#It is still possible that he did love her! But I think that story undercuts the relationship he also had with WCZ. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

perfectbluez · 2 years

Text

You Ghost

Genre: romance / horror / smut / short story

Main characters: baekhyun x you / female reader

Warnings: mentions of mental illness / schizophrenia / depression / anxiety / suicide / alcoholism / violence / major character death

Description: Starting a new life at a new town, you quickly find the perfect house to live in and start your psychiatric practice. Days go by smoothly, until the patient with the styled undercut hair comes by and wrecks havoc in your peaceful life.

Author’s Note: This story is inspired by Baekhyun’s song Ghost and American horror story-Murder House.

"Unnie! I really miss you so much. Why did you have to pack up and leave me like this?" Sana, your little sister who had just turned seventeen the previous month, whines in her baby voice.

You smile, vividly imagining her face as if she is standing right in front of you, her lips turned down into the pout she tries so hard to pull off as angry, but turns out anything but adorable.

"You know why my sweet baby. It's for me to earn more money so I can send you to a nice, big university. You're all I have left, right?" You imagine Sana's cute face fall a little through the phone, "I miss mom and dad so much," she whispers, in the littlest of voices. The pain you felt at the loss of your parents sometimes seemed nothing when compared to Sana’s young soul. "I know. Me too, sweetie, me too," you whisper, your eyes watering up instantly, thinking of the cruel way a simple car accident took the lives of the people you had loved the most in your entire life. But you had promised them that you would take the best care of Sana as they had cared for you. So you quickly wipe your eyes and adjust your spectacles as you say, "Listen, you must quickly finish your high school at Aunt Yuri's place, and by the end of this year, you can come by and stay with me, permanently!" Sana already knew this, but reminding each other every time how it’ll be only one year until you two would be united didn't get any less exciting. Besides, talking about staying with her sister made Sana the happiest. "Really? Do you really promise?" Sana's little voice chirps, and you can already tell the creeping smile that was about to break through with just one word. "Promise!" you squeal, and another squeal adds to your one as you visibly hear your 17-year-old sister jump up from where ever she was sitting. "Oh Unnie! I promise too that I will be the best student and graduate faster than anyone else so I can come live with you sooner. I love you so, so much! Oh btw, Aunt Yuri showed me the photos of the house, it is so big and pretty. How did you find such a beautiful house so fast out there?" That, was a mystery to you, too.

It wasn't only the most beautiful house you came across while searching for one, but it had also come at a really low price.

You had needed to start your psychiatric practice as soon as possible, so you didn't get the time to mull over any suspicious reasons behind getting a house like this at such a low price. You had to think about Sana and her future. So you had taken it. It still needed a lot of time to become your own, most of your boxes left unopen upstairs. But downstairs, the living room- and the room you loved so much - had been refurnished as your office. The place where you'll see your outpatients, was pretty much settled as well. All thanks to your best friend and your part-time assistant- Jihyo. As if she knew you had thought of her, Jihyo's head pops in through the mahogany double doors to your office, smiling her pretty smile as she says, "Your first patient of the day is here, Doctor. Should I let them in?" You bid Sana a loved filled goodbye and with her sweet giggles warming your body, you nod towards Jihyo, standing up from your comfortable position in your oversized bronze accent armchair. Smiling slightly, you say,

"I'm ready."

The first patient was a 30-year-old man with mild case of schizophrenia. The condition had developed after he had completed his military enlistment, and even though his previous doctors listed it as not dangerous, to you, it seemed something more.

"I can't sleep at night anymore, Doctor. I feel like if I do, they are gonna break into my house and kidnap me." he breathes slowly as he says his worst fears, his beautiful, cat eyes restless and red at their rims. "Who will, Minseok sshi?" "The North Korean spies," he states with utter confidence, and there was no way he was a manipulative liar. His eyes were like an open book.

He actually, genuinely believed the North Korean spies were going to topple the boundaries just to take him, a mere civilian who was just finishing his mandatory army training, from the comfort of his home and kill him.

"Okay. And when did these insomniac phases start, Minseok sshi? While you were posted at the Demilitarized Zone or after?" You take off your spectacles and observe him with kind eyes. "While... I was still there. My post was transferred to the DMZ for my excellent shooting skills during the military. I was so ecstatic, so proud of myself when it had happened. It was one of the most prestigious posts at the army," he smiles, and you couldn't stop yourself from noting how handsome he was when he wasn't overcome with fear, "I bragged about it to all my friends and family. They were so proud. They were so proud until..." his smile fades, his eyes becoming wet as the painful memories came back like a flood, that awful night at the DMZ. "Until what Minseok sshi?" you probe tenderly, catching full well that this was a part of the trauma that his mind was blocking, a very crucial part of his underlying illness. "Is that important? Why don't you just prescribe me some sleeping pills, Doctor?" his voice becomes nonchalant as he fakes a smile, but you easily catch the slight frown in between his eyebrows.

You note "incident at DMZ" down on your diary, and smiled up at him.

"Well, your previous doctors have informed me that you were aware of some of your hallucinations. But it seems to me that get confused sometimes. Mr. Kim, no one is going to hurt you. And I am positively prescribing you some pills to have you enjoy a good sleep, because restless brain activity is our worst enemy. Also, we don't want those gorgeous eyes to get dark circles underneath, do we?" you smile, trying to lighten the mood and appeal to him as his friend. "Let's continue this discussion in our next meeting," Minseok smiles too, albeit half-heartedly and agrees, his eye still troubled and restless. Jihyo comes in after Minseok leaves, smiling at you as she places your coffee on your side table. "Do you need a break or should I call in the next patient? They are already here." "My kind Jihyo, you are a life-saver," you laugh. Sipping at your bitter Americano- just as you like it- you say, "Bring them in. I feel like I am finally getting started."

Jongin Kim was a 19-year-old college student. He just sat there, one leg on top of the other, his hands limp, his eyes numb and quite lifeless.

"So how are you feeling today?" you ask, smiling comfortably at the kid. He reminded you of Sana because of his age and you could tell he would grow up to be a heart breaker. If his clinically diagnosed depression didn't consume him whole. "Nothing different, Doctor. I always feel the same, what's the use of talking about it?" he mumbles, out of courtesy, you could tell if he were given a choice he'd never even speak. The fact that he was here, getting help for himself was because of his worried mom sitting outside in the waiting room. Jongin was a good kid. "Jongin? Is it okay for me to call you Jongin?" you say, removing your glasses. He shrugs, uncaring. "Jongin. You like to paint right? Let's speak in colors, then. What do you feel when you hear the word yellow?" "Uhh. I don't know. Bright? Sunny... happy." "And when you hear the word blue?" "Blue? Um. Blue has different shades, the lightest blue makes me feel light, like I'm floating, and the darkest one makes me feel like I'm drowning." "So out of the 3 colors, how are you feeling today?" He pauses, looking outside the big glass doors that leads to your little backyard. He sighs, the dullness in his eyes growing a shade duller.

"Dark blue," he whispers.

The next few hours go by in a blur of more patients. And soon Jihyo pops in to say she is going for a lunch break. "You have one more patient. But they called in to say they'll be about half an hour late. So imma go real quick to grab something to eat and come back. Would you like me to bring you something?" "No, it's okay. I'll get dinner later. You go, I'll take care." "Are you really sure you don't want anything? Cause I'm getting cream pasta," she insists, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated way to emphasize the loveliness of pasta. "No babe for real, I'll eat later," you chuckle, busily re-checking the previous patient's file. "Ughh, no wonder your aunt calls me thrice a day to check up on the three meals of your day. Okay, bye, because I'm really hungry right now. You are gonna have to answer her on my behalf,” Jihyo grimaces. “Love you~" she winks as she exits, leaving you shaking your head.

You take the last sip of your coffee, craning your tired neck as the door creeks open again just after a few minutes. Thinkinh Jihyo had come back to force feed you lunch, you turn and say,

"Jihyo, really girl go and have your foo-" but you stop mid-sentence as your eyes fall on the handsome man darkening your doorstep. A man who looked younger than you, enters swiftly. You go speechless as your eyes fall on his features, the first thing you notice is his unnaturally pink, luscious, triangular-shaped lips. He is wearing a yellow t-shirt underneath his coat, his hair styled so prettily, exposing his shiny forehead that you would've complimented him right away if he was someone you knew before. "Can I -come in?" the man says in a husky voice, his perfect eyebrows slightly raised, a slight twinkle behind his gently shaped eyes. "Yes. Of course, come in," you say as you stand up. You walk towards the front of your table and you extend your hand, "Mister?" "Ah, Baekhyun Byun. I think I am your last patient for today," he says politely, his demeanor so different from all the patients you had seen today. "Yes! My assistant told me you were going to be late. Glad you could make it," you smile, a little flustered as you were not given your last patient's record history beforehand. You always liked to be prepared with their history. "Yeah. I was. But somehow I got here just on time." He was sitting on the couch now, smiling softly, so calm and collected, unlike yourself.

How unprofessional of you.

You cleared your throat and admonished yourself mentally. Stop ogling at him, you repeat to yourself as you fix your hair into a ponytail and head for the door.

"Please. I'm so, so sorry. I don't have your file with me. I will go out and see if I can get your records from my table. If you could just excuse me for one min-" "No. No please sit. There is no need for it when I am right here. I can tell you everything." the man smiles. You wondered how the words 'a brilliant smile' would be an understatement to describe it. Why were his teeth so pretty?

"But-" you say again, feeling a little flip in your stomach but also unease for not being at your best. "Please, sit," he motions with his hand, and as if you were hypnotized, you sit down. You even forget to put on your spectacles, left on your desk when you had stood up. "Okay." you nod, and then break into your own bright, easy smile, "Okay. So let us start. Tell me about yourself, Mr. Byun." "Baekhyun, if you must," he clasps his hands in front of him, the smile fading a little but still there, "I'm Byun Baekhyun, 28," he was two years older than you, "I work at a tech company. Me and my brother both used to run it together. I was CEO a few years ago but I stepped down from the position," he looks up to see you scribbling these down, but you quickly lookup because he had paused. "Ah, I like to take notes, I hope it’s okay? If you want we can just speak-“ you start saying when he just shakes his head and lifts his eyebrows and hands in a gesture meant to mean that it was no problem. It was adorable. You smile again –huh, were you smiling too much?- and ask “If you don't mind me asking, Baekhyun," he smiles at you now, appreciating that you had listened to his preference, "why did you step down from the position?" "It was hard. It was hard after all the things that had happened, " he looks down as he speaks, his confident demeanor crumbling a bit. "After what had happened, Mr. Byun?" you ask, in your most tender voice. His head snaps up suddenly after the words 'Mr. Byun' leave your mouth. His soft feature turns into hard stone, and you bit your tongue at the silly slip of manner. He stands up suddenly, hands disappearing deep inside the pockets of his black slacks as he walks towards one of the paintings in your office. "These are some really nice paintings you have," he asks, clearly avoiding your question. You close your diary, catching ahead how today you weren't going to have any development with this patient.

But that was okay. Everyone had their own pace.

What you learned is you had to tread carefully with this one. He was sensitive in the oddest aspects. "It's not mine actually," you chuckle a little sheepishly, "The previous owners of this place insisted that I keep them. It's not been long since I moved in. I don't know if I'll keep them here, though." you stand up as you kept talking, moving towards the man who stood still in front of the painting of a beautiful lady. "Well, I think you should keep them. Especially this one." Baekhyun whispers as his fingers, so thin and pretty for a man, trails the border, his eyes unmoving from the lady's face. "She must have been gorgeous in real life, this woman in the portrait." you exhale as you stand beside him, putting on your spectacles to see better. "She was more than gorgeous. She was exquisite," Baekhyun whispers. You look at him curiously. He spoke as if he had known her personally. "Wow, you speak as if you knew this woman really well," you turn to face him, mystified. This time, Baekhyun's trance-like stature breaks, and he moves his whole body to face you. You had your share of meeting handsome men, even today you had met two who were astoundingly gorgeous. Yet there was something about this man in the black coat with styled hair, standing in front of you, staring into your eyes so deep, his mouth now looking so plump and kissable, that made your heart beat faster than usual.

Get a grip, you tell yourself as you discover a tiny mole on the right corner of his upper lip.

The way his skin shone in the soft light of your office, and how fair and clear and smooth it looked, enamored you. The grip on yourself loosened like air.

He steps a little bit closer to you, and you feel almost hypnotized. You are completely unable to move away when he says, "Doctor, I can quite easily tell when I see a woman that if they are just simply gorgeous," he says as he reaches out and grabs your spectacles gently, pulling them off, the light brush of his fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps along your hairline, "or if they are exquisite enough to take your breath away," he continues, putting the spectacle down and leaning in close to your ear.

"Right now, after I have seen one so dazzling, I really can't breathe," he finishes, he lips slightly grazing your cheekbone, inciting rouges along your cheek and neck.

He stares into your baffled eyes as he smirks and leaves the room.

What the hell just happened?

Minutes after Mr. Byun departs, Jihyo mkes her appearance.

"I think I'm kinda done for today," you say, huffing and shuffling your notes in a neat pile, and rubbing the place where his lips had touched, still tingling. You were embarrassed to find some of other parts of you tingling too. "Oh? Okay. I'll pack everything up and see you next week? Here," she says as she puts down two bags of Chinese food. "Jihyo…" "Now shut up and eat before I go," Jihyo admonishes, laughing loudly when you attack the bags.

Days become months, and soon you are getting the hang of living in a new city and learning your way around it. You had also applied to work as a professor at one of the universities, everything was going pretty well.

Except at the end of the day, when you come back to your big, big a house- you can't shake the feeling of being watched.

It wasn't like this at the beginning. But after you had started accepting clients, you always felt this cold shiver of being watched by somebody.

When you would walk down to the kitchen after passing your office, you would get a slight cold shiver from the room. You had started to close the doors to the room before sleep after that.

When you would walk out of a hot shower, you would feel someone watching you from the small window inside your bathroom that led to the yard of the house. You would close them too after the feeling didn’t let up.

There was this one time you even felt someone standing at the end of your bed.

It was crazy, and you were convinced it was all in your head since you never lived alone ina new place before.

You had told Jihyo about it, and that was what she had said too.

“If you feel too awful I can come and stay with you,” she had offered after the incident in the bedroom, but you declined.

You had to be the big girl.

It was horrible and pretty mind-fucking. But for the past couple of weeks, this feeling had stopped.

And what was more mind-fucked up was that you missed it.

That was so messed up. And you wondered why that was happening. Maybe it was something else you had missed, some other feeling similar to missing someone that you reconnected to this, reconnected back to something as disturbing as being watched.

Maybe I have reached my peak of loneliness, you wondered wistfully.

Anyway, there were far more important things to worry about than this. Like one of your clients being absent for weeks.

Where did he go?

Why wouldn't he reply to your mails that were sent inquiring about his absence?

The days he had come, he was so punctual, though every day, it was at the end of all your day's patients, and also strangely right after when Jihyo would leave for her lunch break. He never missed one single session, before he started ghosting you. And his absence had now made you realize you had developed rather illegal feelings for him. It was quite unprofessional of you. If anyone had to catch an air of this, your hard-earned degree would surely get revoked.

But you couldn't help it. You were always so immune to growing any sort of feelings for any of your patients. But, he...he was different. During the few sessions of the therapy Byun Baekhyun had with you, he would just stare, stare at you while you asked questions about his problems, stare at you when all he was supposed to do was lie down and look at the ceiling and relax and bare his deep, dark messed up feelings. After some of his slight flirtatious remarks towards you, gentle touches over your furniture and paintings as he would move around the room, all of that would eventually lead him to talk to you about his problems (it was the only way you could make him talk. And he could never stay still, never stay lying down for few minutes, and he always moving about and touching the paintings that he liked so much). You would sometimes stand up and walk with him too, abandoning your notes because you knew your mind was somehow embedding these memories to their cells, enjoying his company and the light conversation the sessions would turn into, and that's when he’d bravely graze his hand against yours, catch a stray strand of hair which he'd tuck behind your ear when you'd put your guard down and laugh at his funny monologues.

Times like this would create dangerous flutters inside our stomach, that would spread throughout your whole body and leave you stunned. What was worse is that he knew his effect on you.

But you could never get a reaction out of him.

Did he feel something for you too? Or was he just sweet and lovely like this to everyone else?

You try to shake these unruly thoughts out of your head as you focus on finding his contact number. The bossy side of your brain reminded you again and again.

He was your patient, it said. It's illegal to have feelings for your patient, it said.

But he was also one of those who shouldn't have gone without their sessions even for a week.

They were important for his recovery.

And Baekhyun had missed three.

Baekhyun was suffering from an anxiety disorder. It was hard to believe because he was such a bright person, always smiling and throwing witty remarks. But you could sense, sense a sort of fidget, a panic in his eyes when you would venture deeper into his life each time. Being the CEO of the company left by his father, there was no way he could afford to have any weaknesses, especially something that interfered with his work and relationships. He had admitted to leaning towards heavy use of alcohol, that had cost him many things, including his position to his younger brother. That's why he had come to you. Baekhyun was trying to get back on track, and you were gladly here to help him. Only you knew there was still a lot to unfold.

As you enter your office for a new day and new patients, your mind couldn't stop going back to him.

Worrying for him.

You vividly remember your last session with Byun Baekhyun.

He was wearing that same black coat he had worn every day since he started your sessions, and that day oddly, he had taken it off.

You had tried your best to avoid looking at his arms, his exposed collarbone, and his wide hips that were on full display because he had tucked his t-shirt in.

"So things with you and your brother aren't well, still?" you ask as you slide your eyes across his rehab documents, most of his visitors being solely one person, Byun Junmyeon.

"Yeah. He sold my house without telling me about it. And when he tried to tell me he was also selling her paintings I got furious and told him to never come back," Baekhyun says hoarsely, his jaw ticking and you could clearly see the topic of his brother was something that carried bitter feelings.

"Her paintings...?"

Baekhyun looks at you with a slight surprise and quickly caught onto the fact that this was something he wasn't supposed to tell.

"Baekhyun, who was she? " you ask gently and softly because once your clients start feeling on guard and close up on you there was no way you would be able to help them.

Baekhyun chuckles and rubs his neck, which was red by now from all the rubbing he did since he came in today, he seemed a lot fidgety somehow.

"Baekhyun," you sigh, getting nowhere with his silence,"You really need to tell me what you see when you go through one of your episodes. You said the last time it was so severe you almost took a drink. I can help you if you tell me. You know you can tell me," you coax, trying to read this man's thoughts. But today it was really hard.

His angry face had morphed into a solemn one, he stands up and walks to his favorite painting, the painting of the mysterious lady, yet again, and you can feel it.

He had closed his open book.

You sigh as you take off your spectacles and walk towards him. Standing next to him always made you feel light somehow, you look at his hand hanging by his side and you want to touch it. You want to hug him and tell him he can forget about his pains when he is with you. He can stop looking at the lady in the painting so longingly and look at you like that. But you knew it would never be right. Never.

"I... had a wife," he whispers quietly, his low register tone feeling like a breeze of warmth hitting your heart, only quickly turning stone cold from his words.

A wife?

He puts his hands over the painting's sill and traces the border slowly, towards the lady's abstract face that was drawn in with vivid shades of blue and red.

"She was so beautiful. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. But then she left me. A car accident took her life, a simple fucking car accident." his long thin fingers trace the lady's cheeks longingly.

"I used to be so busy working, I could never give her the time she had always wanted. So she would paint. I would come back every night and find her hands covered with bright colors of paint, and then I would wake her up and make love to her because like that, she was incredible to me. Her death broke me, completely. My position at the company became nothing to me, I lost my mind over the loss of the love of my life. Drowning myself in drinks, all the time thinking about how I should have been with her. How I should've died with her."

He faces you now, catching the redness in your eyes that were too late to blink away. He wasn't crying, but his face crumbles into a worrisome expression. But in the simple way he told his story, his real story, you could feel his loss as if you had been right there with him, suffering, and somehow the hurt of losing someone so loved felt profound to you. You understood the need to leave with the ones you had lost.

Because you too, had gone through something very similar.

"Don't cry," he coos, moving his hands away from the painting, moving his longing eyes away from her to you.

