better, and part of her still believed that.

There was only one way to settle this.

“Lucky Charm!” Ladybug caught the record as it manifested and turned it over in her hands.

“Now isn’t the time to practice your DJing.” Chloe scoffed.

Ladybug glanced between Chat Noir, Chloe, the plants surrounding them, but nothing stood out. A record. What was she supposed to do with a record? Unless…

“I have to go. Chat Noir, keep an eye on Heiress until I get back, but be careful. I don’t want you getting scanned. We don’t know what will happen to our powers if she scans one of us,” Ladybug said.

“Got it.”

“Are you going to bring me my Miraculous?” Chloe perked up.

“Do you promise not to do anything reckless while I’m gone?” Ladybug asked.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes! I promise, Ladybug.” Chloe bounced excitedly, then cocking a hip added, “But hurry up! These shoes make me physically ill.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes and dashed up the lawn, leaping through the very same garden she and Adrien had walked through an hour before. The mansion was far from Master Fu’s apartment, but her yoyo made short work of the trip. Her mentor was enjoying his bedtime tea when she entered, sitting cross-legged on the mat with Wayzz on his shoulder.

“Master, there’s an akuma, and I think my lucky charm wanted me to come here.” Marinette flicked her gaze to the phonograph resting on the chest in the back.

“Then there is no time to waste,” Master Fu said. He set his tea aside and retrieved the Miracle Box from its hiding place. “Who do you have in mind?”

Marinette surveyed her options with pursed lips, then resigned herself and reached for the bee. Chloe was different tonight, and if they were going to stop Heiress, they needed an ally they could count on. Never in her life did she picture that to be Chloe, but given the present circumstances, she didn’t have any other options.

“Are you sure, Marinette? Choosing her is risky.” Master Fu cautioned.

“It’s a long story, but…” Marinette smiled. “I’m sure.”

“Then best of luck.”

When Marinette changed schools, she intended to leave everyone behind and start over, but the most unlikely people had found their way back to her. Adrien took her by the hand and refused to let go. Chloe begrudgingly kept one foot in the door, constantly threatening to close it for good, but something told Marinette she never would.

To Ladybug’s surprise, Chloe actually listened to her instructions to stay out of trouble. When Ladybug found her, she was dutifully ushering other raggedly dressed teens out to the garden. She really could behave when she wanted to.

Chloe spotted her on the balcony, and when Ladybug waved the small box, Chloe raced up the stairs faster than she’d ever run in gym class. She held out her hands expectantly, but Ladybug held up a finger.

“I’m trusting you this time, Chloe, but you don’t need a Miraculous to be a hero, ya know. You can be nicer to those around you all the time,” Ladybug said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chloe groaned. “Can I have my Miraculous now?”

“Do you promise to be nicer to people?”

Chloe’s cheeks flushed, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Alright, fine.”

Ladybug tossed her the box, and Chloe ripped it open, completely unfazed as Pollen materialized. She fastened the comb into her hair and smiled. “Pollen, transform me!”

Ladybug didn’t wait for Queen Bee’s transformation to finish before they hit the ground running. Chat Noir had been holding Heiress back on his own, and it was time to bring him some backup.

The two heroines kicked in the front door, leaping straight into action. Ladybug shielded Chat Noir with her yoyo while Queen Bee snagged Heiress’s leg with her spinner and tossed her through the door to the living room.

“You sure kept me waiting,” Chat Noir said.

“It was kind of a long trip, but I thought we could use some help,” Ladybug said as Queen Bee fluffed her ponytail.

“Let’s show this wannabe who the real queen is.” Queen Bee readied her spinner.

“So, what’s the plan?” Chat Noir asked.

“If Queen Bee can sting Heiress with her Venom, then you can Cataclysm her scanner. Avoid getting hit at all costs. There’s no telling how powerful a Miraculous will make her,” Ladybug said.

Heiress was kicking debris from the cabinet she’d crashed into when the heroes found her. They didn’t waste time as she righted herself, taking turns charging in. With a growl of frustration, Heiress flipped back into the foyer, scanning the crystal chandelier in the process. Ladybug’s yoyo wasn’t far behind, snagging her wrist again. Queen Bee bound her legs with her spinning top, but Heiress absorbed enough power from the chandelier to break the stone fountain beside her. Tossing a large chunk at Queen Bee, Heiress freed her legs, using her free arm to sling Ladybug into the staircase. Chat Noir grappled with Heiress while his partners recovered, but Heiress parried his blows easily before taking his wrist and tossing him across the foyer.

Ladybug sat up with a wince, rubbing her back where it had collided with the smooth marble. Her yoyo had bounced to the base of the stairs, too far for her to reach as Heiress closed in. She braced as Heiress raised her scanner, but a flash of yellow shot across the foyer.

“No!” Queen Bee leaped between Ladybug and the red beam.

Vibrant yellows dulled, long golden curls shriveling to dried husks. The bee comb in her hair lost its shine, transforming into a powerless, plastic barrette. Queen Bee collapsed at Ladybug’s feet.

“A noble sacrifice, but even your Miraculous has given me enough power to end this fight quickly,” Heiress said.

“Cataclysm!”

Heiress turned as Chat Noir slid past her, dragging his claws across the tile. The ground crumbled and gave out under his touch, plunging Heiress into the wine cellar below. He raced over to Ladybug, kneeling beside Queen Bee as she sat up.

“She really saved your skin, LB,” he said.

“She saved all of us,” Ladybug corrected. “That was really selfless of you, Queen Bee. Thank you.”

“If she hit you, then things would never go back to normal.” Queen Bee took Ladybug’s hand, pressing the yoyo to her palm. “You’re the only one who can fix all of this, so don’t you dare let me getting hit by that freak twice be for nothing.”

Ladybug nodded, gripping her yoyo tightly before issuing the call, “Lucky Charm!” She caught the small black card as it materialized, turning it over in her hands. “A credit card?”

“Well, she’s certainly got enough money to take you shopping,” Chat Noir remarked.

Ladybug pursed her lips, flicking her gaze around the room. With Chat Noir’s belt, her yoyo, the credit card, and Queen Bee…

“I know what to do. Chat Noir, I need you to lure her into the dining room and be ready to use your belt,” she instructed. “Queen Bee, come with me.”

“But I don’t have any powers.”

Ladybug offered her a smile and pulled her to her feet. “Remember what I told you. You don’t need superpowers to be a hero. Trust me.”

Queen Bee searched her expression, then smiled, and the two heroines retreated up the hall.

“So, what’s the plan?” Queen Bee asked as they entered the dining room.

“How fast can you swipe a credit card?” Ladybug turned to her, and Queen Bee cocked a hip.

“Please, I can swipe one faster than my daddy can realize how much money I’m spending,” she said. “Why?”

“Chat Noir and I are going to subdue Heiress, but we need you to swipe this across her scanner. It’s maxed out, so it’s basically worthless. With any luck, it will short-circuit her powers long enough to get the scanner away from her,” Ladybug explained. She placed the card in Queen Bee’s hands. “I’m counting on you.”

Queen Bee squared her shoulders with a nod. “Okay, Ladybug!”

Footsteps pounded in the hallway, growing closer, and Ladybug signaled Queen Bee to her position. When Chat Noir burst through the door, he removed his belt as Ladybug readied her yoyo. Heiress was hot on his trail, and the two heroes engaged her the moment she stepped through the door.

“Chat Noir!” Ladybug called.

He slid across the floor on his knees, looping his belt around Heiress’s legs and pulling tight. Ladybug lassoed her torso with her yoyo, immobilizing her limbs. Queen Bee slid in, swiping the credit card across the scanner with practiced precision.

Heiress shook them off, but when she raised her arm to scan Chat Noir, no red beams flashed.

“What?” She banged it against her palm.

“Oops, looks like I’ve hit my limit,” Queen Bee said.

Chat Noir kicked the scanner from her grasp, and Ladybug snagged it from the air with her yoyo, slamming it against the ground. The casing shattered, and the black butterfly fluttered free.

“No more evil-doing for you, little akuma. Time to deevilize!” she recited. Queen Bee handed her the credit card, and Ladybug tossed it into the air. “Miraculous Ladybug!”

Her magic spread around the mansion, repairing broken cabinets and missing objects, and most importantly, everyone’s fancy clothes. Chat Noir kissed his baton as it reappeared in his hands. Queen Bee twirled in delight as her Miraculous regained its power.

Gabrielle stood up, averting her gaze. Ladybug approached her, but before she could get close, Gabrielle stalked from the room. A speech from Ladybug wasn’t what she needed—Gabrielle needed a friend.

“It feels so good to be fabulous again,” Queen Bee said with a contented sigh.

“Thanks for your help. You can be really selfless when you want to be,” Ladybug said. “Imagine how much of a difference you could make if you were nice all the time.”

Queen Bee’s cheeks flushed. “Okay, okay, whatever!” She flipped her ponytail over one shoulder. “I’ll think about it.”

Chat Noir joined in, and the three touched their fists together.

“Pound it!”

“Well, I hope this is a lesson to Hawkmoth. If an akuma ever ruins my hair again, he’ll have Queen Bee to deal with.” Chloe removed the comb from her hair and handed it back to Ladybug. She headed for the door with her head high but paused with her hand on the frame. “Thanks, Ladybug. For trusting me.”

Ladybug smiled as she sauntered off, turning to Chat Noir. “Thanks for your help, kitty.”

“We’re partners, aren’t we? I can’t let you have all the fun,” he said, shifting when Ladybug pursed her lips at him. “What?”

“Are you okay? You’re quiet today. Usually, you talk my ear off,” she said.

He eyed her with a pensive frown and shook his head. “It’s nothing. I’ll see you next time.”

He raced off without kissing her hand or even a parting flirtatious remark on how beautiful her hair looked in the light. Something was off about him, but she couldn’t place her finger on what. This wasn’t one of his usual pouts when she refused to go on a date with him, and it had been a while since he’d even asked for one. Was he finally moving on from her?

Ladybug shook her head to clear it. There was no time to worry about him. She needed to find Gabrielle.

♪♫♪ Old Scars/Future Hearts ♪♫♪

 “Gabrielle!” Marinette skipped down the stairs.

The red-head slumping for the front doors turned over her shoulder with a scowl, but her face softened when she saw Marinette—slightly. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Thomas told everyone about your family, then you got akumatized,” Marinette said.

“Ugh, you’re such a goody-two-shoes.” Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t be seen with me. If they catch you being nice, they’ll throw you under the bus just as quickly as they did me. Trust me, it’s better if you just ignore me from now on.”

“But what about you?” Marinette asked.

“What about me?” Gabrielle grunted. “I’m done. Now that everyone knows my family’s out of money, I’m the school laughingstock. As far as they’re concerned, I deserve it. Don’t waste your time on me. It’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

Marinette remained quiet, eyebrows knitting together before she finally muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“For what? It’s not like you spent all of our money,” Gabrielle said.

“Yeah, but I know it must be hard for you.”

“Why do you care?” Gabrielle asked. “It’s not like I’ve been nice to you. I dragged you here against your will, then wouldn’t even let you socialize with me. You shouldn’t care about me.”

“Well, you don’t know me very well,” Marinette said, “but you could. We could be friends if you wanted.”

Gabrielle opened her mouth as if to say something, then shook her head, red curls bouncing against her shoulders. “No. I don’t think we could be. Even if I wanted to be your friend, it’s social suicide for you.”

When Marinette frowned, Gabrielle rolled her eyes and added, “Look, forget about me, okay? Forget any of this ever happened. We’re not friends, and we never will be. Just leave me alone!”

Marinette watched her climb into her town car, a sinking feeling weighing her stomach. Gabrielle was right. She shouldn’t care. But she did. Maybe she was just a goody-two-shoes, but Marinette had seen a more vulnerable side of Gabrielle—one that she likely didn’t show many people. After everything, Marinette truly believed that Gabrielle Burton wasn’t a bad person. She just needed someone to show her how to be good.

“Marinette?” She turned to find Adrien approaching from the living room.

“Hey,” she said lamely. Because what did one say to the love of their life after an almost-kiss in the garden?  

“I saw you talking to that girl, and I didn’t want to interrupt,” Adrien said. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but isn’t that the girl who was picking on your friend the other day?”

“Yeah,” Marinette said, and when Adrien tilted his head to the side, she added, “it’s kind of complicated.”

“Right,” he said. “So, I guess you need a ride home then?”

“What?”

“Earlier you said that girl brought you here, and now she left, so we can take you home if you want.” Adrien offered. Was it possible for him to be any more dreamy?

“Oh… I guess, I do need a ride. Thank you,” she said. And maybe they could pick up where they left off in the garden. Did she dare even think about it? But what if he tried to kiss her again? Oh, the stories they could tell their kids one day.

“Hey!” Chloe called from the base of the stairs.

Oh, right. Chloe.

“Didn’t I separate you two earlier?” she growled.

“Marinette needs a ride home,” Adrien said, and Chloe cocked a hip.

“She’s got legs.”

“Chloe.” Adrien scolded. “She’s riding with us.”

“No.” Chloe whined, but after a stern look from Adrien, she sighed. “Fine, but we’re dropping her off first. I don’t want to be stuck in a car with her for any longer than I have to be.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” Marinette said.

“I’m only doing this because Ladybug told me to be nicer to people, so I can still be Queen Bee. Don’t think for a second it’s because I like you.” Chloe retorted.

“Don’t worry. I’d never imagine that you like me.” Marinette rolled her eyes. “I haven’t missed you.”

“Well, I haven’t missed you either!”

“Maybe you two just shouldn’t talk on the ride home.” Adrien suggested gently.

“Fine, I don’t want to talk to Dupain-Cheng anyway.” Chloe flipped her ponytail over one shoulder. “You and I can have glowing conversation, Adrikins.”

“Why do you get to talk to Adrien?”

“Because I’ve known him the longest, so ha!” Chloe stuck her tongue out.

Adrien sighed and fell into step alongside Marinette. “Sorry, I know it’s not ideal, but it beats walking.”

“It’s fine. I don’t get to argue with her much anymore, so this is filling up my quota.” Marinette shrugged.

As Adrien reached to open the door for her, another voice called out from the front door. “Leaving already?”

Marinette’s spine stiffened, and she spun around to see Thomas pacing down the front steps like a predator stalking his prey; however, he wasn’t approaching her.

“I saw you fighting that akuma with Ladybug earlier. Being a superhero is pretty cool, huh?” He looked Chloe up and down. “You’re the mayor’s daughter, right?”

Chloe eyed him with disinterest, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “Didn’t Dupain-Cheng turn you down earlier?”

“Well, she and I didn’t exactly hit it off-” Chloe held up a hand to silence him.

“Save it,” she said. “I’m not anyone’s second-choice, and I’m sure as heck not taking home Dupain-Cheng’s scraps. Buzz off, loser.”

Marinette hated to admit it, but she was actually proud of Chloe. Thomas was sleazy, arrogant, and greedy—just her type. Maybe Chloe really had changed.

“Absolutely not. Move over.” Chloe wedged her way between Adrien and Marinette on the seat.

And maybe she hadn’t.

[bosmermage]

The second part of my progression of Zelda fashion series this time with the Downfall Girls, design descriptions under the cut. 

Part 1: here 

First off yes I know FS and FSA are design swapped from what they are in canon. No I’m not changing it because a) I like the progression from MC better this way and b) that’s how I draw FS+ Zelda and I’m attached to it now, sorry. And yes this is a modified timeline, here the downfall timeline splits from the game over in Minish cap instead of from Ocarina of Time with FSA being a direct FS sequel.  

Four Swords - happens in this progression a single generation after MC. FS and FSA Zeldas are part of the same dynasty as MC. After MC more fanciful dresses come into fashion, modelling the First Interim Period. Now the aprons are belted on with a matching fabric to the trim  as the metal girdles from before have fallen out of fashion. Cloaks that are long are back in, and to increase the practicality they are fastened at the shoulder of the dominant arm to keep the dominant arm free. I made her purple because I think she deserves to wear the prettiest colour. 

Four Swords Adventures  - is a direct sequel to four swords, although I did steal the original Four Swords Zelda design to base this dress on - again because this is how I draw FS+ (the manga) Zelda, and now I’m attached. I like this progression because it takes us from the simple, plain dresses of MC to a slightly more exaggerated version of that type of dress in FS pulling on the fashion of the interim period: and then by FSA a couple generations later we can see how that style is being rejected by the current generation. The overgown takes its neckline inspiration from the dress of Zelda I, the waistline moves up and the skirts become much fuller and less A-line than before, while the length drops past the floor. Cartridge pleating at the waist is common as we see the overgown begin to pack in as much fabric as humanly possible. Up until and even after Vaati attacks this is period of never before seen prosperity.  The Sealing War - The time of the Fallen Hero, and my first set of fleshed out ocs. I’ll explain the fashion first so you can skip the ocs if you want. Here, you can see with the tiara, is the 3rd Dynasty shift. Fashion is primarily inspired by military dress, and it became fashionable to wear a white linen smock as an top layer instead of just the under layer, with a pair of trousers tucked into your boots beneath. A gambeson, though much thinner than our real world counterparts thanks to protective enchantments, became common outerwear for nobility, with unpadded and unenchanted vests being common for the lower class. The crest our noble lady is wearing is based off the Red Shield from ALTTP since these two ladies are part of the same dynasty.  As for my ocs, my Link was betrayed by the dynasty this lady belongs to and killed so that he couldn’t aid the previous dynasty in battle. Of course, Link only seems to reincarnate when the great evil does so this was, ultimately short sighted of them. But, they did find the reincarnation of Zelda, who had reincarnated as a weaver’s daughter, as well as the master sword, and she is the Zelda pictured above. She was given the master sword and tasked to work with the maidens to seal Ganon away after he had broken free from the seal the four sword had on him. This worked yes but the dynastic struggle had evolved into a civil war and then Ganon had struck while the iron was hot, so while Zelda was able to seal him quickly, Hyrule was left in ruins. 

A Link to The Past - ages have past but the military elements are still seen in the dress of the royals. Instead of full armor though, this Zelda is only wearing ceremonial pauldrons and would wear a overly fancy rapier for formal occasions. Her dress is full at the sleeves and hem, but it’s still short enough to show her boots so as to remain a little practical (although the bodice style limits how useful the dress would be in a fight..)  A Link Between Worlds Zelda isn’t here because I literally have no notes, her design fits this progression perfectly and I didn’t want to crowd the already wide document with a pretty much unchanged design.  Legend of Zelda - Marks the final dynasty shift in the timeline. This would be the dress I think she would wear in the time after the game, between this game and Adventure of Link. I really liked the 80′s style dress the original Zelda had in the concept art, I decided to revamp it though by mixing it with a more 1820s flair. I kept the short bob hair of the concept art and the very simple necklace-tiara because they’re both very iconic to the character but also because I think they fit the image of a princess of a country recovering from the apocalypse much better than something more fancy. 

[fairestwriting]

PLEASE DO, MY GAY LIL HEART LOVES WOMEN-

referring to this post

ask and ye shall receive... this is just clothes/hair/acccessories notes. sorry for the brainrot in some of these but.. twst women go brr. also in this by short skirt i mean like miniskirt length, and long is nearing knee length. medium would be a midpoint between the two

also any of yall are free to share your headcanons with me jddjfjdfj i have a thing for character design

riddle: Listen i hate when people draw her with twintails. big pet peeve of mine its not riddle at all. shed have one of these really fancy braided buns, because she wants to look proper -- and for the same reason, her skirt is a bit longer and she wears black tights (we are keeping the heeled shoes tho)

ace: hmm not much should change i dont think? i imagine her looking sort of tomboyish. hair like male ace but maybe just a bit longer, maybe one or two red barettes because she still wants to be cute. short skirt and socks

deuce: "tomboy at heart but shes trying to be a proper lady" kind of look. had short hair in her delinquent days but shes growing it out so its juuust a little shorter than shoulder length. longer skirt but short socks. she rips all the tights she tries so she figured that would be easier

trey: god so shes the one i can never really figure out... i only ever see people drawing her w short hair but im not sure if i like it much the hairstyles they do are often just kinda ugly- i think that kinda works, though, maybe chin length hair for her. as long as her bangs are just a little different from her male counterpart. medium length skirt and under the knee socks.

cater: same hairstyle with the bangs pulled back i think but long hair.. though short would look good on her too! shed be very cute. maybe ties her jacket around her waist and shes definitely a short skirt gal. has painted nails and nice makeup on and her socks are thigh highs or the loose ones.

rest under the cut bc this is mad long-

leona: hnngghh hot lion lady i cant decide if i like her more with short hair or long hair... i can go either way i think. short skirt and she still wears those wack ass sandals. this goes without saying but she has male leonas undone buttons too

ruggie: certified tomboy. same hair as male ruggie pretty much, same rolled up sleeves. she wears a skirt bc its part of the uniform id imagine but if they had like, a shorts option shed take it. shed be a shorts kind of gal. really short socks

jack: shoulder length hair, still fluffy and kinda spiky! maybe up in a sporty ponytail or something. shes still Very buff (read this in a simp voice) and would probably wear pants if they had the option in the uniform. if they dont have that then just... medium skirt i think, but she probably wears some kind of shorts underneath it. short socks and her jacket is tied around her waist more often than not

azul: GOD do i have thoughts about her. i also have a pet peeve regarding her hair i think fem azul would 100% be the type to have long hair instead of just keeping male azuls cut... its chest length and wavy and she keeps most of it pushed over one shoulder. medium skirt, she cares about being proper but still wants to look cute, probably would wear black tights but boy do i wanna see her in thigh highs

jade: hair is a very neat bob, i think! not that much different from her male counterpart, she still keeps the classiness. Obvious tights wearer and any skirt length would work with her, i think. though i cant see her in a very short one because she does care about being proper

floyd: also bobbed hair, except its a huge mess and she would probably pull it into a ponytail whenever shes able to.... short skirt and socks, some undone buttons. rolled up sleeves more often than not.

kalim: hghghghhg i can never decide on what hair id go with for her ~_~ in the end i think long and fluffy would be the most fitting, its about chest length and she does a variety of different styles, sometimes twintails, sometimes ponytails, sometimes she just leaves it the way it is! short skirt and socks, probably even more accessories than her male counterpart + painted nails (that jamil painted for her)

jamil: oh i can only see her being very similar to male jamil. same hairstyle pretty much though i think shed be heavier with the makeup, like her eyeshadow would be a bit darker? keeps the hoodie, medium shirt and short socks just below the knee. she probably looks scarier than her regular counterpart

vil: so we officially are in “similar to their counterpart” territory... i dont think fem vil could even be very different tbh, what sets her apart is that she has actually long hair- maybe past chest length even but she keeps that variety between having her hair up and down that vil has. either medium or long skirts bc she wants to keep it classy, obvious tights wearer. she has acrylic nails she changes every now and then and theyre Sharp. makeup on point always including this really intense red lipstick

rook: continuing our travel through similar territory... same hair, same weird ass hat, very similar in general. i just feel like shed be vaguely masculine too? but not in that “rough” way, or at least thats not how she looks like usually. medium skirt and she keeps the boots so you dont see her socks really. another one that would very much prefer to wear pants. sometimes she has red lipstick on because vil does her makeup every now and then

epel: a tough one tbh! i think she could either have the same haircut as epel, or slightly longer but she keeps it in a slightly messy ponytail. medium skirt, wishes so much they had a pants option. socks are hidden by the boots. shes very cute

idia: HRHRGFHRHHG *TRIES CONTAINING MY BRAINROT* SHE HAS SHORT HAIR AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL!!!!! keeps the jacket with short skirt and thigh highs. Does not think shes cute enough to wear a short skirt with thigh highs but all her waifus wear them so she has to. God i love my gamer gilfriend

ortho is just ortho but with little fire pigtails i care her

malleus: hnngh hot fae lady out with the mullet first of all it wouldnt fit her regal energy. she does have very long hair though, like way past chest length, and it does that thing thats like... when some parts are tied at the back and kept together with some sort of pin? That. long skirt and tights, high heels even though she doesnt need them, painted nails and dark eyeshadow. Queen

lilia: ...both lilias look the same and you cant convince me otherwise. if she wears a skirt its very short though and it has something underneath for volume so it looks ruffled and cute. would wear thigh highs too but not always

silver: either short hair or an updo of some kind... im thinking milk braids (different from riddles, you can see the bun in her hair but for silver its just the braids) to keep that royal ish energy. also decently proper, long skirt and alternates between tights and below the knee socks

sebek: i can only visualize her with long hair for some reason. its still very spiky and parted the same way her male counterpart does it, uniform absolutely on point and also mimicking malleus a little with the skirt and tights

[haokyeom]

all the stars | kim mingyu

ミ★ synopsis: in which you fall in love with your rival, kim mingyu.