He was standing very close to you now, so close that you could count his eyelashes as his gaze roamed around your face until they fell on your quivering mouth.

"Mr. Byun," you start when he leans down towards them, his breathe covering your mouth in shallow inhales. He closes his eyes as if to control himself, and kisses your forehead instead. Like it was the most normal thing to do. The most natural thing.

Like you had been doing this for years.

"Neoreul michige wonhago wonhaedo neon...you ghost." he sighs against your ear, again, too close for comfort.

He was your patient. You did not allow any of your patients this close to you. Yet here he was. And you couldn't for the life of you, move away.

You open your eyes and look at him, the words he had spoken in his native tongue all unknown and foreign to you, yet why did it...arouse you?

"What does it mean?" you whisper, frowning a little, trying to hide how his proximity affected you more than you wished it to. But you were his doctor, his therapist. You had to focus. You needed to know everything about your patients to help them heal. And even though the intensity of feelings in his eyes made you scared to know what his words meant, you had to probe.

What did those words mean?

"Oh, doctor." he lifts his hands as he traces your cheeks with his thumb, "Do you really want to know?"

You look at him, mystified and terrified all at once.

"Even if I want you.... want you so much that it drives me crazy....

all you do is ghost" ...

"Hey, your first patient just called in to let me know they'll be here soon, okay? What are you looking for?" Jihyo pops in her head, slightly concerned at the disheveled way you were rifling through your files.

"Thank god you are here! Have you seen my patient Byun Baekhyun's file somewhere? They have been avoiding sessions for 3 weeks now and I need to contact them ASAP," you plead with big eyes.

"Byun Baekhyun? Huh. Never really heard of their name. Are you sure you have a patient...? Uhh nevermind. You are getting so many appointments nowadays that it's hard to keep up," Jihyo frowns as she puts your coffee down.

"Jihyo it's really important," you ask seriously.

"Ahhh don't worry girl, I'll contact them for you so you should just focus on today's patients. Okay?"

Most of your patients had immense development with you over the past weeks. And as relieved as you were, you were also worried about the two who were still stuck at square 1.

"Minseok sshi, how are you sleeping these days?" you ask with a genuine smile.

Minseok's cat-like eyes were red and a little bit dazed. He shakes his head, answering your question without actually answering it.

"Bad? Is it because of the nightmares?"

He nods.

"Minseok sshi. What do you see in your nightmares? What do you see that scares you so much?"

His sad eyes look up into yours, and he sniffs a little.

He takes a deep breath, "I always have the same dream. It's always me lying on my bunker at the base camp, sleeping and a gunshot rings through the air. It shocks me awake. I climb down the bed and out of the room, in search of the source of the sound. I really wish I wouldn't do it because that is exactly where everything goes wrong. There I find them, they come at me with menacing eyes, hands outstretched over their head, and before I can understand what’s happening, they stab me. They keep stabbing me doctor... in the chest, in the abdomen, in- in the legs. Stabs and stabs of endless pain until there is nothing more. And then I finally jolt awake," he barely finishes, his forehead shining with swear.

Minseok was crying now. You slowly walk towards him and hand him some tissues and sit beside him. Patting his back.

"The person who stabs you, can you remember their face?”

“It's always a different person each time, but when I wake up I can’t remember them. I can't live with my parents anymore. Because I feel they are North Korean spies who are out to kill me. But that’s not true, right doc?” he looks at me with frantic eyes, “Doc, I don't know what to do anymore. Please help me. Please."

Jongin has dark circles around his eyes now. His hair is more disheveled than ever.

"Jonginah, why aren't you attending your painting classes anymore? Your mom is worried for you."

He shrugs, nonchalant, distant.

"Jonginah, you have to tell me how you feel. If you keep it pressed inside you, it's going to become darker. Please tell me." you plead, your eyebrows pulled together in a worrisome frown.

His face softens at your tone. He looks at you with hopeless eyes.

"It's just that..." he sighs, his shoulders sagging more and more, "I don't see any point to anything anymore. I feel like my whole existence is a burden. How I'm just simply taking up space."

"Jongin. That is not true. You are not some object taking up space. You are someone’s son, someone’s student, and a wonderful human being. I can see how so many people care about you so much and admire you. I wish you could try to see yourself from other people's eyes. Because you are worth so much more than you think."

A knock sounds on the door.

"I'm so sorry, but Mr. Kim's mom left this right now and told me to give them to you to discuss in session," Jihyo says as she walks in, her hands full of portfolios of beautiful drawing. Even though you know Jihyo knows she can’t interrupt when you’re meeting up with the patients, you don’t say anything. You can't help but notice your patient sitting up, the slight brightening of his eyes as your assistant walks in, his gaze not leaving her face even once.

"Here you go. Please don't mind but I happened to take a peek and they are gorgeous. Mr. Kim, you are so talented," Jihyo gushes as she looks at your patient with earnest eyes. Jongin sits up straighter, a smile adorning his plump mouth.

"You really think so? Thank you. Thank you so much Ms. Jihyo," he says gruffly, but you can see his eyes leaving the dull vibes so fast.

"Ah, you know my name! It's no problem. I'll leave you two now," Jihyo chuckles as she moves towards the door.

"Ms. Jihyo wait!" Jongin says, standing up now. There was a nervous vibe radiating out of him.

"Doctor, if you don't mind. And Ms. Jihyo, if you don't mind as well. I would like to draw you." he said.

"Me?" Jihyo squeaks, incredulous. But your heart feels triumphant at Jongin's words.

"Yes. I really, really want to, draw you."

The day ends with Byun Baekhyun being a no show. You bid goodbye to your 21-year-old assistant, being disappointed when she says she couldn't find their contact number.

"It's not even registered. Are you sure you got the name right?"

You sigh as you take a warm shower and sit on your bed, rubbing your hair dry, your head full of nobody else but Baekhyun.

That weird feeling was back again. The feeling of being watched. You slowly turn your head towards your open window and breathe a sigh of relief when you find no one there. You dress up in your white silk nightdress and head downstairs to heat some of the food Jihyo had left over.

Before you move towards the kitchen, a loud knock on the door halts you in your steps.

It was nearly 10 pm. Frowning slightly and tightening your robe, you peak through the looking glass only to gasp in surprise.

It was him.

In haste of wanting to know where he was all these days, you yank the door open recklessly.

Immaculately styled yet again, Byun Baekhyun always looked handsome, but today he looked hot beyond words. The stylish one button black shirt, and the love engraved belt showing off his snatched waist, all the words that you wanted to speak fled you entirely.

"Hello, Doctor. I bought you champagne," he looks up from under his abundance of baby eyelashes and smirks a delicious smile. And your unruly heart did that dull heavy thump for him again.

You were now seated in the living room of your too big a house, him sitting awfully close beside you. It wasn't a bit wise of you, inviting in the irresistible man in your house so late at night. But you were tired. You were lonely. And you couldn't let him leave you with so many questions starting up a storm inside you, you never knew when he would come back again now that he stopped his ghosting.

You were determined to hold on to him as long as you were allowed.

So here you two were, cozying by the warm fire and sipping on the delicious drink he had bought so generously, declining one for himself though.

Apparently, he had gone overseas, his brother being the boss now, he hadn't been able to say no. You felt stupid for worrying so much, and also a bit apprehensive because he could've at least let your assistant know, who simply doesn't want to admit he is an actual client here!

"I'm sorry." he tell you, reading your mind easily through your eyes, "I should've let you know. It all just happened so fast. Coming back to you was very, hard," he clears his throat, taking your glass and filling it up for the second time.

You ask him how his health was, and he smiles brightly only to say it wasn't that well either.

"Are your traumas coming back?" you ask, clearly concerned. Not realizing you had leaned in too close to him in your worry.

He looks into your eyes and smiles yet again, the smile not really reaching his eyes.

"You look really beautiful without your spectacles," he whispers instead, causing you to jerk back, the compliment hitting you hard right in the heartstrings.

He stands up again now and wanders towards your turntable, and you can't help but notice how he always tiptoes over the important questions. How ambiguously he expresses his emotions.

It frustrates you a bit about how you don't know even one-fourth of his feelings. Except for his flirty smile and chivalrous moves that just seem to be a part of his personality. And so, because he never lets you on anything personal about him, you can tell he is just here to chase away his loneliness, too. And that you are just his doctor.

Not someone important enough to convey his feelings into.

You dump your glass of champagne at one go, letting the sweet burn numb the clench of your chest and pour another round for yourself.

You don't hear as he admonishes you, asking you to slow down.

"It's okay. I don't have work tomorrow anyways, so," you down another glass as you glance sideways at him, to catching him shaking his head.

Slow music fills the room as he sets one of your vinyl records over the turntable. The sweet voice of Eric Benét fills the room.

"I love this song so much," you say, a little tipsy, and the tunes of 'Still With You' match with the beats of your heart. You shake your head from side to side to the beats, smiling when Baekhyun grabs your hand and pulls you up, flush against his body.

"Dance with me," he whispers hoarsely, putting both your hands around his neck and putting his own a little lower from where your waist is, over the curves of your hips.

His hand feels light over the fabric of your flimsy nightdress, somehow revealed when the robe’s knot had come loose. Your nipples strain against your slip in reaction to his proximity. You should feel embarrassed, but the heady feeling of his hand rubbing circles over the small of your exposed back blur that twinge out completely. You couldn't feel his temperature for some reason, but you felt yourself getting a different kind of warm as you dare to look up and into his eyes. Maybe it was the champagne, or him, but everything felt so shiny, glowing. The most beautiful being him.

He presses his forehead against yours, and you both breathe out slowly as you move to the beautiful keys of the piano. Swaying in the same place, the warmth from the fireplace warming your flushed bodies more and more.

Not once he lets go of his eye contact, his nose rubbing against yours every now and then. His ragged exhale lets your slightly drunk mind know that he was feeling as affected by this little dance as you were. The feelings that echoed in his eyes, the adoration, and tightening of his hands over your hips like he was afraid you'd slip away from his hands, made your eyes tear up. And you felt -you physically felt- your heart becoming this man's, this man you knew so little about.

"Baekhyun sshi.." you whisper when the song ends.

"Baekhyun, please. Always Baekhyun for you, my love," he says, his eyes closing as he leans in for your lips.

You do nothing to stop him.

You didn't know where your nightdress had slipped away, and or when your panties were replaced with his wet mouth, making your cavern turn wetter.

You gasped shakily, your hands grasping the headboard railing of your bed tightly as he slips in his fingers inside you, your head a little dizzy from the reckless champagne intake, but not enough to not feel what he was making you feel.

"My love, my love, my love..." he moans somewhere from between your legs, his naked shoulders flexing, his head bobbing up and down as his mouth eats you out.

You don't know when you end up being taken from behind, all you could feel was his delicious length rub your walls as no one else had ever done.

"Baekhyun..... Baekhyun...... Baekhyun," you chant in gasps, in between shallow inhales of dear breaths.

The turntable downstairs plays the passionate verses of Whitney Houston's of "I Have Nothing" as you get fucked equally passionately by this man you had fallen in love with.

He pulls you up by your neck, propping you over his organ and pressing you against his sweaty chest as he licks up the sweat of your neck hungrily. You were not praying, yet as you both knelt, it felt like it, his fingers wound through one of your hands and holding it over your heart, the other hand reaching down to rub sweet, torturous circles over your swollen wet nub.

"….Even if I want you so much it drives me crazy." his lips caress the words in your ear, making your spinning body and mind momentarily focus for a bit,

"Even if I want and call for you all night long.... you ghost," he says, breathing heavily, pounding into you one more time that undoes your whole body and sends you into the shivering mess of a mind-numbing orgasm.

The next morning or evening-you couldn't tell- the throbbing veins around your temples shake you awake. You moan, feeling quite disoriented as you turn from your side, your naked arm falling over the cold side of your bed instead of the body of a warm, alive man- the man who had made love to you so incredibly last night. "Baekhyun?" you whisper, your voice hoarse and laced with a tiny tremor as your heart starting to realize that he hadn't stayed over. Maybe he just left before I woke up, you think to yourself as you sit up slowly, your head giving a spin and making you realize that you had too many drinks the previous night. Or maybe he was never... here. Another sinister thought slams into you like a whisper, realization hitting you as your eyes scan for any traces of him being in your room, your sheets devoid of any of the milky white trace of the love-making you remembered too well last night. You were too sure he hadn't used a condom. No, that's impossible. He was here! you retort back to the sinister thought as you jump out from the covers, naked and quite sore. You rush to your bathroom, and when you stand in front of the mirror, there they were. Love bites. The marks Baekhyun had made over your thighs. Red and biting, small but so beautiful. Your fingers slowly trace each one, feeling relieved by the second that you had not dreamt of such an incredible night. That it had happened. And tracing those suckling marks also made you remember how good you felt when he was making them on you. "Oh Baekhyun," you whisper, tearing up a little, and wishing he had stayed back for at least one cuddle session. Why did he leave? Why didn't he at least leave a short message for you? Will he never come back? Will he ghost you again? Will you not see him for another three weeks? The thought became heavier and unbearable as your mind kept thinking about them, regurgitating the obvious. Soon you dressed and climbed downstairs to find his contact number again. You knew his full name. So you were bound to find his information somewhere on the internet. You didn't know if he had taken this as a one night stand. To you, it didn't feel like it, and when he had whispered those words in your ear again before he made you come, you were sure it wasn't just a one-sided love affair. Passing by the living room, you notice the champagne. But there was no glass. You frown and when you open your office room door, your frown becomes deeper. "Minseok sshi? What- what are you doing here?" you ask, stepping into the room, your heart beating fast because it wasn't normal to find one of your patients, one of the unstable ones, sitting behind your desk and going through your work files on an off-duty day. Sipping a glass of champagne in broad daylight. "Ohh, you're finally awake!" Minseok says, a little too chirpily, "I'm sorry for letting myself in your house like this. But I had to meet you. I saw you in my dreams last night." Minseok's took one more sip and put the glass down, his eyes full of terrible dark circles, his hair messed up. He looked like something.... something had broken in him. You step towards your patient with wary steps, eyeing the mess he had made by throwing down all your books and record files all over the floor in the search of something. "Minseok sshi, I'm sorry to ask you about this. But I need you to leave," you say calmly, one hand raised facing towards him. "I can't leave now, doctor. Not when I have finally seen the face of the North Korean spy who stabs me to death every day in my sleep," Minseok laughs in a high pitch, maniacal voice, raising goosebumps all along your spine. "Minseok sshi, I don't understand. Please you're not in the right state of mind now." "Right state of mind?? Huh! My dreams got worse after you gave me those pills. And look at this," he raises the painting of a rectangle, painted in the colors that resembled the North Korean flag. Red. White. Blue. Let's have these colors as the major pointer for how you are feeling each day, okay, Jongin? you had said. You mentally curse at yourself, fear trickling into your veins. He smashes the champagne glass on the floor and sits up, his whole face red now, his beautiful cat eyes big and bloodshot, "I should have known they had sent you for me. You are the North Korean Spy assigned to kill me. I should've known it was you, whore," he spits on the painting, his hands becoming fists as he crumped the paper in a ruined ball. "Minseok sshi, you are having an episode right now. Please remain calm, please I am not your enemy. I am your doctor. I am your doctor," your hands were shaking now, you should've grabbed your phone on the way. But you had to remain calm, because crumbling down would only result in both of you getting hurt. As if all the words spoken out of you hit an invisible barrier and never reached him, Kim Minseok roars like a dangerous animal, pushing everything and anything on your table, rushing towards you. And you couldn't do much but sprint for the telephone at your side. Before you could speed dial Jihyo's number, his body knocks into yours, rendering you speechless and out of breath, his heavy body climbing onto yours, his knees sitting on top of yours in the classic "tackle your enemy to the ground" taught at the military training, what they didn't teach was how to choke your opponent to death. "No more you. No more dreams," he wheezes hoarsely, wrapping his steels arms around your throat. Being a small woman, you could only do so much but claw at his hands as he squeezed the life out of you, your windpipe almost about to crush from the pressure. You could feel your eyes starting to burn, your mouth going dry, your nose blocking up as the life went out of you little by little. Soon the strength from your hands became feeble too, your vision becoming blur with tears, your oxygen-deprived brain slowly starting to die. Minseok pulls you by your neck and slams your head against the wooden floor. The last thing you hear before you lose your consciousness was running footsteps. The silhouette looked familiar. That same coat and yellow shirt you'd seen so many times. It was Byun Baekhyun, a bat in his hand, poised up and about to hit. It was Baekhyun, and he was here to save you. Save me, Baekhyun.....

You wake up with a jolt, scrambling upright with your hands around your neck, gasping for air as if you were just drowning. No hands were pressing against them; although they were very sore. "Sshhh it's okay. I'm here. I'm here," you hear a familiar voice whisper beside you and your head turns, body frightened and still alert, only to see that it was Baekhyun. Baekhyun in his comfortable turtle-neck and unstyled, boyish hair. Baekhyun with a worried look in his eyes. Baekhyun who was your patient but you didn't care anymore because you loved him. A sob leaves your chest as he arms wrap around you, pulling you into his strong and warm chest, pulling you into his delicious scent that soon calms down your frayed nerves. "It's gonna be okay. You are okay now my love. I'm here for you," he keeps repeating it like a mantra, kissing the crown of your soft hair as he rocked you like someone rocking a baby who had to awaken from a bad, bad dream. "What happened to him? Tell me the police have detained him before he hurts someone else..." you ask tensely, frightened that if Minseok was still out there, someone else too would be getting harmed as you did. "Yeah.. yeah. They-they got him. He is..uhh- they took him to criminally-insane mental hospital. Don't worry, he is not going to hurt anyone ever again." You look up from his chest now, "I would've been dead Baekhyun. If you hadn't come on time, he would've killed me. You saved my life," you say, your voice breaking at the end. Now it was Baekhyun's eyes which watered with tears, he pulls you in his arms once again as the tears fall painfully from his eyes, "I'm sorry, baby girl. I should've come sooner. I should've never left you alone. Why did I leave you alone?" he starts to cry hard now, baffling you into stopping yours. "Baekhyun... what are you saying.." There was so much pain in his cries. You kiss his temple as he now weeps into your chest, saying sorry again and again, even after you said it wasn't his fault. Baekhyun stays with you for the next week, not moving from your side even for a second. He takes care of everything too. He says he called Jihyo to cancel all your appointments and to not come by, even though you wanted to see Jihyo and feel her comforting presence. Baekhyun removes all the mirrors in the house too, strangely, he says that the bruises around your neck were only healing now, and looking at them would only incite the trauma so it was better off not seeing them. You agree wholeheartedly, like everything else he was asking you to do. He stops you from going into your office, as that would simply also be traumatic to you. That somehow felt stranger than removing the mirrors. Even when you told him many times that the place needed cleaning up and re-organizing, he said he had taken care of it.

He was taking care of everything.

You finally didn’t feel lonely anymore.

"Promise me you won't go in there. I've fixed everything, so just be with me," he would whisper ardently, hugging you and rubbing your back multiple times until you forget to give a damn.

Having Baekhyun made all your loneliness vanish into dust, he was such a warm soul to have around. His presence seemed more solid to you somehow, or you felt lighter, just like he used to feel. He'd cook while singing, would go to the bathroom while singing and while dancing with you he would also sing. But it was always the same song. You were convinced you had heard it somewhere often, but couldn't quite put a finger on it.

It was the night before the weekend ended, and it was raining heavily outside. Baekhyun was playing his jazz playlist again, his hair wet and messy around his forehead, his mouth iterating with the many stories he never seemed to run out of, and it was so romantic, so warm, so happy and giddy- you felt like you would explode. More than that, you felt like you would die if you didn't lick the pasta sauce off his lips right then.

"Isn't it tasty? My friend Kyungsoo had taught me this recipe," he said with a mouth full of meatballs and pasta, still pretty clueless about the slight sauce over his top lip that had missed his tongue when he had licked up his lips, and that was begging for your attention.

You smiled and nodded your head in agreement, putting your index finger forward and quickly swiping the sauce and putting it in your mouth, "Very delicious," you said after sucking on it a little too loud, catching how Baekhyun's eyes glossed over at your little act.