ミ★ genre: sin of envy!mingyu, ceo!mingyu, ceo!reader, enemies to lovers!au, angst, fluff, some humor

ミ★ warnings: mentions of blood and broken glass

ミ★ word count: 8,764

ミ★ pairings: mingyu x female reader

ミ★ notes: hi guys ! it’s lila, aka, @viastro​ ! this is my last post for the lucky 7 collaboration </33 this one is actually so fucking long for no reason i am so sorry HAHAHA this was so exciting to be a part of even tho i kinda procrastinated and made all of the oneshots ten million years long </33 this one was really exciting to write tho. think it might be one of my favorite works along with my minghao oneshot for this collab :o i hope you guys like it ! make sure to give mingyu lots of love <3

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They say to live the life you dream of, you have to work hard. Some people can start from the bottom and work their way up to the top. While others are fortunate enough to start directly from the top due to the resources that are available to them. 

Unluckily for you, you are not one of the latters. You worked hard to get where you are now, being the CEO of Bloom. You didn’t earn the status of CEO through being the heir to the company, no. You built Bloom on your own, and now you’re one of the youngest, as well as the richest, in the business of the gaming industry. 

However, as it was said before, you’re one of the youngest and richest. There’s another that you’re currently ahead of in the business, some claim to be your rival in the industry. The two of you are always clashing on the charts, always competing at the same time. Since you just recently launched a new update for your game, you’re higher on the ladder than him. For now. 

Kim Mingyu, the CEO of Ainsoft. At the age of 19 he inherited the money to start up his own gaming company, which ended up being incredibly successful. As he is now 23, and one of the youngest and richest in South Korea. Right beside you on the charts, but you started from the ground up, while he had a bit of help. 

What you don’t know is that Mingyu is truly out of this world. Tall, handsome, and rich, yes. However, he is actually not a part of this world. For he is one of the seven deadly sins, 

The Sin of Envy.

And you, yln yn, are at the top of his list. 

“Nah, he’s a villain. If you wanna make him look the part, he should look less soft. Taller, broader, dark hair, nice tan skin. Yes! Perfect.” You clap your hands once your game designer makes the changes you requested. Minghao turns to glance at you with a look that basically says, ugh! this bitch. 

“... What?” 

“You literally just had me draw Kim Mingyu.” You purse your lips once you see the resemblance, and turn your head away, letting out a whistle tune. Minghao chuckles, deleting the edits he made so that the drawing is back to its original rough draft. 

“You know, it’s not my fault that he looks like the perfect villain.” You say to Minghao, and he waves his hand away at you, flashing you a grin. “I’ll work on this and show you the draft when I’m done, deal?” 

You smile, giving the black haired beauty a thumbs up. “Deal.” 

And with that, you turn and stroll back to your office. You check in with your other employees on the way there, seeing how the design and coding is going for the upcoming game you plan to discuss with investors in a month or so. 

With a smile and wave of your hand, you step into your office, shutting the door behind you and walking over to your desk. You sit down, letting out a breath and closing your eyes as you rest your head on the back of your seat. 

You quickly get interrupted by a knock on your door, and you call out that they can come in. Sitting up straighter in your seat, you watch as your COO, Chan, steps into your office with a straight face. You raise an eyebrow, knowing that he brought news you must not like. 

“What is it?” You ask as Chan sits down in the seat in front of your desk, and he lets out a sigh. He places the small envelope before you, and you purse your lips, reaching out and taking it. You carefully open up the red paper, and pull out what seems to be an invitation.

You immediately frown at what you read, and you glance up at Chan to see him also looking at the piece of paper as if it were cursed. You place it back down onto the table, letting out a sigh and slumping in your seat. 

“Why is Kim Mingyu inviting me to his gala?” You ask, pointing to the invitation in disgust, and Chan shrugs in response. He looks rather tired as well, and you feel a bit bad for your friend. 

His black hair isn’t as put together as it was in the morning, showing that he must’ve been running his hands through it a lot during the day. His tie is a bit loosened as well, and he’s more hunched over. You know for a fact that once he leaves your office, he won’t be showing any sign of fatigue to your employees. You don’t blame him for being tired though, it’s a stressful process trying to create a new game. 

“I think he might be planning something.” Chan mutters, squinting at the invitation from his seat. You tilt your head, wondering what Mingyu could possibly be scheming. You’ve never met him before, as you’re not one to go out to galas or many public events, and he’s never invited you to one of his galas before. Chan is usually the one who attends those things because he knows you’d much rather work on new game developments or on updates for any existing games than waste time at a party. 

“Of course he is. He never invites me to these things, and I’ve also never met him, yet we’re each other's biggest competitor. You’re the only one who has spoken to Mingyu before.” You say, pointing to Chan, who is now rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. Once he’s done he glances at you, giving you a shrug of his shoulders. 

“All I can remember is that he’s really tall, and pretty cocky.” 

“Only a little bit?” 

“Nah, like. The type that knows everyone loves him and can get anyone he wants without trying.” You purse your lips, turning your head away with a scowl. From what you’re hearing, Kim Mingyu is the worst type of man. 

“I’m not going.” You state with finality, turning back towards your computer. You begin typing away for a minute, only to pause when you realize that Chan is still sitting in your seat, staring at you. Your eyes immediately widen and you shake your head, while Chan stands up and raises his hands towards you. “Absolutely not!”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say!”

“Because I already know what you were going to say!” You exclaim with a baffled expression on your face, and Chan gives you a defeated look in return. He purses his lips and you squint back at him. After a moment Chan finally says, “I think you should go.”

“Give me one good reason why.” You tell him and Chan grins, having already expected you to say that. 

“It’s an opportunity to get information on the enemy.” Chan states, and you raise an eyebrow. Leaning back into your seat, you signal for him to go on.

“Listen. Mingyu is known to hold these big galas when they’re planning on launching a new game, right?” Chan glances at you for your reaction, and you nod your head. “So, you can go to try and get information. You’ve never met Mingyu, and he’s never met you. What if you managed to even swoon him?” 

You roll your eyes, grabbing your stapler to throw it at your partner’s head, and he raises his arms in surrender, letting out giggles at your reaction. You place the almost weapon back down on your table, and bite your finger, a habit you do when you start to think heavily about something. 

Chan has a point. It’s a dirty way of playing the game, but hey, you’re in the gaming industry. What you and Chan are planning on doing isn’t that bad anyways. You’re just going to see what his next game may be, report it back to your employees, and make sure your new game release will be a thousand times better than his. 

Which is why you turn back to Chan, a newly formed smirk on your lips, and he grins evilly back. You rest your chin on the palm of your hand, “Guess I have plans this Saturday.”

“Ms. yln, the CEO of Bloom, has just arrived at Kim Mingyu’s gala. This is her first time attending Mr. Kim’s gala since they are the two biggest competitors in the gaming industry. She’s wearing an emerald green…” 

You ignore the voices of the reporters as you step out of your bugatti chiron with a knowing smile on your face. You hand your keys to the valet, giving them a nod as you walk down the red carpet. You flip your hair over your shoulder, before walking up the steps and into the grand venue. 

You feel the eyes on you when you step in, and you bow to those around you. You walk further into the ballroom of the hotel, running a hand through your hair as you walk up to one of the tables. You take out your phone from the strap on your leg, sending Chan a quick text that you’re going to curse him for not coming with you. To which he replies, 

chan: love you too sexci :D

“Champagne, Ms. yln?” You turn to glance at the voice, to find a young waiter standing before you, holding fancy glasses filled with the expensive alcohol. You give him a small smile, and watch as a blush rises to his cheeks when you take one. “Thank you so much.” 

He bows, before turning and walking away. You take a tiny sip and let out a pleased noise once you taste the unexpected sweetness to it. You ponder your luck on your favorite alcohol getting served at the gala you dreaded going to, only to receive an answer from the voice beside you. 

“Montaudon Brut, your favorite.” You turn your head to find none other than the Kim Mingyu standing close beside you, a knowing smirk on his face as he stares at you. You raise an eyebrow, turning your body to face him as you look back into his eyes. 

“How’d you know?” You ask with a small smile, and he shrugs, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, damn you kim mingyu, before giving you a mischievous look. “Did a little bit of research.” 

You let out an, ah, before turning your head away to sweep the room. You lock eyes with a few onlookers, but they quickly glance the other way, making the corner of your lips tilt upwards a bit. You take in the decorations on the ceiling, from the bright pink and white flowers, to the green leafy plants hanging next to the fairy lights. What used to just be a golden ballroom inside a hotel now resembles what you’d consider a great option for what heaven may look like. 

It’s rather ironic actually, considering that the Sin of Envy is standing right beside you. Mingyu watches you with fire in his eyes, having not expected you to be more gorgeous in person than in pictures, let alone when the fairy lights cast an iridescent glow over you.

“The decorations are lovely, did you pick them out yourself as well?” You ask, turning to glance back at Mingyu, just to feel your breath get caught in your throat when you catch the intense look in his eyes. He tilts his head at you, opening his mouth to say something when the sound of the mic turning on catches both of your attention. 

Mingyu flashes you a mischievous smile, “That’s my signal to go and greet everyone. I’ll see you later?” 

You find yourself smirking, nodding your head and waving off the handsome man with your hand. “You know where to find me.” 

And with that, Mingyu turns and walks off the stage. All while you head off in the opposite direction to go and get some info on his upcoming game. You notice a group consisting of a few women and men who are eyeing you, and you walk over to them. They seemed to not have expected you to go up to them due to their eyes widening slightly, and you let out a grin when you reach their table. 

“Ms. yln, what an honor it is to meet you.” The tallest male says, and you extend your hand out to shake his. Only to bite the inside of your cheek when he raises your hand up and presses a kiss to the back of it instead. He leans back and you glance at the rest of the people around him, just for them to immediately bow to you. You bow back, before giving the man a smile. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Cha Eunwoo, I’m Mingyu’s game designer.” You nod your head, mentally patting yourself on the back for finding one of the main people in charge of making Mingyu’s newest release. You run a hand through your hair before turning to ask, “What got you into game design?” 

The two of you spend the next hour talking about Eunwoo’s experience working with Mingyu. You find yourself enjoying the pretty man’s company. He’s nice, witty, charming, and rather funny. You wish he could be a part of your team, but alas. At least you found out small bits and pieces of what could potentially be Ainsoft’s next release. 

What you’ve gathered so far is that there’s mentions of a dystopian universe, and a team. You’re worried that may be all you’re able to get, but you think that it could be enough. You wave bye to Eunwoo, and he tells you he was happy that he got to speak to you, before you turn and walk back over to your table. 

You raise an eyebrow when you see that your table is now full, so you decide to walk around. Other than doing the occasional bow, you don’t feel like talking to anyone else for now, so you continue to roam around. You tilt your head when you find a hallway close to the stage, so you walk down it. Taking in the hanging green plants on the ceiling, finding the interior decoration of the gala to be impeccable. You see doors leading to a balcony once you’re closer to the end of the hallway, and you step out. 

You take a sip of your champagne when you find Mingyu looking over the ledge, staring out at the city. You raise an eyebrow and walk over, but he doesn’t seem startled by your presence. He just continues to look at the skyline, taking in deep breaths of the cold, night air. 

“Thought you said you’d find me?” You joke after a moment, and Mingyu turns to glance at you. He lets out an amused grin, shaking his head at you. “Wanted to give you a little adventure.” Is all he replies, and you find yourself smiling. 

The two of you stare out at the skyline together in silence, and you feel that you’re the calmest you’ve been in months as you stand beside Mingyu. Glancing up at the night sky you notice a shooting star, and you nudge the man. He turns to look at you, and you point up at the sky with a glimmer to your eye, “Look! A shooting star.” 

Mingyu looks up at the sky, and he catches the very last second of the shooting star. He chuckles, knowing that means one of the stars is on their way to fulfill a quest, but of course, you don’t know that. So he turns to glance at you, just to find that your eyes are closed, and your hands are clasped together as you make a wish up to the shooting star. 

Mingyu feels something in his chest at the sight, and he wonders whether he may be having a heart attack, but then he remembers that he’s immortal. You open your eyes and turn to glance at Mingyu, and that’s when he feels his heart stop. 

He realizes that your eyes outshine all the stars in the sky with the way they brightly bore into his, and he finds the visual so enchanting, that he forgets to speak. You tilt your head to the side at his silence, and you take the last sip of your champagne, before placing the empty glass onto the ledge. 

“So quiet now. Have you just realized how pretty I am?” You tease, and Mingyu snaps out of his trance. He leans in closer to your face, and your eyes widen when his nose almost touches yours. The handsome man lets out a smile, “I’ve always known you were stunning, yn. However, I didn’t expect you to be even prettier in person.” And with that, he leans back at his full height, chuckling at your surprised expression. 

You squint at him, “Shut up.”

“Awe, is my biggest rival shy now?” Mingyu asks, and you roll your eyes. You nudge him with your shoulder, and he hides his smile behind the glass of champagne, taking a large sip of it. You feel your phone vibrate in the strap on your thigh, so you stick your leg out of the slit of your dress. Mingyu glances down and his eyes widen slightly at the sight of you taking your phone out of the strap. 

“You kept… your phone there?” You nod your head without looking at Mingyu, seeing that Chan needs you to come home so he can discuss one of the character designs for the game you’re creating. You place your phone back in the strap, before hiding your leg from view. Turning towards Mingyu, you give him a grin.

“I have to take my leave now. Thank you for inviting me to your gala, I had a wonderful time.” You tell Mingyu, and he purses his lips at the fact that he feels the slightest bit of disappointment in his chest from you leaving already. 

“So soon?” Mingyu asks and you nod your head, muttering that duty calls. You’re about to turn around to leave when you feel a hand grasp your wrist, and you glance behind you to see Mingyu staring at you with a small smile.

“Will I see you again?” 

Your eyes widen at the question, having not expected for there to be a next time. While Mingyu continues to look at you with a glint in his eye, and you wonder why he wants to initiate a relationship between the two of you. However, you also enjoy Mingyu’s company, so it really has you thinking. 

“Maybe. Depends on what the Gods have in store for us.” You answer, and Mingyu finds it so painfully ironic that he lets out a laugh, to which you find yourself smiling back. He nods his head, letting go of your wrist so that you can leave the gala. 

“I’ll see you, yln yn.” You flip your hair over your shoulder, waving bye to Mingyu. “See you, Kim Mingyu.” 

And with that, you walk off the balcony. Leaving Mingyu alone underneath the night sky. He lets out a breath, turning back towards the ledge as he decides to head back into the gala after a few minutes. 

Mingyu glances up at the stars, and he comes to realize that you’re all he can think about as he does so. 

“Minghao!” The black haired beauty turns in the direction he heard you call, just to find you quickly walking over with an excited smile on your face. He raises an eyebrow, about to open his mouth to ask how much espresso you got in your coffee, just for you to slam your journal onto his desk. “Someone’s excited.”

“I had a dream.”

“So did Rapunzel and Flynn Rider.” You squint at Minghao, and he gives you a smile that convinces you not to reach out and smack the back of his head. So you instead open up your journal, showing the drawing you made at four in the morning the night before, and Minghao’s eyes widen slightly in awe.

“These are…”

“Perfect.”

“An incredibly different vibe from the characters we had drawn out before.” Minghao points out, and you nod your head. Running a hand through your hair, you give him a grin. “Don’t you think they suit the game so much better though? I was unsure of the direction we were going in, but after what I learned at the gala, I think these characters will be better.” 

Minghao nods his head in agreement, turning back towards the drawing. You stare at the drawing as well, “I had a dream last night and as soon as I woke up I just had to draw the characters I dreamt of. This is what I got. I want you to show this to the team and make these characters come to life by the end of next week.” You tell Minghao, and he purses his lips. He grasps the journal and raises it up towards his face, taking in the detail of their outfits, the brightness of the hair, and their varying facial expressions. 

“What kind of dream did you have?” Minghao asks after a moment, and you tilt your head at the thought of it. Perhaps you had that bizarre dream because you watched that one alien episode of buzzfeed unsolved to try and stop thinking of Mingyu, but you’re not sure. 

“These weird aliens kept trying to peg me with their tentacles.” You mutter with a look of unease displayed over your features, and Minghao just stares at you in concern. You snap out of the memory, turning back towards Minghao and giving him a small smile. 

“You can create these by the end of next week, right?”

“You dreamt… of tentacle porn?” You let out a laugh, reaching out and resting a hand on Minghao’s shoulder. “Remind me to not watch anything involving aliens before I go to sleep.” 

Minghao nods his head, “Noted.”

And after he confirms that he’ll be able to have the characters drawn out and will show them to you as soon as they’re done, you walk back to your office after checking with your other employees. You’re about to turn the corner to your office when Chan stops you, a bright smile on his face that has you suspicious. 

“...What?”

“You want coffee?”

“I don’t like coffee.”

“Well, let’s make you like it! Let’s go!” Chan says quickly, hooking his arm with yours and pulling you in the opposite direction of your office. With a frown you pull your arm away, squinting at Chan. “Why are you stopping me from going into my office?”

“Why… not?” You stare at Chan with a bored expression, before turning around and opening the door to your office, promptly ignoring Chan’s sounds of protest. You find yourself staring at the back of Mingyu’s head, who is sitting in the seat placed in front of your desk.

“Kim Mingyu.” You state, and the man turns around, flashing you a smile. His black hair is up in the style he had at the gala, revealing his forehead and strong eyebrows. He’s wearing a black dress shirt, the top buttons being unbuttoned, revealing a bit of his chest, and you raise an eyebrow. You take notice of his sharp canines for the first time as he smiles at you, and for some reason, you’re intrigued. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of having you in my office right now?” You ask as you walk up to your chair, feeling Mingyu’s eyes on you the whole way there. You sit down in your seat, and look up into his eyes, finding the same intense look that he had at the night of the gala two weeks prior. Mingyu smiles, leaning his head back into the chair, and your eyes trail down to his Adam's apple, watching it move as he swallows. 

“You weren’t making any moves to come and see me again, so I decided to pay my rival a visit and ask her out for coffee.” You choke on your saliva at the end of his sentence, and Mingyu smiles at that. You stare at him with wide eyes, and he rests his chin on his hand, looking at you with amusement dancing in his deep brown eyes. 

The two of you weren’t supposed to meet again. By you going to the gala it was simply for your own gain, to learn more about his upcoming game. However, you ended up learning more about the enemy himself. You know that you shouldn’t entertain him like this, but here you are, wanting to get to know your rival more.

And so you regain your composure, and tilt your head to the side, now grinning back at Mingyu. “After your research on me, I thought you’d learn that I’m more of a tea person.” 

Mingyu bites his finger, letting out a smile at that. “Guess the internet isn’t always that reliable.” 

You nod your head, before standing up from the chair and heading over to the door. Mingyu raises an eyebrow at you moving to leave without another word, and you turn your head to look at him. You smirk, “Are you coming or what? I know a good tea place down the street from here.” 

Mingyu laughs, standing up from the seat and grabbing the maroon jacket that was laid over the back of it. He puts it on, and you find that he looks like the epitome of a God as he walks up to you. Once he’s standing in front of you, the two of you stare into each other’s eyes for a moment. 

Mingyu thinks that emerald green complements your eye color as he stares at you, curious as to how he didn’t notice it when you wore that emerald green dress at the gala. While you wonder how cursed you have to be for your rival to be one of the prettiest people you’ve ever laid eyes on. So you grin, opening the door for him and pointing out with your arm. “After you.” 

Mingyu chuckles out, “How sweet of you.” as he steps out of your office. 

The two of you walk over towards the elevators, and you glance over to see Minghao staring at you with a small smirk on his face, while Chan looks like he’s shitting himself. You raise an eyebrow at them, and Minghao makes his hands look like they’re kissing, and Chan just makes the motion that looks like he’s praying to the Gods. You roll your eyes, before turning back towards Mingyu to see him bowing his head towards your other employees that are looking at the both of you. 

at least he’s respectful.

“Are you gonna pay for my tea?” Mingyu asks once the two of you enter the elevator, and you smile, turning to look at your rival. You reach over and press the star button, and the elevator makes its way down. After a second of silence you respond, 

“Sure, I’ll pay for your tea as a celebration for the fact that I’m in the #1 spot right now.” You answer, giving Mingyu a cheeky smile, and he rolls his eyes. 

For now, Mingyu thinks to himself bitterly once the elevator doors open. 

“You fucking suck at fall guys.” You mutter to Mingyu once you hear him yell out beside you. He chooses to ignore that comment so that he can try and make it into the qualifying round, and you let out a squeal once you take the last spot. Mingyu glares at the screen, seeing the word eliminated flash across it while you celebrate. 

Mingyu removes his headset, and turns to glare at you on the other side of your gaming room, clapping your hands happily. He lets out a groan and rests his head on the back of the chair, causing you to let out a laugh at his reaction. 

“Who would’ve thought that the CEO of Ainsoft is so terrible at fall guys?” You tease, and Mingyu rolls his eyes. He stands up from the seat without another word and walks over to you. You open your mouth to ask what he’s doing, only for your whole world to be flipped upside down when he throws you over your shoulder. You let out a laugh, “Put me down!” 

“No.” Mingyu states, smiling as he spins around, hearing you let out a squeal as he does so. You threaten that you’re going to throw up onto the back of his shirt if he doesn’t set you down, and he laughs. “Then apologize and tell me I’m the best player ever.” 

“Lying is a sin, Mingyu.”

“Bruh…” And so, Mingyu spins you around a few more times before setting you down onto the couch with a laugh. The two of you freeze once you realize the position you’re in, with him hovering over you and you laying flat on your back. 

It’s been a couple months since the gala, and you and Mingyu have gotten close. What started out as you trying to beat him, led to you wanting to get to know him, and now you can’t help but think how nice it must be to kiss him as you stare down at his soft, pink lips. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Mingyu thinks as he stares into your eyes. He didn’t even think he was capable of feeling this way towards anyone. But it’s when he lifts up his hand and rests it on your cheek, and he watches as your eyes glance down towards his lips that he realizes,

“I want you.” Mingyu murmurs, and your breath hitches at his words. 

And so the two of you stare at each other for a moment in silence, before you let out a small smile. 

“Only if you can beat me at fall guys.” Mingyu squints at you, and you giggle at his reaction. He rolls his eyes before leaning down and capturing your lips in a kiss for the first time.

“Fuck!” You hear Mingyu yell as you step into his office. It’s already late at night, almost one am, and yet Mingyu is still here working at his desk. He glances up at you when he hears the sound of the door close, and he turns off his computer when you walk towards him.