He dropped his fork and lifted that finger that you'd just licked, and keeping his eyes on yours, sucked your saliva off it.

Abandoning your plates of pasta, you both move like opposite magnets placed at close proximity, and devour each other's mouths, tongues rubbing together as you rip off the clothes from each other's body.

The days Baekhyun had spent, not once had he kissed you or sensually touched you. Yes, you both had cuddled, maybe even spooned, but nothing more than that.

Now you were sitting on top of Baekhyun's straining hard-on at the dining table, grinding your clothed pussy over it as your mouths clashed over who should be the more dominant kisser.

Baekhyun grunted and stood up suddenly, pinning you against the wall nearby, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist giving you the leverage you needed to keep grinding against his length, until he stopped you- removing one of his strong hands to bring out his cock and line it against your hole. You whimpered as he rubbed his tip, gathering all your juice from the clit to the vagina before slipping in smoothly.

You both gasp at the penetration, his gasps ragged as your snug hole feels so good around him, your gasps shaky as his width stretches you all too well, and before Baekhyun starts his mind-blowing thrusts, he whispered, "I will cum in you as much as I want tonight. And I'll make you cum so many times that you will forget your name, and remember only mine. Mine," he growls possessively, his pupils strangely black and so dark. Your walls squeeze themselves around him hard, anticipating the many little deaths he just promised with insane greed and lust.

And of course- Love.

In the morning, Baekhyun is still sleeping when you wake up. Your mind feels satisfied seeing him beside you, your bed not empty and cold like that first time, but warm and smelling of him. Your eyes trace his features, his hands outstretched over his head, his brown hair messy and covering his forehead, his lips pinker than you could remember them being. You were reminded of all the things those lips did to you last night and you blushed unconsciously. Your body shivered from remembering the times he made you come and you let out a shaky breath. Last night was gonna be hard to top off. Despite your wish to snuggle inside his chest and entangle your naked legs with his in this brilliant morning and sleep some more, you were starving. So you decide to go downstairs and for the first time, make breakfast for him and you both. As you come downstairs alone, it feels as if, as if a cloud lifts from over your head. You slow down your pace as you think how you have not talked with your sister for days, how Jihyo had not visited you at all, and now you never hear your phone that would ring so many times a day, ring even once. You entirely forget about breakfast, moving like a magnet towards the room you have avoided for over a week. You twist it open, and soon a raunchy smell hits your nose too hard. You don't dare to turn on the lights in the hopes of making any sound that would wake Baekhyun up. He would be furious if he found you here. You didn't want to make him upset. You groan as you make yourself move forward still, your hands outstretched in the darkness, the only destination being your phone that sat near your coffee table. Every breath you inhaled hurt your insides cause of the god-awful smell. Whatever had died in here? Thankfully your telephone was okay as your hands bought them to your lap. You pressed on to listen to the voicemails, the first one being from Jihyo. "Hey, this is so unlike of you to not receive your calls. I rang the bell so many times. But when you didn't open I assumed you had gone somewhere. Please call me as soon as you get this." "Doctor, I canceled all your appointments after hearing the news. I hope you are okay. I understand that you would want time off when one of your patients die like that. It's so unfortunate that Minseok sshi killed himself. But you have to know it wasn’t your fault." Minseok is dead?? your hands start shaking as the voicemails keep pouring in. "Hey, love. It's been days. Please at least let me know if you are alright. I am so worried about you. Maybe this will interest you enough and stop you from ghosting me like this, but I wanted to tell you something about Mr. Byun Baekhyun. I really really think you got his name wrong..." I could've never gotten his name wrong... ...because the man's records show he is dead." Impossible. "He is been dead for five years. He was an alcoholic, most probably after his wife had died very suddenly. He overdosed on sleeping pills and drowned himself in the bathtub of his own house." You stand up, the telephone falling on the floor as your legs shake. You are unable to breathe. "The most creepy part is, he was the previous owner of the house you're living in now. Jesus. I know right. Seriously crazy. Were you seeing his ghost all these days or something?" Jihyo's muffled voice chuckles, her tone light-hearted and joking. Joking... "What are you doing here?" a voice speaks from behind you. You whip around, scared shitless as Baekhyun's familiar form slips inside the door smoothly, almost gliding. But instead of walking towards you, he stands there, motionless.

"I-I was just checking my messages-" you try to speak. But right then, Sana's loud voice cuts through the room.

"Unnie! Why aren't you picking up your phone? Are you all alright? Please I need you to come home right now. Aunt Yuri is in the hospital. They are saying it’s a heart attack. Unnie… unnie. I’m so scared. Please call me." her panicked tone becomes a small voice as she cries helplessly, seeping in some ounce of bravery in you.

"Baekhyun, I have to go, I have to go to my sister right now," you whisper urgently as you try to move out of the godforsaken room, your wobbly legs gaining some strength as you avoid Baekhyun’s fathomless eyes, the deadness in them causing you to question everything that is happening around you.

Questioning reality.

Questioning his existence.

“You can’t go,” he whispers, his voice not of the sinister, cold kind as you were feeling.

You stop in your tracks as you hear the words. You stop in your tracks as he moves towards you, one step at a time. He doesn’t feel solid anymore. He feels like a part of a nightmare now.

“But… my sister needs me,” you plead brokenly, the room and his presence suddenly suffocating you.

He is standing in front of your shaking form as your eyes let go of the first teardrop since you had come in here. The unbearable stench had grown stronger, wafting towards you like you were standing too close to the source. He shakes his head, his eyes now red and watery around the edges, his face pale and devoid of any color. “You can’t leave,” he says this time, a different kind of heaviness in his words. “You can’t leave me. You can’t,” he repeats, his hands clasped and his shoulders slumped in some sort of defeat. “Why not?” you step away from him as he walks closer to you, his hands reaching out towards your face. “No!” you slap his hand away, hurt registering in his eyes immediately, “What the fuck does that mean?! You have to give me answers Baekhyun! Right now! That call from Sana was four days ago! I could’ve been there for her right away if you had let me come in here! And Jihyo! She- she says that Minseok is dead! She is saying that you are dead! Fuck, what- what does that even mean? And now you’re saying that you can’t let me go? For fuck’s sake, tell me why? Why can’t I leave? WHY?” you scream, tears pouring down your face as you look at Baekhyun’s shaking shoulder, unknowingly stepping further back from him in frenzy and to get rid of the smell that you were convinced was coming from him.

“Answer me Baekhyun!!!” you cry. Taking one more step back, your feet suddenly hits an object on the ground and you stumble, falling backwards, catching yourself from falling too hard as you land on your hands.

The small light from the curtains shines through, and your eyes adjust over the object that had made you trip.

At that moment, all air abandons your lungs, a thin shrill starts ringing in your ears as you see your own eyes staring back at you, glossy and unseeing, your face blue and bloated, a streak of dried blood running from your mouth towards your neck carrying the dark, angry handprints that had crushed your windpipe.

The smell wasn't coming from Baekhyun. It was from your body, your dead, rotting body lying limp and unmoving on the cold ground.

“No no no no no no no-" you scramble away from it, your shaking hands pressing against your mouth as you stifle your gasping cries in them.

Baekhyun presence surrounds you suddenly, his arms wrapping around you and pressing your head against his chest. “This is why I didn’t want you to come in here. I’ve been such a bad husband, I failed to protect you the second time too,” Baekhyun says, his eyes dead and numb, his face expressionless and morose, his thin fingers quietly combing in your hair in robotic motions as you hiccup and sob, unable to look away from your dead body. “When you first moved in, I could feel your soul, Yoojung, I knew that you had come back to me. And I had to come to you, to let you know that I was here, that I was stuck here waiting for you,” he iterates, his voice husky and soft as if he was speaking to a frightened child.

“Yoojung?”

“But you didn’t remember me. You didn’t even remember our song. The song you had written for me. The song that you had written the night you had jumped off the bridge, the night you had killed yourself,” Baekhyun keeps on talking, letting sobs break from his dead chest now.

"I had memorised it you see, I had memorised it and repeated it until the moment the water filled up my lungs in the bathtub," he says, smelling your hair deeply.

“Why did you leave me, Yoojung? Why did you leave me? Why did you leave me, hm?” his repeats in a sing-song voice, rocking your body in his arms as he cries. The hand in your hair grips back roughly as he pulls your face to look at him. “Look at me. These eyes, the soul inside of you.. yes, it is you. Because nobody has ever looked at me the way you do. When that man came to kill you, I could’ve saved you. I wanted to save you. But I didn’t...”

You gasp as the horror deepens, tears streaming down your face endlessly.

“Now that I think of it, in the end, I think it was… it was for the best. Because now you won’t be able to leave me even if you wanted to. This house doesn’t let you leave. It doesn’t let you leave even if you try. I tried to leave, I tried to join you too, it was so hard when even after taking my life I couldn't be with you. But that's okay now. Everything will be okay now,” he says, his hollow eyes that were big and round, finally clearing the dead numbness into a mix of insanity and love.

He brushes the hair away from your tear stained face and kisses your cheeks. “Yes, my love. Do you remember me now? Do you remember us? Do you remember how much I loved you even though I was always so far away? I will never leave your side now, Yoojung. We will stay here, in this house that you had built for us, and decorated with your beautiful paintings.”

“You and I will be together forever.”

A helpless sob builds up from your chest as his words hit you, a soul-crushing cry leaving your lips that the dead man’s ghost mistakes as a cry of happiness. His hollow, crazy eyes smile through his own tears, wrapping his arms around you tightly as you cry and cry and cry.

You cry because you were not his wife. You cry because you were not Yoojung. You were not Yoojung.

THE END

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hovkinnie · 1 year

Text

honkai domination and kolosten arc spoilers/rambling+ some heavy complaining after the read more (it's basically a whole ass essay im so fucking sorry lkfjdslkfjdslkfj)

thinking ab how fucking rad and meaningful kolosten would've been if the domination arc had ended with kiana and HoV coexisting instead of what we got.

It definitely would've been better to do that with more setup of them actually talking throughout the story (which is the same thing you can say about the way it went, imo) but even without it- it would've been even more in line with what I think are the most resonant themes of that story.

The thing that made me fall in love with honkai like I did was the themes around victimhood and antagonism. Sirin, Wendy, Bronya, basically all the Herrschers we've seen- whenever a character that wasn't Otto during the beginning stages of the story became a threat to the world, it was never really because they were "evil". They were victims of the cruel world around them, sometimes victims of the same organisms that fought against the supposed real evil of the honkai, and either broke or lashed out because of their real vulnerability.

But in a lot of those moments the story understood two things: one, that that's a tragedy, one that deserves to become motivation to change the world so this kind of thing can't happen again, and two, that if at all possible, despite the threat they might pose to our characters or the world, what they deserve isn't hostility but compassion. Because they aren't the perpetrators of their own violence, only the victims through which it becomes externalized.

This compassion IS extended to Sirin, not only in Second Eruption but also through Kiana, who, despite being a danger in a sense because of HoV, is shown compassion as one of two different people carrying on from Sirin's past.

But imo, it undercuts this theme that HoV isn't extended the same compassion. Because HoV is not only a more direct threat to the world than just Kiana by proxy, she's a much more direct inheritor of what Sirin could represent: A righful anger at the world that victimised her, one that isn't content to fight to protect that world.

And in a story that had at that point so wonderfully allowed characters who were framed as villains to be accepted for who they are, to be recognized as the victims they are and shown a path forward that didn't end with them burning out, in a story with Bronya's self-determination being fought for, with Mei becoming a Herrscher that fights in her own way to protect who she loves, with HoS being shown compassion, Fu Hua being stopped from sacrificing herself for absolution and a pointless so-called victory, with Seele being allowed to live in harmony with her other self and taking her own name, it's just painful that HoV's anger cannot be accepted and coexisted with.

I know that it's not a hugely popular opinion, but I think kolosten drops the ball with Otto, and I think it's because until that point, we had seen Otto from the perspectives of those who were the most hurt by his actions, some of whom might have developed a sort of stockholm syndrome but who were still able to see the hurt he's caused the world. We knew, always, that his view of the world did not include the real compassion that we'd seen growing in the main cast towards those victimised by him, the thing that to me was the emotional core of honkai. Where kolosten fails for me is that now we got so, so, SO much from his own perspective, his own hand-washing, while getting absolutely NOTHING about the people he'd hurt.

We knew throughout the story, always, that the kinds of experiments he'd done to people en masse for hundreds of years were a kind of mass torture that was what created Sirin as a Herrscher in the first place, the pain that created her anger. We knew that Kallen would've been better off if he'd never been so obsessed with her because we got her perspective on that history, and we knew that the world would've been better off in the years after that because we got the perspectives of the people most hurt by his actions. And yet kolosten gave us none of those perspectives, only focusing on him, the people with the most stockholm syndrome for him, and Kiana as a newly-reborn protagonist who isn't about to let anger cloud her judgement.

All kolosten felt like was a pity party for what was undoubtedly one of the most horrid men imaginable in that world. And that's really only because there were perspectives that were sorely lacking, perspectives that could've been there, ANGER that could've been there, if HoV was allowed to exist, if she was allowed to be there to say what I wanted to say the most to every character that I otherwise adore throughout that entire arc.

"Fuck this garbage fire that's been burning for 500 years. He doesn't get his pity party, or his one in a million shot to save someone who never wanted to be saved by him. He's hurt too many people to deserve anything other than a million void lances tearing him apart, one for each person whose life he ruined by existing."

Because if your compassions for victims doesn't extend to accepting that they're allowed to just fucking HATE those who hurt them, then it isn't worth shit.

#(this is like actually extremely long tbc pls don't click if ur not ready to read a whole ass essay)#honkai #honkai impact #honkai spoilers #herrscher of the void #hov #im not tagging anything else cause i don't want this to be seen as like tagging hate or w/e?#i love honkai and i talked ab the reasons why in here #it's just #i couldn't stop thinking and wanted to write it out #all the reasons why it felt like at some point it started really failing in the regard that i used to love it the most #yes even beyond the fact the girls are gay #i read yuri every day that's not gonna be what moves the needle and makes something one of my favorite games ever

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synthmusic91 · 6 months

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my full review of past lives (2023) dir. celine song

this movie really wanted me to believe i watched a better movie.

the characters are flat as hell, and the only reason this is as widely acclaimed as it is is because it looks like a movie that would win a bunch of awards. it’s an attempt to reverse causality by appropriating the indicators of something that would be a tear-jerker without actually having any depth whatsoever. other people have mentioned this already, though, so I won’t rehash it here.

what i’m wondering is like, what did celine song even want to accomplish here? there’s the transcendent romance angle, which is thoroughly undercut by 1. nora not even remembering hae sung’s name and 2. her insisting from the beginning that they have no chance together AND 3. NORA BEING A CALLOUS PERSON. did anyone else get that vibe? throughout the movie, we’re given zero indication that she cares about hae sung’s general wellbeing. he’s always just following her around like a lost puppy. it’s been 24 years, man. this is childish.

then there’s the pragmatism angle, which i think fits better…but still doesn’t fit well. because in order for the pragmatism to work, we’d need to see a lot more of nora’s mundane life. she wouldn’t still be chasing after white people’s silly awards. more importantly, PRAGMATISM INVOLVES GRIEF. pragmatism is letting go of dreams and ideals to maintain the current moment. it’s loss of childhood innocence, of freedom, of home, etc. but is this grief present throughout the movie? no. “but she cries at the end!” no. this is again an attempt to reverse causality. as if this single event recontextualizes her 24 years of glibness. IT DOESN’T!!! she does NOT feel grief here!!! song’s refusal to engage with such a fundamental aspect of pragmatism means this theme falls flat as well.

the theming is so muddled. it seems like the only constant here is that nora refuses to even entertain the idea of a life with hae sung. she callously leaves him again and again and again. amidst all of this poor characterization and nebulous writing, one thing is for certain: nora and hae sung never had a chance. the west (and only the west, because her passionless marriage certainly isn't tugging on anyone's heartstrings) was nora’s only choice.

but nora isn’t some savant. she’s “just some girl from Korea”. she’s actually rather plain. why the insistence, then, that “Korea was too small for her”? was there really no room for doubt, for hope that Korea could offer her similar opportunities?

apparently this movie is semi-autobiographical which…makes a lot of sense. as an east asian american woman, i’ve noticed that there’s a subgenre of east asian american woman that 1. loves navel gazing and 2. pathologically denies the possibility that they’ve ever made the wrong choices in life. past lives feels like a product of these two decidedly art-ruining drives. despite the outward insistence that hae sung and nora could’ve been something, their story only exists so nora can knock it back down. past lives feels dogmatic—not like a story in its own right, but like a platitude, someone’s attempt to justify the choices they’ve made for themselves.

#hopefully my last post on the topic cuz i shouldn't let this nonsense take up too much of my time...#past lives #past lives 2023 #celine song #movies #s

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unecoccinellenoire · 10 months

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OK since I'm hopefully posting a fic with Emilie later here's the Offical Fleurjaune take on the question of the woman by the pool:

I'm going to write fics both ways

I think it makes more sense for it to be Amélie in terms of what they're trying to do with Gabriel's character, if Marinette is supposed to have had an emotional victory even though she loses the war with Gabriel getting the Miraculous and making The Wish, given how the Wish seems to have worked plus the explanations of how it works in the episode, and in terms of the maternal relationship arc they've been developing with Adrien and Nathalie.

Marinette's story about Gabriel helping defeat Monarch rather than being him makes more sense/is an easier sell if she doesn't also have to explain Emilie's reappearance.

It was indisputably Emilie in the leaks.

Given the leaks were not final and the creators have reacted to fan responses in the past it's completely possible they changed it, whether or not due to fan responses to the leaks. Especially since the parts changed from the storyboards- cut scenes and words are things that could be done late in the process.

In fact the parts cut were deliberately those confirming Emilie- Adrien referring to his mother, and him sharing a moment with the woman by the pool hinting they did change their minds or at least wanted ambiguity.

The fact the writers have played on the ambiguity on Twitter means absolutely nothing. If they've kept something unclear until next season in the show they're not going to confirm it on Twitter to some random person asking and honestly I don't understand why people would ask and force a non-committal answer because they can't issue spoliers and then get angry at the writers for playing with you., they're not going to do anything else. Except maybe ignore the questions. Which feels like a better idea but these days there is an expectation of fan engagement. Twitter was a mistake.

The fact it was Emilie at one point undercuts all the narrative arguments for it being Amélie because even if the writers changed it because they couldn't make Emilie Revived work it does mean that until as late as the animtated storyboard they didn't see these as definitive reasons for it not to be Emilie.

In fact Gabriel dying for Nathalie only to fix the two-deaths-for-one issue (or alternatively, the One Murder is OK but not Two or Three issue in Gabriel's characterisation) still doesn't fix the issue that Gabriel is dying anyway so theoretically could only have given Nathalie the few hours of life he had left.

Honestly I feel there's a lot more Emilie-Pink in her colourscheme than Amélie-Black truthers are admitting, and Emilie did wear darker colours in the flashbacks something something losing colour with her life a la Nathalie's hair

Honestly I love seeing the pro-Amélie arguments because some of them are almost verbatim my complaints about the leaked storyboards so it's nice to see other's would share my issues with it if it does turn out to be Amélie.

#recreation spoilers #emilie agreste #Amélie graham de vanily #re creation spoilers #miraculous ladybug spoilers

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danggirlronpa · 5 months

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!!! You are SO RIGHT about Sato!!! I'm mixed on human Chiaki, because I do think she had potential—her arc about trying to help Hajime and yet not being enough for him, him choosing his ambitions over her and the idea of being “good enough” for her over what she ACTUALLY wanted had, in my opinion, tremendous potential. I really like characters who explore “people see me as this symbol (of either hope or of talent and success itself for Chiaki) and have an image of me in their heads that isn't actually me” and I also like when it goes further into “people disregard what I actually wanted for what they think I should want” too. I also think that “being a symbol people only see what they want in” idea could have strengthened the parallels between Junko and Chiaki too, which, those parallels were some of the only things I really liked about DR3. I said this in a previous ask (I am! The nanamiki anon as well! Surprise! Sorry for sending you so many asks, aha) but if I was to have human!Chiaki still be a thing, I would have the remnants slowly turn on her due to Junko poisoning their opinions on her, culminating with her death - I think that could have been really interesting.

Another reason I like human!Chiaki is because in SDR2, Chiaki was very much giving me Autistic Vibes (as someone with autism as well) and while I love that for her, I do think that having one of only AI characters be one of the only autistic ones could maybe. Not send the best message. Tbh. But with her being based on a human, it makes sense - she inherited her autism from the human she was based on.

That being said, I also feel like it undercuts the moment in the final chapter that AI Chiaki had with Hajime about not forgetting her… And I also feel like the anime treated human Chiaki as More Important/Real/Valid than AI Chiaki, which is really upsetting as someone who likes AI Chiaki as much as I do. I mentioned in the nanamiki ask that I liked some of the depth DR3 gave to Mikan and Chiaki's relationships, and I stand by that! I think that's also a positive that came from human!Chiaki.

But all things considered, I think there's a lot of cons to having human!Chiaki as well. I totally, totally, totally agree about having Sato be the Ultimate Archer in place of Chiaki! It adds so much to the story - specifically if you keep Natsumi in the reserve course. Hold on, I'm going to go find something I said on the topic in a comment on one of my fics:

“In Twilight Syndrome (and later in DR3 too, I think?) it's said that Sato is in the archery club. I think that her being the Ultimate Archer fits because of that, and I also think that they should have made it so reserve course students *couldn't* join clubs (though that would possibly contradict what is said in DR0, so you'd have to tweak that novel too). That would emphasize how discriminatory HPA is. I also think Sato being an Ultimate and Natsumi not could play a role in emphasizing that, too; let's say HPA did suspect Sato, but did nothing because Sato was an Ultimate and Natsumi wasn't. And then when Fuyuhiko killed Sato, they also suspected him and did nothing, because he was an "even more talented" Ultimate (and the Kuzuryu family probably made a lot of donations to HPA in the past—along with Nagito, probably, too—so they favor them & that's even why they knew about Fuyuhiko and Peko and scouted them in the first place). You could really emphasis HPA's rot and corruption with this, and it would give Fuyuhiko a lot of motive to destroy HPA once Junko comes along. Plus, it would also give her reasons to be friends with the other girls outside of Mahiru, like we see in SDR2. I'm not exactly opposed to Sato being a reserve course student, but I do think there could be a lot of interesting things if she wasn't.”

So, yeah, I totally agree with you about Sato! I definitely acknowledge the potential pros of human!Chiaki, but even at her best I still am conflicted on her, in big part because of Sato. I actually… and sorry for self promoting here, aha, I always feel sort of embarrassed when I do so… have written exactly that scenario- about human!Chiaki not being a thing and being replaced with Sato, and Sato being the Ultimate Archer. That's the case in my Twilight Syndrome Murder Case: A Series Of Character Studies series (first one is tilted girl a and second one is titled girl b, my username is Buttercup_ghost on ao3! None of the others are out yet) which is all about the Twilight Syndrome characters. I love Twilight Syndrome. I'm SO upset about how they handled it in DR3, it had no lasting impact on anyone except arguably Hajime, and! Like! What!!! Plus, the retcon about Mahiru not covering up Sato killing Natsumi… that one hurts the most I think. If she didn't even do that, why did she even die in SDR2?? Plus! I really liked that morally ambiguous element to Mahiru's character! That's probably the Twilight Syndrome retcon I'm most upset about. Though, tbh, the only one I'm overwhelming positive towards (instead of mixed on) would be making Natsumi a reserve course student. I think it added a lot to her character - gave her a level of insecurity, gave her the ability to have a interesting relationship with Hajime and added more dimension to her other relationships as well (Mahiru, Fuyuhiko, Peko), gave her a motive for bullying Mahiru, AND recontextualized Fuyuhiko calling her Ultimate Little Sister (she never had to prove herself… not to him… to him she WAS the Ultimate Little Sis from the start…) in a really sweet way. Tbh? The only DR3 retcon I'm pretty much fully happy with.

But yeah! Sato not having relationships with anyone else on screen except Mahiru from the Twilight girls is such a fucking crime. I want to see!! Her and Mikan!!! Interact!!! What's her and Hiyoko's relationship like too? What about Ibuki and her? I'm SO interested and we get NOTHING :( of course I loved what we got of her and Mahiru, but I want to see her with the other girls too!

Sorry for rambling so much in your in box! I almost reblogged the ask with my additions, but I was afraid you wouldn't get a notification for that so I just decided to send in an ask instead. Figured I would probably have to send an ask alterting you of the reblog, so might as well just send it as an ask, you know?

YEAH a lot of this is so good!! I'm definitely with you. I think real person Chiaki wasn't inherently a bad idea, but that it was executed poorly. I, personally, would have written Chiaki being the very first to go down a violent and brutal path of despair, dragging the others down with her, shown her in her last moments begging one of the THH survivors to forgive her in the afterlife, and retroactively made AI Chiaki into a redemption arc for an evil character the same as the rest of the class. But that's not what this ask is about, so I won't dwell on it too much! Suffice to say that I think they could've done much better with it.

I also REALLY like anime Natsumi. I wish they hadn't made her quite so sympathetic (the whole Twilight Syndrome plot hinges on the belief that she is genuinely planning to murder Mahiru!), but that's from an overarching story perspective; as an individual character, it made me exceptionally more fond of her. And I wish we'd gotten more interactions between her and the main cast, too! For all she seemingly bullied Mahiru they only ever interacted once. Not enough time spent on Twilight Syndrome. Just in general.

And you're DEAD ON about the lost opportunity to highlight Hope's Peak's elitism. The reserve course could've been so much. And they did so little with it. More than anything else, I think the treatment of the Reserve Course is abysmal. I still get so furious when I remember Chisa talking about how much duller the days were working in the Reserve Course and how they remained a bunch of nameless faces while she worked there. Absolutely infuriating. These teenagers didn't deserve a teacher who loved them and called them rotten oranges and told them fun speeches about high school because they weren't ultimates? Abhorrent message about intellectual elitism. Fuck off. And Natsumi's death could've been the PERFECT way to highlight it.

(& for anyone interested, the fic series they're talking about is here!)

#asks #anon #talk to the mod #dr3 critical #dr3 fans im so sorry i promise i do like parts of the show i am not here to rain on your parade #long post

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jicklet · 2 years

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Rewatching The Hunger Games movie for the first time since I saw it in theaters! Let’s go.

Literally the only thing I remembered about this movie was that the beginning was a different style than the rest, but I forgot it was because of enough shaky cam to make me motion sick. I am so glad that did not continue through the whole thing.

The world starting to gain color after they left the district did give it a sort of “Dorothy stepping into Oz” feeling, I can dig that

It’s really making it clear just how much of the book takes place in Katniss’s head, now that we aren’t hearing her thoughts.

like I think JLaw is actually doing a decent Katniss, it’s just that Katniss is such an internal person who gives off awkward hostile energy inversely proportional to how many people are around, which doesn’t make for the best film protagonist

speaking of energy, intrigued by whatever strange vibe Haymitch and Effie got going on. like uhh are they fucking or what

I am sad at the lack of Madge, because her part of the story is a big chunk of the theme of generations, but I grudgingly recognize this is the sort of thing that gets lost in a film adaption

and I do like the pin being a tie back to Prim, and then an early piece of rebellion from Cinna with it being not officially approved but snuck onto her outfit.

Aha. Things really picked up on the no-katniss-narration-to-guide-things front when it got into the arena, and they’re able to explain what’s going on by cutting back and forth between the gamemakers room and Haymitch doing sponsor things. Both of which are honestly fun to see.

It’s done to varied success here, but I do love seeing filmmaking attempts to show messed up emotional/mind states, and they clearly had fun trying different ways of doing that during the bloodbath and the tracker jacker sequences

something about the relationship between Seneca Crane and Snow is darkly hilarious:

“Everyone likes an underdog! :D ” “I don’t.” “ :( ”

Already showing 11 rebelling in reaction to Rue’s death is...a choice.

But then if we’re going to be showing the world outside the arena, it does follow that there’s gotta be something to show just how transgressive what Katniss did was.

Okay most of the changes that are actually bothering me are coming in at the ending

I’m guessing they fixed Peeta’s leg so completely bc they didn’t know how to make the chase exciting if he’s limping along, but. eghhh

(Peeta at the end of the book is like, he’s coming out of this with a boatload of trauma and he even lost a leg to this but at least he’s got Katniss! oh wait she maybe didn’t love him after all. this feels so less weighty)

Aw man I am cranky about the generic mutts. The horror of the tribute-mutts was SO evocative and really drives home the point that all of them are the Capital’s to play with (Did they really use their eyes? probably not but you don’t doubt it’s possible)

Instead they gave the moment to Cato with his little hope lost speech as a shortcut, which. hnn...fiiiiine.

nitpick but Katniss saying ‘trust me’ as she gave Peeta the berries bothered me bc it inferred Katniss knew how it would work out, when the irony is she started this rebellion on complete accident

😢 ok the little detail of Peeta reaching out to touch Katniss’s braid as his (as far as he knows) last act undid me. PEETA. ;-;

Hnn skipping over all the post-game recovery really undercuts the horrors of it all.

Seneca Crane in the room with the nightlock is SO good though.

god ceaser’s teeth are so unsettling.

does. does peeta not get a crown lmao poor guy

goodness that was a really quick ending!

Hmmmm okay whereas the end of the book is like, “I went through all of this but now it’s over (with strong hints that it’s not going to be that simple)”, the end of the movie is like “we are not even out of the arena before we realize that actually you're still fucked.” Like it is really focused on setting up the sequel and they almost forgot to give this film an actual ending.

You can’t stomp on the horror of the hunger games and how nobody wins it, even the “victor(s)”, that’s the whole point! bah.

I’ll say, 3/5. Can understand why they made changes they did, even as it frustrates me that they’re undercutting the message. [throws up my hands and reminds myself “it’s a movie, it’s hollywood, what’re you gonna do”] Overall, I enjoyed it for what it was. i still have a headache from crying over Rue, goodnight.

#v watches #v watches the hunger games #hunger games #the hunger games #I remembered literally nothing about this movie it's bizarre #I may as well have not watched it but i know i did

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basedkikuenjoyer · 2 years

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A Tale of Two Hannya

This is both the capstone to this whole “Case” series and the one I’m least thrilled to write. There’s a big ol flashy Makami in the room for all this recruit talk. Simply put, do you think I’d take the time to lay out an entire case for someone else if I didn’t have an answer for ol’ Yamsey?

Yeah. I do. One of the main reasons I feel like I have something here is that unlike other alternatives, this one can run right through Yamato’s role in the arc. I’m going to keep a lot of it to myself for now. Because there’s little point in pointing out every instance of the same concept. This is a dynamic that could pan out in a lot of shades too. Also, as little as two weeks could prove I’m way off base. It’s not like I have a problem with Pirate Inuyasha being the final recruit, but well...don’t make the mistake of thinking the notion Kiku may end up pulling a surprise is born out of really, really, really liking her and just wanting to make it work. I’ve said before my guess for most of Wano was Speed’s ending with Tama. It’s born out of three observations:

While I can certainly see the hype, I also can’t ignore that many of the big scenes for Yamato do have some hook in there that undercuts a new recruit narrative. Plenty of people have pointed these out independently over the past two years.

The more I started to understand this element, the more I caught myself using Okiku’s role as a counterpoint. As the arc rolled on, it became harder to ignore how much the two are polar opposites and how frequently they end up having similar scenes perfect for contrast.

From there, a lingering concept I can’t shake. I can see why an author would make the decision to mask his weapons-grade unassuming, tactful, tenth with a flashy but flawed foil. I could hypothetically see letting a side character with similar themes carry some early weight before introducing the newbie. I can’t see why you’d do that and then have her still be the one more involved with the crew in the back half. Kiku...hasn’t stepped back to nearly the same degree as say, Paulie. Her story is still growing too.

It feels like the misdirection boils down to presenting someone who looks borderline inevitable only as long as you’re looking at him in a vacuum, overlooking major thematic elements like disorder on the Rocks Crew from too many big heads. All the current tension in alliances. Whitebeard’s words on “the type to follow others.” Yamato’s own bumbles and inconsistencies. It’s how he fits into the big picture and where we’re at in the overall story that make me feel right to maintain that skepticism. Even moreso when you have that sweet, refined opposite perfectly set up to run away with the final phase as much as she did the first phase of Wano. Was that sparkler a fuse? Definitely still see the possibility even with recent chapters. I already said I felt vindicated by 1042. 1051?

I mean, the following scene with Jinbei dousing the hype is too easy. Before that though, recall when this blog was starting off in Act 1, long before we ever saw this chapter. I made a few observations pointing out that Kiku had a fun trend of not reacting to the usual Straw Hat weirdness despite ample opportunity and being in the right position to be that girl for those regular arc gags. These contrasts are all over, many in the same chapter.

Then on top of that we have Aramaki’s arrival. Already running long so I won’t dwell. Just...he’s the perfect beat to take all that work Yamato’s done building a bond with Momo, all that deep love for Wano and desire to be loved in return, and have him surpass Oden. Realize the magnitude of this still present threat and that Wano needs a powerful “Guardian” backing Momo. You can still fulfill your dream of going out to sea, but right here right now isn’t the best timing. That’s if we’re playing nice. And I see no reason things would need to go harsh if my hunch here is right...

...But I find myself frequently being reminded of something when I get into this territory. A pretty famous pair in anime history. Not saying it’s a direct allusion, the dynamic isn’t unique to them, but it’s one some of y’all might recognize that should shed a bit of light on the possibility I see.

Pinkie is the titular character from Revolutionary Girl Utena and red dress is Anthy, the “Rose Bride” and perennial damsel in distress. How many of y’all are familiar with this shoujo classic contemporary with One Piece’s debut? Spoilers ahead I quess. Many have compared Yamato to Utena having this drive to live as a dashing, noble “Prince.” That’s the big hook, it’s what motivates everything. Utena is so cool and hype and this awesome main character! And Anthy? She’s kinda flat. Alright I guess.

Well...until the end. That perception shattered in an instant because you the viewer were being led by the nose the whole time. (Pitting viewer vs. character perceptions...where have I heard that?) With that swift, decisive climax Utena is deconstructed and left as this lesson on the folly, the outright childishness of leaning so hard on chasing an ideal that was ultimately an unhealthy coping mechanism. And Anthy? Mastermind who was just playing the unassuming, ditzy doormat before girlbossing off on her own adventure at the end. You can’t rewatch Utena after finishing it without seeing how sly Anthy is at pushing things her way the entire, fucking, series. Right under your nose, hidden in plain sight the whole time. But it doesn’t make sense until it’s spelled out at the end.

I do at least see the potential of spinning Kiku/Yamato into a similar, if way less melodramatic, conclusion. A lot of our journey through Kiku’s arc has been simply pointing out scenes with potential. That fundamental idea that she was introduced showcasing acting ability and is a proper young lady who knows to mind her tongue. Meaning she could always theoretically be doing that in any scene.

#one piece #okiku #yamato #The Case for a Quartermaster #the prosecution rests #or am i the defense?

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ninewheels · 2 years

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Okay, here’s my issue with The Batman: (oh boy another take)

The character arc of the movie is Bruce learning to let go vengeance and guilt because those things are rooted in the pain of the past, and the only way to make things better is to look forward. He hears the Riddler follower saying “I am vengeance” and he realizes that he’s part of the problem. That’s great. I love it, in fact. But it’s undercut by the progression of the story up to that point. I don’t think the movie is overstuffed, exactly (although it could definitely have lost a good ten minutes in the editing room) but I do think that Bruce’s development gets lost in the midst of all the plot.

Bruce is immediately and consistently opposed to Selina’s desire to kill Falcone for revenge. While this makes sense in that he doesn’t want her to be consumed by vengeance like him, the problem is that he seems opposed to Falcone’s death at all. It makes more sense to the arc for Bruce to want Selina to stay out of it because he needs revenge himself/he’s taking the possibility for revenge away from her. (Also, yes, I am thinking of the end of Batman Forever right now as well.)

It’s the easiest thing in the world to critique somebody else’s art, and the second easiest thing is to say “well, I would have done it this way...” but for what it’s worth, I would have done it this way: Bruce finds out Falcone has his parents killed, and decides to get revenge on him--either he stops Selina from killing him before he knows, or he stops Selina because revenge hurts the soul, or both. Bruce murders Falcone in cold (or lukewarm) blood, which I do think they could have gotten away with since Falcone’s so unambiguously horrible. And then when the Riddler talks about how he sees Bruce as a partner, and that they did all of this together, it hits harder because Bruce actually has killed one of the victims himself--he is more indisputably an accomplice. (I think this concept still works well in the movie as-is, but my point is it could have been stronger.) This also allows for a bigger wedge to be driven between Bruce and Selina, and also Bruce and Gordon, to be reconciled by their teamwork in the climax.

#The Batman #Batman #found this in my drafts from a couple months ago #I still believe it

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starlight-time-machine · 2 months

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Week in Review

03/02/2024 – 03/09/2024

Sunday

Week 4 of missing Cipher Academy.

So they’ve gone the realistic route with Girl Meets Rock, huh? I can dig it – as a female tenor I can relate to Hatocchi having a more unique voice. I imagine they’ll grab guitar guy to complete their band, which would be interesting because I’ve never really seen a co-ed band for this kind of story. There’s also the possibility that guitar guy will dump the girl he’s currently dating and she’ll quit his band and join this one as some way of getting revenge on him, but I don’t remember what instrument she plays so who knows. Her design was just too distinct to not take note of.

Undead Unluck is peak as always, and I’m excited to see what new developments can come out of this revelation. It’s cute that Top’s new outfit looks so tokusatsu.

It’s so wonderful to see RuriDragon return. Like everyone else, I was compelled by its down-to-earth writing and lovely dimensional inking, so I’ve been patiently waiting for its return for almost two years now. I’m glad to hear that the mangaka is doing better, and that Jump is giving them the space to do things at their own pace. Story-wise, it still feels like we’re just building up to something, so I don’t have much to say yet.

It’s kind of hilarious watching everyone freak out over Oshi no Ko. Personally, I really don’t think they’ll go there, as Oshi no Ko has the tendency to pull its punches when it counts (having Ruby and Kana resolve their fight almost right away, having the guy taking Kana to his apartment be an actually decent person, undercutting most serious moments with a comedic turn, etc), but it’d be funny and interesting if it does.

Dandadan 142: God I love Mai’s stupid big head turtle design so much, and seeing her fight with Turbo Granny is hilarious.

Magilumiere fine.

Chainsaw Man pretty crazy.

One Piece also getting pretty crazy. It’s nice seeing some old friends again, and Luffy’s Looney Tunes antics are fun. I really hope nothing stops Vegapunk’s message, but I wouldn’t put it past Oda to give us something tantalizing before cutting it off prematurely.

Awww it’s so cute to get a prom chapter from SpyFam. I love seeing everyone in formal wear, and it seems we’re about to get some more Damian/Anya development, which I’m always excited for. Also nice to see that Anya does have other boys interested in her as well.

I did some more reading today, and watched Aqours’ Dreamy Concert as I did so. It was pretty cute but nothing special, just them going through the group number hits. There was a funny moment with Aikyan and Rikako in there, though.

Monday

I read Briar’s Book by Tamora Pierce this morning, and was crying by the end of it. The Circle of Magic series is hands down one of my favourite book series of all time, ever since I first picked it up from my local library as a kid. I love the world and its characters with my entire heart, and it’s been such a balm for the soul to revisit the books over the past year. I’d put off reading Briar’s Book, as it was the last in the quartet where the four kids are still together and I couldn’t bear that time coming to an end, but I’ve been craving something good to read so I finally pulled it off my shelf. Even as a kid this was my favourite book, as it featured my favourite character and the interesting challenge of an epidemic (not so interesting now, due to recent years…parts of the books definitely gave me flashbacks). But I loved reading about how Emelan deals with the crisis, especially in the latter half where Briar and Tris work under Crane (it was so cathartic to see Crane begrudgingly admit their usefulness). And the final scene showcasing the strength of the love between the kids and their mentors was the one that made me cry. There’s just so much warmth and love woven into the very foundations of this book series, and I love love love it. The only downside was how the kids were mostly off doing their own thing in this book – I was hoping for some more cute found family scenes of them all together before they go off on their own adventures in the next books, but I guess seeing them on the roof together one last time was enough.