His hair isn’t perfectly put together anymore based on the way it’s falling over his forehead now. His tie is loosened and is just hanging around his neck, the first few buttons now unbuttoned on his shirt as well. You take notice of the bags under his eyes, and you realize he’s been lacking sleep. 

“Yn, how did you get in?” Mingyu asks tiredly, standing up from his desk and walking over to you. You chuckle, holding up the spare keys that he left at your house a week prior and dangling it in front of his face. He opens up his hand, and you drop the keys onto the palm of his hand. Mingyu lets out a small, “Ah.” and you chuckle. 

You wrap your arms around his waist, rubbing his back and he finds himself smiling softly at the feeling. He lets out a breath of relief and cradles your head, pressing a kiss to the top of it. After a moment you pull back and give him a smile, “Let’s take you home, mm? You’re overworking yourself.” 

Mingyu opens his mouth to protest and you shush him, shaking your head. He stares at you for a moment, not used to anyone taking care of him when he stays late at the office, and he feels his heart warm slightly. He lets out a sigh, before giving you a smile and nodding his head. He leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, “Just let me pack up, okay? I’ll be out in a sec.” 

You walk out of his office and wait by the door for a few minutes, just scrolling through your phone when Mingyu finally walks out. He reaches out for your hand and you intertwine your fingers with his, and the two of you talk about your day as you head to his car. 

“Eunwoo choked on tteokbokki?” You ask, and Mingyu laughs at the memory of Eunwoo choking in his office. He starts the car and backs out of his parking spot, and begins driving out of the parking garage. “He absolutely did. I wish I got it on video.” 

You giggle at the thought of the pretty man turning red in the face and choking on the small rice cake. Mingyu smiles at the sound, finding it to be one of your best qualities. The two of you drive in relative silence the rest of the way to his place, as Mingyu’s sleepy, and you’re also tired. 

When you both finally arrive, you step out of his car and walk into his house. Mingyu makes a beeline for his room, taking off his dress shirt and belly flopping onto his bed. You laugh at his antics, sitting on the edge of his bed and slapping his back. “Go and change into your pajamas at least.” 

“Can you do it for me?” Mingyu asks teasingly, lifting up his head to glance at your reaction. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you glare, reaching out and slapping his back. He lets out a whine, before getting up from his bed and walking over to his closet. 

He comes back after a moment, changed into fluffy pajama pants and an old t-shirt. He throws one of his t-shirts at you for you to change into and you chuckle. He climbs back into bed and looks at you with a confused expression, wondering why you haven’t changed.

“I’m not staying the night Gyu.” You mutter, pushing back the strands of hair that are falling into his eyes. He frowns, “Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.” 

“Mingyu, I have a meeting at work in the morning.” 

“And I’ll drive you there.” Mingyu offers and you giggle, shaking your head at him. He whines, making a grabby hand towards you, and you bite the inside of your cheek. 

Mingyu has come to realize that he sleeps a lot better when he’s holding you after the first time you let him spend the night a couple weeks ago. He realizes he shouldn’t have let himself get so attached to you, but he just wants one more night. One more night with you. 

“Please?” Mingyu asks in a softer voice, and you sigh. You nod your head, grabbing the shirt and walking into his bathroom to change, before waddling back over to the bed and climbing in. It’s like second nature to you and Mingyu when you both go into your cuddling position. With you draping your arm and leg over him, and Mingyu wrapping his arm and leg around you. He rubs your back, and you slowly find yourself falling asleep.

“Don’t forget that you promised to drive me to my meeting tomorrow.” You mumble before you fall asleep, and Mingyu nods his head. 

Mingyu watches as your breathing evens out, and he knows that you’re asleep. He stares at you for a moment, finding that you look so pure when you sleep. There’s no frown to your forehead, no tiredness to your eyes, you’re just at peace. He presses a kiss to your forehead, before letting out a sad smile. 

“I’m sorry, yn.”

“You hear that your boyfriend is releasing a game tomorrow night?” Chan asks as the two of you walk back to your office from the meeting on how far along your guys’ game development is going. You giggle at the term, and nod your head, feeling a sense of pride at the sleepless nights Mingyu has spent on working on the release of his game. 

“Yeah, he’s been working hard on the last minute touches. I had to drag him out of his office at like, one am last night. I plan to surprise him after his launch party.” You tell Chan as you enter your office. You sit down in your seat, placing your notes down by your keyboard, and Chan takes off his blazer and hangs it on the back of the chair before sitting down. 

“Has he told you anything about the game?” Chan asks, and you shake your head with a smile. “I told him I wanted him to surprise me, so I don’t know anything about it other than the little pieces of info I got from Eunwoo at the gala a few months ago.” 

Chan nods his head, letting out a grin at the happiness radiating from you as you login to your computer. Chan chuckles, “Who would’ve thought that by you going to the gala to get intel on the enemy, you ended up falling for the man?” 

You smile, shrugging your shoulders in response. You mutter how life works in mysterious ways, and Chan agrees wholeheartedly based on how life has turned out for you.

Everything is going great so far. The development of your new game is on its last stages, and you’re so happy seeing your characters come to life on the screen from what your employees have shown you. It’s one of your best works yet.

And you’re finally dating after years of just dedicating all your time into work. Chan hasn’t seen you so happy before, and he’s so glad to see you glowing. So Chan reaches over and rests his hand over yours, giving it a small pat, and you let out a smile. 

“I’m proud of you, yn.” Your eyes fill with fondness as you stare at your best friend who has been with you since the very beginning, and you feel your heart swell with love. “Thank you Chan, I love you.”

Eunwoo and Mingyu eat silently as they look over the game character designs and the gameplay. Mingyu can’t help but feel a sense of guilt as he stares at them, and he mentally slaps himself for feeling that way. Eunwoo glances at him, taking in the furrow between Mingyu’s eyebrows, and he lets out a sigh. Mingyu turns to look at him, “What?”

“If you feel guilty, then why did you suggest to even do this?” Eunwoo asks, and Mingyu scoffs. “I don’t feel guilty.”

Eunwoo rolls his eyes, reaching out and poking the prominent furrow that’s been hanging out between Mingyu’s eyebrows the whole day they’ve been working. The game release is tomorrow night, and they’re still here at the office working. Mingyu whines, rubbing the area that Eunwoo poked, and Eunwoo lets out a grin. “Lying is for sinners.”

Mingyu lets out a cocky grin, eyes turning red for emphasis, “Good thing I’m not a virtue.” 

Eunwoo lets out a tired sigh, pushing Mingyu’s face away, causing the sin to let out a laugh at his friend’s antics. Eunwoo is the only one who knows of Mingyu’s true form, it was an accident honestly. 

“I’m so sick of this fake love! Fake love! Fake love!” Eunwoo raises an eyebrow at the sound of Mingyu’s singing, and he steps into his friend’s room to see the tall man dancing in front of his mirror. His eyes are glowing a bright red rather than the deep brown he’s known him for. Mingyu pauses, slowly turning the sound down on his phone when he locks eyes with Eunwoo, and he turns his eyes back to brown.

“Eunwoo, let me explain-” 

Eunwoo passes out onto the floor.

Mingyu’s just lucky that Eunwoo’s his best friend and didn’t have any plans on outing him for being one of the seven deadly sins. However, he’s both blessed and cursed on the fact that Eunwoo can read him better than an open book. 

“You love her, don’t you?” Eunwoo watches as Mingyu turns rigid, and he tilts his head at him. Mingyu turns back towards the screen, choosing to ignore the way his heart throbs at the thought of you and him slow dancing in the kitchen the other night. Eunwoo decides to press him a bit more, “Gyu?” 

“I’m the Sin of Envy, there’s no such thing as love for me.” Mingyu mutters, making himself look like he’s staring intently at the gameplay on the screen. Eunwoo runs a hand through his hair, taking a sip of his water. “But you love her.” 

Mingyu bites his lip, choosing to stay quiet as his response. The silence is everything Eunwoo needed to know, and so he leans back into his seat and stares at Mingyu a bit longer. Mingyu turns to glance at him after a moment of silence, and he sees the judgmental expression on his best friend’s face. “What?”

Eunwoo just shakes his head, glancing over at the journal full of notes about the game before saying, “You could live a hundred lifetimes, and never deserve that girl.” 

Mingyu turns back towards the game, seeing the characters come to life on the screen, and he bites the inside of his cheek. He nods his head slowly, knowing what he’s going to lose as he quietly mutters, “I know.” 

Mingyu takes a sip of water as he looks at himself in the mirror, deciding that he looks good. He glances down at his phone when he hears a ding, letting out a smile when he sees your text on the screen.

yn: good luck !! i’m so proud of you, can’t wait to beat you at the game stinky >:D

Mingyu looks back up when he hears that it’s almost time for the game to launch, and he stands up from the seat. He turns around to see Eunwoo standing there, and he tries to ignore the disappointed expression on his best friend’s face. 

“You know you can still stop this, right?” Eunwoo insists, and Mingyu shakes his head at his friend. He bites the inside of his cheek, ignoring the feeling of guilt that’s building up in his conscience. He finds that emotion annoying, guilt. He’s the Sin of Envy, how is he able to feel that?

“Because you fell in love.” Eunwoo states. Mingyu’s eyes widen, turning to Eunwoo and wondering how he could hear his thoughts, who briefly explains that Mingyu said it out loud. 

“You can stop this, Mingyu. You’re going to ruin something you’ve been blessed with. Just listen to me-” Mingyu raises his hand up at Eunwoo, stopping him from speaking. Eunwoo lets out a tired sigh, and Mingyu gives him a smile.

“Let’s go celebrate our game launch.” Mingyu says, and walks out of the room. Eunwoo bites the inside of his cheek, before following after his friend.

While you hangout with Chan at his house, staring at the TV that displays OGN. They’re about to announce Ainsoft’s game launch and show the commercial for it as well. You let out an excited smile, seeing that Chan is staring at the TV expectantly. 

“Oh! It’s 8:00!” You exclaim, and right as you say that, you see Mingyu’s pre-recorded announcement of the launch of the game. “He looks so handsome…”

“Okay we get it, you have a boyfriend.” Chan jokes, and you let out a laugh. You watch as Mingyu gestures to the large screen beside him on the TV, and it zooms into it as the commercial begins to play. 

Your smile slowly drops from your face when the main character shows up on the screen, and Chan squints at the TV. “Wait a minute.”

You raise a hand to your mouth when the other characters start coming in, hearing the voice in the back of the video explaining the gameplay and the adventure the characters have to go on. You stand up from the couch with shaking knees, and Chan looks over at you. 

This is your game. This is your creation. This is the game you’ve spent months working on. 

It’s gone. 

All of it is gone. 

“Wait, yn-” Chan begins as you grab your car keys from the table. You walk towards the door, ignoring Chan’s calls as you hurry to get to your car. “Yn, you’re not in the right frame of mind to drive.” 

You feel Chan grasp your arm and you shake it off, pointing at him with a shaking hand. The anger that Chan feels is not even close to the betrayal you must be feeling as he notices there’s no trace of happiness to you anymore. “Let me go.” 

So Chan lets go, and you step out of his house. You quickly walk to your car, pushing back the tears so that you can be able to see as you drive. Millions of thoughts flow through your head as you back out of Chan’s driveway and speed down the street towards Mingyu’s house. 

Was that his agenda all along? When did he get the info on your whole game? Is that why he spent so much time with you? 

You bite your lip when you think,  

Did he ever even love you?

“Great job on the game guys, it’ll be a big hit.” Mingyu tells his employees over by the glasses of champagne. They all smile and tell them their thanks, and he waves his hand at them, saying that this wouldn’t have happened without their help. 

Eunwoo stares from across the room, drinking the sweet champagne that he knows you enjoy so much. However, it just tastes bitter once it goes down, reminding him of the sin he’s committed as he watches Mingyu act like everything’s fine. 

He stands up straight when he hears the front door open behind him over the chatter, turning around to see you walking in. Eunwoo’s eyes widen, and he reaches out to stop you but you push his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me.” 

You walk over to the glasses of champagne, and grab one. Mingyu’s employees stare with wide eyes when they take notice of you, wondering what you’re even doing at their launch party. Mingyu raises an eyebrow at their sudden silence, and he turns in the direction that they’re staring in, only to get a face full of champagne. 

“What the fuck?” Mingyu growls, wiping his eyes so that he can see who did it. Only for his heart to drop when he locks eyes with you. You’re standing there, eyes full of rage as you stare at the man that you love, the one who betrayed you.

“Yn.” Mingyu breathes out, and you bite the inside of your cheek. 

“You fucking BITCH!” You scream, slapping Mingyu across the face, and the whole room turns silent at your outburst. You reach out to start shoving him, but he grasps your wrists to stop you. Mingyu glances around at his employees, and he gestures for them to leave, to which they slowly do. Once the living room is empty except for Eunwoo, he finally lets go of your arms, and you shove him away.

“You stole my game. You stole my fucking work!” You yell, and Mingyu just stands before you, face void of any emotion as he lets you scream at him. You tightly squeeze the glass between your hand, and Mingyu’s eyes widen when the glass shatters within your grasp. He tries to reach out to remove it from your hand but you step back, the blood from the wound dripping down your wrist as you stare at him.

“Was this your plan from the beginning? Since the gala?” You ask, and Mingyu stares. You bite the inside of your cheek, reaching out to grab another glass, but Mingyu steps forward and blocks your view of the table so that you can’t grab it. You throw the remainder of the broken champagne glass in your hand towards the floor, hearing it shatter into thousands of tiny pieces. 

“Answer me!” You shout, and Mingyu slowly nods his head. You stare down at the floor, and you feel nothing but betrayal running through your veins. You look back up into his eyes, and you wonder how you allowed yourself to be so naive. 

“So you just used me.” You mutter, and Mingyu just stares as he watches you break right before him. His hand twitches at his side as he holds back from falling onto his knees to beg for forgiveness, because this was all his fault. 

“How did you even do that? How did you even find out about my characters? The plot-” You pause when you remember the nights he spent at your house, the days he’d surprise you at your office to go get lunch. They were all just a ploy to get more information. You let out a pained laugh when you realize he must’ve gone through your stuff when you were asleep, while you were thinking he was holding you at night.

how pathetic.

You open the palm of your hand, staring at the tiny pieces of broken glass that have edged themselves into your skin. The blood continues to trickle down, and you know that you’ll have to get stitches, but for some reason, you can’t feel any pain. 

Mingyu takes a step forward when he sees the severity of your wound, “Yn, let’s go to the hospital so you can get stitches-”

You push him away, pointing directly at him with your other hand. You press the area where his heart is with your finger, and you bite your bottom lip harshly when you feel it beat beneath your finger. The familiar pattern is something you’ve gotten used to from the times the two of you have cuddled.

“You made me trust you, fall in love with you, just so you could steal my game? My work? Just to get on top? Just to be above me? Were you that envious of me?” You ask, and Eunwoo glances down at his feet when he hears how fragile your voice has become. Mingyu just stares at you, and he feels his heart break within his chest when he notices the glassiness to your eyes. He no longer sees anger or rage, he can only see the pain and betrayal in your gaze. 

There’s no trace of all the stars that he once saw.

“Did you even,” Your voice cracks, and you don’t realize the tears have formed in your eyes until you can only see Mingyu as a blurry blob. You blink, and Mingyu watches as the first tear escapes from your left eye, and falls onto the floor. “Did you even love me?” 

Mingyu stares at you in silence, the answer on the tip of his tongue as you look up at him with tears silently falling from your eyes. He looks down at the floor instead, breaking eye contact with you, and you have your answer. You let out a pained laugh, taking a step back as you stare at the man you love. 

The one who betrayed you.

The one who broke you. 

The one who lied. 

“Fuck you, Kim Mingyu.” You state, before turning away and walking out of his house. The sound of the door slamming echoes through the home, and that’s when the tears finally fall from Mingyu’s eyes. He watches as they fall to the floor, mixing with your blood. 

Eunwoo leans against the wall, and he runs a hand through his hair as he watches Mingyu just stare at the floor in silence. He stands up at his full height, and he claps his hands. Mingyu glances up at the sound, finding Eunwoo just standing there, applauding him. 

“Well. Was it worth it, Sin of Envy?” Eunwoo asks, pulling out his phone and turning the screen around to show that Ainsoft is now above Bloom in the market. Mingyu watches as the numbers keep rising, and he just stares at it.

A few months ago, Mingyu would’ve been ecstatic to see that he was above you. The craving to beat you and earn your spot would’ve been fulfilled.

But now, all Mingyu feels is pain. 

And so he smiles at Eunwoo, and his friend takes notice of the tears falling from Mingyu’s eyes as he responds, 

“No. No it wasn’t.”

previous | masterlist | next

[spiralhigh]

ranking the sdr2 cast by how much their formal wear hits

this is just my opinion, but my opinions are great and i know what i’m talking about! this will be long so it’s under a cut

S TIER:

s tier is reserved for only the best of them all, the cream of the crop, the fit that i would gladly lay down my life for. s tier is the crown jewel. s tier is what everyone else should strive to be... but only one can take the prize.

#1: AKANE OWARI

the undisputed champion. this look is everything to me. EVERYTHING. the red-trim cape with the fur. the contrast of the airy, gathered blouse with those skin-tight shiny (leather? vinyl??) pants. the pumps. the belt that screams disco style. the necklace accentuating the tasteful titty window. the red white and gold color scheme  are you FUCKING WITH ME miss owari this look could bring ARMIES to their KNEES in an INSTANT. whoever drew this deserves full creative control of the danganronpa franchise and i’m not kidding

A TIER:

a tier is for the fits that frankly own bones. they’re not as jaw-dropping and legendary as owari, but they’re still razor as hell and deserve to be met with riotous applause.

#2: KAZUICHI SOUDA

kazuichi, i didn’t know you had it in you, but this FUCKS. the character of the pins on the lapels, the sneakers, and the mispinned tie. the absolute CLASS of the suspenders, watch, and tiny round glasses. the handsome slick in the hair now that the greasy beanie is gone. the tasteful highwater. he looks like the host of the larry king show if the larry king show was exclusively about ska bands and he has never looked better

#3: HIYOKO SAIONJI

tell me this isn’t the cutest shit. the colors here are EXQUISITE. the bright notes from the blue on top, the way the soft pink is a perfect middle ground of the pink + white flowers on her sleeves, the subtle way the green in her bow matches the green in her collar, the white petals breaking up the sky blue that might otherwise look out of place? remarkable. stunning.

#4: PEKO PEKOYAMA

the ELEGANCE is EVERYTHING here. the monochrome is offset by just a splash of red that ties everything together with her eyes and the flower in her hair, the checkerboard pattern is visually interesting but not distracting, and her hair in that loose ponytail with the little white ribbon? ugh. ADORABLE! but most of all, look at those BOOTS. those CUTE LITTLE HEELS on those SICK LACE-UP BOOTS..... QUEEN shit!!!

#5: CHIAKI NANAMI

rounding out our a tier is chiaki in this adorable little dress just LOOK at her!!! she looks like a little rose, a perfect flouncy skirt with a glittery mesh overlay, a fun and fresh over-the-shoulder collar, a fucking big old bow tied in the back?? i can literally feel the way this dress would feel in my hands. it’s simple and perfect and frankly a GORGEOUS color on her this is flawless

B TIER:

b tier is a perfectly respectable place to be. these fits lack the lustre and flavor of the a tier entries, but they’re still dressed to impress and they still look fine as hell.

#6: TERUTERU HANAMURA

say what you will about teruteru (and i do) but this suit is ADORABLE and it fits in with his theme + talent better than any other mfer on this list. the tasteful white/brown/red palette gives it a flashy chocolate cookie look, which is amplified in the fun pattern on the jacket. the chef’s hat switching out for a little top hat and the way the cumberbund looks a lil bit like a chocolate bar is also VERY cute

#7: THE IMPOSTOR

now on its own, the suit is just alright. a vibrant pinstripe blue three-piece with the classic red tie wouldn’t land the impostor in b tier on its own... but that FUR COAT, LUXURIOUSLY DRAPED OVER THE SHOULDERS does WONDERS to pull this look together. not only is it worn with “yeah, it’s real mink, no, you can’t touch it” confidence, but it also ties the otherwise arbitrary white loafers into the structure of the look. it’s subtle and class as hell.

C TIER

c tier is full of looks that are... fine, but ultimately either are boring, lack cohesion, or have a confusing design choice or two that make it hard to get all that amped about. c tier is a passing grade, but nothing more.

#8: NAGITO KOMAEDA

there’s a lot that’s good about this outfit, but there’s also a lot that doesn’t really work. let’s start with the good: the slutty loose bowtie and collar, the tight-fitting vest that ends before the hipbones so you can see the belt, the cute little ponytail? (chefs kiss) exquisite, all of it. but the suit itself is boring as sing, and who the hell decided to put the t-shirt symbol on the sleeves??? was it to add visual flavor to an otherwise bland suit? this does NOT have the black/white/red elegance that peko had.

#9: FUYUHIKO KUZURYUU

the silver and gold mob-boss look, complete with matching shoes vest and fedora, are a nice nod to fuyuhiko’s talent! the plaid is teetering on the edge between fun and garish to me, but the fact that it’s consistent and the only pattern means it isn’t too offensive. quick question though: why are his pant legs rolled up like that?? this isn’t a cute “cuffed at the ankle” look, dude looks like he had to wade across a pond to get to the venue. what gives

#10: GUNDAM TANAKA

out of everyone here, gundam’s suit might be the most boring of all. the scarf is just his normal scarf. the red tie and trim don’t do anything to tie the look together. the only mild point of interest is the asymmetrical vest, and i can’t even tell if that’s intentional. simply put, this “““fancy”““ outfit isn’t even in the same ZIP CODE as the level of ostentatious chuuni that gundam serves us every single day in his casual wear. maybe even worse than being ugly... it’s disappointing.

#11: IBUKI MIODA

now, look. is this dress buckwild and ugly as hell? yes. but you know what else it is? it is IBUKI MIODA’S DRESS. there might not be a single cohesive thing about this dress aside from its color scheme. the huge poofy ruffles of the skirt and arm things with the spiked bow and corset are baffling. the artist somehow managed to draw the awkward, clumping shape of the skirt to make it look exactly like an emergency cosplay sewn four hours before a convention. frankly, i can’t justify ranking it as a c! but i’m doing it anyway, because the sheer level of craftsmanship demands it, and in this house we respect diy queens that are totally off the shits.

D TIER:

d tier is for outfits that aren’t offensive, exactly... but like, they sure don’t look good! d tier is not a respectable place to be. those in d tier won’t be laughed out of the ceremony in shame, but they should really run their outfit by someone else first next time.

#12: NEKOMARU NIDAI

now don’t get me wrong: i have nothing but respect for the titties-out look. keeping the shirt unbuttoned all the way down to where the lapels of the jacket end? that’s sexy as hell. however, this flawless idea has a confusing execution. why emerald green and orange? what’s with the... long-sleeved printed (hawaiian?) shirt? why the red pocket square? and the jacket itself, while fitted perfectly along the chest and midsection, has a weird, unflattering scallop shape flaring out at the bottom. i want to like this fit, but there are just too many bad choices.

#13: HAJIME HINATA

oh, hajime... literally nothing about this ensemble is it. the creamy manila suit might have had potential if there were literally any color variation in the vest (or potentially shoes) to give it a little more shape, or even if you just went with a white shirt underneath it! i could get behind a light, off-monochrome look! but that leprechaun-green shirt is downright perplexing to me. it looks like a mistake! did you get dressed in the dark? did you spill something on your other shirt? this is a mess.

F TIER:

f tier is inexcusable. f tier should never have happened. how does it get this bad. who did this? who’s responsible for this?