In another “finally finishing the last instalment of a series” moment, I’ve finished watching Kizumonogatari: Reiketsu. It was pretty good – the fight was fantastic and super kinetic, of course, but I also liked Hanekawa trying to pull Araragi back from the brink and Araragi interrogating his own naivety and contradictions. There’s also something there about how relationships form out of hurting one another, and Kiss-shot’s motivations feel complex and understandable. After everything they’ve gone through together, it’s really hard not to ship Araragi and Hanekawa, but I’m also looking forward to seeing Senjougahara and the others again now that I can continue with the anime series. I hate that Kizumonogatari is split up into three parts because giving each part its own rating feels like splitting hairs (which I’ll have to do for Letterboxd…sigh) but as a whole I’d say I’d give Kizumonogatari a 7/10.

Tuesday

Today’s reading is The Fairy-Tale Detectives by Michael Buckley, yet another series from my childhood that I’m revisiting. It has a strong premise – it’s inherently fun to see familiar fairy tale characters in a modern context, and I think the central conflict that the Everafters have with the Grimms is something that is rife for drama and story. The three main kids all have strong personalities that work well off of each other, and I love how Peter Ferguson’s illustrations evoke that classic fairy tale style while also making everyone look slightly unhinged. This first book’s central mystery was simple but effective, with some twists in there to keep things from being too straightforward. I feel like the action scenes needed some work, though, as well as some of the dialogue (“I did that. And then this. Do you understand? So there.”), but it was a decent read. Not as good as something like The Mysterious Benedict Society, but not as rough as The Century Series either.

I watched Aqours’ 6th Live as I read, and watching it so soon after the Dreamy Concert really hammered home how they kind of stopped dropping new singles for the group (until Genjitsu no Yohane…but we’ll get there when we get there). I don’t know, I like their music, but did we really need to hear Koi ni Naritai Aquarium for the fiftieth time… I didn’t expect them to pull out the winter duo trio songs again, though, I’ll give them that. Misty Frosty Love makes me emotional every time…the way that their gazes never line up…the lyrics hinting at a bittersweet regret and inability to be honest with one’s feelings…the YouRiko of it all… At least we got some solo songs for the other legs of this tour, and Aqours Pirates Desire is always hype (the way Shuka looks in that outfit and with that flag…), but man Aqours needs some new songs (and more subunits songs please). OH MY GOD COTTON CANDY EI EI OH IS SO SDJFKSLDFJKLDSF I love Dia being the doting older sister/manager/back-up dancer in the background, that’s so cute and funny.

Wednesday

Thursday

Made instant ramen again for DunMesh Thursday, but only because there’s literally nothing left in the house (we’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow). I did add an egg though, because I realized that if I just crack it in and not stir the pot at all, the broth won’t get gloopy. The episode was pretty solid, with another cool moment for my boy Chilchuck, and it was fun to eat ramen while the gang ate pasta. After that was mostly set-up for the upcoming fight, but I like how it feels like a DND party preparing for a boss battle. Kui’s love for Western RPGs is so palpable in this series (unlike the slew of isekai operating on their vague ideas of fantasy, which boil down to “European town with monsters”). It looks like next episode will be the fight, and then episode 12 will be the aftermath, and I appreciate that they’ve lined things up so that the first half of the cour can actually have a climax and denouement.

Finished the last leg of Aqours’ 6th live tour today, and I wasn’t all that enthused. The solo songs were definitely the highlights: MOTTO-ZUTTO be with you was genuinely beautiful, Paradise Chime was so cute and fun (Shuka’s charisma is unmatched), and Meimei Tantei Yohane was INSAAAAAAAAAAAANE AIKYAN IS SOOOOO GOOD it was a good choice for her to become a center for Genjitsu no Yohane…her ability to go from typical anime girl sopranos to a deep dark alto is genuinely insane, she’s such an amazing performer.

Friday

What an absolutely nothing episode of Drag Race. None of the verses were particularly good to me, the Mhi’ya and Morphine beef just feels off-putting to watch, and I couldn’t make myself care about the lead up to the performance. And then the cherry on top was Plane Jane giving her potion to Nymphia in a move that feels like she’s just trying to buy likeability from the audience, only for it to literally not even matter??? At least the stupid chocolate twist had an actual pay-off at the end – in this season, both potions literally ended up being utterly inconsequential. This was such a weird bad episode, and the preview of next week’s challenge doesn’t give me much hope either.

Saturday

Didn’t do much today, but I want to give a shoutout to harmoe announcing their second album because it makes me so excited that I want to explode.

#week in review #2024

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namgee · 3 years

Text

cry baby | jjk (m)

❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (f) ❥genre: smut, pwp, fwb au, university au (barely lol), fluff, 18+ ❥word count: 16.7k ❥summary:

Jeon Jungkook [Jeon Jeong-gug] noun

1. The friendly (and hot) employee at your local roller rink. 2. Your friend with benefits of 3 months. 3. Someone who’s currently pissed at you for not casting your decisive vote on him in the disco rollerskating contest at his workplace. 4. A vengeful man determined on using his best assets to make you cry.

❥warnings: alcohol, cunnilingus, blowjob, deep throating, slight dom jungkook (?), tattooed jk (that I didn’t mention enough tbh 😩), fingering, rough sex, some overstimulation, some slight edging some spanking, biting (this could have been written as a vampire au lol), light exhibitionism, sex in public places, reader gives a lot of looks 👀 (let me know if I forgot something) ❥a/n: this story jumps time a bit at the start I actually got confused with the tense since I’m so used to writing in the present tense, hopefully it’s not too confusing and doesn’t mess with the flow of the story, i was trying two new things with this story : writing smut and exploring new story structure, sorry for any spelling mistakes 🥺. any feedback is appreciated ;)) btw the title was inspired by the movie cause jungkook’s looks for the dicon shoot fit it to the T. ❥taglist: @min-nicoleee @jeonsjiddies @ggukkieland

You really like fucking Jeon Jungkook.

He is made of just the right ratio of hardness and softness. You can simultaneously take an impromptu seat on the set of hard thighs that made for an irresistible lap. Thighs that still manage to mold themselves into the perfect weapon to attack the ever growing heat in your center. It’s precisely because of how much you like being confined under his heaving torso in the darkness of the night or the crack of dawn that you loved to stir his competitive spirit.

Jungkook has been working at Diane’s Rink since his sophomore year of high school. Now two years into college and very capable of finding a better paying job he still chooses to remain an employee. The boss, Diane Berry, knows very well about the positive impact his presence has on her business, so she decided long ago to give him some perks apart from the bonus that grows for every year he remained an employee.

One of the perks is allowing him, as staff, to participate in events held by the rink. From there on Jungkook has won the annual disco roller skating championship “Disco Craze” for four years in a row! A fit that he deserves, he is a great skater after all.

A year ago you had moved from out of town to attend college. During your minimal sightseeing you come across a poster for the rink and its annual championship at the town hall. It turned out a friend of your roommate, Kyra, was a frequent visitor and was going to participate.

On a chilly autumn day, the three of you headed to the rink itching for any kind of entertainment. Upon entering, the atmosphere was bubbling, strobe lights colouring smiling faces, people were gathered around the rink already cheering even though the competition wasn’t supposed to start for another fifteen minutes.

However, the minute you caught sight of what they were all looking at, an understanding nod was all you could give. Right there in the middle of the rink, the body of a well-shaped man clad with snug flare jeans skated effortlessly around as he swept the floor. You watched for a while as he moved around sweeping the same area a total of three times. Wow, he must really love the attention.

The competition started soon after you managed to get some snacks. Everyone clapped as the contestants entered the rink and lined themselves up for presentation. You were close to the rink ready to see it all when the real snack took the stage.

Your roommate’s friend happened to be good, so good he managed to make you snatch your prying eyes away from “Mr. Swipe the Floor” for a good amount of time. Your attention was however brought back by the matter at hand as the sight of the most perfectly shaped globes of rear meat wrapped in a thin coat of denim passed by your eyes and you felt the urge to tap in.

His performance on the rink, as if he was born in skates, didn’t help the matter at hand. Just like that, as if you were a primal woman hunting for a suiting partner and he was unaware of performing a nuptial dance, you made your mind then and there to somehow before the time you finish your education have him sweep something else other than the skating floor.

Everyone needs something to motivate them to keep going. Unfortunately for you, after that momentary day there weren’t many opportunities for you to go to attack. You can’t lie, you felt slightly guilty going after an oblivious prey, not that he looked like a prey. However, unknowing to you, your catch would lead to a drastic shift in your roles.

After a couple of months an opportunity finally presented itself. It was a Friday, the day after the fall midterm exam, and it was party time. Knowing fully well that his party royalty friends would drag him there, you figured you should go and try your luck.

Somehow between finding out Kyra is a hardcore partygoer and getting lost in the enticing swing of the music you forgot about your primary mission. But a quick trip to the restroom, one which forced you to pass dozens of bodies plastered to the wall in pairs of two made sure to remind you of the night’s purpose.

You searched around for him, a harder task than you had expected as people flocked around him and his friend group. You cursed yourself for the misfortune of having your eyes set on the popular boy with slick hair that’s otherwise hanging in loose waves, tucked behind his ears or in a bun. But it was too late then, you wanted something, someone and you were out to get it.

In your moment of extreme strength and confidence, all of which were fuelled by Kyra’s weird and possibly slightly poisoning alcohol blend, you gave your best (and thankfully only) shot. Your eyes zeroed in on the man who you had come to know as Jungkook as he continued to socialise with his group of friends.

The distance between the two of you wasn’t big (you had after all been creeping for most of the night) and no one was exactly looking at you, yet you put on your best stance and strutted confidently towards him. You had talked to Jungkook before for a grand total of two times, both of those instances were in class, so it technically didn’t count. As you approached the large group of people, shivers travelled up your spine at the sight of yet another snug pair of pants paired with a belt that accentuated his waist.

Just for a second you felt jealous and a bit insecure as you stared down at your own form. However, drunk you couldn’t keep her mind one thing for too long unless it was Jeon Jungkook (and some other miscellaneous but important things). The Jungkook that was looking at you as you lifted your head back up.

FUCK.

You had imagined the first time you caught him looking at you to be very different. You were supposed to look confident, disinterested but still somehow soft. You thought that in some way, because women are amazing, you would have figured out how to make it all work.

Yet there you were looking back, gaze wavering to let yourself catch a breath. You were one hundred percent sure he was making you more intoxicated than whatever it was you drank.

It was the forehead exposure, coupled with a sweet looking, curious puppy dog face that really made you realise you were fucked and you really wanted to get fucked. That day was your lucky day, maybe he had been looking for a charity case. Jungkook’s eyes kept trailing past your tight fitting crop top to your fidgeting legs as you curved his group of friends and headed back the way you had come. The drink you had taken in the name of liquid courage had done absolutely nothing to help, but that time you didn’t mind, he had done exactly what you wanted without any prompting from your end.

Your legs shuffled quickly away from them, crossing your fingers (in your mind of course), hoping his experience with the ladies made the message clear. You walked far enough to see Kyra’s reappearing form and still no sign of Jungkook anywhere near you. Maybe he wasn’t as intuitive as you had thought him to be. Or he was just playing with you the same way you would want to play with him, back and forth to see who would cave in first.

Your chest deflated the closer you got to Kyra and you didn’t understand the enthusiastic smile she threw your way as she turned her back to you. Hmmm, okay, you guessed that was her way of cheering a friend up. You got near enough to whisper-yell at her about your debacle, but a smooth criminal wannabe named Jungkook got in between and you don’t think you had been any more happy in your life.

“Thank god,” you whispered to yourself, pussy clenching right back up at the close up sight of his slick hair, the dizzying scent of his surprisingly sweet smelling perfume filling your nose as you attempted to discreetly inhale it all in, only to let out a loud sigh that bordered on a moan.

“What’s your name?” He asked softly, eyes shifting to your feet to watch you take a small step back. You told yourself you moved to get a better look at him, to be able to be in control, enough to gauge the situation. You and him both knew it was a lie. You lost your footing at the sight of him and the creeping smirk on his lips which his teeth tried to fight away did more than just show his satisfaction.

But now that you were the tiniest bit farther away from him, you made the bold choice of looking up at him. He was still staring at you, everywhere. Face, cleavage, legs, the hands that toyed with the fabric of your pants. All you managed to catch, now that he was that much closer to you, closer than he had ever been and yet it didn’t feel close enough, was the glorious undercut on his head. If you didn’t want to fuck him before, now you definitely do.

He waved a hand in front of your face? Your eyes bulged. “What?” You sounded like a dumbass.

“Your name?” His head leaned closer into your space and your hand awkwardly traveled to swipe past your nose, hoping it was enough protection from his very conscious attack.

“Hmm right… Y/N.” You gave him a strained smile. You were really straining after all, straining to keep yourself from jumping him in the middle of a room full with people.

“I’ve seen you at Diane’s Rink before, do you skate?”

Jungkook was making small talk with you and you never thought you would ever think this but it was weird. Though you couldn’t control the way your heart skipped at the fact that he had noticed you before.

“No. I don’t skate. I’m just there because my roommate's friend skates a lot, she introduced me to the place and you know, I thought why not. So like I end up going there whenever, I don’t have specific days or anything, yeah… I just think it’s a dope place to be at. Roller skating is fun and Diane’s Rink is just the right place to do that… yeah but as I said I don’t really skate…” If the amount of finger snaps, lip smacks, and shoulder shrugs inserted in between your reply wasn’t embarrassing enough, the weird skating motion you did with your body took the cake.

But even through all of that, he chuckled. He chuckled loud enough for you to see his chest vibrate as the skin beside his eyes and nose scrunch up cutely. How? You swear you could have fried eggs on him just a minute ago (yes that’s how hot he was) and now this. Jungkook was already asking too much of your body and you hadn’t even gotten in his pants yet. He let his soft chuckle die out, head hanging low along with his hair and decided it was time for you to die as he faced your gaze again, tattooed hand brushing through his hair as a full-blown smile adorned his mischievous expression.

Your Jungkook induced trance was broken for a second as you registered the quick floundering of someone’s hand behind him. Kyra’s hand. She made small hearts in front of her eyes only to make a cross with her arms. You gave her a pleading look. You guess it wasn’t enough for Jungkook to ask much of you but then your roommate wanted you to spare the little self control you had left to suppress your full blown heart eyes for a man and his skin tight leather pants.

You bit the inside of your cheek in hopes it would do something to bring your sanity back, anything. Jungkook’s right hand left his jacket pocket as he extended the tattooed hand your way, “You’re cute. By the way, I’m Jungkook.”

No. No. No! Wrong! He was lucky you already knew his name, how the heck did he expect someone to hear anything he says after he calls them cute, big gentle eyes looking at you. Also, have scientists yet to discover extra nerve endings on people’s hands because you’re sure a handshake wasn’t supposed to feel that good and warm.

You stared at the way his hand surrounded your own. You were barely putting any strength into it (not that you had any). It was all too much for you and you snatched your hand away, shaking it as if you had just touched a hot pan. Now the whole of you had warmed up to an extra degree.

“I’m going to get us some drinks. Would you like that?” You didn’t give him any time to properly answer before you were sprinting past his frame to grab onto Kyra’s arm as you pulled her to wherever the alcohol was. You turned a corner and found a safe place for the two of you to chat.

“Kyra it’s bad. Like really bad,” you whisper-yelled. “He’s all unaffected, making small talk for some weird reason and standing so close I almost, no I actually forget my own name. You know what, maybe I’m trying to catch a fish that’s just too big. I don’t think I’m ready to play with him yet. I should work my way up to the big boss, don’t you think? Maybe start with some hot dude from the sports department then someone from the arts department and then Jungkook from the science department. That’s a foolproof plan. What do you think?” You paced around her, sporting a convincing voice hoping that it was enough to fool your brain into downgrading its desires for a while cause your heart just wasn’t ready for him yet.

“Hey!” Kyra slapped your arm. “It’s been what? 6, 7, 8 months of you thirsting after a man. Today it ends, my friend. I don’t care! You’re fucking Jeon Jungkook tonight. If that’s the only way for you to get it out of your system so you can notice all the other much better guys you could choose from if you want to have a meaningful and lasting relationship, then my sole mission today is to get his dick into your hole before this party ends.”

You gave her a side eye for her constant critique of your attraction to Jungkook. It is ninety percent physical but you had been around at the rink (only on the days he had a shift of course) to notice another side of him responsible for the growing ten percent of your attraction. But you would never tell that to Kyra.

“Fine… but like, what do I do? Everything that comes out of my mouth is weird shit or tmi and I’m just flustered okay.”

“Then don’t talk. Go back in there, give the drink you said you were getting–”

“You were eavesdropping on us?” Your incredulous voice didn’t even faze her. She just gave you a ‘really?’ look and you put your hands up in surrender.

“Hmm where was I? Right!” She snapped her fingers, “Take him to the dance floor, back it up on him, get him hard, then move away from the crowd a bit and pounce!” She gave you her drink for prep,“From there everything should just progress naturally, maybe y’all will start with a couch make out sesh or just jump directly to the wall one and then find some cramped up place to bone it out, maybe if you’re lucky you will find an empty room.”

You stared at her, chewing your lips.

“You can do this!” Kyra said, each hand on your respective arms as she gave you a hard stare. “Today, the thirsting ends. Okay, now go get the drinks” She shooed you away.

“Right, right. I can do this” You pumped yourself up as if you were prepping for a boxing round and honestly it wasn’t too far from the truth with the way his whole presence was making your heart hammer against your chest.

One drink in each hand you made it back to your spot, surprised and flattered that he stayed put but still nervous for what was to come. You reached out to give him a cup, the hand contact almost making you drop it.

“Hmm, sorry about earlier. I’m just you know, nervous.” You drank from your cup.

“Nervous, why?”

Kyra said no talking.

“Wanna dance?” You asked pointing to the crowd, completely ignoring his question. He shrugged his shoulder, taking a sip from his drink while squinting his eyes at you. He was feeling slightly confused by your behaviour. “Sure, why not?”

You chugged the remaining liquid in your cup, squirmed at the strength of the alcohol and made your first bold move by grabbing his open jacket and pulling him into the hot and sweaty crowd. You took a quick look at him before you did anything else and you were more than pleased to notice that he was patiently waiting for you to do something.

The drink, the sight of him, the heat in the room and in your core. It was all getting to you and you really wanted to see the arms with which he swipes the rink clean. His muscles were always straining against the black polo shirt he wears during his shifts. But that day he was sporting a white tee under the jacket and you wanted to see and feel them.

You turned around and lifted your hands to place them behind his shoulders, in his jacket and pushed it off, staring at the ground. “You know, if you’re going to undress me in public you could at least look me in the eye.” You took a deep breath and did just that, slipping the remainder of his jacket off his forearms . “That wasn’t so hard, now was it darling.” He gave you a looped-sided grin.

You were so turned on and yet you chuckled at the pet name. You didn’t hate it, but you didn’t quite like it, yet. It would have sounded much better coming from him in a gruff voice, with you placed under him taking all of him as an endless stream of moans fell out of your mouth. You needed to take another deep breath at the thought of that, hands clenching around the rough fabric of his jacket as your thighs rubbed together to get yourself under control.

“You good there darling. There’s shivers on your arms.” He pointed at you, tongue wetting his lips.

Your head snapped down to see that he was right. You rubbed your arms as fast as you could. “Let me try,” his hands replaced yours. Safe to say it didn’t help as you shivered more under his touch wishing the floor would swallow you whole. The way you reacted to the absolute minimum when it came to him was getting embarrassing. “Okay, so maybe that didn’t help,” he said and it was time for you to give a side eye, to which he chuckled, again.

Instead he brought up the jacket in your hands and dressed you in his clothes. It was way too big, but it was warm and the smell of him warded off all the sweat odour from the dance floor. You slapped your thigh, you really needed to focus. The steps were: back it up → make him hard → make out session → his dick in your hole. It was action time, baby!

You were then staring at the glory that was his chest, oscillating softly under the thin fabric of his tee and your hands ran down his arms, quick after you turned around pulling him closer unfortunately missing the sight of him shivering beneath your trailing fingers.

Your back was glued against the rigid surface of his chest as you went to town, swaying to the beat, your swiftness must have been impressive enough for him to emit a soft whistle. You did your best to suppress the proud smile forming on your lips. You kept at it, hand occasionally reaching back to rub at the back of his hair, only for him to huff and sigh in your ear prompting you to rub your hips further into his.

It wasn’t long before he was looking for more. His flexed arms caged you, as his right hand ran down your stomach to grip at your thigh just as the other hand kept a tight hold of your hip. You whimpered at his touch, chest caving inwards as your thighs attempted to shut themselves even closer pushing your butt further into his crotch for you to feel it. Strong and prominent. Jungkook hunched over, out of courtesy you thought but you pulled back to continue your tempting ministrations. The shame was gone, all you wanted was for him to feel you up.

You placed both hands behind his neck, caressing his skin and hair, rolling your hips against his even harder when the bass drops. “Ahhh,” Jungkook hissed into your neck before biting it, making you sight in response to the tightening of his grip. You could have remained pressed against him letting the heat of his chest radiate into you all day, all night frankly, but you wanted more.

Reluctantly prying yourself off his hands you turned around to face him. His gaze was hooded, lips were parted, hair disheveled from your hands, chest oscillating faster than before and you thought you detected the smallest flush on his cheeks despite the darkness of the room.

You pulled him back closer. He was really close now. Hard chest grazing hard nipples, anxious hands positioning themselves on his biceps as he rested his hands on your hips. You were really about to do it. Your hands travelled upwards to lock behind his head as he hunched down, hair falling in front of his eyes and his hands brought your chest closer. The way he tightened his hold around your torso, fingertips grazing your sides softly had you smiling into the kiss.

It all felt too good, and if you hadn’t been sure before, you were then 100 percent convinced you’re not going to get over Jungkook’s lips anytime soon. That one night would definitely not be enough. You were so fucked!

Jungkook was hungry for more contact, hands travelling south to get a generous feel of your ass, he broke the kiss cutting off your soft moans to look into your eyes, a smirk on his lips, “Baby got back.” He slapped your right cheek, and you shrieked only to sink back into moaning as he rubbed the sting away.

Before he gave it another try you pulled his head down, opening up your mouth to let him explore another part of you. The strong alcohol mix blended between your tongues, as your hands pulled the back of his t-shirt to somehow get him closer. Jungkook chuckled into your kiss and all you did was mumble a disfigured “What?!”

“Nothing,” he whispered as he lifted you up and away from the dance floor. “I just think–” peck, “it’s time we find–” peck, “another place to continue this–” peck. The domesticity of it all, despite the environment, left you stunned, cheeks warming up considerably and all you could do was hide your face in the crook of his neck. You liked it, in fact you liked it a little bit too much.

Jungkook might have wanted to give you the lovey-dovey scenario but the truth was you were at a college party, bumping with sweaty bodies on the way to find some privacy, half drunkenly tripping over littered staircases was what you needed to get through. Which you did with the help of a strong hand grabbing onto the hem of his t-shirt as you attempted to navigate the dimly lit apartment.

“Hey, hey, slow down there,” Jungkook sounded behind you as he pointed to a room that just then became vacant when two ruffled figures pursued a silent retreat from it. Though the last thing you wanted to do was slow down. You shuffled back and into the space.

The room was hot, smelled of sex and alcohol and the bed sheets were a mess. Jungkook threw a calculating eye towards the bed.

“Under the sheets?”

“Under the sheets,” you answered as you helped him discard the duvet.

“You really want to take the risk?” He asked, pointing back at the door as he walked to your side of the bed. The right side.

You thought it through in your head. The worst thing that could happen was someone walking in while Jungkook’s is balls deep in you. The best thing that could happen was Jungkook being balls deep in you. Also maybe the worst thing wasn’t t that bad after all, you thought as the thought of someone seeing Jungkook fuck you shoot a shiver up your legs and into your pussy.

“Uh huh,” you answered, breathless and squirming when his hands dove into the back of your crop top and his teeth nibbled at the exposed skin of your cleavage. “God..hmm, fuck,” he moaned into your skin making it even hotter as you ground your dripping center against his groin and your hands pulled his slick and soft hair to keep yourself from melting into a puddle.

“Please touch me.”

Your voice was barely audible in between your whimpers. Jungkook’s hands slid down your back to sprawl his big palms on your ass as he controlled your grinding, looking into your eyes. You couldn’t keep them open, not that you needed them to decipher his eagerness. If the soft moans, the big hands and the biting weren’t enough to let you know exactly how he was feeling, his dick was more than glad to help as it grew stiffer by the minute, grazing harder and harder against your drenching heat.

Did you love the way his hands glided over your heated skin, seemingly setting it on fire as he kneaded it every chance he got? Yes! But you wanted him to touch you elsewhere.

“Plea—ah, touch m—oh.”

Jungkook kept showing you that there were more ways to use his mouth. He had kissed and bit you but nothing could have prepared you for his sucking. Somehow while you were busy craving for his touch, he had undone your bra and discarded it somewhere and now he had his warm and wet mouth around your sensitive mound as his hand massaged the other. His hot tongue swept over the thin fabric covering your nipple, biting the erect tip only for you to whine and squirm at the loss of contact with his cock.

He took his time, enough for sweat beads to form along your hairline. You whined, pushing yourself against any surface of him within your reach. You could have been vocal about wanting to feel him on you, skin burning against yours, to feel him in you, his strong appendage exploring your heat. Yet you kept your mouth shut for fear of the sound that might leave you

Jungkook gave your breast a particularly hard bite before your hand slid from your hair past your slippery chest to hold onto his slick locks. Your uncontrolled, whiny moans didn’t seem to do much to change Jungkook’s speed. Somehow, his exploration of your breasts became even more languid, lending enough time for your breaths to become synchronized.

His tongue trailed its way back up to graze your slack jaw as your eager hands latched on the thin fabric of his t-shirt to push him down onto the bed. That seemed to bring him back to reality, glazed eyes staring right at you. Jungkook thought that you wanted it to be a two-way street, not just him pleasuring you but you him. However his jittery leg couldn't’’t help but show his eagerness to try out whatever it is that he had in mind.

“So….” He exhaled, breathing slowly going back to normal.

You started a bit longer at him, after all, this wasn’t about Jungkook getting his fill, it was about you getting yours. You were the one who had been fantasizing about this for an unhealthy amount of time. So truthfully, you weren’t looking for a two-way street. You wanted something else. “I want to use you.” At that his leg stopped bouncing.

Maybe you knew a lot less about Jungkook that you thought. At the sight of his rippling muscles removing his t-shirt the “keep your mouth closed” rule you had imposed on yourself flew out of the window. Your shining eyes gained a chuckle. “You look like a kid in a candy story,” he said while he crossed his arms hoping his bulging biceps would divert your attention from another straining part of him. Jungkook deducted that you liked to watch as your teeth abused your lips, to let your eyes run past his tooth-rothening sweet expression to his broad shoulders that were slightly red from your previous eagerness, down his chest to his happy trail and equality happy dick.

He was right, you liked watching, but not just watching anyone, watching him. You were finally getting front row, uncensored material to fill all the previous fantasies you had had of him at night, in the morning, in class, at the rink, anywhere really.

You dropped to your knees, ass on your feet, as your hands ran down his thighs to feel them clench under your touch, “Don’t worry I’m not too much of a kid, I won’t take too much and leave you dry,” you said, floundering hands reaching for his zipper. Jungkook made it easier for you, spreading his legs to let you closer into his space.

You couldn’t help but stare at the bulge in front of you only to shy away and stare at the floor, You took an apprehensive look at Jungkook whose lips were slightly parted, eyes soft, waiting for you. For someone who was just having a quick fling he was weirdly patient and understanding. “Sorry for staring,” you whispered, undoing the zipper and reaching behind as he lifted his hips from the bed for you to pull his pants and underwear down his ass. A soft grunt escaped his lips as your finger grazed the flesh of his toned ass.“As long as you’re not disgusted. If anything I’m flattered.” He smiled down at you.

He spread his thighs wider, allowing you a full view of his veiny up-curved cock, rushing blood tainting the tip an angry red. Now he was showing off, to which you threw him a sly smile which he returned with a wink as you shook your head, hand reaching for the alluring throbbing length. At your touch you heard a sharp intake of air above you, you gave a tentative lick to his tip receiving a slight jolt.

You had gotten so far, yet the prospect of having Jungkook staring at you as you blew him off had you shy. With a gentle hand to his hard chest you prompted him to lay down on the bed. “Stay down,” you breathed against his dick. “Unfai–ahhh” he didn’t get to finish his protest as you enveloped your warm mouth around his thick tip, swirling it around as the salty taste of precum coated your tongue and an involuntary hum of approval reverberated in your chest. Yeah this was worth it, you thought as you plunged more of him into your mouth to his approving groans. “Fuck, oh, you feel so good.” You didn’t think of yourself as having much of a praising kink, but the praise coming from him with a throaty voice in between his gasps, had your pride swelling along with his cock.

Your head bobbed up and down his hard shaft, saliva coating the surface generously as your hand twists around his length. A particularly good suck of your mouth on his cock had Jungkook’s thighs clenching around your frame, a hand rooting itself on your hair. “Yeah, right there. Fuck.” You repeated the same movement whining at his tightening grip.”Sh–agh I’m gonna cum soon if yo– oh fuck you’re too go–” Your thighs were clenched tightly around your heated core, your other hand gripping onto one of Jungkook’s shivering thighs. You were really doing it. Feeling the weight of him on your tongue, pushing back and sucking him further down your throat. The rush of glee in your body was unavoidable.

You pulled through, opening your aching jaw further as you pumped more of him into your mouth, tongue fully stretched letting his mouth watering cock be embraced by the constricted walls of your throat. The instance he felt the effect of the depth of your throat, your nails plunging into the skin of his thighs for added intensity, Jungkook couldn’t keep himself down anymore. He heaved his clenching torso back up to a seated position at the sound of your gags. They resounded loud enough to drown his discombobulated mix of heavy sighs and groans, yet he wished he could swap the backdrop electronic music for the slippery and choked out sounds being emitted from your warm throat.

“Hey hey hey, slow down or I’m gonna cum in your mouth,” he said in a rushed voice as you relentlessly continued your attack on him, keeping your promise of using him.

When words didn’t seem to be getting to you, he attempted to yank your head back a bit but you stayed rooted, throat somehow engulfing him deeper as the strong command of his arm flattered against your ministrations and had him bucking his hips upwards. You choked on his length, landing a warning slap to his thigh which didn't seem to help other than encourage Jungkook’s inevitable descent into a whining mess. “Oh-h sh-it, fuck me.” His stuttering breaths along with the scent of him as your nose touched the base of his cock had you dizzy and dripping wet, nails scratching his skin meanwhile tears coated your hot cheeks. When you were done with him you were sure he would file an animal complaint report. You weren’t exactly trying very hard not to mark him.

Despite your aching throat and jaw, you resolved to take him deep one last time. But that seemed to be one last time too many as the hot exhale of Jungkook’s breaths further warmed your forehead and he buckled forward from the pleasure. His O-shaped mouth connected with the top of your head whilst he defiled your throat and mumbled curses through gritted teeth.

Your worn out mouth retracted to give place for your arms to do the finishing work. Before you could pick up the speed, Jungkook’s mouth found your abused lips, tongue probing your entrance to lap up at the excess saliva, sighing softly into the kiss. The hand in your hair kept you rooted in the racking of his teeth against your lips and for a second you thought of letting him use you too. That was until you gave him a small bite of your own and felt him twitch in your hand. Your other hand wrapped around his wrist to remove his hold on you as you tore your lips off of his just to stare at his hooded eyes.

“I’m supposed to be using you Jeon.” Your hands resumed their work on his cock, welcoming back the straining breaths of the godly man seated in front of you. He was leaning back on his arm as his other hand latched onto his sweaty hair, trying to anchor the sanity that threatened to leave him at the sight of you working on him so diligently. A sight that would remain ingrained in his mind for a very long time. You made sure of it. “Oh, I’m close,” he slurred.

You stuck your tongue out, “Woah really, you’re sure about it?” He might have sounded concerned but you could still manage to see the glint in his sweaty expression. He wanted it. So you played along, “Jungkook pleaseeee,” you whined head moving closer to his flushed cock. You left the rest to him, watching as his fingers fluttered around his length to form a strong hold as he pumped himself with your saliva past his edge. “A–A– Ahhh hmmm, oh fuck.” White warm stripes of salty cum landed on your tongue at the same time that you watched the satisfying decoration of tightly knitted brows, eyes shut tight and bottom lip caught between his teeth on his face following his hurried release.

You pushed your ass off your feet to stand back up and Jungkook met you, standing tall, hands as eager as ever as they wrapped around your form. You shivered at the graze of your nipples against his taut chest. Jungkook went on to leave even more marks on your skin, teeth grazing and nipping your flesh between the wet trail of soft kisses he made sure to leave before his mouth reached the sensitive shell of your ear. “Thank you,”he whispered and you almost laughed out loud but managed to keep under control. “I wasn’t doing you a favour, Jeon. I’ve wanted to suck your dick for a while now. So really, I should be the one saying thank you.”

Your hands traveled down his back as you placed your head in the crook of his neck to give him some of your own marks, except a lot less delicate which you could tell by the way he squeezed you tighter.

You let your arm travel in between your bodies to wrap around his neck as your other arm took it upon itself to get him ready for another round. The most important one. Your fingers played with the strong raven strands on his head earning approving hums from his broad chest. With calm strokes to his member you felt him hardening. But Jungkook also wanted his fun so with two hands of his own he undid the measly buttons of your pants. It was either he was somehow good at undoing buttons while pressed against someone or he just had a lot of experience, but Jungkook did not tear his eyes away from yours. You stroked him harder, pulling soft, strained yet compelling reactions from him, his hot breath fanning your face in the time that you felt the weight of his forehead against yours.

Addicted to the feeling of your hands on him, he let you fondle with him a bit longer instead choosing to play with the softness of your ass. His hands familiarised themselves with the strong curve of your cheeks and their strong jiggle potential when he grabbed a handful of your butt to pull you closer so he could grind on you. “Ohhh,” you sighed into yet another bite of his shoulder.

Jungkook kept grinding and you kept whining and sighing. By then you were sure you had soaked through your panties and down your thighs, something he wished to witness as his fingers hooked around your pants and pulled them all the way down. You were raring to keep stroking him. Honestly, you could have held his dick forever if asked to. It was heavy and hot against your palm, velvety skin dragging up and down with each movement of your hand. And with every particularly good stroke on your end it would give you a little reward twitch.

But Jungkook had other plans. He stood back up, hands sliding behind your thighs to heave you up, legs around his waist as he climbed onto the bed. He knelt on the mattress with your form still clinging to him and arranged the few pillows to his satisfaction. He tapped your thigh for you to let go and lay splattered on the bed, wet and needy pussy on display for him. You still had on your flimsy crop top, which he all but ripped off you.

“Hey!” You went in for a hit on his chest, which he blocked. “Not cool, this isn’t some sort of movie you know,” you pouted angrily at him to which he smiled back. He wondered how he didn’t not notice you at the rink before?

“I’ll buy you a new one.” He made small talk as he spread you further to stare at your dripping centre. “Who says we’re gonna meet again after this?”

Jungkook ran his fingers past your wet folds, coating himself in your want as he turned his eyes back at you to be met with the sight of your cheek. “All this juice says.” You heard a loud pop and tried to shield yourself but his thighs were in the way. “Oh, now you’re shy,” he huffed lightly as he held onto your ankles to push himself back enough to be at eye-level with the result of his alluring nature.

“Is it okay if I eat you out?” you didn’t know if he had intended his question to come out as soft as it did, like he really believed that you didn’t want his face between your thighs. “Jeon just get to it.”you acted detached. He shook his head at your feigned annoyance and grabbed a handful of your thighs, rooting himself close enough to your gaping hole that your folds tickled from his shallow breaths.

He bit his way past your clenched thigh and gave you one last squeeze, “What a pretty cunt.” One he dived right into, tongue lapping at the excess wetness with an excruciatingly slow lick . “Ahh, fuck.” You did your best to take a deep breath, one supposed to calm your jitters down but Jungkook wasn’t looking to give you mellow head. Harshly kneading the skin of your thighs, he buried his face deeper into your pussy, pointed tongue travelling past pooling juices to probe your entrance hard enough for your hands to bunch into fists hard that would leave crescent moons on your palms.

“Oh–My–God.” You moaned between rhythmless breaths. You squeezed your eyes, back arching off the bed when he licked you in a particularly hungry away only to graze his teeth lightly against your sensitive flesh. “You good up there?” You could feel his smile against your inner thighs. You shoved your heel into his side in retaliation. “Oh, aggressive in bed? Sexy” You propped yourself up on your elbows to give him a dumbfounded look as you motioned to him to keep it going. “Awww, you’re so mean to me darling.” His shiny lips formed a pout and you did your best not to react to what he had just called you. “Please,” you muttered for good measure. But Jungkook seemed like an easy person to please and an even bigger people pleaser so he got back to the task at hand.

While he had kept quiet for most of the time he was devouring your pussy, now with some kind of newfound confidence he hummed soft words of praise at every little twitch of your legs and buck of your hips and every soft gasp that left your lips. His eagerness fed off of your whining and tossing and he grew harder for every squeeze of your thighs he felt against his broad frame.

While Jungkook was satisfied with having you laid out for him, oozing your desires into his tongues for him to taste and praise, he wanted to see how far he could take you. Maybe it was just him and his competitive spirit or maybe it was his need to explore more of you, to add one more thing on his list of “who Y/N is” before you parted ways. Whatever it may have been, it made him bring his hand down to plunge a strong finger past your folds and into your welcoming heat. You yelped at the sensation, hands finally settling on Jungkook’s hair only for your hold to strengthen as he slipped the finger in and out.

“You like that darling?” You chose not to answer, you didn’t want to inflate his ego anymore as if he wasn’t able to make out the answer for himself, which he did when a second finger made an entrance and you whined at the delicious feeling of the slight stretch. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.” You flapped your foot against the mattress when he went back to attacking your centre with his tongue, flicking at your clit, landing fluttering kisses that have the knot in your stomach tighten further while his scissored you into a whining mess.

“I didn’t know I was about to fuck a fish.” He laughed as you felt the swipe of his tongue when he retracted from his kisses which set off the aim of your kick against his side. “Next time remind me to bring a tie or a few of them. Don’t get me wrong I appreciate the reaction but I don’t like to be disturbed while I am ravaging such a delightful pussy.” You wanted to abandon the daze Jungkook had induced within you, just for a second, enough to refute his idea of a second time, but the rushed addition of a third finger inside your wet walls shut you up. Jungkook pressed his digits with determination, alternating speeds to make a mockery out of your need for oxygen.

Things seemed to come in a duality for him. While he wished nothing more than to make a mess of you, and revel in the mix of gushing sounds from your cunt and pitched curses blessing his ears, he equally wanted to slide the softness of his cheeks against your thighs only to turn his head to cover you in ghostly kisses. He wanted you to feel everything, his fingers turning you into putty, his breaths fanning turning you even hotter, the dip of his other hand beyond your clenched stomach and past the valley of your chest as you held your breath long enough to exhale into the commanding squeeze of his tattooed fingers around your breast.

He went on, you screamed on. He fed himself off your cries and scratches on his scalp, slurping on the endless gush resulting from months’ worth of pent up horniness of your part.

You slapped Jungkook’s shoulder, hoping to bring him out of this endless exploration with his tongue. You were close. “Jungkook~,” you whined, head tossing side to side. He hummed against you, grabbing a fistful of your ass, somehow bringing you closer than you already felt. You were beyond controlling yourself, legs trembling at the combined attack of his nose against your clit, tongue curving as he soaked you up. ”There you go, come for me darling.”