#14: SONIA NEVERMIND

y’know, the colors are pretty! i dig the white and teal! but... girl... what the fuck is this construction. the ruffles are all over the place. the bodice looks like it has less fabric than space it needs to cover. the bottom half of the skirt looks like it was sewn on as an afterthought because the top half was too short for dress code. what’s with the weird choker collar detached from everything else. why is the hairband a slightly different shade of green. so many decisions were made here and none of them are flattering

#15: MAHIRU KOIZUMI

yknow, i like the idea behind this. i can see what you were going for! the dress on its own might have worked, even! but everything else about it is just... so ugly. what the fuck is happening with those shoes??? the sheer black tights aren’t the sexy OL look you think they are. the collar of the dress looks like it’s... braided for some reason??? those earrings are so huge for no payoff, statement jewelry with nothing to say, and worst of all... that headband. GIRL. that headband and that belt...... there’s nothing here. also i love orange but it’s not her color.

and finally... the worst.

#16: MIKAN TSUMIKI

what the fuck. what the fuck is this. this is straight up cheap rubber fetish gear. why is the HAT rubber? that skirt ruffle makes this look like fucking polly pocket clothes. why the fuck is she wearing that. the clothes are so bad that it makes her hair look like rubber too. was she dared to wear this? is this some cruel punishment? i don’t even know what to say. this is the worst possible outfit. there is not even one redeeming quality about it.

[bookcoversalt]

Have you noticed the latest edition of Charlie Bowater can only draw one (1) face? She did The Princess Will Save You and Cast In Firelight both YA Fantasy set to be released this year. And they are how you say... the same fucking cover

Ah yes so you saw the same tweet I did

I know I literally just posted that we cannot outlaw book covers from looking like each other, but ! Oof!

The only thing that softens the blow here is that Charlie has improved at representing nonwhite features such that characters look like POC rather than tan white people, although,, that bar was low. Anybody remember the ACOTAR coloring book.

(Would you have guessed that 2/3 of these people are nonwhite? Or even that they’re supposed to be three different men? I guess all the men in Prythian have the same haircut?)

But that minor victory is mostly lost in the quagmires of the fact that Charlie’s style is to give everyone instagram face:

I wouldn’t even call this “Sameface” necessarily: that implies limitation, that an artist is only capable of drawing a single facial structure competently. Bowater is incredibly technically talented, she just chooses to give everyone catlike fae eyes and the cheekbones of a starving nymph. (My previous post on this here.)

But I don’t really blame her for that, or for these hilariously identical, nearly devoid of personality covers. Artists are allowed to do whatever they want. Artists who make art for covers are being art directed by designers and marketing teams who bear responsibility for how the finished pieces turn out.

No, this is our fault, as a community and an industry and..... society, kind of, for valuing character portraits that are “pretty” (“pretty” being an extremely loaded, culturally subjective concept) over art that actually Says Something About The Story. Bowater’s style happens to dovetail perfectly with what we currently collectively find pretty, and so we’ve put her art on a pedestal at the cost of everything else art can or should do for our stories.

And this is understandable: in contemporary western culture, pretty is a value unto itself. Seeing our characters portrayed as pretty denotes them as special, as smart, as powerful. It’s almost impossible to de-program ourselves from that reaction. There are approximately five kajillion studies on how beautiful people are at personal and professional advantages; how they’re perceived to be happier, healthier, more successful, and how those perceptions can translate into realities. (Nevermind how thinness and whiteness enter that equation, see above note about “pretty”.) I would love to see more “average” or weird- looking characters abound (and be accurately visually represented) in the YA/ Genre lit sphere, but for now... everyone is pretty.

Which sometimes means everyone is pretty boring.

But that’s just the specific, "What’s the deal with Bowater’s success in book circles and her style and all the sameiness” part of this equation. What if we backed up and asked: why character art at all? Beyond a question of “pretty”-ness (and general obvious Artistic Quality), why do we gravitate towards it, what's the purpose of it, how does it fall flat in a general sense, and how can it be utilized more effectively?

This is something I think about all the time. I follow writers on social media (because..... I am a writer on social media, regrettably), and we have an enormous collective boner for character art. “Getting fanart [of the characters]” is one of the achievement pinnacles constantly cited when people get or want to get published. Commissioning character art is something we reward ourselves with, or save up for (WHICH IS GOOD AND CORRECT. FREE ART IS GREAT BUT DO NOT SOLICIT IT. PAY YOUR ARTISTS). And like???? Same????? We love our stories because we’re invested in our characters. Most humans, even prose writers, are visual creatures to some extent, and no matter how happy we are with our text-based art, it’s exciting to see our creations exist in that form. So we turn that art into promo material and we advocate for it on our covers-- because it’s so meaningful to us! It goes with the story perfectly!! Look at my dumb beautiful children!!!!!

But on an emotional level, it’s hard to grasp that it only means something to us. Particularly when you take into account the aforementioned vast landscape of beautiful visual blandness of many characters (in the YA/ genre lit sphere, that’s pretty much all I’m ever talking about), character art can be like baby photos. If you know the baby, if that baby is your new niece or your friend’s kid, if you’ve held them and their parent texts you updates when they do cute shit, you’re probably excited to see that baby photo. But unless it’s exceptionally cute, a random stranger’s baby photo isn’t likely to invoke an emotional reaction other than “this is why I don’t get on facebook.”

Seeing art of characters they don’t know might intrigue a reader, but especially if the characters or art are unremarkable-looking, it’s doing a hell of a lot more for the people who already have an emotional attachment to that character than anybody else. And that’s fine. Art for a small, invested audience is incredibly rewarding. But like the parent who cannot see why you don’t think their baby is THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BABY IN THE WORLD???? I think we have trouble divesting our emotional reaction to character art from its actual marketing value, which.... is often pretty minimal. This is my hill to die on #143:

Character portraits, even beautiful ones, are meaningless as a marketing tool without additional context or imagery. 

I love character art! I’m not saying it should not exist or that it’s worthless! Even art that appeals to only the one single person who made it has value and the right to exist. And part of this conversation is how important for POC to see themselves on covers, whether illustrations or stock imagery, particularly in YA/kidlit. I’m not saying character portrait covers are “bad”. 

I am saying that I have seen dozens and dozens of sets of character art for characters who look interchangeable, and it has never driven me to preorder a book. (Also one character portrait for a high-profile 2019 debut that was clearly just a painting of Amanda Seyfriend. You know the one. There’s nothing wrong with faceclaims but lmfao, girl,,,,)

I’m sure that’s not true for everyone! I am incredibly picky about art. It’s my job. There’s nothing wrong with your card deck of cell-shaded boys of ambiguous age and ethnicity who all have the same button nose and smirk if it Sparks Joy for you.

But if your goal is not only to delight yourself, but to sell books, it’s in your best interest to remember that art, like writing, is a form of communication. The publishing industry runs on pitches: querys, blurbs, proposals, self-promo tweets. What if we applied that logic to our visuals? How can we utilize our character design and art to communicate as much about our stories as possible, in the most enticing way?

Social media has already driven the embrace of this concept in a very general sense. Authors are now supposed to have ~ aesthetics. “Picspams” or graphics, modular collages that function as mini moodboards, are commonplace. But the labor intensity and relative scarcity of character art visible in bookish circles, even on covers, means that application of marketing sensibility to it is less intuitive than throwing together a pinterest board.

Since we were talking about it earlier, WICKED SAINTS, as a case study of a recent “successful” fantasy YA debut, arguably owed a lot of its early social media momentum to fanart.

(Early fanart by @warickaart)

The most frequently drawn character, Malachiasz, has long hair, claws, and distinctive face tattoos. WS has a strong aesthetic in general, but those features clearly marked his fanart as him in a way even someone unfamiliar with the book could clearly track across different styles. Different interpretations of his tattoos from different artists even became a point of interest.

(Art by Jaria Rambaran, also super early days of WS Being A Thing)

Aside from distinctiveness, it's a clear visual representation of his history as a cult member, his monstrous powers, and the story’s dark, medieval tone. The above image is also a great example of character interaction, something missing from straightforward portraits, that communicates a dynamic. Character dynamics draw people into stories: enemies-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, childhood rivals, platonic life partners, love triangles, devoted siblings, exes who still carry the flame-- there’s a reason we codify these into tropes, and integrate that language and shared knowledge into our marketing. For another example in that vein, I really love this art by @MabyMin, commissioned by Gina Chen:

The wrist grip! The fancy outfits! These are two nobles who hate each other and want to bone and I am sold. 

In terms of true portraits, the best recent example I can think of is the set @NicoleDeal did for Roshani Chokshi’s GILDED WOLVES (I believe as a preorder incentive of some kind?): 

They showcase settings, props, and poses that all communicate the characters’ interests, skills, and personality, as well as the glamorous, elaborate aesthetic of the overall story. Even elements in the gold borders change, alluding to other plot points and symbology.

For painterly accuracy in character portraits on covers, I love SPIN THE DAWN. The heroine looks like a beautiful badass, yes, but the thoughtful, detailed rendering of every element, soft textures, and dynamic, fluid composition form a really cohesive, stunning illustration that presents an intriguing collection of story elements.

The devil isn’t always in the details, though: stark, moody, highly stylized or graphic art with an emphasis on textural contrast and bold color and shape rather than representational accuracy can communicate a lot (emotionally and tonally) while pretty much foregoing realism.

The new Lunar Chronicles covers are actually the best examples I found of this (Trying to stay within the realm of existing bookish art rather than branch into All Art Of Human Figures Forever):

Taking cues from styles more typical of the comics and video game industries.  (Games and comics, as visual mediums, are sources of incredible character art and I highly recommend following artists in those industries if you want to See More Cool Art On Your Timeline.)

TL;DR: Character art and design, as a marketing tool (even an incidental one) should be as unique to your story and your characters as possible, and tell us about the story in ways that make us want to read it. I tried to give examples because there are so many ways to do this, and so many different kinds of art, and I could give many more! But I’m bored now. So to circle all the way back:

These are not just bad because they look like each other, although that is embarrassing and illuminating. These are bad covers (although,,,,, PRINCESS is the far worse offender, at least FIRELIGHT suggests a thoughtful cultural analogue) because a desire for Pretty Character Art overrode the basic cover function to tell us about the story. We get no sense of who these people are, what their relationships are, what these books are about beyond the most general genre, or why we might care. The expressions are vague, the characters generic-looking, the compositions uninteresting and the colors failing to be indicative of anything in particular. 

They’re somebody else’s baby pictures.

(And yes, that’s the CRUEL PRINCE font on PRINCESS. I better not have to do a roundup post but it’s on thin fucking ice.)

[whumpqin]

Quinn - Chapter 1 (This Wasn’t the Plan)

Hello all! It’s been a while since I’ve posted some of my own writing. I’ve decided to make a side story to Elisha, which is what this is! I hope yall are interested in some Quinn whump >:3c

Taglist: (considering this is a similar but also different series, I’m tagging Elisha’s people, but feel free to want to be removed from this taglist! I will make sure to make the difference.) @faewhump​ @galaxywhump​ @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​ @insanitywishes​ @burtlederp​ @whumpasaurus101​ @simplygrimly​ (ask if you want tagged!)

CW: nonhuman whumpee, creepy whumper, muzzles, forced muzzling, fantasy racism, kidnapping, smoking, guns, briefly mentioned assassination attempt, manhandled, getting patted down, gut punching, drugging, needles

Word Count: 2,799

It’s a dull ringing that rouses him from his sleep - an annoying tone that he’d sworn to fix and still hasn’t gotten around to.

Quinn groans at the rude awakening, and rolls his head over to see why it was going off by planting his hand on his phone and dragging it closer. It reads unknown against a background of black. Despite the annoyance that makes his tail curl lazily in his bed, he still swipes his finger across the bottom to answer it, bringing it up to his ear.

“Hello?”

The other side of the line is quiet for a moment, before a gruff voice, a little lower than Quinn expects, speaks. “This number was provided in relation to contacting a ‘Quinn Devereux’. Is this who I’m speaking to?”

“This is he,” Quinn says, sliding his blankets off of him, confusion lighting his voice.

“I am calling on behalf of my employer, Mr. Delaney, who has arrived at the meeting place. Except, it does not appear that you are there. I do hope you plan to be on schedule, yes?”

Ah, hell.

Quinn sits up in the bed quickly as alarm saps all the weight from his body. “Uh, of course not! ‘Pologies, I was plannin’ on makin’ it a uh…” he pauses to bring his phone down and note the time, which is about ten ‘til nine. Shit, shit shit- “a little earlier than this. Same place, right? That old abandoned house?”

“Yes. Don’t be late, Quinn. We wouldn’t want this deal going south, now would we?”

“‘Course! I mean, I-'' The phone makes a beeping noise to indicate that the other side hung up, stopping Quinn in his tracks. He looks down at it to be sure, before heaving a large sigh. It’s going to be one of those days it seems.

He needs to work fast. Firstly Quinn rifles through his apartment for nice-ish looking clothes, and though he’s never bought a suit and swears that he’s not going to no matter how much his Ma tells him to, he finds one of the newer button-up shirts that he bought recently. He scans its surface in case it magically had gathered stains on it while sitting in his dresser drawer in exile, but considering he only wore it once for a job interview he figures it’ll do the trick. He slips it on and finds some day old jeans that don’t smell too awful before he takes a look at himself in the mirror.

He’s a little worse for wear, but at a quick glance it’s only those faint dark circles underneath his eyes that catches his attention the most. Quinn combs through his black hair with his fingers, flattening it to look more presentable while also unhooking strands that wrap around his antlers and the bright orange tag against his ear. He pauses there, looking himself up and down.

Bedraggled and half awake, in clothes that are only somewhat clean. Going to a shady place to make a shady deal on behalf of people he barely knows.

“You can do this,” he quietly tells his reflection as he leans against the sink. “Get in, get out, get paid. Get in, get out, get paid.”

He repeats the phrase a few more times, committing it to memory on his way out. He picks up the handwritten letter he’d left on the small table at the front door and stuffs it into his front pocket. Then Quinn grabs onto his muzzle, slipping the buckles around his antlers to fasten it loosely against his face.

As he walks out of his apartment and onto the street, he makes the mistake of checking his phone one he’s properly in the morning light. It reads five minutes before his meeting, and he still has a ways to walk yet. Quinn lets out an exasperated sigh, eyes falling upwards to the adjacent apartment complex. It’s there he notes some curtains quickly shutter closed. His eyes narrow.

There’s someone watching you. Real strange fellow, he remembers the considerate old lady from down the hall telling him.

Tell me something I don’t know, he had responded. Quinn wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out it was just his employer keeping a good and proper eye on information.

To make up for time, he runs. Quinn dips into the alleyways to escape the busy streets of the morning, taking a few turns that he’s become familiar with while walking through the streets. A couple turns here and there, and he exits out onto another main street very close to his destination. He counts himself lucky he remembers the address at all. It would have been embarrassing as hell to have to ask the guy on the phone where he was supposed to have this meeting in the first place.

Quinn jogs up to the specific house, noting the old “for sale” sign that doesn’t even have a number on it anymore. It’s a huge place, once a mansion that was abandoned a long time ago because of bad press or something. He’s never looked at it before; even looking as ruined as it is by time, the place is still out of his price range.

He knocks on the door politely, taking the small pause to smooth out his clothes in a last ditch effort to not look like he had just gotten up a little bit ago, and waits patiently. The door creaks open with several years’ old whine that makes him wince, squinting one eye while he notices a human, dressed in dark clothing with short brown hair and amber eyes, staring back at him. Due to the muzzle making him unable to speak, Quinn offers a small wave before hovering his pinkie over his mouth and thumb over his ear, then pointing to the man. The human offers no reaction, but merely steps to the side. He takes the cue and steps inside the house.

It’s not as majestic as he once thought it might be. It hasn’t been taken care of in ages; the wallpaper is peeling off of the walls and there are holes in the floor, and the more Quinn steps through the house and hears it creak in response to him the more he wonders if the whole thing is going to cave in on him. It’s practically a deathtrap at this point.

He tries to make his reservations known to the human with a pause, knitting his brows in an uncomfortable position as he shoots a glance back at him, but he doesn't get the message.

The human opens up an old door for him that Quinn peeks around. There’s another human sitting in a chair in the middle of the living room, his legs crossed as he reclines into his seat. There’s a cigarette in one hand trailing smoke into the air, filling the room with its scent. His dirty blonde hair was perfectly styled like his fancy suit, and the only thing that didn’t look put together was the rough stubble against his chin.

The man who greeted Quinn closes the door behind both of them and steps around, joining another man with different hair behind the reclining human’s chair. The human in the chair - the boss he’s supposed to speak to, he supposes, flicks out his left wrist to check his watch almost casually. Then, he looks to Quinn with that icy blue stare of his.

“Right on time, it seems,” he says. Quinn tries not to let the dual feelings of discomfort and relief wash over his face too plainly. The man motions to a table he hadn’t seen yet. “Please, take off that muzzle. We can’t talk business if, well, you can’t talk, now can we?”

At his behest, Quinn slides his fingers up to the buckles against his head to loosen them and pull the muzzle off of his face. As it’s drawn away he takes a moment to work his jaws, careful not to bare his teeth too much in the presence of other humans, just in case. Then he places the muzzle on the table.

“Thanks for that. Are you uh, Mr. Delaney?” Quinn asks.

“Yes. I believe you have a message for me?” Delaney sits up in his chair and takes a long drag of his cigarette.

“Uh, yes, I do, I-” As Quinn reaches into his pocket to pull out the letter he’d been given, both of the humans to Delaney’s left and right immediately pull out guns and aim them directly at him. His chest goes cold. “Whoa, whoa, I’m just pullin’ out a letter!”

Delaney brays out a chuckle, puffing out smoke like some sort of dragon. “You’ll have to forgive these two. A bit jumpy after the last attempt, especially with lone messengers like you. Can never be too careful. You understand, right?” His eyes are squinted from his friendly smile, but there’s an emptiness in them that makes Quinn uncomfortable. Moreso when he waves his free hand towards Quinn and tells the guards to, “search him.”

The two bodyguards step forward without putting their guns away. Quinn swallows and stays perfectly still just like his Pa always told him to, allowing the two to move his arms about and go through his pockets. It’s a bit awkwardly invasive with two sets of hands patting him down like they are, but he’d rather have his personal space invaded than, well, the other outcome. The guards dig into all of his pockets, pulling up his wallet and the letter that had come from Quinn’s employer.

The human who found the letter gives Quinn a side eye that makes him draw a blank in terms of words, before opening the letter himself. He draws out the paper that was carefully handwritten and placed, unfolding it like it was a bomb of some sort.

Quinn was watching him like a hawk, so much so that he didn’t notice the other human had stepped away and given his wallet to Delaney.

“So, Quinn, it seems. You’ll have to forgive me for not remembering, it’s hard to remember everyone’s name nowadays. What brings you to this type of work, huh?” Delaney went on, rifling through Quinn’s wallet with curiosity.

“Um, I-I needed the money,” he mutters, watching the bodyguards hand the letter off to Delaney. “For the record, my employer thought it’d look wrong to bring more people besides, well, me. Wants to be cordial an’ all.” It’s not really his message, but he can’t help but feel a bubbling nervous feeling in his stomach as Delaney reads the letter.

“You mean he doesn’t want to lose any more men, so he figured I’d take mercy on just the messenger,” Delaney cooly corrects.

“Well I’m not sure what my employer’d think, but I’d for sure want the messenger t’ be spared,” Quinn says in the attempt at a joke.

When no one in the room laughs, he curls his tail around his ankle.

Delaney huffs a small bit of laughter as he reaches the end of the letter, beginning to slowly rip it up into little pieces and shoving it into his nice suit. “Quinn, do you know what happens when you give someone an inch?”

“They take a mile?” He swallows as the human stands up from his chair and adjusts his cufflinks.

“Yes, good, at least you’re not totally brain dead like some I’ve seen. I’m not about to relent and give that man a fraction of space like he’s requesting. You of all people should know that this is my territory, right? Where I do my business?”

“Right, but-” His breath hitches when the guard next to him grabs onto his shoulders and holds him before he can step forward. “This agreement is so they won’t encroach, is all. Wouldn’t it’d be better to not have any more territory disputes?”

Delaney regards him for a moment, having to tilt his head upwards just slightly due to Quinn’s height. Then he smiles a bit more widely. “I don’t think we’ll be making a deal today. But… I think we’ll take care of it from here. When are you meeting with your employer again?”

“As, as soon as I can.” Quinn’s eyes frantically look around for an exit as the other bodyguard closes in. He needs to get out of here. Now. “I’ll uh, leave you to it then, I guess. Sorry we couldn’t come to some sorta agreement-”

“Let me at least escort you out. My treat,” Delaney offers with an extended hand towards the door.

“Um, I ‘preciate the offer, but, I actually have a uh, a few things to tend to after this, so-”

The bodyguard holding him delivers a solid blow to his middle, knocking the air out of him in one fell swoop. Quinn doubles over, held up only by the strong hands gripping onto his shirt now, gasping to fill his lungs quickly.

“Perhaps I wasn’t very clear. I wasn’t asking, Quinn.” Delaney tilts his head to the side to catch his eye. “I’m not about to let you blab about everything you saw here just yet. Need a few things in order, you know? I just need to know if you’re coming with me willingly, or if my men need to get involved.”

“Hold… hold on a minute now,” he says quickly and yet still breathless as the panic wells in his chest instead of the oxygen he desperately needed. “I’m, I’m just a messenger, I’m not- what-what are you doing?”

Delaney had sighed and looked to his other body guard while Quinn was talking. He points over to the muzzle lying on the table and flicks his hand. “Muzzle him. I don’t have time to deal with his blabbering.”

Quinn’s arms are wrestled behind him before he can realize. The bodyguard is stronger than he thought, and he holds him still long enough for the other one to draw close enough, muzzle in hand. He struggles, lifting his head out of their reach and kicking his legs out to delay the inevitable. One of them grabs his antlers, jerking his head downwards for long enough that they can wrap the buckles around his face. They’re affixed tightly against his face, muffling most of the panicked cries erupting from his throat beyond whines.

“Enough of that whining,” he hears from Delaney as a firm command. He glances over with terrified eyes to see him pull a phone out of his pocket. “I have to make a call. Oh, you two, make sure to get him comfortable in the trunk, will you?”

The two humans nod, and drag him out of the room. Quinn screams as best he can through his nose, kicking his legs and struggling to get away from them as best he can. One of them spits out a curse, unhooking the gun from their side.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses. “I’m not dealing with a spitfire devil today. I’ll just shoot you and get it over with. You want that?” Quinn breathes hard and shakes his head frantically. “Then fucking act like it.”

They pull him out of the house with little issue after that. Quinn’s tail coils, tightening painfully against his ankle as it worries at the fabric and skin, as they approach a dark car with tinted windows. One of the bodyguards walks to the other side and pulls out a few items from the front seat, and Quinn can hear the clinking of chain along with it.

He’s suddenly thrust forward, and his face impacts against the side of the car. His bright eyes go wide, searching frantically for what’s happening, and then he feels metal tightly wrap around both of his wrists. Then he is taken from the side of the car to its back, as one of the bodyguards opens up the trunk. Quinn jerks against the cuffs holding his hands together, frustrated and scared tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

This can’t be happening, he thinks, looking at the interior of the trunk. His antlers are roughly grabbed again, dragging his head to the side. He can’t help but roll the thought around in his head, how this wasn’t supposed to be how it went, as something sharp sticks into the side of his neck. Quinn squirms, a muted whine slipping from his nose as a wave of dizziness hits him and his legs nearly buckle. The guards take the opportunity and throw him into the back of the trunk, and as Quinn lands with a harsh thud his vision blurs from the force of the impact.

“Get comfortable,” the one who cursed at him before remarks. “You’re gonna be with us for a while, I think.”

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 22: Five-Dimensional Man-Go

This is a session I’ve been looking forward to for quite some time. I get to introduce three of my favorite characters in the entire campaign. 

In the real world it’s been a while, but this was the session we officially welcomed a new chaos goblin player to the table. And damn, am I glad we did.

Valeria goes to Hoeska’s armor smiths for some upgrades, and accidentally kicks off a goth fashion montage. Her new armor has gorgeous black detailing with purple rose accents, accessorized with a brand-new Shusva-skin bag with matching claw clasp. Gral picks up a fancy Shusva-leather cloak and belt. Shoshana, realizing that a vampire’s castle is basically a Hot Topic, gets some fishnet arm warmers to accompany her fang necklace. We also get some healing potions and hope they aren’t made from lost souls or anything.

Valeria resummons Aethis, who pops back into existence in a burst of glitter that’s entirely incongruous with the local grim aesthetic. Apparently celestial gators are only mildly inconvenienced by fatalities.

As we hitch up the horses to get back on the road, we find out Ser Boris is also preparing to head out. “Woods full of many nasty creatures. Must keep hunting! Maybe I find way down to Barroch, I have heard monsters are attacking workers there.”

Gral perks up at the name of his people’s capitol. “I’m sure the orcs will treat you well. What kind of monsters are they dealing with?”

“Wolves, bears, maybe werewolf? I will find out when I get there! Cursebreakers do not have much of working relationship with orcs, so info is scattered. That is why I must investigate!”

While he heads south into orc territory, we’re gonna go north toward Sturmhearst to look into all the Key nonsense Professor Bjork told us is goin’ down. It’ll be a long trip; it’s on the coast, and we’re well into the heartland of the wood. As we get closer, we’re gonna have to look for new maps, too – the patchwork of safe zones and Curse disasters changes rapidly, and the roads that were passable a month ago might be deathtraps today.

We trek for several blessedly uneventful days. One night, in a region where a sizable number of halflings have settled, we have the fortune of seeing an inn on the horizon as night starts to fall. A sign proclaims the Fusilier’s Rest, a combination winery and inn located on a lush vineyard. Valeria’s kind of suspicious of anything too plant-based right now, but the rest of us totally want a winery tour.

We hitch up our wagon next to a post labeled Valet Parking. Aethis parks themself in the stables. Looking at the place, with its rather low doorframe and quaintly painted décor, we suspect Demish wine snootery instead of weird plant cults.

We duck through the door and take in the scene. It’s on the upscale end of totally normal, with locals sitting around eating and a huge pot of Demish onion soup bubbling on the hearth. The old halfling bartender is wearing pieces of a worn but well-cared-for blue-and-gold uniform. Two polished old pistols hang within reach on the wall, along with a pristine old Fusille musket in a place of honor behind the bar. Shiny medals in a handmade case are proudly displayed atop the bar.

As is D&D protocol, we look around for any notably wacky characters. We find them in the corner: an old man with unkempt white hair and multi-lensed, colorful glasses, engrossed in a game of Man-go against a young human doctor. We know he’s a doctor, because he’s got a stubby-beaked Sturmhearst mask pushed up to expose a tired but friendly face. His coat might once have been a lab coat, but it’s since been patched and sutured together so many times that it’s probably done a full ship-of-Theseus. His right arm is in a makeshift sling, and he’s nursing a small glass of Kevan vodka; probably the closest thing they have to rotgut moonshine in a wine-snob place like this.

We’re like, neat. Let’s eat soup.

Valeria orders a local vineyard wine and chats with the bartender about it. “The man who runs it is a madman; he thinks he can grow good wine grapes in Valdia. But he pays my sister well, she does her best.”

“Oh, don’t listen to René, his sister does marvelous work! No halfling will admit that wine grown outside Demionde will be more than spoiled grape juice,” teases one of the local barflies.

Gral asks Valeria who’s winning the Man-go game. The old man is rambling pleasantly, barely paying attention, and he is absolutely crushing the young doctor. The doctor looks like he’s totally aware he’s being taken to the cleaners, but he’s gonna let the old guy have his fun. As the game draws to a close, the younger man smiles ruefully and hands over a few coins. Meanwhile, the old fella, his eyes magnified to mismatched sizes by his funky glasses, spots our most conspicuous party member.

“Kyr! How’s the wine?” he calls, beckoning her over.

“Quite good actually!” Valeria chirps. “Was that the Kiloni maneuver?”

“Yes, or a variant I picked up somewhere! The Killam maneuver…kilometer…kilowatt? Something of the sort.”

Valeria very much wants to play him, and the old guy’s defeated opponent is happy to trade her his spot. The young man’s propped up leg hits the ground with a suspiciously loud clunk as he vacates his chair for her.

The old man peers up at her, bright-eyed even behind multiple layers of glass. “So what brings a Knight of the Rose here?”

“We’re headed to Sturmhearst, actually!”

“I see! I’ve heard the roads between here and there are pretty tricky to travel, you know.”

“No kidding. Do you have an updated map?”

He snaps his fingers. “No, but I just came from there! I’ve got an old map and I can easily update it for you kids. René is on night watch, I’ll leave it with him so you don’t have to stay up waiting for me to finish it. I know a route that’ll get you there lickety-split and safe as trousers! Now let me guess, you played at the clubs in Aurentium? You have the look about you.”

“Not the clubs, precisely…”

“Ah! Street rules, then!”

Valeria, who played Man-go against literally everyone who would have her, shrugs. “Maybe?”

“René, we’ll need some cups and a dumb hat!” the old man calls.

The young doctor wanders over to the bar and gets a refill, settling down next to Shoshana. “Hey, wanna bet on their game? The old guy’s pretty sharp.”

Shoshana laughs. “Oh, my friend is definitely gonna lose. I’ll put a silver on her, though, out of loyalty.”

It’s an odd game to spectate. Valeria falls behind early on; an insight check shows he’s not cheating, he’s just VERY good. Oh, and also Valeria’s assuming an entirely different set of house rules than this guy, and it’s tripping her up. Wait, are we doing street style, or dock style? Anyway, Valeria’s wearing the dumb hat now. At one point they both spit on the board.

“Y’know, I’ve never seen anyone from Sturmhearst take the mask off,” Shoshana says to her new drinking buddy, watching the game with confusion.

“On the clock, it’d be a safety hazard! But off the clock, eh, it’s fine. Some people get more elitist than me about it, I’m a hometown Valdian through and through.”

(You’re from Joisey, I’m from Joisey! What exit?)

“I haven’t actually been to the university since the Curse started, but I’m heading back to research some stuff I found out up in the Grammelsmarsh swamps. Some real disconcerting stuff regarding undead, and the like. The locals refer to it as the Wailing Wight.”

Shoshana gives him a once-over, rolling a decent Perception. He’s scruffy, though that could mostly be from hard travel, and definitely looks like he’s had a rough time of it. His arm’s in a sling and the little exposed skin Shoshana can see has more than its share of nicks and scars. His gait when he walked over was slightly uneven, one leg making a suspiciously heavy thunk against the wooden floor. Over his shoulder, he’s carrying a long, heavy case sealed with tar for waterproofing.

Hold up. She points to the case. “Do you have an alive guy in there?”

“…Uh.”

“You hesitated, and that’s not great.”

“Uh…no. No, I do not have an alive guy in here,” he says awkwardly.

“Okay, because the last time there was a weird bag, there was a whole-ass dude in there, and it turned into a whole thing.”

“N-no, no no no, there’s no person in the case,” he protests, not quite meeting Shoshana’s judgy cat eyes. He definitely doesn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, even though the case has started gently twitching.

Meanwhile, old Man-Go man has proved himself quite fluent in Draco-Aquilian, though with an unmistakable mammalian accent. Gral butts into the lively conversation when it winds back to Valdian. “It seems like you’re rather well traveled. What is your profession?”

“Oh, y’know, I go here and there. I’ve been around. There’s so much to see out there!”

Valeria smiles. “I can’t fault you there. Anything in particular you’re looking for?

“I go wherever the winds take me, mostly,” he says, as if Cursewood travel isn’t the most dangerous hobby since they invented pyromancer cookoffs.

Valeria, impressively, only loses the game by a little. The old man jovially shakes her hand and promises to go get started on that map to Sturmhearst for us, springing to his feet with surprising deftness for his age and bustling up toward his room.

Gral and Shoshana, meanwhile, are busy makin’ friends with the doctor guy. “What swamp were you fighting undead in?”

“The Grammelsmarsh? It’s downriver of Mornheim.”

“Ohhh! We heard some, uh, adventurers did a purifying ritual on the river. It might help your situation?”

“That’s great, but…I dunno. Once you mix in swamp gas, things get a lot more interesting.”

“The explosions kind of interesting?”

“…Sometimes.”

The players have noticed that our doctor friend here is, like…not an NPC, there’s another guy at the table (the same player as Isadora! :D), so we start sizing each other up as travel companions.

“You seem like a pretty decent guy,” Gral says, immediately insight checking.

“I mean, you guys seem on the up-and-up too?”

Shoshana winks at him. “Well, I’m not that up-and-up but these two are very diplomatic and important.”

“If you’re also headed up to Sturmhearst, it might make sense for us to travel together? I’m not very quiet,” he admits, knocking on his knee with a clang, “but if you-“

“Hello!” Valeria, hearing clanking, has clanked over loudly to join. “Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service!”

“Uh, hi! I’m Vigdor. I’m a doctor! I mean, you knew that, with the, uh-“ He points to his bird mask. “If you need any balms or salves – I mean, I’m mostly a surgeon, but I know some herbology.”

Is that so! We chat about Dr. Ulmus and Dr. Kjeller. Everyone loves Dr Kjeller!

“I’ve heard of Dr. Kjeller! I haven’t met the guy, but he’s the leading expert on troll physiology. Getting him to come lecture hasn’t worked out so far.”

We ask René the innkeeper about any local threats. Apparently this town’s gotten lucky; the biggest threats recently have just been bandits and one overaggressive badger.

“Oh yeah, one of my cats fought one of those, it went badly,” Shoshana remembers. “For the badger, I mean. I have weird cats.”

(The inn also has cat. His name is Jean Clawed.)

Eventually we all head upstairs. As the night bears on, the girls fall asleep, presumably after painting each other’s toe claws and gossiping. Gral’s still awake, practicing his lute in the rare luxury of a single room, when he pauses. Something doesn’t sound right.

Putting his lute aside, he listens cautiously at the window and feels a deep dread grow in his stomach. The faint scent of ozone drifts in the air. The crickets and night birds have gone dead silent, and in the unsettling quiet he can hear the terrible growling, piping sound he’s heard twice before: once in a house in a hole, and once as Bullbreaker’s expedition faced its destruction.

With great urgency and no volume control, Gral sends a Message to a sleeping Shoshana: “RED ALERT, KEY SHIT’S HERE.” Shoshana wakes up and kicks Valeria.

Gral then sends a Message to our new friend Vigdor, more calmly. “If you have weapons, get them now. Something is happening, it’s going to be dangerous.”

The early warning lets Vigdor and Valeria armor up, Shoshana helping Valeria buckle on the heavy pieces in a hurry. Meanwhile, Gral sprints downstairs, casting Mirror Image as he goes.

René the innkeeper is cleaning his fusille with practiced precision, humming an old marching song. Gral can hear something moving in the kitchen behind the old halfling, so he pops another stealthy Message cantrip. “This is the orc from earlier. I think something bad is in the kitchen – I’ve heard that noise before. Hold on tight to that musket, I’m going in.”

“The back door is locked, I would have heard someone come in,” the old soldier whispers back.

“These things don’t use doors,” Gral hisses.

A 17 Persuasion convinces René, who loads a bullet into his musket. “Where are those friends of yours?”

A heavy clank from upstairs answers that question, as Vigdor and Valeria thud toward the stairs. Gral scopes out the room and sees, on the bar, a big leather map case. The map from the Man-Go guy! Then he peers into the kitchen and, yup, that’s a fleshhound, all right.

Everyone else upstairs bursts into the hall just as a second fleshhound emerges into existence next to them. Shoshana, without hesitation, hits it with a gout of flame. Its strange ethereal flesh solidifies for a moment, but then it shakes itself and charges forward, its displacement energy restored.

Meanwhile, the one downstairs doesn’t aim for Gral or René, trying to run past them. Gral plays a discordant note on his lute, using his Minor Key at the opposite frequency to its vibration and preventing it from displacing, before he strikes. A spectral, scarred orc swings a warhammer down on the creature, Thrice-Burned’s ghost getting some payback as Gral’s blade strikes true.

René takes a shot with his musket and crit-fails, understandably freaked out by the writhing mass of teleporting tentacles, the wild shot careening directly into Gral. Luckily, it only pops a Mirror Image, but everyone upstairs hears a frustrated yell of “NO. FRIEND! ME FRIEND!”

Vigdor dashes past Valeria to the stairs, his previously-motionless arm reaching out of its sling to slap her on the armor with a resounding clash of metal. A silver Jotunn rune glows through the cloth of his sleeve, and she feels Protection from Good and Evil snap into place over her. She takes the cue and stabs the hound, rose vines bursting from her trident and stabbing their long thorns into its oddly flickering flesh.

The pupils on the Eyegis snap to the space behind the beast. Our normal eyes see nothing, but the Key-aligned shield’s eyes see a magical gate, faintly connected to the hound.

As a member of the Order of the Rose, Valeria’s trained to deal with fiendish incursions. This isn’t a portal to the Hells, but she thinks it might get closed similarly. As she charges forward to deal with it, everything seems to move twice as fast as it should: the Key’s spatial distortion has made certain areas the opposite of difficult terrain, where you can move double your speed. Nyoom!

Shoshana zaps it with lightning and heads downstairs to help Gral, who’s being slapped by tentacles. The zapped one flees toward the portal, but Valeria Sentinels and stabs it to death. The downstairs hound gets its tentacles into the real Gral.

Vigdor moves to Gral’s aid, ripping away the last of his sling and clamping a large circular blade to his forearm. With the pull of a ripcord, it loudly whirs into motion. As the Buzzing Butcher slams into the displacer hound with a gory squelch, he asks about sneak attack, like a rogue!

A very, very loud rogue.

Gral breaks away from the hound’s tentacles and looks around. Through the windows, more fleshhounds have appeared outside. The space outside is warped – leaving this inn is going to be very difficult while all this nonsense is going on. The lights of the vineyard seem miles away.

However, Gral realizes, the hound responded to the sound of his lute. And when he used his Minor Key he caught a glimpse of the portal it came through. He begins to play again, using the Minor Key to try to take control of it. The GM allows him to burn a 3rd level spell slot for a colossal roll of 33. He moves the portal inside a wall, to temporarily block anything coming through.

René takes a shot at the remaining hound and misses.

Valeria, upstairs, draws her chained sword and spends a 1st level slot to try to close the portal, the same way paladins close Infernal gateways. The chains of Rack extend from the sword and stitch the portal shut.

(Gral and Valeria each gain inspiration for using Portal Trixx!)

A Thing Occurs at initiative 0, and we hear strange piping coming from the stables. We’re kind of occupied, so we trust Aethis to bite anything that bothers the horses.

Shoshana sprints down the stairs and to the bar. Aw, there’s another flesh hound coming in from the kitchen. Her Chill Touch misses, and the new monster slaps Gral.

Vigdor nyooms through a Zoom, which makes some Really Weird doppler effects happen with his clanky leg and his buzzy arm. He slides across the bar like an action hero and slams his saw down, missing the hound and showering the room in a hail of splinters.

Valeria is still upstairs, and it is LOUD downstairs. She’s gonna dash to get the heck down there and rejoin the festivities.

Gral Phantasmal Forces the new fleshhound, and in its mind, horrible liquid tendrils emerge from the soup pot and constrict around it. The soup rises to the defense of the Fusilier’s Rest!

René gets his wits about him and takes a pistol shot at the nearer fleshhound, tagging it with a bullet and keeping it in place. “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE. OUR POLICY IS NO PETS! I will not make an exception for you, you do NOT seem particularly polite!”

The fleshhound grabs the map case off the bar and starts to run for it. René hits it with the butt of his rifle. The second hound can’t attack Vigdor since it’s too busy convincing itself soup isn’t dangerous, so Vigdor’s free to draw his pistol and unload a Sneak Attack bullet into the fleeing hound’s back.

René reloads his musket. It’s been a long time since he’s done it under fire, but the Royal Fusilier Corps of Demionde does not half-ass their training.

The portal the hound’s heading for bisects a wall now, so it might be hard for the hound to get through.  Before it can worry about that, though, it comes face to face with Valeria, who’s ready to rumble. She kills it, dropping the map to the ground, and skitters through the Zoomy Zone to try to trident the second hound. It displaces out of the way.

Gral seizes control of another portal, and this time decides to use it to see what’s going on. He tries to hop out to the stables, where that weird noise is coming from. He enters a weird nether space full of the flickering bodies of fleshhounds, writhing and blinking, which the DM calls the Threshold. Gral accepts psychic damage to see what’s going on, and the patterns become clearer as the Key takes hold temporarily in his brain. These portals all connect to each other and the Threshold at the same time. Whatever’s out in the stables, making that eerie piping noise, is tied to the portals – it can’t fully exist in our realm. So if you close all the portals, it’ll force that thing to leave; if you drive it away, the portals will close. Either way, the Key’s influence on this place will fade.

Oh, and that thing out in the stables? It’s the Lurke r again.

Gral’s old enemy wrests control of the portal back from Gral, who stumbles back out into the inn, reeling from the sudden whammy of Key taint.

Shosha shoots lightning at the nearest hound, which retaliates by leaping through her, disrupting her matter with its own. It’s a highly unpleasant experience. A new hound jumps out of the portal next to Valeria. As Vigdor, Shoshana, and René all attack, Gral shuts another portal with his lute’s magic. “Guys, there’s something horrible in the stables!” he shouts. “If we bust enough portals it’ll go away!”

The Lurker continues to make mysterious dice rolls, but apparently it’s rolling poorly, so we don’t quite find out what it’s up to. It peers through one of the last few portals, only visible to Gral and the Eyegis. It’s hard to get a good look at, fifth-dimensional as it is, but it’s weirdly humanoid, actually? It’s surrounded by floating lanterns and holding some sort of pipe or flute.

(The DM notes that Jean Clawed is awake and doesn’t see why any of this is his business. He’s capable of using the portals; he’s not Key tainted, that’s just how cats are.)

We exchange blows with the remaining hounds, Chromatic Orbs flying and chainsaws buzzing. René bayonets a hound to death, for the honor of all NPCs.

Gral powerslides on his knees across the Zoomy Zone, playing a complicated riff, woobling himself right through the fireplace into the kitchen. He spends another level 3 spell slot to get the portal to dance itself shut. “And that was Through the Fire and Flames!”

René reloads his gun. Shoshana blasts the hound with fire, so Vigdor’s action goes off and he chainsaws it to death, the body and spine getting caught in the spinning chain. FATALITY.

The searing light of Shoshana’s fire casts sharp shadows on the walls of the inn, which begin to writhe and re-form, swirling together into a lithe, snarling feline shape that springs toward the Lurker. It pounces with an odd, broken yowl that’s incredibly familiar – although Valeria and Gral have only ever heard it once, from underneath an overturned laundry basket.

Vigdor, who’s never met a flesh-hound OR a cursecat before, makes an arcana check to figure out what in the seven hells is going on. It seems some sort of entity is thinning the barriers between realities? Its very essence seems to be intermingled with portal; it cannot fully leave the portal or exist in this realm. Like a malevolent, sentient pair of curtains.

He’s like okay, curtains sound like something I can chainsaw. It’s curtains for you, see? (Fun fact: if he rolls 21 or higher on attack roll with chainsaw, he gets sneak attack regardless of other circumstances. Because it’s a goddamn CHAINSAW.)

The Lurker turns its attention directly on us, or at least to the enormous hissing cat hellbent on ruining its day. Gral, still strumming furiously, realizes the Lurker’s only got a couple of portals left. He’s closed a portal already; he’s gonna try to close all of them for good. The DM imposes disadvantage and a brutal pile of psychic damage, but Gral is unphased, hitting a power chord that shakes the entire inn.

The Lurker screeches and reaches for him, the space around Gral beginning to warp, but it’s too late, the portal slamming shut against it. The Zoomy Zones vanish; the portals close, the strange atmosphere fades. The road looks to be the size it was before instead of an endless stretch of packed earth; the vineyard is once again an easy ten-minute walk away.

His big solo complete, Gral sways and collapses unconscious. Valeria runs over and Lays On Hands so he doesn’t die, while Vigdor starts casting Mending on the destroyed bar furniture. Shoshana, meanwhile, just stares dumbstruck at the place where a huge spectral cat is dissipating into shadowy smoke.

“…Schmendrick?”

René is holding himself together, but he’s an old man and it’s been a while since he fought this much. He took a bit of damage; Valeria pat pats him some HP. “Thank you, Kyr. I…I need to check on my other guests. The old man with the Man-Go game, we must find out if he lives.”

Valeria accompanies him upstairs. Rack’s glowing rose vines are still visible, stitching the portal shut; it’s healing more quickly than Valeria’s used to seeing. The door to the old man’s room swings open under Valeria’s cautious knock. The bed is unmade but empty, and the old man’s luggage is gone. The only things left are a generous tip on the counter and his odd multicolored glasses.

As Vigdor steps outside to clean viscera off his chainsaw, Gral scopes out the stables. There’s evidence of disturbed earth around the grounds, but nothing conclusive. Aethis seems to be unbothered.

We reconvene without much to show for our investigation. But we have one last clue: Why were the hounds so interested in the old man’s map? We spread it out on one of the bar tables and crowd around. It’s a map of Valdia, but the path it shows us to take to Sturmhearst makes No Sense. It’s not even contiguous! It tells us to start here and wander north, and then the line cuts off next to some scribbled equations, the route picking up again elsewhere, where he’s drawn a symbol we don’t recognize – and so on, in strange and nonsensical disconnected paths.

Shoshana, on a hunch, puts on the multicolored glasses the old man left behind. Like 3D glasses, they reveal the hidden image. Through the kaleidoscopic lenses, she can see remnants of the Key’s influence all around the inn; the fading Zoomy Zones and closing portals light up in ultraviolet. The map, meanwhile, has gained an entirely new dimension, like a layer of holographs. NOW the shortcuts make sense – they route through other dimensions along the z-axis, with additional symbols and labels giving helpful hints.

To be honest, it does look like a much faster route. And one of the notes says it leads to the “Drowned City” – hey, isn’t that where Bullbreaker ended up? But we’re all rightfully wary of hopping right back into another flesh-hound portal disaster.

We now have the Extradimensional Map and the Stranger’s Glasses.

Oh! The map has a note for us: “Happy Journeys to a fellow master of the game. Your friend, T.T.”

We immediately rifle through our notes and realize he may have been Professor Trevor Twombly, Headmaster of Sturmhearst. Vigdor, did you know that guy?!

Vigdor didn’t recognize him. Maybe the guy looked like Twombly, if you squint? There were a lot of old men at Sturmhearst, and they wear masks most of the time? Also he had distracting glasses? So, like…maybe?

As we bicker, Vigdor snags the glasses off the table and heads to his room, opening up his case and taking a look. The lenses don’t reveal anything new about the object inside.

Unfortunately, the poor rogue didn’t bother to stealth. “Whatcha doin’ in here?” says Valeria, who followed shortly behind.

“Um, just looking at my leg, seeing if anything is weird-“

Valeria immediately checks Vigdor’s lower limbs for wounds. “I can help! An extra pair of hands can always-”

“No, no! I think I’m okay! Really!” he protests. He glances into the case again, clearly torn, and sighs. “Let me explain.”