He engulfed your bud around his lips and your hands retracted for your breasts, any semblance of normality and balance slipping from your fingers into Jungkook’s hair. “Jeo— oh god, fuc—yeah right...” You trailed off, words getting caught in your throat, back arching your feverish chest against the stale air of the room, hands clenching around his locks at the moment the compiled knot of your arousal snapped under Jungkook’s attentive care.

You tried to control your quivering legs and if it weren’t for Jungkook’s slow and steady ascent from the place between your legs to your lips, you might have shrieked at an alarming volume. You still shrieked but the same coated lips that brought about your orgasm, were placed on yours to bring you back down to your usual composure. You tasted yourself on his tongue. And you couldn’t control the twitch of your torso when his hand went to caress your back, pulling scorching skin against each other.

The light and docile dance of Jungkook’s fingers brought about a different demeanour in you. At least that was what you let yourself believe. You exhaled an amused deep breath in the crook of his neck as your high came to an end, “Fuck, you’re good at this.”

“Again, thank you,” he said calmly, yet you felt the slight thumping of his heart against your breast. It must be from vigorous exercise.

The both of you lay next to each other on your side for a moment, Jungkook’s arm draped over the dip of waist.

“Honestly, we could end here and I would be happy,” you said closing your eyes, letting your neck rest as your head slumped against his chest. A small laugh erupted from him.

“It’s you saying shit like that, that will make sure we don’t end here, at least not if I can do something about it.” He ran his hand along his neck and you truly believed in your soul to be staring at a Michelangelo painting. You ogled the way his arm stretched sideways to reveal the small bed of air in his armpit as his biceps bulged (whether he’s showing off or that was just your perception didn’t matter and you frankly didn't care).

His hairstyle was no longer present, hair completely out of his face and you imagined this was what he must look like when he wakes up, albeit less sweaty and red from all the scratches and marking. His face looked a lot softer, the fat on his cheek more prominent and the largeness of his eye more notable.

Maybe that was a bit harsh, but you would rather not have him text you during this specific weekend. You didn’t know what kind of texter he was, but if you based it off your only interaction, he seemed rather talkative.You just needed some time to let what just had happened and what would continue to happen sink in.

“Stop staring at me. It’s not helping your case for stopping here,” he said, blinking a couple of times to look past you. This Jungkook, who was in fact like all the versions of Jungkook you had seen during your pining months, had you feeling less intimidated enough for you to smile at his remark. The first proper smile he got to see. He wanted to comment on it but you spoke before.

“You wear glasses?”

“How do you know?” He asked back.

“I didn’t. I just noticed you blinking a lot so I guessed.”

“I wear lenses for the most part, but my eyes are quite dry. It’s usually not a problem. But I wasn’t trying to miss any of your reactions,” he winked

You huffed giving him an incredulous look. You wondered what he looks like with glasses on? Does he look hotter or cuter? You were about to continue building on your imagination when he decided that break time was over by pulling on your arm to have you laying on top of him where you could now feel his reenergized cock. You threw yet another look his way as if you weren’t mentally drooling at the thought of seeing him with glasses.

“I told you to stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re thinking about me. Thinking about me outside of this context.”

You were too childish to admit, so you did the first thing that comes to mind at the sight of his chest. You bit it.

“Ouch! You really want me to make you cry again huh?”

Deeming him distracted enough from the previous path your conversation was taking. You stretched your neck to his pierced ear. “I want you to fuck me now, Jeon.” If the shift of his gaze wasn’t proof enough of the sudden change in atmosphere. Then the contraction of his hands against your frame, as your heart triumphed at the feel of his cock hardening further against the edge of your thigh, made it clear.

“Hmm such a potty mouth,” he gave you a serene kiss, hands travelling deeper into the valley of your back. “Not even a small please.” He got a very deliberate feel of your ass while nipping at your collarbone.

Using both hands placed at the top of his V cut, you pushed yourself to a seated position on top of his hard dick, pulling an agitated groan from Jungkook’s lips. You ground your hips on top of him, wet pussy lips providing copious lubrication, “Please~," you moan, head hanging low. He bit his lip, hand colliding with your ass, “That’s more like it.”

The feel of him was more overwhelming than you had imagined and when Jungkook rooted his hands on your hips to guide you into a slower grind, your legs squeezed against him at the feel of his tip grazing your entrance. You threw him a side eye, fully aware of his teasing. But you didn’t mind it all too much, especially not when it felt so good. The kind of good that made you close eyes and munch on your bottom lip for fear of uttering something utterly stupid but very true like, “God, I could fuck you forever.”

“Huh, whatcha say?” Your eyes shot open to look at Jungkook’s distorted eyebrows above the eyes that were staring at the conjunction between your groins, lip still caught in his teeth. “Nothing,” you dismissed your unintended statement easily, diverting his attention to the current moment.

The hand that was splattered against his sweaty chest traveled to wrap around his fully erect penis as Jungkook hissed at your touch. “Oh fuck, you’re really gonna ride me?” You couldn’t help the prideful swell of your chest at his enthusiasm. Jungkook might have seemed intimidating but he definitely knew how to praise. At the rate he was going, you were one hundred percent sure you would be boasting about fucking him for the rest of the academic year.

You pushed against your knees, body relaxing thanks to the soft caresses Jungkook left on the sides of your thighs. Okay, you were really going to do it? Your heartbeat had skyrocketed, eight months of pining and imagining finally coming to an end. You were ready to sink onto his length.

“Wait! Condom.” He said pointing to the side of the bed where his discarded leather pants should be somewhere.

“Right,” you shook your head, coming back to your senses as you shuffled quickly off him and the bed to grab his pants.

“Nice ass,” he emitted a subtle sound of approval making you roll your eyes as you bent back up, pants in your hand. “Back pocket,” he instructed. You found exactly one condom. “I see you didn’t have too many plans of your own for tonight,” you said in what was supposed to be a light tone, but it came off far more judgemental. You managed a smile for good measure, climbing back up on top of him.

You teared off the packaging, unrolling the condom onto his cock which was wet with your want. A soft “oh” came from underneath you when you reached the base of his dick. Jungkook’s look had somehow become even more intense, he stared as your fingers traveled to hold his shaft, positioning yourself above it. While you tried to make it subtle, he noticed the small breaths you took apprehensively before sinking his member into your wet warmth.

You both sighed, you delighted by the thought-erasing stretch of Jungkook’s throbbing length as he ended up fully sheathed in you, and him simultaneously entranced by the tightness of your walls and the sight of you on top of him. Jungkook might not have known you before now, but he was sure he wouldn’t ever forget you. In fact, he doesn’t.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love a good cockwarming but it would be a waste if I com—,” you shifted your hips a bit “before I got a good dicking in.”

“Jeon, shut up. I need to adjust okay.”

Jungkook was about to open his mouth to boast, you were sure of it so you slapped your palm down on his mouth. You thought you heard him mumble something along the lines of “kinky” as crinkles showed up besides his eyes.

You took yet another deep breath, moaning at the slow drag of his veiny cock against your pussy as you slid up, tip almost leaving your core only to slide back down, a small shriek emitting from your throat on the fast descent. Jungkook’s hands left your sides to remove your hands from his chest so he could lift his torso to a seated position. You gave him a quizzical look. “I just want to be able to kiss you,” he pushed the two of you closer to the headboard, back leaning lazily against the surface, “if I want to, which I will,” he felt the need to add.

So you plunged forward, smashing your lips against his, his head almost hitting the headboard. Arms coming around to rest behind his neck, you picked up the speed as the slapping sounds of your ass against his thighs filled your space. “Ohhhh god,” you sighed against his shoulder. The room was brimming with gushing sounds, Jungkook’s cock ramming into yours between never-ending gasps and groans, and ongoing praise from Jungkook’s end telling you how good your pussy felt, how good you were to him. “Fuck, do you hear how wet you’re for me?”

You stuttered, hands slipping against the headboard when his hips thrusted to meet yours, “Fu-ff-fuck.” You were unsure if you were gonna be able to formulate any coherent words until you came. Ever the ass man Jungkook’s hands spread over your rear flesh guiding you up and down his rigid shaft as he pleased, tethering on the edge between teasing and pleasuring you, further torturing you and himself.

But he couldn’t help it, not when you were whispering sweet nothings into his ears, biting his shoulders, scratching his back, mewling and squealing at the feel of him hitting your deepest spot. So Jungkook repeated it as many times as he saw fit, pulling himself out only to slam back into you, feeling your stature tense around his strong arms as you teeth latched on to the skin of his collarbone.

Jungkook kept bouncing you on his cock, mouth extending towards your neglecting mounds, as he placed his hot mouth against it, sending tingles down your spine which made you grind against him. He lapped at the skin, tongue toying with your nipples, further guiding you up and down his dick with his strong hands. You held onto his forearm for balance, crying out into the air. “Ahhh fuck, please Jeon, fuck me more.”

You were actually not making sense. How exactly was he supposed to fuck you more? You didn’t know but Jungkook made it known that he was the man. He held you still and steady above him and began his assault on your sensitive cunt. He bucked into your hips with a relentless speed that had your breast bouncing in his face, to his delight. Your thighs were burning, knees ready to give up as you screamed shamelessly.

Jungkook hissed as he felt your pussy tighten around him, milking the come out of him. He didn’t know how much longer he could last. You sighed deeper into his thrusts when he spanked your ass shooting pleasure straight to your tightening core as you did your best to restrain your oncoming orgasm. You wanted it to last forever.

You decided to start moving again, meeting his thrusts halfway, intensifying the effect as Jungkook’s arms wrapped around you, a hand anchoring itself at the back of your neck as he stared into your fucked out expression. You were sweaty, eyelids down but squeezed, mouth open, jaw slack and Jungkook couldn’t stop himself from kissing you. He pulled you down by your neck, lips rubbing against each other. You managed to kiss for short bursts of time frequently separating, mouths agape to gasp and moan at the feeling of each other, feeling yourselves close to coming.

Your hand moved to cup Jungkook’s cheek before you tilted his head back with a gentle hair grab, “Jungkook, make me come,” you said before kissing up his jaw. The fact that you had called him by his first name for the first time was not lost on him and he couldn't control the wide smile that spread on his lips. “Anything for you darling,” he kissed into your neck.

Suddenly, reenergized Jungkook jolted his hips forward, stronger than before, digging deep into your soaked core as he marked your shoulder. His thighs pushed against your own, spreading you wider, no barrier in sight as his hand found your clit, which he rubbed in quick circles as he continued to roll his hips into yours, dick straining against the increased tightness. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight.”

It was when Jungkook started to piston into you that you felt your body slowly lose itself. The knot in your stomach coiling, ready to snap, thighs trembling from being held in place. “Jungkook, I’m gonna come,” you whimpered.

He didn't think he would ever get tired of you calling his name. “Come for me darling. Cream on my cock,” he demanded, hand digging into your ass as he continued rubbing your clit. A few more thrusts came along before you choked, body rigid as the coil in you snapped, and you gushed on Jungkook’s dick to his big pleasure. Your entire body quivering under his soothing caresses. You stayed in place, moaning when Jungkook swiped his hand past your pussy lips so he could have a taste. He hummed, fingers in his mouth, “You’re delicious darling.” You smiled too tired to give him any ounce of attitude.

But you were not done yet, so you pulled through letting your raw cunt sink back down on Jungkook’s cock. You started moving to his enjoyment. You were sensitive so you went slow, but that didn't seem to have any less of an effect on Jungkook who huffed in between breaths, trying to enjoy as much of you before he came. You leaned into him, lips biting and licking his earlobe, “Can you come for me baby?”

Were you playing dirty? Yes. But honestly you didn't know how much longer Jungkook could hold and you were sensitive, so you played on his apparent weakness, he liked to please and you liked to be pleased. On top of that his pulsating dick made it known that he liked the term of endearment. “Ohh god, please call me baby again,” he grunted.

“Will you come then?”

“Fuck yeah.”

With a couple more strokes in the bag, a tensed Jungkook under you, you raked your fingernails down his back, kissing up his shoulder to the junction between his shoulder and neck where you placed a light bite before licking your way up to his ear. “Baby,” you kissed the contour of his ear, “Jungkook, come in me baby,” you mewled, dropping down onto his shaft.

You gasped at the strong grasp Jungkook had on your hips as he grunted, hips stuttering into you. His hot breath heated your chest while his strong arms abused your skin and he kept mumbling curses under his breath with his eyes screwed shut. “Oh shit, ugh, fuck ahhh, you’re….” He trailed off, speech rolling into sighs as he ran a hand down his face.

“I am ?,” you inquired.

“The best I’ve ever had,” he said hugging you. He wanted to say something else, but he doubted either of you were ready to deal with what it could possibly entail.

You got off of his lap to lay on the bed, exhausted but fully satisfied. After all, the eight month long pining was worth it.. You couldn’t wait to scream to Kyra about this. You could genuinely go the remaining of the year being celibate, that’s how satiated you felt.

Jungkook poked your side, bringing you back from your thoughts, “About that offer, I am up for it if you are,” he probed in a weary tone.

“What offer?”

“I mean I didn’t hear you too clearly, but I’m pretty sure you said something about being able to fuck me forever.”

You stayed silent. After all you didn’t know what kind of offer that involves sex he was making. The committed or uncommitted kind?

“I just thought, ya know, we’re pretty compatible so we could scratch each other’s back once in a while.”

“Are you talking about being friends with benefits?”

“Yeah! That.” He turned to his side to gauge your reaction, “ Only if you want of course! Otherwise forget I asked.”

You thought back to what Kyra said. There’s more to the male species than Jeon Jungkook. But honestly after the fuck you had just had, you were quite content with deluding yourself for a couple of months, or however long the arrangement could last.

You satt up on the edge of the bed, “Yeah, sure. I don’t mind.”

“Oh! Okay, uhm cool then,” he said, sounding both surprised and enthusiastic.

You were dirty but you still put your clothes back on, stealing Jungkook’s t-shirt. “I’m taking this cause you tore my top off.” It was too big for you, but it smelled nice, like him. Maybe it could cover up the sex stench you had on.

“I would say I’m sorry, but I’m not .” He scratched the back of his head. You flip him off which made him chuckle.

You were fully clothed, shoes on, ready to exit the room. Jungkook was sporting his outfit too without the t-shirt and he totally resembled an exotic male dancer. You tore your eyes off his body before you started thinking things, turning around and reaching for the door handle.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Hmm.”

“Your phone number?”

“Monday at Ms Diane’s after your shift,” you blurted out before leaving the room in a rush.

You kept your promise and stopped by at Diane’s Rink for a quick greeting and a recital of your phone number. You wanted to stay longer, and had you asked Jungkook if it was okay with him, he would have rolled past and around you with an affirming smirk.

After that you turned your text notifications back on. What followed was three days of losing your composure at the slight sound of a bling coming from your phone. Maybe you had overestimated Jungkook’s forwardness. It wasn’t until you bumped into him and his friend at the university’s lunch space a couple of days later that you got to see him again. The two of you were in different departments so you rarely had class in the same buildings.

You ate in silence, eyes focused on the word dense pages of Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road”, so much the words jumbled together and you slammed the book shut, sighing into yet another bite of your bland chicken sandwich. You snuck another look at his table and he looked fine. You hadn’t expected him to look any different really but you thought maybe he had noticed you too. Sure you looked a lot less eye-catching than what you did at the party but one would be able to recognise someone they fucked not so long ago. Worse of it all, he had asked you and you were the one losing your mind over it.

Appetite gone, you picked up your belongings and your small pile of trash, throwing the waste in the bin not far from his table. You had chosen to act on the hurt and growing anger inside of you, pulling out your phone to text him a petty, “Nice to see you too asshole 🖕”.

You hadn’t even cared that you were blowing your cover, revealing that you were in fact already in possession of his number, further adding to your desperation. You stood back for a few moments but out of sight just to see his reaction. Jungkook had retrieved his phone from his pocket, taking a quick look at his screen before hastily lifting his head to look at the table where you had been sitting. So he saw….

You could have left unnoticed but you were already on your dramatic streak so you chose to storm out of the hall, passing by his apprehensive eyes. If only you had turned around just for a split second, enough to decipher the pleased expression on his face, you would have in fact known that Jungkook was quite happy to know that wanted it just as much as him. He considered that a needed affirmation for him to move forward, speeding past the green light.

It wasn’t long Jungkook grabbed hold of you after your “Literary and Cultural Theory” class.

“Hey! Slow down, I’m about to drop my books,” you had alarmed him shuffling hastily behind his combat boots and he couldn’t have shown you that he gave any less of a shit when he instead quickened his stride.

It wasn’t long before you were dragged into the cramped confinement of his car. Books, bags and clothes in the front seats while an eager Jungkook and a confused you took refuge in the back seat. You shivered against the cool fabric of the seat as Jungkook’s chest warmed you up from above as he huffed and puffed beside your ear for every pointed thrust he landed deep within your gushing core. You had tried and failed at keeping your voice down. You stared out of the window attempting to calm your breathing by synchronising it with the lazy fall of browned tree leafs.

You had accomplished a couple of firsts in that moment, First time having car sex (which wasn’t as hot as you thought it would be but Jungkook made up for it), and dabbling in slight exhibitionism behind Jungkook’s tinted back seat windows (which surprisingly left you more horny than expected).

“Ready to get started with this darling?” He asked, sweating skin leaving yours as his softening cock left your entrance earning a gasp from your side of the car.

“A head’s up would have been nice.” Your hand searched the front seat for your panties.

“But isn’t that the fun part?” He snapped his condom shut. “Plus it’s not like I, or even you can control when you feel like doing it.”

You were ready to refute his reasoning but he made a point and you held your tongue.

“Fine, but don’t abuse your fuck n’ go rights or I’ll get stingy. I don’t have your stamina Jeon.” You tore your head to the side after putting on your t-shirt to look at him, eyes demanding him to say he’ll behave.

“Okay, okay, sure I’ll try.”

That was the first big lie he had told you.

Since then, the thrill that came with getting regular dick in unexpected places never ceased and as you’re now watching Jungkook tear the rink apart with his calculated moves and pristine performance on shiny black roller skates, you know exactly how you would like your next appointment to be.

Despite having been fuck buddies for over three months, the prospect of Jungkook roleplaying in his work uniform never had been a reality. You think it’s about time you change that.

The air in the rink is fiery in spite of the cool winter air outside, people cram together at the edge of the rink to watch the contestants. After an unexpected turn of events, the annual “Disco Craze” roller skating contest had been short of one judge. Miss Diane hurried to find a replacement in the crowd. Of course you had jumped at the opportunity, after all you had arrived too late to the rink to get a good spot to watch the competition. Maybe it was your enthusiasm or your familiar face but to your delight you got picked.

This year’s contestants are far better than last year and both as a judge and a friend you’re fearing for Jungkook’s current winning streak. However, that’s a fear he doesn’t seem to share. Not with the way he glides smoothly to the beat of “I Don't Feel Like Dancin'” by Scissor Sisters. He soaks in the cheering crowd, spot rexing with a goofy smile on your face.

This is probably the first time you really get to see Jungkook roller skate, you knew he was good, everyone had told you, just not that he was this good.

His happiness while he scissors across the rink is contagious. He mouths the lyrics towards the crowd and unlike the song title, you see the soft sway of bodies moving to the beat. You’re left smiling before you know it, foot tapping along. He does a quick jump into a spin, before he speeds towards the judge’s table only to stop abruptly as he body rolls backwards. You shake your head, feeling more aware of the tactics Jungkook must have employed throughout the years to win. His number is over before you know it.

There are a total of eleven contestants. But from what you’ve seen it’s between Jungkook and a girl who performed a great number to Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive”. During the intermission to allow the public to cast their vote, you shuffle away to buy some kit kats at the little snack shop beside the handoff counter for the roller skates.

You finish one pack and buy a second which Jungkook snatches from your hands when he joins you.

“Thank you,” he sticks out his tongue at you before ripping the red packaging and biting into your kit kat.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” you sneer.

“Oooo I’m so scared.” He laughs a bit too loud, giving you a full view of his kit kat filled mouth. Sometimes you really want to hit him upside the head. “Sooo, what did you think?”

“About what?”

“My skating, duh! I’m pretty good, right?” He lifts an eyebrow cocking his head as he goes in for another aggressive bite of your kit kat.