He lifts a whole human leg out of the case, kicking and twitching.

“This is my leg, and I’m taking it to Sturmhearst. I’m not sure if it’s wholly mine anymore.”

Through his torn pants, Valeria can see a clunky clockwork leg to match his buzz-saw arm.

One player immediately yells “FULL METAL ALCHEMIST.” Another player says it again, in a slightly different voice.

Dr. Vigdor Gavril has joined the party!

[owengrantham]

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[nightingiall]

hey jess hope you've been keeping well! ❤️ just wondering if you'll ever do a niall pov of part vi of hitc when they were at the party bc i'd really like to know what went on in his head throughout the myriad of events that happened :)

story page // wattpad

The first person Niall sees as he walks through the door is a tipsy-looking Harry Styles. 

“Niall, mate!” he exclaims as he sees him, voice loud over the raucous music, hair a mess of slightly damp curls as he sends Niall a lopsided grin. “Take a shot with me!” 

And, well, how can he say no to free liquor? Especially when it’s the expensive kind that goes down easy and smooth, spreading a slinky sort of heat through his tummy when it settles in him. 

The Shack parties are probably his favorite parts of working at Hightstown, with great alcohol and interesting people all in the same place. Today, though, he doesn’t care for either of those things, eyes instead searching for a beautiful girl who he could not, for the life of him, stop thinking about. He could not stop thinking of curious, vulnerable brown eyes and a smile that made all the work to crack it worth the effort. He sees her everywhere, all the time—in his dreams and curled in odd corners of his flat with Spike and in everyone at this party—heart sinking when the ghost of her disappears into his imagination. 

If he makes his disappointment obvious at the absence of Rory Bhatt, then Harry doesn’t seem to notice, instead yammering on about Leslie or Gigi or—well, Niall doesn’t know, he’s not paying attention. He’s saved from being outed as a terrible listener by Alejandra, who makes her way over to them to ask if they want to play drunk Jenga. Harry declines but Niall allows Alejandra to drag him to the makeshift gameroom, if only for a distraction. At least if he’s immersed in a party game he won’t be thinking about a certain brown-eyed beauty all the time.

It works, but only for a few moments. 

Niall is invested in the game for a while, his competitive side rearing its head for the first few rounds. But once it’s clear that Leslie is going to be the clear champ, her alcohol tolerance putting all of theirs to shame, he simmers down a bit, instead joking around with Callie and stealthily pouring excess beer into Shane’s cup with Alejandra when he’s not paying attention. Sure, it’s a distraction, but with the cloud of competition disappearing into wisps in his mind, he finds his eyes often wandering towards the door, searching, heart surging whenever he catches a glimpse of long, dark hair. 

It’s never the person he’s looking for, though. 

“Niall,” someone murmurs into his ear. It’s Callie. Cheeks flushed, eyes bleary, and stray hairs sticking up slightly in the humidity that’s leaked into the house, it’s clear that she’s well on her way to being tipsy. Perhaps she’s already there. Her hand is on his shoulder and she’s leaning in close to him. So close that he instinctively takes a step away. She doesn’t seem to notice. “Heard you almost beat Leslie at beer pong the other night. Everyone’s talking about it.” 

He laughs but even to his ears it sounds a bit stiff, unnerved from how close she’s standing. “Yeah?” Beside him, Alejandra nudges him to take his turn, and he pokes at a block, releasing it easily from the tower. Take a whiskey shot, it reads. So he does. Deep brown, luscious, expensive whiskey. It’s clear that someone’s tapped into some rich person’s reserve to grab it. Distantly, he thinks that the color reminds him of Rory’s eyes. 

“Yeah.” Callie’s still talking. “We take beer pong very serious around here.” She sends him a sweet smile, deep pink lips framing bleached-white, perfectly straight teeth. Callie is tipsy, and still no one can deny that she’s beautiful. Blue eyes, blonde hair, and clearly interested in him. Her hand lingers on his shoulder, her smile a second too long. She’s beautiful and interested, yes, but Niall’s mind is stuck on someone else. 

He’s mid-laugh when he sees her. This time, it’s unmistakably her. Those eyes, hypnotizing, but for once, his gaze is pulled away from them because she’s smiling. At him. Big and bright and blinding and so beautiful that he nearly forgets there was a time that she made him work so hard to get one out of her. She’s smiling and she’s walking towards him and Niall feels any semblance of self-control slip away, slinking down his body and landing in his knees, which go impossibly weak whenever she’s around. 

“Rors!” The nickname is leaving his mouth before he can even think about it. He distantly registers that it’s loud, impossibly so over the ruckus of the party, feels other people’s gazes on him as he finds himself moving towards her, bringing her in for a hug, a moth to her flame. But he doesn’t care. Clearly he’s never known subtlety when it comes to Rory Bhatt. “You made it.” 

She smells like the color yellow. It’s something he first noticed about her. She had been standing near the pool and he was struck by the etherealness she exuded. Long, graceful limbs, the hem of her white dress catching in the breeze, flowing gently. She’d been wearing sunglasses but she took them off when he walked up to introduce himself. To this day he doesn’t know how he had the balls to do it. He thinks he smiled and held out his hand, but he can’t remember. He’d been too distracted by those big brown eyes. Guarded and questioning, catching the sunlight and sparkling. 

A gust of air flitted past them and it carried her scent up to him, and it is this that he remembers most. Not the feeling of her hand or whatever she said to him. But that, the quick glitter in her eyes and her sunshine yellow scent. Sure, one cannot smell sunshine, but something Niall’s chemistry professor from college—back when he dabbled in the sciences—said one day stuck out to him in that moment, that at the center of our galaxy, in a cloud of dust and gas, scientists found a chemical responsible for the flavor of rum and raspberries, that space probably smelled like a fancy brunch, sweet and tart. The next day, when Niall and his friends went out and bought rum and raspberries and got drunk in the middle of the day on the floor of someone’s apartment, they joked that the place smelled like sunshine. 

That was what Rory Bhatt smelled like. 

He registers the scent now, as he presses his nose to her hair when she hugs him back. Sunshine and lemons and Rory. Niall tries not to come across as a freak and hopes to every power on earth that she doesn’t notice him taking in the way she smells, but he can’t help it. He’s not yet tipsy but he thinks he can get drunk off of this alone, the way Rory smells, the warmth of her body seeping into his, the way those brown eyes catch the light when she smiles up at him. It’s intoxicating. He’s so fucked. 

Hopefully she doesn’t notice how completely out of his mind he is for her at the moment, but he doesn’t do much to help his case, mindlessly tangling their fingers together and dragging her towards the drunk jenga game. He thinks he banters with her and everyone else at the table but all he can really focus on is the fact that she squeezed his fingers when their hands were laced together. It’s stupid, of course, to hyperfixate on this one gesture. But the muscles in his hands replay the memory of her touch over and over again. The rest of him is just running on autopilot. 

Alejandra draws a King’s Cup block from the tower and everyone cheers because at least they weren’t that unlucky. Niall can’t help himself when he bends into Rory, his hand on her waist. “Lucky we didn’t get that one, eh?” he says, but it’s just an excuse to catch a whiff of her scent again. It’s all great until she turns towards him and he realizes that he’s made a mistake. He’s leaned in too close. Her lips are mere inches from his. All of his nerve endings feel magnetized and they’re jumping around within him, craving a connection with her skin. He’ll kiss her if he doesn’t find some self-control. He knows he will. So he desperately forces words out of him so he won’t do something that will ruin this precarious balance they’ve managed to strike. “Don’t think you’d survive a King’s Cup anyway.”

It works. Rory wrinkles her nose at him as she swats a hand against his chest, rolling her eyes. And it’s so cute that he’s surprised his brain is still functioning from it all. “I can handle my alcohol, thank you very much,” she retorts with a little huff. “And besides, you’re the one who’s already had way more to drink than I have.”

She’s not wrong. He can feel it now, the steady thrum of alcohol bubbling through him. It’s making him reckless. He can’t afford to be reckless. 

And still, he is. Callie topples over the jenga tower and Niall seizes this opportunity to tug Rory away. He’s been aching for a moment alone with her. It’s selfish, of course. Any time she gives him a minute of her time he wants more. Just earlier today they had all been goofing around in the pool and she’d swam up to him when he was taking in the sunset, and she jumped on his back to scare him. It’s hours later and he’s still wondering how on earth her scent still broke through the film of chlorine that had settled on both their skins. 

They end up on the patio, and when Niall closes the sliding door behind them, shutting out the loudness emanating from within, he’s finally able to take her in. As they settle together on a lounger, he has every intention of telling her how he really feels. 

I cannot stop thinking about you, do you know that?, he wants to say. It’s right there on the tip of his tongue and it nearly comes tumbling out before he catches the look on her face. It’s that concentrated expression she gets when she’s focusing hard on something, like when she’s perched on the lifeguard chair drawing or when she’s pouring out food for Spike in his bowl. She does that a lot, gets lost in her thoughts, daydreams. So he asks.

“What’re you thinking so hard about? You’re quieter than usual.” His voice is a whisper despite no one else being around. It’s just the two of them and the sounds of the night, crickets singing and leaves blowing together in the breeze. 

He can see the exact moment she’s back with him, her eyes coming into focus. The slightest of pinks bloom high on her cheeks and Niall would bet anything that the skin there is surging with warmth. He’s not thinking when he reaches out, passing off the graze of his knuckles against her cheekbones for brushing away the hair that’s blown into her face. He’s right. Searing heat meets his skin. It sends jolts of electricity right through him. Rory lets out a quiet laugh, a lingering smile on her face as she glances down at their hands, which have somehow intertwined without his knowledge. 

I’d move mountains for that laugh, he almost tells her. I’m so completely in love with your smile that I see it in my dreams. 

For the life of him he can’t get his fingers to stop brushing her hair back. It’s a tantalizing softness against his skin. Reckless. He’s so busy watching the movement of her features that he nearly forgets that she hasn’t answered his question. She’s gone and gotten lost in her head again. This time, he’s the one who laughs. “Rory. Where are you, love? It’s like you’ve always got your head in the clouds.”

She’s full-on blushing now, her shoulders quirking up to her ears as though she wishes to hide it. Niall suddenly can’t remember what they’re even talking about. He’s reeling, the mere sight of a blush sending his mind into overdrive. Something else nearly spills from his lips. What can I do to make your cheeks go red like that again? 

“Sorry,” Rory says, smiling wryly. “I guess I just daydream a lot.” Her eyes meet his again and suddenly, finally, he realizes that perhaps she wants to tell him something. There’s a sort of nervousness swirling in the dark brown that has anticipation building in his chest. He inadvertently leans forward, silently telling her he’s listening. 

“It’s okay. It’s cute.” He all but blurts the words out and it’s all he can do not to smack his hand against his forehead. It’s a good thing he doesn’t, because it means that he’d have had to let go of her hand. And he’d have missed the color rising to the tops of her cheeks again. His heart surges in his chest. “Besides, I probably talk too much anyway.”

Rory is looking at him like she’s never looked at him before. It’s intense and all-consuming at the same time. She holds the entire world of secrets in those deep brown eyes and he’ll do anything to get her to open up to him. Tell me, his fingers say as they squeeze hers, because suddenly, this feels important. Suddenly, he’s thinking that maybe they’re on the same page after all. 

She takes a breath. He’s hyperfocused on her. For a moment, the world falls away from them. The crickets stop singing. The wind is still. For a moment, it’s him, and her, and his beating heart, and her unspoken words. A moment. Rory opens her mouth. A moment. She’s finally speaking. 

“I guess I was just trying to figure out how to tell you that I—”

A moment, broken.

The sliding door crashes open behind them, the crickets start chirping again, the light summer breeze is loud in Niall’s ears. His heart is a heavy thump, thump thump in his chest, so out of order that it feels like it’s jumping around inside of him, stopping only when it feels as though it’s lodged up in his throat. 

A breath wooshes out of him as he turns to face the interference. His brain registers two things, both at the same time. One, it’s Shane and Zafar that are tumbling out of the door, laughing loudly about a fight happening inside. Two, his hands are cold, the skin trembling from the absence of Rory when she snatches hers away, startled by this interruption. 

What was she going to tell him? Irritation crawls through him at their moment being shattered, but he forces himself to laugh along to the dramatic reenactment currently being performed by Shane and Zafar. 

It all goes to shit from there. He’s sucked into the chaos of the boys. More people infiltrate the patio, the summer air now carrying the sounds of overlapping conversations when not only minutes ago it was a silent bubble for him and Rory. 

She’s no longer sitting next to him when he glances over, instead pulled into her own conversation with her friends, and Niall has to work so hard not to let his frustration show. It’s not anyone’s fault, he tells himself, that the only reason he’s at this party was the chance that Rory would show up. It’s his own fault. Earlier, at the pool, he should’ve just invited her over to his place so they could lounge around with Spike and drink red wine, like they always did on their nights off. 

Instead he’s here, silently simmering under the surface. 

It’s happening before he even realizes what is happening. 

Someone screeches, and it’s so loud that most people shift towards the sound, curious of the source. Niall turns around to realize it’s Callie. She’s holding up an empty wine bottle, face lit up like she’s had an idea. It’s only when Niall looks closely that he realizes she’s so drunk that she’s dangerously close to falling off her chair. “Let’s play spin the bottle!” she declares—or slurs, really. 

Someone beside Niall grumbles. “What are we in middle school? We’re too old to be playing spin the bottle.” He laughs at that under his breath, because leave it to Gigi to be this blunt about her displeasure on something. Beside her, Niall spots Rory, her face closed-off and stoic, a stark contrast to the softness of her features earlier as she smiled at him. He frowns. All he wants is to be alone with her again. 

Shane ends up initiating spin the bottle. He’s loud and cocky about it, not hiding his intention for the bottle to point at Alejandra, whom he’s openly had a crush on forever. This ignites everyone. Gigi and Zafar pipe in with some smack talk, a crowd has drawn up to watch the scene, and laughter swirls through the air as the moment draws on. 

It backfires on Shane, of course. The bottle does not land at Alejandra, but at Harry, much to everyone’s amusement. Shane tries to back away, face bright red from embarrassment, but he’s teased relentlessly by the rest of them, and it’s only when Alejandra says something like, “Guys always want to watch the girls make out with each other in this game but never want to hold up their end of the bargain unless it’s convenient to them,” that they all egg him on harder until he has no choice but to cave and give Harry a peck on the cheek. 

Niall laughs so hard at it all that tears spring to his eyes. He’s wiping them away when Rory catches his gaze. She’s grinning now, eyes glittering in amusement, and Niall just wants to capture the brightness of her face and save it in his pocket forever. A breeze floats by and sends her hair flying into soft wisps that frame her face and god he aches to reach out and tuck the strands behind her ear. Maybe he’ll just grab her after this and ask if she wants to get away from here, if she wants to head back to his. They can goof around with Spike and laugh about this on his couch. He can sit a safe distance away so he’s not tempted to kiss the smile right off her face. 

He doesn’t get too far with that thought because Callie is piping up again, declaring that it’s her turn, clearly not understanding that it was all a joke and Shane was just taking the piss. His mind is still on big brown eyes when Callie spins the bottle, and he’s still trying to blink away the image of being alone with Rory when he realizes that the bottle has landed on him. 

His heart is in his throat again. He’s sure that his apprehension is showing on his face but Callie doesn’t seem to care. She’s grinning wildly, clearly intending to do as the bottle decreed and kiss him, and he quickly tries to think of something to stop her, a nervous laugh leaving his lips as he says, “Uhh, Callie. I wasn’t actually playing.”

But she’s already standing in front of him. “You know the rules of the game, Niall,” she purrs, voice low, and Niall’s desperately looking around for help now. He tries to meet Rory’s eyes but she’s not looking at him. Callie’s leaning into him now and he doesn’t know why, for the life of him, he can’t get the word no out of his stupid mouth. “We’ve never made out before. It’ll be fun.”

It’s Gigi who speaks up for him, her voice edged with irritation. “Jesus, Callie, he said he’s not playing. What ever happened to consent around here?”

But it’s too late. Callie’s hands are on his shoulders and he tries to lean away from her, a hint for her to back off, but either she doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because she continues to edge closer until the damn chair is stopping Niall from moving back any further and she’s too close to his face. Fuck, fuck, fuck, is all that’s going on in his mind because he’s too caught off guard to joke the situation off and he’s starting to think he’s going to have to physically move her off him to stop her. 

There’s a moment where Niall feels like time stops and he’s able to quickly glance around at the faces surrounding him. There’s Callie of course, in front of him with her lips pulled up into a smirk, eyes half closed. There’s Harry a ways behind her, face contorted as he cringes. Beside Niall is Zafar, who appears to be amused and uncomfortable at the same time, as does Shane. On the other side is Gigi, who looks like she’s two seconds away from getting up and yanking Callie away herself, Alejandra, who is frowning, and Rory. 

It’s when his eyes land on her that it’s like time speeds up again. He’s only able to catch those eyes, dark coffee brown, widened as she watches them, and then Callie is leaning close enough to obscure his view. 

Two things happen then. Callie’s too close. She’s one second away from kissing him when Niall makes a split second decision to jolt away, turning his face and shifting slightly so that her lips never land anywhere on him. At the same time, Leslie, bless her heart, loudly bursts through the glass sliding doors, yelling about the beer pong tournament, and Niall, blissfully, is saved. 

Callie is not happy. She makes an annoyed sound when she peels herself off him and Niall has to restrain himself from using the opportunity to put as much distance between them as possible by making a run for it. “We’re playing spin the bottle,” she grits out at Leslie, who, for her part, simply snorts. 

“What? Why? Haven’t you all made out with each other already?” That breaks the tension. Everyone laughs and starts to head back inside for beer pong. Niall rises too, but his eyes are on Rory. As opposed to moments ago when she was watching him, now, she won’t meet his gaze. He feels something dense and heavy flood into him at the sight of Alejandra rubbing Rory’s shoulders; it settles at the pit of his stomach and weighs him down. Alejandra whispers something to her and Gigi as they get up too, but when they all pass each other, Rory pointedly ignores him. 

Niall walks inside and tries to calm down but he really just wants to scream and flip over all the stupid beer pong tables. What just happened? Things had been looking promising. He and Rory had a moment alone, she was going to tell him something that seemed important, and then everything just spiraled out of control. Niall is kicking himself for not being able to outwardly tell Callie to back off, for not being able to reach for Rory and tell her that all he really wants is to get out of there and spend time with her. 

But she’s engrossed in a conversation with her friends now and he’s pulled into beer pong. Leslie, the reigning beer pong champ for who knows how many summers, has already set everything up and picked out pairings, and Niall’s at a table with a bloke named Jayden. They’re familiar with one another so they make small talk as they begin but Niall can still feel the overwhelming irritation that’s lodged into his muscles. It’s making him dizzy with an annoyance that threatens to bubble into anger. He’s just landing the ball into one of Jayden’s cups when he spots Rory heading towards him. 

His heart is in his throat again, and this time for a different reason. Rory’s got that look on her face once more, the intense, concentrated one. But when she notices him watching her it melts away, replaced with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She steps close to him, that sunshine scent of hers seemingly stronger now. With this and his residual embarrassment of earlier, Niall thinks he might go crazy. “Good luck,” she tells him, voice so low that it’s clear she only means for him to hear. 

But she’s barely looking at him. 

And she’s starting to walk away. 

Shit. He scrambles for something to say to keep her here with him but comes up short, and in a moment of desperation, he reaches out to grab her wrist before she gets too far. Distantly, he registers a ping pong ball knocking lightly against his stomach from Jayden missing his shot. He doesn’t care. “Rory.” He hopes his voice doesn’t give away how frantic he is. He feels like he needs to explain even though he didn’t do anything. “The thing that just happened—”

And they’re being interrupted. Again. Niall is going to rip his hair out. He’s about to tell whoever it is to fuck off when he realizes that it’s someone he knows. Johnny Torres. 

Niall lets go of Rory, fingers finding the ping pong ball instead. As he’s taking the shot, he hears Johnny say to Rory, “Haven’t seen you in a while, babe,” and his entire body goes so numb that he has no idea how he lands the ball in a cup. Jayden fishes it out and drinks, seemingly unbothered with whatever’s happening on Niall’s end, engrossed in a conversation with one of his own friends. 

Every single one of Niall’s nerve endings are on edge. He doesn’t know what to do or say. All he can focus on is Johnny’s hand around Rory’s wrist and think about how he heard the two of them have—or had?—a fling or something of the sort. He’s suddenly insecure. Maybe he misunderstood the look in Rory’s eyes earlier. Maybe she doesn’t feel the same way as he does and was about to tell him so. Maybe he’s been too obvious this whole time and she’s uncomfortable with it. 

Niall thinks he might hurl. 

Johnny asks Rory if she wants to watch him play at another table and Rory starts to tell him that she’s in the middle of a conversation and Niall starts to panic. What is he even going to say to her? 

“The thing that just happened…” That’s where he left off. How can he explain himself now? He might say too much. He might push her away. He can’t—he can’t think. 

So he takes a deep breath and lands another shot. “It’s alright, Rors,” he hears himself say, interrupting her mid sentence as he turns and sends her a smile. He needs to let her go for the time being. There’s too much going on and it’s making him crazy and he needs time to just think. “I’ll catch up with you later, yeah?”

She’s whisked away by Johnny to an adjacent table and Niall has to tear his eyes away to keep from staring. Jayden lands a ball into one of Niall’s cups and he quickly takes the drink, desperate for some sort of distraction from the events of the past twenty minutes. The beer is cheap and watered down and it goes down easy, but it has no immediate effect on him. Which doesn’t help because his eyes flit over to where Rory and Johnny is and he’s met with the sight of Johnny brushing away that strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. 

Before he even realizes it, he’s tossing the ball so hard that it knocks over a cup on Jayden’s side, beer spilling everywhere. “I’m so sorry!” he gasps when Jayden yelps. “I definitely did not mean to do that.” Niall passes Jayden some paper towels for the table. Thankfully, no beer spilled onto his clothes. 

“It’s all good,” Jayden says, wiping the table quickly and tossing out the now wet paper towels. He jerks his head towards Rory and Johnny, a knowing look in his glasses covered eyes. “Girl troubles?” 

Niall glances over again only to see Johnny’s hand on the small of Rory’s back. He’s holding her so close that their faces are inches apart, and Niall has to avert his eyes to avoid seeing something he doesn’t want to see. “No, we’re just friends,” he says to Jayden, but heat is spreading through his body so fast that he’s sure he’s red all over. He’s startled by the furious wave of emotions that crashes through him. Never has he felt this way before, a spiderweb of feelings over someone who is not even his. And he doesn’t like it. 

Jayden sends him a perceptive smirk, clearly noticing the flush on Niall’s face, and Niall grabs another cup to drink from even though Jayden hasn’t even tossed the ball yet. “Doesn’t look that way,” he shrugs, clearly amused. “You keep looking over at her with this sad look on your face.” 

Niall is shocked by this assessment, not having considered that sadness may be a facet of his tangled emotions. He’s upset, sure. But he has to remind himself that he and Rory are just friends and he respects that. Wanted that, even. He’d love for their relationship to be something more, but the summer is almost ending, and he would never want to be someone who hurts her because of any uncertainty that will come when it does. 

Jayden takes a shot and misses. “Don’t know if this helps,” he says nonchalantly, “but she keeps looking at you too.” 

Niall doesn’t know why but this is what makes him smile, even if it may mean nothing, even if it could be wishful thinking on his part that he is on Rory’s mind just like she is on his. 

Niall ends up winning that round of beer pong. He and Jayden part with a handshake and a few laughs, with Jayden giving Niall extra details about the fight that happened earlier. Finally, Niall is at ease. He doesn’t know what had gotten into him earlier but he doesn’t like that version of himself and resolves to keep his head down to avoid running into anymore mishaps. 

Apparently that isn’t possible. Because for the next round, he’s paired with none other than Johnny Torres. Niall sighs to himself because Johnny’s actually a really cool guy. Even if Johnny and Rory were a thing, it shouldn’t get Niall all riled up. After all, Rory has warmed up to him enough to call him a friend, a far cry from the beginning of the summer when she was guarded and distant towards him, and that was all he ever wanted anyway. To be her friend and make her smile. 

He and Johnny shake hands, wish each other good luck, and get started. Niall’s about to take his shot when something catches his eye. It’s Rory, of course. She’s standing on the other side of the room and she’s looking right at him. Their eyes connect and she smiles at him. It’s soft and beautiful and his skin is overheating again but it’s for a different reason now. She sends him a thumbs-up and a silent look that tells him good luck, and something else too, but he can’t quite figure out what. 

Niall smiles back at her, the world falling away for a moment before he remembers he’s supposed to be playing a game. When he tosses the ball, it lands directly into a cup that’s notoriously difficult to land. Cheers erupt around him. It’s clear that the rest of the partygoers are now invested in this tournament and have chosen favorites. Niall doesn’t care, though. Because when his eyes search for Rory again, he finds that she’s still watching him. He’s so thrilled by this that he sends her a playful wink. Her smile grows and he feels his heart give an excited flutter. 

“Ohhh,” Johnny is drawing out, drinking from the cup Niall landed the ball in. “I get it now.”

Niall quirks a brow at him, the beginnings of a laugh in his throat. “Get what?” 

Johnny smirks. “You and Rory. You’re into each other. That’s why she was being all weird when I interrupted you two.” 

Niall is blushing again and he wishes he’d stop doing that. Weird things happen to him whenever Rory is the topic of conversation and everyone else always picks up on it. “We’re just friends.” 

This time, Johnny laughs. He takes a shot and lands it in an outer cup. “Yeah. Sure you are.” 

Niall gulps down his beer. “What does that mean?” 

Johnny shrugs, the look in his eyes mirroring the one Niall saw in Jayden’s, knowing and slightly amused. “The way you guys just looked at each other? Looked like a bit more than friendship to me.” Niall somehow lands another shot and Johnny fishes the ball out to drink from the cup. “But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

For some reason, this is what breaks the wall of tension between them and they both start laughing. “Okay, fine,” Niall says. Johnny tosses the ball and misses. “I like her.” 

“Then you should tell her.” Johnny sounds so matter-of-fact that Niall nearly agrees with him. He stops himself, instead landing the ball into another one of Johnny’s cups. 

“I dunno.” Niall is the one shrugging this time. “I don’t want to ruin anything. It took basically the entire summer for us to even become friends.” 

Johnny laughs. There’s a bigger crowd drawing around them now. “For what it’s worth,” he starts, keeping it vague just in case they had eavesdroppers, “I seriously doubt that being honest about your feelings will ruin anything. I know her. And I think if you tell her, you won’t be disappointed by her reaction.” 

There are too many people around to continue this conversation now so they steer towards a different topic, but Niall can’t help but let Johnny’s words wash over him. He runs the risk of compromising this friendship he’s managed to cultivate with Rory, but what if she does feel the same way? Should he tell her?

He mulls this over for the rest of the night. Even when he wins against Johnny Torres. Even when he continues to play against Leslie. Even when he ends up winning the whole tournament and the house is erupting with cheers of his name, he’s only thinking of Rory. 

So when he turns around when it’s all over and spots her there, looking at him, smiling, he smiles too. I like you a lot, Rory Bhatt, he thinks he might say to her. It almost feels right. Because she’s watching him, eyes glittering, like he’s the only person in the room. It’s like they’re magnetically attracted to one another. People are clapping him on the back, congratulating him on dethroning the reigning beer pong champ, but his feet continue pulling him towards Rory. 

She looks beautiful. There’s a glow on her face, that strand of hair falling over her forehead, and she’s smiling at him so widely that it makes his knees weak. He’s close enough now to see a soft pink flush on her cheeks and he so badly wants to press his hands to it, to pull her close, to maybe kiss her, taste her lips, which are slightly red and shining with lip gloss. 

Maybe he’s had too much to drink. 

Anyway, he’s not able to get close enough to do anything because Callie’s stepping in front of him, throwing her arms around him in a hug and screaming about his win. He’s taken aback by her presence but tries to play it off, hugging her back. “Let’s celebrate later,” she says. She’s clearly still drunk because she tries to wink at him but both of her eyes go all weird. “You know where to find me.”

She’s off after that, wobbling away, and he doesn’t care enough to watch her go because Rory is thankfully still standing there. 

“Hey,” he says to her, closing the distance between them in three steps. She’s still clinging to that sunshine scent but she smells a bit like whiskey too. 

She had been looking at Callie but when she turns to him at the sound of his voice, she smiles. “Hi.” Her cheeks are even pinker up close and she’s grinning at him and he nearly blurts out how cute he thinks she is. “Congrats on being the first person to ever beat Leslie at beer pong.”

Niall laughs and Rory smiles wider. He loves that smile. He’ll do anything for it. He’ll even make a fool of himself for it. 

She sounds like she’s had too much to drink and he jokes about it, his heart lighting up when she giggles. It makes him feel like champagne bubbles are popping through his veins. That word is flashing in his mind again. Reckless. Because he’s selfish and he’s trying to figure out a way to steal more time with her. Because she’s here and she’s laughing and she’s looking at him like she wants to kiss him too. Is he imagining that?

“Wanna come back to mine and say hello to Spike?” he asks. He wants to make her laugh again. 

“Mmmm.” She’s still grinning. “I was just about to head back to my place. Hanna from the kitchens gave me a slice of chocolate cake that is calling my name.”

Niall’s heart stutters. He tries again. “Okay. I can walk you back.” 

Rory shrugs, and he finds himself stepping closer when someone bumps into her. “No, it’s fine,” she says, “I don’t wanna pull you away from all the fun. This is like…your moment.” Her smile falters for a moment but she fixes it back quickly. “And it looks like there are others who really want you to stay.”

Niall’s heart sinks. No, he thinks, please let me have more time with you. What can he say to make this better? He’s usually careless with his words but he tries to choose them carefully now, clearing his throat and trying to sound nonchalant. “Don’t really care about others, to be honest. I’d like to walk you home. If you’ll let me.”

Those must have been the right words, because all of her features are softening now. Coffee brown eyes and raspberry red lips. She smells like sunshine. “Yeah, okay,” she says, and it takes everything in him not to cheer out loud. 

They finally get outside after being stopped a few times and the night air is so refreshing on Niall’s skin. It clears his mind of the fog of events from tonight and he’s glad for it. They’re both drunk and stumbling into one another. At one point they are overcome with giggles and Rory is dragging him through their laughter because she really wants her chocolate cake. 

“Ugh. You’re so cute.” It slips out of his mouth before he can even think to stop it and he glances frantically over at Rory to make sure she’s not going to run away from his bluntness or something. He’s surprised to find that he’s inadvertently made her blush, a deep red color that spreads all the way to her ears. He can’t help the way he smiles at the sight. 

“Jesus, Niall,” she huffs, absentmindedly tucking her hair back. Niall has to resist the urge to reach out and run his fingers through it, the memory of its softness tingling against his skin. “You can’t just say things like that. And besides, after tonight, you’re the one everyone’s gonna be talking about.” He must look at her questioningly because she continues. “You’re like a hotshot now. Beer pong champ and a Shack boy? All the girls are gonna be falling at your feet. If they weren’t already, that is.”

She’s grinning at him and waggling her brows but Niall can’t find it in himself to be playful about this. Still, he forces out a laugh. “Not really, no.” 

Rory lets out a scoff, flipping her hair back. “Nonsense. Have you seen yourself?” This time Niall’s the one blushing. “I mean, Callie was basically drooling over you tonight. And she’s picky.”

He nearly groans. Why does the Callie thing keep following him around tonight? He knows Rory’s joking but he really doesn’t want to keep talking about her. 

“I dunno. I just kind of mind my own business. I’m not interested in the messiness of it all…the whole ‘Shack boy’ thing.” They’re close to Rory’s place now and this conversation feels like it’s taking a turn. And not in a good way. He tries to think of something to get them back on track, to get them laughing at nothing like they just were. But then Rory is talking again. 

“Why didn’t you do it?” She’s slurring again, and he thinks she might be changing the subject. 

“Do what?” 

She stalls for a moment, a tension seeping into the air, and it’s only then that he looks at her again. She appears to be thinking hard about something, the corner of her mouth pulled downwards. “Why didn’t you stay back? Like, Callie was clearly into you. She even invited you to—” She huffs. “Why didn’t you—”

“Jesus Rory.” He’s exasperated now because he really doesn’t like this conversation. How does she still not get it? He wants to spend time with her, not anyone else. Going to this party really was a terrible idea on his part. “I didn’t want to do anything with Callie.”

“I mean, I’m not judging you. It’s a party and that’s a thing. That happens. At parties. I think.” She’s drunk and she’s rambling and Niall wants to pull his hair out in frustration because how can he convince her that nothing is as she’s thinking at all. 

They’ve stopped walking because he’s annoyed now. All night he’s wanted to be with her. All night he’s been trying to spend time with her. How can she not see it when everyone else—complete strangers—have mentioned it to him. “Are you fuckin’ serious right now?” He doesn’t mean to sound so upset but he is. He's drunk and really fucking upset. “You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?”

Rory looks confused and he suddenly feels bad. “What? I don’t know—”

Jesus. She can’t be serious. He’s really going to have to spell this out for her. Rory and her big brown eyes and her sunshine smell. He’s so weak for her and she’s acting like she can’t see it. “Rory, there is no way you have no idea what I’m talking about. You can’t possibly be that oblivious.” She is, apparently, because she looks at him blankly and asks what he’s going on about. He thinks he groans her name out because what? Jayden mentioned it. Johnny mentioned it. Everyone at this goddamn resort has somehow figured out that he’s hopelessly in love with her and yet Rory is still the last to know. “Callie wasn’t the one I wanted to make out with!” he finally blurts out.

He looks at her to see if she’s pieced it together yet but she just stares at him. Her blush is back too. “Then…who—” 

“You!” The word echoes around them. The trees, the grass, the lampposts, all of them throw his voice back at the both of them. “You, Rory. This whole summer it’s been—” And, god, he can’t take it anymore. She’s inches away and watching him like she’s surprised and he’s suddenly so desperate to get her to believe that it’s true and he likes her and he wants to spend all his time with her and he can’t get her out of his stupid head. 

He’s desperate and he wants so much and she’s here and she smells like sunshine and he’s suddenly reaching for her and crashing his lips against hers because he doesn’t know what else to fucking do. Rory leans back like she’s falling and his arms find her waist to hold her against him and her body does this thing like it’s melting into him and holy shit, he’s kissing Rory Bhatt. 

And she’s kissing him back. Her head tilts, hands pulling him closer, throat releasing a sound that drains all the blood out of his head and he suddenly can’t even remember his own name. Her soft hair is tangled into his fingers, her lips tasting like fucking raspberry and rum and he nearly laughs because she smells like the sun and she tastes like it too.

She’s kissing him back and it’s frantic movements and heated touches and his skin is burning up like he’s Icarus and he’s gotten too close to the sun. She moans into his mouth again and he thinks he might faint. 

But then her hands trail from his neck to his shoulders to his chest, pressing slightly like she’s going to push him away, and suddenly his wits come back to him and he’s falling from the sky and crashing back to earth. 

Shit, he’s thinking. Shit shit shit. He’s drunk and he kissed her. She’s drunk and he kissed her. He wasn’t thinking. He got so caught up in trying to tell her how he feels that he took it too far. She’s going to think he took advantage of her because she’s had too much to drink and how could he be so fucking stupid!

“I’m sorry,” he rasps out, scrubbing his hands over his heated skin which burns from the memory of her touch and her lips and her warmth. “I shouldn’t have—I should’ve asked—”

“What?” Rory asks, but he can’t look at her. He’s too ashamed of himself. They were finally friends and he’s gone and ruined it because he’s drunk and impulsive and stupid. 

“I didn’t wanna ruin anything and now I’ve gone and—” Fuck fuck fuck, how can he fix this? His brain is in shambles. All he can think of is Rory and sunshine and raspberry lip gloss. He’s fucked everything up. He can’t fix this. “Goodnight, Rory.” It’s all he can say before he starts to back away, resisting the urge to just run. He’s stupid and she’s going to hate him forever. 

He walks and walks and doesn’t dare look back. He walks and the summer wind screams in his ears. You’re so stupid you’re so stupid. He walks and his thighs are burning but he doesn’t stop until he gets to his place. 

It’s only until he gets the door closed behind them that he hears how hard he’s breathing, feels the shame prickling against his cheeks. He can still feel Rory’s hands on him and his knees finally give out, his back sliding down the door as he presses overheated fingers to his eyes. 

She told him, too. He can still remember the look on her face when she did, sad and helpless and regretful. She told him about the bloke who broke her heart, who betrayed her, who took advantage of her. He had been so angry for her. And now look at him. What better is he? How could he do that knowing what she’d been through? 

She was drunk and he kissed her without thinking. 

Something is crawling along his feet and he moves his hands away from his eyes only to find that it’s Spike. He’s purring softly, tilting his head at him, and Niall reaches out to pull him close. Spike nuzzles into his shirt and purrs again, louder this time, and Niall wonders if it’s because he can smell Rory on him. 

“I really fucked up, Spikey,” he mumbles quietly into the soft fur. “She’s gonna hate me.” 

Spike licks his temple, letting out a soft mewl, and Niall sighs as he slumps back against the door. 

He doesn’t know how he’s going to fix this. 

[night-rhea]

MC House Challenge! ❤️💛💙💚

This is  @kyril-hphm​ ‘s amazing idea!  I wanted to do it daays days ago but... Some shit happens everyday right? And ı also wanted to try different style to draw hairs, ım sure one day ım gonna figure it out. (ı realized ı made their eyes color wrong...damn.)

So here ı am with my girls!

İts turn out a bit long, so ım putting this button here. İf you want to know girls better, just click it!

Gryffindor Night ❤️

She is LOUD. You think Slytherin Night is loud enough? Just wait to hear this Gryffindor's voice. Bill use her in the mornings when a few Gryffindor couldn’t wake up in the time. Also need a silent moment in the common room? Just ask her, ım pretty sure even Ravenclaw Tower can hear her "Shut the fuck up!"

Also yes, this Night is not shy about swearing. But she is mostly creating absurd swear sentences. "For the fuck sake Merula, ı dont give a fuck about your fucking power GO AWAY AND FUCK SOMEBODY ELSES EAR WİTH ALL YOUR SHİT" As you can guess, she is bff with Merula.

İf you cant hear her voice, there is 2 possible place she can be. Quidditch Pitch and detention.

She is playing as a Chaser and this is the one of the only way to shut her up. Like Rath, she let her skills speak for her.  Even its just a practise, Night is always so focussed in game, sometimes her looks scaring Charlie away. She really loves Quidditch, this adrenaline. Oh and she loves the victory of course. That makes her second Skye. Poor poor Orion..

For the detention part, she is in there more than she is in  her own dorm room. Unlike Slytherin Night, she is a fan of Tonks and Tulip's pranks and loves to mess with grumpy Filch. Also detention is not that bad. With Jae here, there is always a way to have fun. Charlie always says that one day Night and Jae's closeness will blow their towers up. Everyone is just waiting for this day. Even McG.

Lets talk about her relationship with Jacob. They were really close when they are little. Because of their last name's bad popularity (ım planning to explain this later), they didnt have any friend other than each other. When Jacob left home, she lost not just her brother but also her best friend too. (Lucky for her, in Hogwarts there will be Rowan)

She dyed her hair red right before coming Hogwarts. To show everyone how she is gonna be Gryffindor just like her brother. Also while everyone talking shit about Jacob, Night refused to believe her precious brother can do something bad like that.

giggles Wanna gossip about her? Like her best friend ,she has a big fat crush on Bill. You should see how she blush when Bill compliment her. She cant help it he is "too fucking cool"!

Night and Rowan spend so many nights to talking and fangirling about him. But after realizing that he see her as a sibling,  not a lover, she was a little heartbroken and tried to date some other guys who is like him. She ended up single of course, because no one can be perfect like him.

İf you want chaos, Gryffindor Night is your girl!

Hufflepuff Night 💛

My favorite thing about this Night is her smile. İts so warm and full of love..I should admit she is the purest Night but she is too good for her own. This is the why she is entire Hufflepuff's little sister. Especially Diego's. But nor she or me can decide that he fancy her or just love her as a little sister. you know, because its Diego...

Not so suprisingly ,She loves to take care of her friends, just like Orj Night, but this girl is doing it more serious. She is the mom friend of their group. She is gonna make sure you eat all your meal and drink enough water. And if you didnt, well you need to deal with her.  Also Night will remind you to take right books for your class if you two have same class. "Did you study for todays quiz? Oh why didnt you?! Come on ı can tutor you! We only got 11 minutes but nevermind that!" Dont worry she got you. Aand One more thing, she has best shoulder to cry. Im not kidding, she will hug you until you feel better and ı can guarentee you that her kind hug and angelic voice will help you calm down.

İn the other hand, Huff Night is not good at handling her own bad emotions. Her anxiety level is a little higher than other Night's.

She is not a "so different" person. İts her words not mine. Being Rhea makes her a little bit special of course but not in the good way. She is just average girl with a unlucky family, thats all. She loves her loved ones more than she loves herself, and always wish that she can be powerfull just to protect them. But sadly she dont believe she can, she is not like Merula. Not that brave or confident . Or Tonks. Not that talented. Or Penny. Not that pretty and popüler. Aah ah, this pure girl has a lot in her mind(or should ı say her heart?) but so shy to talk about them. Damn girl, go and talk about this to Rowan (While you still can...Can you imagine how she break after she cant save her best friend..?)

Enough, İts time to tell you happy thing about her life!   She was very suprised and happy (but mostly suprised) when Merula ask Night to be her date. They started to date in fourth year. (Everyone thanked Night for making Merula more calm and tolerable. Night said that Merula dont need to be tolerated)  Well they have their up and downs of course. Before Rakepick betray them, fifth year was pretty good (Night cried for her girlfriend when she learn about Merula's parent) but unfortunate thing  that  happened in buried vault, made their hearts to apart. Night still love her deeply and wishes  she was powerfull enough to save her from Rakepick so they would still next to each other now.(I know ı said "happy thing". Thats why ı wont tell you that after Rowan's death Night thinks maybe its best if Merula far from her. No ı wont tell you that)

But dont worry about her! She is gonna smile no matter what because her smile can make someone else smile too! İf you love tea and cookie, please let her know your favorite cookie. Her mom sending her delicious Turkish tea and she will be happy to share with you!

Ravenclaw Night 💙

After Slytherin Night, Ravenclaw Night is my second favorite. I really love her general mood.

As you can see, she is the only Prefect Night. And there is simple reason for that, she is perfectionist. She didnt became Prefect because she wants to help others, she became one to make sure everything is right. All other Night helped their Rowan to be Prefect but Ravenclaw Night dont believe that other Ravenclaw's will listen Rowan. She herself is more suited, just like Chester. (She really respect Chester) But dont get me wrong, Night dont underestimated Rowan. She just believe Prefect should be more serious and Rowan's heart is so pure for that.

And unlike Hufflepuff Night, this girl have a lot faith in herself. When Night is doing something, she knows it will be perfect because she wont stop untill its perfect.  

I should warn you about her, she loves to complain. "Damn ı have to do all work. Why cant you do anything  right on your own? İt was easy, even for you. Go and do something else ım gonna finish this one. No stop wait dont do anything. Just. Go."

Just like this,she can easily tell "rude" words. Even if she didnt trying to be rude.  She is just saying whats true! İts not her fault that truth is more bitter than lies. And sorry but truth has to be told. Even if someones heart can get hurt. Lies can make everything worse than a little heartbreak. İts like a poison that tastes good and late effecting. They should thank her for not poisoning them.

Her friends? She dont have a lot. Because of her rude attitude, a lot of people dont get near her often. Fine by her. She dont want "extras" anyways. Her little group of friends is enough for her. Also she have Rowan, right? Rowan is her true soulmate. This two girls can spent hours in library and this is their favorite hang out. Honestly all Night need is Rowan and some book, she can live without any other people, thanks. But she can admit Talbott and Badea are pretty good too. Especially Talbott. He is her second best friend, if she has to give it a number. (This two became friends a little too fast. They have so many similarities. Biggest one is "Fuck Peoples" motto. They even have a ugly t-shirt that saying that. Andre died when he saw it for the first time.)

I think her mom Selina is responsible for Night's reckless behaviour. She was already angry to Jacob for leaving her behind and being ignored by her only parent makes her..ıdk, like that? She tried so hard to make Selina to notice her daughter is still with her.Tried to make her portrait with her pastel pencils, tried to brush her long hair and dressed like a princess, tried to write " I love you" in her mirror.  But little Night's little heart couldnt understand that pain of losing her son (just like how she lose her husband.) When she came to Hogwarts, she give up about her mom." İf a mother dont need to worry about her own child, then ı dont need to worry about anyone else too." But of course, she is not that heartless like she likes to think.

I think you can imagine that other students calls her names. Like "freak" or "selfish" or "egoist". She mostly just ignore them (because she dont believe they are worth to explain why she is not these name) and pretend like nothing had happened, Talbott and Rowan know she actually care and wants to be more "good". More "likeable". She is just making everyone uncomfortable when she walks in and she know it. But there is nothing she can do. İts in her blood. She is just like her mother.

I feel like ı talk too much about bad thing. İts time to tell moments when Ravenclaw Night smile. She dont have a normally smiley face but of course she smile. And you know what? İts mostly because of her boyfriend. This girl has a big soft spot for Barnaby. She literally melt every time he talk. İn the beggining she thinks he is just some stupid Slytherin and not worth lose any time but after being friends (which is a miracle) she can punch you in the face if you call him stupid. (Dont test about how hard she can punch.)

How the heck this boys heart can be this beautiful? Like, boy your parents nothing but shit to you how did you turn into biggest and cutest puppy in the world? And again, how did he love her? I mean, look at Night and look at Barnaby. They are so different and he can be with literally every witch in schooli and yet he is with Night. She dont know what she did to be this lucky but she is not planning to let him go. Just watch her.

(And ı dont know if she will notice you if you dont talk with her. She will talk with you politely at first, dont worry. Just try to not say something about her being bad prefect or something bad about her friends or boyfriend, you will be fine.)

Slytherin Night 💚

It's finally Original Night's turn to shine. How about starting with why she is most masculine looking Night?

İt was because of Selina. After Jacob left, he was the only thing Selina talk about. She talked about how she misses him playing violin, his eyes that he took from her husband, his gentle voice. Unlike Ravenclaw Night, this didnt make our Night angry. İt made her jealous. She decided that if she wants to make her mom happy, she should remind her Jacob. Maybe if she can do this, her mom would miss him less and smile more to Night. So she asked Selina to cut her hair like Jacob's.

While she growing, she tried to act like Jacob. She learned violin, wore his old clothes. She even answered when Selina called her "Jacob". And it worked. Selina started to smile more, started to talking with her more, even she cook  special meals sometimes. Menu was always full with Jacob's favorites but it doesnt matter to Night. Her mom did it for her!

İn Hogwarts, she learned that she is nothing like Jacob. Hello,  dissappointment. She was too loud, too energetic, too friendly. She learned that she can't be Jacob for her mom. At first, it  freaked her out.

Thats why she didnt want to go Celestial Ball. Didnt want to wear dress and made her hair longer. (She did want. She just didnt let herself.) And when Andre and Rowan keep asking about,, Night finally tell them everything. You know what happened? Her two angel friends talked about hours how they love her in the way she is, how she dont need to be Jacob because its her own life and she deserved to be happy.

After a lot of hugs and crying, Night wore the dress that match her name, kept her hair short.

I made this too longer ı guess ( ı was planning not to tell about Slytherin Night...) but ı always wanted to explain why ı love her. İm proud of that she can make her peace with herself. Selina is still problem for her, and still will be problem in the future too but right now Night is free from the cage she made it herself. Of course sometimes her anxiety hit her and made her feel like she is all wrong but its not a something a few late night flying cant solve.

Am ı gonna make it longer because ı wanna talk about Night and Talbott relationship? No, there will be another time for that.

She is always open for more friends. Wanna play quidditch or make/ listen music or drink tea or cook something? Night will be happy to join you in literally everything.

[theycallmegothboy]

1-100 >:DDDD REVENGE!!!

FELIXXXXXXXXXXXX >:(( 1. Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora?  -spotify  2. is your room messy or clean? -it’s pretty messy i guess  3. what color are your eyes? -blue and grey

4. do you like your name? why? -yeah it’s fine 5. what is your relationship status? -single 6. describe your personality in 3 words or less -certified intrusive thot 7. what color hair do you have? -brown and rn it’s red 8. what kind of car do you drive? color? -i dont have a car 9. where do you shop? -hot topic, goodwill, target 10. how would you describe your style? -comfy emo 11. favorite social media account -of mine, probably discord or youtube 12. what size bed do you have? -twin >:(( 13. any siblings? -i have 1.5 brothers  14. if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? -probably vancouver, idk canada seems lit 15. favorite snapchat filter? -i like the one with devil horns and a tail but its cute 16. favorite makeup brand(s) -i dont wear makeup 17. how many times a week do you shower? -i used to shower every day, but i dont do anything that gets me dirty so like maybe 3 times but if i leave the house then i shower 18. favorite tv show? -stranger things 19. shoe size?  -8 or 9 20. how tall are you? -5′6 with shoes >:(( 21. sandals or sneakers? -sneakers wtf 22. do you go to the gym? -lol no 23. describe your dream date -making some pie or something together and then eating the pie and then sitting on some rooftop looking at stars 24. how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment? -quite a bit actually but i’m saving up for a phone lol so soon it will be like maybe 10 dollars lmao 25. what color socks are you wearing? -not wearing socks but the ones i had earlier were white (ankle length) 26. how many pillows do you sleep with? -just one but it sucks 27. do you have a job? what do you do? -NO BUT IM TRYING TO GET A JOB BUT THE FUCKIN PEOPLE THERE ARE GHOSTING ME AND WONT REPLY TO MY EMAILS SO LIKE SBJHBJS 28. how many friends do you have? -like 4 lmao 29. whats the worst thing you have ever done? -idk nothing super bad but i do a lot of small shit that makes me feel guilty when i realize what i did 30. whats your favorite candle scent? -juniper rosewood 31. 3 favorite boy names -leo, clay, charlie 32. 3 favorite girl names -ivy, uh... idk thats all ive got 33. favorite actor? -no clue 34. favorite actress? -no clue 35. who is your celebrity crush? -not a celeb but i’d smash danny phantom 36. favorite movie? -nightmare before christmas or edward scissorhands 37. do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? -no, but my fav book is probably the prince and the pauper? idk 38. money or brains? -CASH MONEYYYY jk probably brains but if your entire personality is being “smart” like fuck off lmao   39. do you have a nickname? what is it? - a bunch of people call me son (see #49, #100), some call me rat, dumdum, goth boy

40.how many times have you been to the hospital? -just once i think when i was birthed. i also went once with my brother cause he kicked some scissors i left out on the floor and it sliced his toe the fuck open and he needed stitches and i watched him get the stitches and almost passed out :/ 41. top 10 favorite songs -please dont make me do this i dont have it in me 42. do you take any medications daily? -yea i take 20mg of vyvanse but i need to get it raised to 30 cause 20 is Not Enough 43. what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc) -i got some dry fuckin skin yall dont even know 44. what is your biggest fear?  -it depends. the dark is a pretty constant one though 45. how many kids do you want? -like 2 or 3 eventually 46. whats your go to hair style? -in my face, looking stupid 47. what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc)  -it’s pretty small 48. who is your role model? -i dont fuckin know lmao  49. what was the last compliment you received? - “i belive in you, my son, you’re an amazing human being“ (same friend mentioned in #100, not actually a parent of mine) 50. what was the last text you sent? -”no it’s a raccoon“ YOU GET NO CONTEXT LMAO 51. how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real? -i dont think i ever hardcore believed in him, maybe i did though i remember sleeping under the tree one christmas eve waiting for him but i was like “oh yeah that makes sense“ i guess 52. what is your dream car?  -i honestly dont give a shit as long as it actually fucking works 53. opinion on smoking? -cigarettes? fuck no that’s nastyyy. weed? that’s fine i guess but wait till you’re like 18.  54. do you go to college? -no. am sophomore n highschool 55. what is your dream job?  -musician/palentologist 56. would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs?  -fuck the suburbs lmao, but also im tired of rural, so like.. semi urban?? 57. do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels?  -no but i take the little soaps >:)) 58. do you have freckles?  -yes 59. do you smile for pictures? -awkwardly, yes 60. how many pictures do you have on your phone?  -dont have a phone but i have like 12 on my computer currently. 4 are of me, the rest are of my cat or random shit 61. have you ever peed in the woods?  -yes 62. do you still watch cartoons?  -cartoons these days kinda suck but like if they were good fuck yeah i would like gravity falls can come hang yknow? 63. do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds? -i had nuggets from mcdonalds today so i guess them? i dont really care 64. Favorite dipping sauce?  -i got sweet and sour but i dont like it that much. that schezuan sauce was great 65. what do you wear to bed?  -wouldnt you like to know? ;))  66. have you ever won a spelling bee?  -NO ive only been in two. the first one i misspelled the word “turmoil“ cause i had never heard it before and the second one i spelled the word “owed“ as “ode“ cause i was thinking like ode to joy and then i felt like a big Fool afterwards :(( 67. what are your hobbies? -lol what hobbies 68. can you draw?  -i am physically able to draw, but not well, no 69 (haha). do you play an instrument? -yeah i play a few 70. what was the last concert you saw?  -i saw Chicago in either georgia or tennessee i cant remember in like 2016 71. tea or coffee? -hot coffee, iced tea. NOT the other way around. (i love both though) 72. Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts? -starbucks 73. do you want to get married? -sure why not 74. what is your crush’s first and last initial? -dont have a crush 75. are you going to change your last name when you get married?  -idk maybe 76. what color looks best on you?  -i dont know but i wear black a lot and that’s pretty dope 77. do you miss anyone right now? -yeah  78. do you sleep with your door open or closed? -closed 79. do you believe in ghosts? -on the fence. not 100% “oh my god look at these gHoSt oRbS i need to sage my house!!!“ but i accept that there’s some things i wont understand about the world and that i have no answers to. i wouldnt be surprised if there are, and i wouldnt be surprised if there aren’t. 80. what is your biggest pet peeve? -whatever my adhd decides i viscerally hate with a firey passion right at that moment  81. last person you called -my brother (the 1 of the 1.5 from #13 and the one who sliced his toe in #40) 82. favorite ice cream flavor?  -chocolate is dope 83. regular oreos or golden oreos?  -regular double stuff. if you say golden, mint, peppermint, or thin oreos i’m gonna have to euthanize you, i dont make the rules.  84. chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? -rainbow cause it’s prettier  85. what shirt are you wearing?  -queen shirt from hot topic 86. what is your phone background? -i didnt get a phone between question 60 and now but my computer one is some mountains with the moon in the background 87. are you outgoing or shy? -really depends on who i’m around 88. do you like it when people play with your hair? -YES FUCK AAAAAAA (this girl played with my hair literally once in middle school and i was like oh shit and i had a crush on her until the end of middle school true story,,, so ashley if you’re out there-) 89. do you like your neighbors? -to the left they’re fine and their dog is nice but idk what happened to the horses so that’s sus but that’s where our cat came from so they can hang  guess, behind me they’re fine but their boys are loud, to the right they’re fine, and even further to the right are the dope neighbors and waaaaaaaaaay far to the right is a llama and he’s dope as hell 90. do you wash your face? at night? in the morning? -whenever the fuck i remember to/have the energy 91. have you ever been high?  -i dont think so but i wouldnt put it past myself 92. have you ever been drunk?  -not that i can remember, no 93. last thing you ate?  -sloppy joe from a can 94. favorite lyrics right now -”not gonna waste my life, cause i’ve been fucked up“ 95. summer or winter?  -fall. fuck you 96. day or night?  -night but i like it when it’s actually night and it doesnt get dark at like 4 fucking pm cause that makes me depressed 97. dark, milk, or white chocolate? -dark is good, milk is fine, white is only suitable for fancy stripes on chocolate covered strawberries 98. favorite month?  -i vibe with september 99. what is your zodiac sign -sagittarius (was almost a scorpio but i was holding out >:))) 100. who was the last person you cried in front of?  -in person, my mom like 6 months ago, on a discord call, my friend (i love you by the way, you’re the best,,, i dont think he has tumblr but im just putting it out there) like a month or so ago. i hate crying in front of people, i turn into such a hyperventilating snot monster which is not suitable for human gaze and thats the real tea :/

felix this took like 2 hours of my life i will never get back i hate you and i hope you’re happy with what you’ve done <3 <3

also anyone who wants to stalk me, enjoy this information that im handing to you on a silver platter :)) <3

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Induratize | 02

Genre: Smut, PwP

Pairing: Sugar Daddy/Creative Writing Professor!Namjoon x Student!Reader

Warnings: Unprotected doggy style sex in a bathroom (ALWAYS do it safely, lads and lasses), fingering, squirting, Dom!/Top!Namjoon, swearing/cussing, dirty talk

Summary: It is near impossible to guard one’s heart against love, especially during the prime years of youth. Slowly but surely, resistance is harder to keep up when affection is shown on a daily basis from a forbidden side.

However, forbidden does not always necessarily mean wrong.

Such is the argument of a wolf longing for a little doe.

Author’s Note: Induratize (v.); to make one’s own heart hardened or resistant to someone’s pleas or advances, or to the idea of love.

Masterlist

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

There is only so long one can run from wolves, especially when having aggravated them. The sounds of the massive crowd rushing over the concrete of the station does not distract the clear focus of the predator nor does the amalgamation of the warm scents of freshly brewed coffee from one of the many spots around the historical edifice. As long as the light falls in through the glass ornate ceiling above the tracks and the artificial lamps remain turned on in the wide halls, the hunt shall not be stopped.

‘Where do you think you’re going, little doe?’ A generous arm clad in warm onyx wool wraps around the middle out of nowhere to draw it back into the fresh scent of a forest after the rain, the mocking lips of the pied piper chuckling into hair.

‘Prof- Professor,’ the fast-beating heart in the heated chest of the tawny wolf is pressed against the spine, the sheer presence and weight of it as curiously mesmerizing thanks to its possessiveness as what had been pressed against the behind earlier as well, ‘this is, ahem, highly inappropriate.’

Why keep up this fantasy? I know I am nothing to you, that you are just sadistically toying with me.

‘Is it? Nobody here knows what we are to each other. For all they know, I’m your boyfriend.’ A kiss on conflicted strands goes paired with a boyish giggle almost nullifying the perversity of the situation, lashes fantasizing about having a real relationship fluttering close in sheer bliss for a moment. Content, even if the bond is based around money and emotions are never really reciprocated. ‘They don’t know I’m your sugar daddy.’

‘I- I-’ Hips snap as they did in the train, erasing every sense of logic thought in a split second as the sensual heat from before rekindles. ‘I, mhm, sir, I don’t nee- need- oh, fuck!’

‘I told you to call me by my name, didn’t I? So why won’t you?’ Plush lips ghost over the side of the neck, warm breath setting every nerve on fire in paradoxical anticipation. ‘Maybe I need to convince you. Or,’ teeth sink into the side of the throat as digits glide over the mouth opening in a surprised gasp, ‘ teach you manners.’

In a flash, the hold from behind is made undone to be replaced by a firm grip on the wrist, resulting in being dragged along to the nearest unisex bathroom. Here, freedom is temporarily granted during the small moment it takes to lock the door before a sturdy hand grabs the waist whilst its counterpart snakes around the back of the neck, hiding beneath loose locks whereas the other violently tugs down the fabric of the haphazardly pulled on leggings. Any other woman would have been afraid if their professor had done the same, but that unknown man is not Namjoon and the situation would not have been fuel for sinful fiction. Henceforth, consent to the rough handling is given wordlessly in the feigned helpless gaze at the domineering tutor.

Eyes meet anew in the mirror after being harshly turned around, maintaining contact as slender honey digits explore the wanton desire which essentially forms the foundation for every tale that comes forth in class and private. The toying continues for a bit, the creative writer clearly finding pleasure in the gradually building desperation finding a voice in weak whines.

‘You’d really leave me hanging like that? It’s not polite to let me walk to university with an obvious bulge, little doe, especially,’ all play is over as it takes solely one intruding advance to nullify every thought immediately and be thrown into the melting that feels like wildfire, ‘when you’re the cause of it. What did I tell you each time you wanted to move on to a new project without finishing the old one?’

There is no room to adjust to the unprotected sheer size of the author unintentionally kept on a leash, harsh hips relentlessly claiming what has been longed for. The answer to the question does not surface because every time it tends to, it is cruelly shattered to incoherent bits by a savage growl unable to be kept waiting in the chase for possession and oblivious ignorance. ‘I- I can’t, shit! I can’t r- re- remember.’

‘Finish what you started, Y/N. That’s what I told you and so you’ll take my veiny cock, whether you want to or not.’ A low baritone chuckle filters through the haze behind closed eyes as a warm secure palm folds over lips bitten down on by teeth endeavouring to restrain pathetic mewls hardly containing their overwhelming joy. Forcefully, a look in the mirror is established, the sight melting the last remnants of muscle in shaking legs but fortunately being kept steady by compelling darkened espresso eyes glaring from between tightly held messed-up locks. ‘Look in the mirror, see how I, how your wolf is fucking that tight pussy open. God, you’re gorgeous. Nice and complacent, having no choice but- Yeah, tighten around that big dick. No choice but to take me.’

The loud embarrassing drip of something on the tiles breaks through the baritone grunts and muffled ruined mascara cries of pleasure, something in the sudden hollow sensation in the aftermath of the first explosion of sensual elevation being much to Namjoon’s delight after a disgruntled yet surprised snarl. ‘I didn’t know you’d like it that much, little doe.’ Without a word of warning, bodies are joined in coyness once more. Notwithstanding, the union is a paradoxical mixture of pain and satisfaction in a different manner, for now, overstimulated nerves are denied the recovery from their watery floating in ignorance and brutally brought back to the wonderfully fulfilling reality. ‘But guess we’ll- shit, still tight... fucking wet, do it like this from now on since preparation apparently isn’t, grm, needed.’

From- From now on? I... I’m his?

The conflict likely shining through in the flowing tears finds assurance in the confirmation which was already assumed yet could not be believed. ‘Yes, from now on. I’m what you need, what you want. You’ve made that clear more than once.’ A particular hard advance compels the upper body to lie down on the cool counter entirely, forced into complete submission to the tawny wolf wonderfully claiming what has secretly been his all along. ‘Thirsting after me, squirting over my cock like that. Don’t think I haven’t seen you stealing glances at my bulge, baby.’ 

A protest wants to be made but is swallowed down before it can find an unintelligible noise to be voiced in for sneaky peeks have, indeed, been stolen in the classroom or lecture hall when thought to have been unnoticeable. Clearly, the opposite is the truth of the matter.

‘You like it, baby? This is how it feels, how your wolf feels. What I’ve wanted all this time, wanted while fluffing myself before- hrm, ah- before teaching you.’ Trying and succeeding in deepening the primal bond, growling teeth leave behind a gorgeous mark of belonging on the side of the neck while hips accelerate, driven to utter madness. To the degree nothing can be said by the human beneath the skin of the beast and thus lets the body speak for itself. Exactly like the little doe irretrievably hypnotized by the bruising grip on the waist in combination with the sharp sting of hair being tugged on and lewd noises resonating between the walls.

The revelation alongside the brand makes the heart almost dance in perverse joy, the knowledge to grace unspeakable fancies and being claimed thus evoking a misplaced yet wonderful delight. So much so that it is enough to be kicked off the edge that precariously has been balanced on again, taking the forbidden lover along by unconsciously narrowing the connection and letting fingers entangle in messy dark golden locks.

And for a while, everything is extraordinarily beautiful and right. The filling intimacy, the warm breath on the side of the throat, the sturdy arms around the waist keeping up both fools standing in delirium. Outside this very moment, there is nothing.

Nothing except us.

All that is misguided.

‘I want you to stay after class.’ The contextless command, for tone leaves little room to assume it is anything else, pulls the mind floating in personal reverie back to the present to reflect on the implications of giving in to the tall dominant writing tutor.

‘Namjoon... I- I mean, professor.’ Irises having regained a sense of Logic turn away from the lovely view in the mirror of tawny locks still enjoying their high burying their adorable button nose into personal strands, breaking it up. It is a crying shame, but the incomprehension calls for elaboration on why the academic would want more time together. Certainly because this is a mistake. A grave, severe mistake. ‘Wha- What we’ve done. I shouldn’t- I didn’t want to lead you on.’

‘Don’t call me that. Just call me by my name.’ Unapologetically, the wonderful physical spell is made undone for the second and last time, the expected comfort at the awkward hollow sensation below remaining absent as punishment. A mocking grin tugs on the corners of plush lips, apparently finding something humorous in the messed-up situation. ‘Funny how you blame yourself while I’m the one who initiated it. You liked it, didn’t you, little doe?’

‘Y- Yes, but... it’s, ah, well, uhm...’ The caress of honey digits over the brand on the side of the throat ending in a squeeze of the shoulder alongside the one over the cheek melts away the ability to speak, all vocabulary craftily used when writing vanishing at once at the gentle touch of the affectionate gaze looking down.

Watching over their territory.

Guarding what they love.

That which they should not. 

‘It’s what? Use your words, baby.’ A low chuckle evokes warring feelings of Sense and Passion, not knowing which should prevail outside the university grounds where it is possible to be anything and anyone. Nobody here knows about the actual relationship that goes on between a tall young man and a wee lass differing in age with him a tad. 

Notwithstanding, the wonderful reverie is lifted when leaning sideways to undo the intimacy after mustering all inner strength and let palms soak in the cold of the stone sink by moving ever so slightly to untouched spots on the surface. ‘It’s wrong, si- Joon. I’m your pupil, someone taking classes from you.’

‘You might be, but I’m still a man, Y/N.’ Undaunted by the sudden distance, big palms rest themselves on either side of the waist as cushiony lips place a chaste kiss on the forehead. ‘A man who wants to take care of you, who wants to be more to you than simply a professor. I promise you our relationship won’t be solely about sex. I’ve shown that more than once by offering to pay for your food and coffee, didn’t I?’

‘So...’ Fluttering lashes barely dare to look up at the adorable button nose of which the eyes hold nothing but sincerity in the oddly loving expression that makes the heart flutter in spite of trodding down the wrong path with the pied piper. ‘When you asked me to have lunch together, you’d never wanted to, you know, let this happen?’

‘Not without your permission.’ Hands rub the upper arms affectionately, smiling faintly when small palms place themselves on bared honey hips. Their voice is sincere, assuring of holding nothing but honest intentions despite the forbidden aspect of the relationship that might overtake entirely if it is not stopped at once. ‘I won’t make you do things you don’t want to. All those times I asked you to eat together, I genuinely wanted to make sure you’d at least had something in your system to make it through the coming hours.’ 

A low chuckle speaks another truthful wish for one who should not be loved in the way she is. Nevertheless, a little doe is. ‘Though having dinner together would be a nice change of pace.’

And it is entrancingly exciting. 

‘Dinner?’ A pretty image of sharing a meal by candlelight unwillingly carves a timid though anticipating smile onto lips, fiercely longing for something that cannot be.

Or can be if the game is played cunningly and outside spectators are kept in the dark. 

We could do this because maybe, no, he surely loves me. Why else would he be my sugar daddy? Although, perhaps that is precisely where the fault lies since the bond would still be based around money and sex. That’s how these types of relationships work.

‘Yeah. And I’d walk you home afterwards, just to be sure you’re safe and sound. And only if you’d want it,’ foreheads rest on each other in a warm air of a lush forest and water lilies blooming in a pond beneath an orange tree when spring comes, plush lips ghosting over an eagerly following mouth which hungers for more, ‘I’d stay.’

‘Is that why you want me to remain after class?’

Please let that be the reason. Please promise me this will indeed not be solely about sex. That I am also more to you just as you are to me.

‘Maybe.’ An innocent grin nullifies the sexual atmosphere as palms briefly relieve their protective hold to swiftly correct the dislocated clothes below. However, when trousers are in order again, Professor Kim... Namjoon envelops the waist again in a loving embrace going accompanied by an unavoidable affectionate peck on the nose, stilling the stupid worry that the gesture of making one’s outfit in order after what has transpired indicates being solely interested in sensual transactions. ‘But I thought it’s nice if we hop on the bus together and I’ll drop you off at the right tracks before going home myself.’

‘That’s sweet.’ The response comes out more mockingly than intended, bitter Logic still endeavouring to kill any hopes of actually continuing this make-believe for that is essentially what this is.

Has to be.

A silly game.

Unsustainable.

As it might turn out to be in reality, but not in imagination as stories have proven time and again. Henceforth, let another be shakily written at this starting point.

And see its way into the world.

The brilliant creative writer picks up on the persevering doubt caused by conflicting thoughts and emotions, every molecule making up the novice writer engaged in the ancient war of Mind and Heart, and in turn becomes hesitating himself. Voice contains a pleading undertone as the low hug fuses two lovers together albeit not in the coy sense, but just as intimate with the desire to stay. ‘You’re doubting me.’

Together.

This is wrong, but he’s good to me. Always has been. Maybe he really is in love with me, though it could just be a farce simply to get sex. No, he isn’t like that. He cares and that’s why he does what he does. I’m going in circles. We could try. I could let him try.

‘I’m not! It’s just that- I don’t know. I don’t know how to feel about this.’ Happiness is anxiously within reach, the alluring manifestation of a goal never to be thought to actually be achieved with the tawny wolf. Withal, it is right there, right here, ripe for the taking. If only all inhibitions are let go of and the truthful Self, the newbie novelist heavily in love with her muse, turns selfish as a reward for doing the right thing for so long. After all, such a change should be allowed as a reward.

Right?

‘Maybe you will after we get some coffee. You look tired and I’m afraid you won’t make it through the day after what happened here.’ The concentration on indecision is broken up by a hand affectionately caressing the cheek like before, turning the chin upwards a tad to lock gazes after setting every vein on fire by gliding over the jaw. ‘In any case, know I’m not lying. I’m really head over heels for you.’ 

Long honest-speaking legs lower into a crouch to pull up the roughly pulled down legging again and correct today’s simple outfit. Once composed enough to face the public again, Namjoon holds out an arm clad in onyx wool to clutch along the way. ‘You can hold on to me and we’ll find somewhere nice and quiet. Come on, let’s go.’