“Meh, it was okay,” you say, walking away from the shop counter to sit by one of the benches near the rink.

“Okay!?”

“Yeah, just okay Jeon, The girl, uhm, what’s her number?” You know her number. “You know, the one with the yellow skates, she could totally beat you.”

You’re partially trying to mess with him but you’re also being honest. Her performance really was that good. “Pfft, whatever. I know I have loyal fans.” He sits down besides you and leans against the wall. “Sure, you do,” you mumble.

With one bar of the kit kat left, he extends the package to you and says, “As long as you don’t vote for her I’ll forgive your hurtful words.”

You take it, because it’s a kit kat, you would never say no. “Bribing judges Jeon, huh? What other tricks apart from this and those body rolls do you have up your sleeve?” You munch on the bar.

“Tricks that will make you cry if you don’t vote for me darling,” he says loud enough for only you to hear. He brings his hand onto your thigh, running upwards close enough to where he could cup your cunt with his big palm making your breath hitch, but he just squeezes your thigh and lifts himself off the bench to return to the rink. You swallow the leftover chunks of kit kat in your mouth before you end up choking, throw the package in the bin and walk away, trying to act as unbothered as Jungkook.

Miss Diane’s voice booms through the speaker letting everyone know that the intermission is over and the votes have been counted. Having judges at this contest is more so for an official feel, for the most part the judges never needed to vote. The results from the public’s vote were usually quite decisive, even if a judge’s vote equalled ten times the single vote a person from the public got.

As it looks now, it is 84-64 to the girl with yellow skates. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so unhappy, not even after he had lost points for a minor mistake when calculating his error on an experiment for a chemistry paper. He looks at you once he feels your gaze, his eyes reinforcing the little chat you had earlier.

It’s time for the judges to cast their vote. Mr. Ludwig, the owner of a café just a few blocks away, votes, to your surprise, for Jungkook. And as expected so does Miss Diane. It’s a tie.

Ten decisive points.

Your points to give.

Jungkook is staring at you, she isn’t. Jungkook likes to take your things from you, she doesn’t even know you. Jungkook threatens you, she has never even talked to you. But most importantly Jungkook is good at skating, he did really well but Miss “Yellow Skates” was better.

Mind set on who you’re voting for. Your arm lifts up her number. Number seven.

Jungkook lowers his heads, chuckling lightly into his chest before he looks up and congratulates the winner, clapping along with the crowd. He skates off the rink to let her perform her winning number once again. You’re still seated by the judge’s table before thumping steps grow louder coming towards you. Just like the time he pulled you away for your first quickie in his car, he yanks you off the seat, gently enough not to bring about anyone’s attention but strong enough for you to feel the nature of your current predicament.

“You’re so fucked,” he growls pushing in the direction of the staff room.

“I know,” you can’t help but giggle. Ultimately this was the perfect opportunity. You fulfil your fantasy of fucking him in his embellished uniform and you also get to make sure someone who’s better than him wins. Two birds, one stone. You don’t think you’ve ever been this effective.

Jungkook slams the door to the room shut, but doesn’t lock it. He drags you towards the door of the bathroom stalls. “Ehh, you sure about that Jeon?”

He pushes you along from behind, hand on your back, “Don’t worry, it’s clean,” he says softly before closing the door to the small stall to whisper into shoulder, “Unlike what you’re gonna be when I’m done with you.”

Jungkook’s naked arms wrap around your torso, hands landing on your hardened nipples over the fabric of your turtleneck as his mouth nips at the back of your neck. “I warned you darling.” You moan, ass rubbing against his groin enough to elicit a groan. “I won’t stop until you’re crying.” He wraps a hand around neck, right hand smoothly undoing your jeans as his hand dances on top of your skin, down your needy core and past your wet lips.

He does this as many times as he pleases. This isn’t about you. It’s about him using you. He follows the sway of your hips giving into your chase for his fingers, dipping into your heat, slowly. He starts with a finger, swirling it around, humming at the satisfying feel of you being so wet and ready for him. He squeezes your throat in approval. When he feels you clench at that he goes on to add a second finger. “Ugh, Jeon faster, please.”

Does he like how politely you’re being? Yes. But you know what else would have been polite? You voting for him. “Oh no, I don’t think so darling.” He adds a third finger and your back stutters against his broad chest, head thrown back against his shoulder. “You like that?” You nod your head, lips caught in between your teeth to repress your moans. “Then let me hear you darling.” You bite down harder on your lips.

Now with three fingers deep in you, stretching your cunt as your juices slide down his digits he picks up his speed. He keeps his strokes irregular, he never wants you to know what's coming. In and out unlike your breaths. You have resorted to shallow breathing, head turning for you to bury your nose into Jungkook’s veiny neck, as he makes a mockery out of you. He gives you a momentary break, stuffing his mouth with his fingers, “Oh yeah, desperation is a good taste on you.” He hums reaching his fingers towards your mouth which you open to taste yourself, whining at the back of your throat. “My darling is such a good girl,” he says biting your earlobe.

The hand that was on your throat, moves to roll your jeans past your thighs and past your knees.

“Do you even have a condom?” You croak as a chill runs down your leg from the cold air.

“What kind of question is that? When is that I’m never prepared?” He says, foot coming between yours to spread your legs. “I had planned for a sweet and gentle celebratory fuck after the competition, but you’re you and now we’re here.” You purr through your shivers when he runs his hands on the inside of your thighs, grazing your pussy before the pads of his fingers knead your ass.

Frankly you’re a bit glad to have escaped his initial plan. Having sweet sex with Jungkook was never your forté, while he could switch easily between his rough and gentle personas, you were never able to act normal when faced with the dulcet tones of his praises and the soothing touches of his body against yours. With a clenched and curved back, feet planted against the mattress for leverage, he would ram slowly but firmly, head secured in the depth of your collarbones as his cock reached the depth of you, making you quaver beneath him. On occasions like that, you never stuck around for too long after you were done. Jungkook had a habit of asking if you had enjoyed the act as if he wasn’t the one on top of you appeasing your frantic high and kissing throaty moans away.

No, you preferred this, when he grabs your roughly by your rear, landing a few spanks that have your arms reaching for the walls of the stall to steady yourself as he grunts at how much wetter you’re becoming. Or at least you could deal with it better.

“Bend over for me darling.”

You bend over instantly when Jungkook’s arms leave your upper body, hands landing on the lid of the toilet to catch yourself. You had found yourself in this position before, and you had cried the most in all of those moments. But you had never been standing. Not to predict the future, but you’re sure Jungkook will have to carry you into an orgasm, unless he wants you to kneel on all four on the floor.

Jungkook runs his drenched index down your spine, hand lifting back for another spank. “Ah!” And another to reprimand your scream, “Keep your voice down, unless you want us to be found out,” he smirks behind you, hand cupping your heat only to dip a finger into you without warning.

“Ohhh, shit,” you slur, fingers raking the surface of the lid. Jungkook shows no sign of being gentle, fingers abusing your pussy, driving in and out of you at an alarming speed.

When his digits curl inside of you right before a slow exit you clamp your hand around your mouth for fear of being too loud. Despite that, your soft cries are still audible to him making him smile before he resumes his explosive fingering. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of this sound,” He says, bringing his other hand under your stomach to probe your swollen and neglected clit.

While the hastened pace of his fingers continue within you making you clench around the protrusion, Jungkook adopts a mellow pace to his massaging of your clit. The dual attack leaves you conflicted, unsure which way to rock your hips. “Arghhh,” you bite in your upper arm, clenching again around his digits. “Aww, my darling wants to come,” he coos. You rock your hips back in response.

“Oh, but then you should have voted for me, don’t you think?” You almost cry at the loss of contact, when your cunt is left empty and gapping.

You see him take a small step back to lean against the door of the stall. You exhale, still bend over, legs buckling when your thighs meet in a futile effort to relieve some tension. “You good there?” You can hear the amusement in his voice, but you find this far from funny.

“Jeon, please,” you say in a low, weak voice.

Ever since the first time he fucked you, Jungkook has always enjoyed toying with you, both outside and inside the bedroom. Whether it was borrowing (re: stealing) your favourite pens or taking a bite and in worse case scenario a whole portion of whatever it’s you’re eating. But nothing had ever topped this. Having you desperate to reach your orgasm and yet denying you that pleasure was a big favourite of his. He’s sure he could easily get himself off right now, ripping his condom off at the right moment just for him to decorate the smooth roundness of your ass with warm white stripes.

“Jeon.” He might have chosen to make you come had you called him Jungkook instead. But you’re you and he’s enjoying himself so he stays put.

“For old times sake, I think you should use me if you want to come so bad,” he says nonchalantly.

“Really, Jeon?”

“As real as you not voting for me, yes.” You shake your head. Jungkook’s competitive streak usually worked to your advantage. You enjoyed telling him how you doubt he could do something just to have him do it to you. It was just like asking, without the actual asking. You might have been able to pull something similar for his fingering skills but you’re both well aware of how many times the pounding from his rough digits has made you come.

Your hands push against the lid of the toilet, your frame wobbles a bit once you’re standing up straight and you can hear Jungkook’s giggly response. You turn around, slowly, to face his slightly red face and the very prominent bulge in his pants. He follows your eyes.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says readjusting his pants but only making the matter worse, “I can wait.”

You lift your head, step closer to him so you can catch a hold of the wrist below his wet hand. “Three,” you say, eyes travelling down his face to his parted lips. Adjusting your stance, you guide his three flexed out digits towards your dripping entrance. “Kiss me.”

While he likes toying with you, Jungkook is rather obedient especially when it advantages him. So he drops his head, hair tickling your nose, before his lips settle on yours. In that moment, you drive his fingers past your drenched nether lips as you moan into his kiss.

You’re convinced Jungkook’s dick is feeling a bit uncared for despite his reassurance. Doing your best to fuck yourself on his fingers, your hand gets occupied with palming his hard member. You’re totally only focusing on pleasuring yourself so much he cups the hand you have his cock and reinforces your grip and kneading. He hums into your kiss, satisfied and probably leaking in his boxers.

You suddenly let go of his reddened lips when he spreads his digits inside of you, the pads of his fingers grazing your walls, making you whine into his neck. You slow down your pace, feeling how close you are, “Jun– oh fuck, yeah right there.” His pace quickens once he registers the tremors in your legs. Fingers plunging deeper into your leaking pussy. Both hands free, you engulf Jungkook’s stature, holding on as his other hand grabs a strong hold of your cheeks to plant a harsh kiss on your lips.

He spreads his fingers and jams them in and out of you, He whispers for you to come on him, to let him hear you exhale choked breaths for him to remember tonight when he’s jerking off to the thought of you. You do just that.

Your chest heaves, fingernails digging into his back, face hiding from Jungkook’s protruding eyes as the tension in your core ruptures and your legs go slack. “Oh god, fuck me.”

“All in due time darling,” he answers back, hand running down your back.

“I meant to say fuck you, Jeon.” You manage to croak out once you’re sure you’ve reached the complete end of your orgasm.

Your hands loosen around his back and you step back, head turning down to stare at the slick on your inner thighs. “Surprised?” He inquires.

“No. Not exactly,” your head lift, “you’ve have probably ruined sex for me with other people for a while.”

Jungkook might have taken your statement as a compliment dick twitching in response, but you were in all honesty a bit horrified at the thought. How long is a while? This can’t last forever, can it ?

“Let’s take care of that since I’m feeling apologetic.” You point at his bulge. Your hands wrap around the neon green belt on his pants undoing it and slowly releasing his strained cock. It still looked as deliciously curved, bloodshot and veiny against his stomach as the last time you saw it, which was a mere two days ago at his dorm.

You’re about to lower yourself onto unstable knees, “Uh-uh, some other time,” he says turning you around and bending you over again. What can he say? He really enjoyed the view of your ass, “Right now, I want to feel your pussy around me.”

When Jungkook hastily eases the throbbing length into your wet core without warning, you deduce that he’s still a bit angered about your vote. Anger that seems to dissipate once he’s fully rooted in you. “Oh this is the best feeling in the world,” he moans from above you.

He isn’t looking for a sweet fuck today and directly resorts to slamming into you, making your hands slide against the lid off the toilet. You moan, tossing your head back when the hands on your ass knead the flesh and spread your cheeks for him to continue his eager ramming. When you’re already clenching, pulling jagged groans from Jungkook’s throat, you know you won’t last long.

“Hey, careful there,” he coos at you, lifting you up to place your hands on the tank of the toilet. “Wouldn’t want you to hit your head. That’s not how I want to make you cry.” He slows down his strokes enough to allow you to steady your grip on the tank and then resumes sinking down into you at his rushed speed.

The force with which he pistons into you is enough to have your legs hitting against the edge of the seat, as your fingers fumble to keep you stable accidentally flushing the toilet once in a while. Jungkook fucks and spanks you to his heart’s desire. “Look how good you’re to me,” he praises, hand pinching your nipple before constricting the movement of your breath. “Jungko–” He rams into you. He loves taking your breath away mid-moan. “Fuck, why are you so big?” You mewl, eyes watering as he repeatedly removes himself from your depths only to slam back in.

Jungkook feels your pussy clench around him, slowly milking him dry, getting him closer to his own orgasm. So he reaches down, arms wrapping around your torso, hands on your mounds as he pulls your back against his chest. “Can you spread your legs a little for me darling?” He asks softly and you comply. Whatever he chooses to ask right now you’re sure you will comply. You moan when you feel him deeper.

“You like the way my cock feels in you?”

“Yes,” you whimper. “You fill me up so good.”

Jungkook can’t help the chuckle that escapes him, “I don’t think you’ve ever complimented my dick this much.” He bites your shoulder, hips bucking harsly against yours, “My darling is that desperate?” You shake your head against his shoulder, biting into your bottom lip.

You might be chasing your own orgasm, but despite that you’re being truthful. Jungkook has the best dick you’ve ever ridden. He knows the places that make you lose it, and he can reach them. He takes care of you even when he’s toying with you. You’ve never been left unsatisfied or hurt. Honestly, he’s a great fuck buddy. Also he’s just Jungkook.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“You.”

It slips out of you and you can’t take it back, not when you’re sure he heard it so clearly. Jungkook stills at the sound of your confession and you finally get to take a deep breath.

Your eyes might be screwed shut but you’re certain of the look on Jungkook’s eyes as he peers down at your head thrown back above his shoulder. It’s the same look he has been giving you more and more often lately. A look you had been trying to avoid. It didn’t feel like he was just looking at you, but inside you. Or more so looking for something inside of you.

You manage a couple of breaths before Jungkook proceeds his strokes with an even greater ferocity than before. “Ah–a–ah,” you choke out as your hands cup his hands that are firmly planted around your breasts. The sound of Jungkook’s hips slapping against your ass fills the confined stall and you release a cry each time he gains leverage leaving your walls battered and full.

He doesn’t stop. He keeps going murmuring the occasional “Mine” into the air with furrowed eyebrows as you clench harder around him. His throbbing member slides into you, fully sheathed within your warmth. Once, twice, thrice. Enough times to make you dizzy and lose count. And with each slap of ass against hips you offer a guttural moan, eyes tearing up, legs trembling.

“Jeo– I’m cl–oh fuck, so close.”

Jungkook's warm finger caresses your pussy. “ I know darling.” His palm kneads into your clit, the overwhelming stimulation makes you choke down a sob. “Just let go, I’m here,” he whispers, nose buried against your cheek.

A few more calculated strokes from Jungkook’s hips has him buried deep in your seeping cunt, sloppy thumps surrounding your combined moans and groans. Maybe it’s the way Jungkook’s left hand caresses the breast over your heart, or the cushioned kisses he places against your jaw or the way he lets himself go right before you come. Or maybe it’s all of those things that make you cream on his cock, juices gushing down your thighs and onto him as he kisses you deeply, tongue wrapping around yours to catch your moans, teeth pulling on your lips the same way you pull at his heartstrings. Only when you’re gasping for air does his lips let go of yours.

“You good?”

“Yeah, all good” you sigh.

“Come on, look at me?”

You do your best to remove any trace of tear streaks as fast as possible, removing your face from the crook of his neck.

Jungkook still sees, “I am that good, huh?”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes.

“You’re such a cry baby,” he teases and you can’t refute, he gives your cheek a peck, “and I kinda love it.”

You’re really not a cry baby. Jungkook’s stroke game is just that good. No matter how diluted your conscience is you could never deny his claim. The state in which you’re left is proof enough.

Jungkook slips out of you, soft cock against sensitive walls. He uses what’s at his disposal and rips off some toilet paper to clean the combined result of your yearning between your legs. It takes a couple of toilet strips to get the job done.

“Thanks,” you mumble when he’s done, flushing the used paper.

“No problem, darling.” He lifts your pants back up, reaching for your discarded top as well. “I can be the caring type you know.”

With a scoff leaving your chest you pluck your t-shirt off of his hands, “No need to convince me, Jeon.”

You really didn’t need convincing. Jeon Jungkook is a reasonable guy. He is a friend you can count on, ambitious when it comes to his studies, smart enough to do double majors (if he had made the choice), good-looking even in the most unflattering circumstances, a champ in bed and sometimes too sweet for his and your own good.

You had gotten to know all these sides of him with time, some of which came to your knowledge involuntarily, like how he always has a packet of kit kats stashed away for you for whenever you come over to hang and occasionally study before you fuck. The same way you had found yourself reaching for a softer scented detergent after you found out from one of his roommates that he isn’t fond of strong fragrances.

You had both picked up clues about each other, whether it was voluntary or involuntary.

And, yes maybe he’s more than reasonable, he’s quite great actually. But Kyra thinks you deserve greater. You don’t know how much you agree with her. But you do acknowledge the fact that Jungkook has been the only one you’ve done whatever this is with. You don’t have much to compare him to, except for the occasional rendezvous you would have back home with men you met on tinder. Maybe you need to explore some more?

“Ah, I think I still need to convince you some more,” he says to your back after ruffling back into his pants.

You turn around to face that look you dread. “Whatever floats your boat.” You rush to open the stall’s door, hurried breath brushing against Jungkook’s neck as you storm out towards the sink. You wash your hands to keep yourself from looking at him where he stands against the door frame, styled hair grazing his still flushed cheeks.

Jungkook joins you to wash his own hands. You dry yourself, letting the hot air from the hand dryer drown out the silence. With one final look at the mirror you attempt to look presentable and composed. Jungkook flicks water at you. You throw him a warning look. He does it again.

“Jeon, stop it.” You take a paper towel to dab yourself dry. He does it again.

You exhale a slow breath, ”It’s really not funny and it’s a waste of water.”

But in true Jungkook fashion he gives it another go. “Jungkook!” You shriek making him crack a scrunched up smile.

He keeps at it until you crack a smile of your own in defeat. “See, eventually you always come around,” he says and you’re confused. He has been throwing a lot of these weird statements at you lately.

“Okay…. but for now I’m gonna leave before you start annoying me again.”

You walk towards the door, a cool hand touching the cool handle. “You know you can be in my boat too right?” Your step staggers. “It won’t sink or anything, we could both float in it.”

You chuckle, “Be patient Jeon”. Maybe Kyra isn’t right for once. You close your eyes into a stabilizing breath. “I planned on crying some more so I can be sure it will keep floating even with me on it,” you say to the door before walking out.

Jungkook might have lost the competition, but he won something far better. Your reassurance.

It’s with a triumphant smile and a bounce to his step that Jungkook exits the staff room and heads back to skate with part of the public that’s now in the rink. His eyes search for your whereabouts only to land on your hand closing around another kit kat. You’re always consistent with the things and people you like he thinks with a smirk on his face.

“That’s my cry baby.”

thank you for reading my fic, i hope you enjoyed it 🥺 any feedback or comment is welcomed !!

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #btsfanfic #ficswithluv #bangtanhq #bts #jungkook fanfction #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts fluff #namgee #I AM FINALLY DONEEEE

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agentrouka-blog · 2 years

Note

Sorry I should have phrased better, the argument is that the attraction is geared more towards women who are like Catelyn. Or is it the role that he wants someone to fulfill, the idea of Mrs Snow as a Cat placeholder to reenact Ned Cat as Lord Lady of Winterfell?

I see what you mean.

(TL,DR: I think the point is to subvert the idea of recreating Ned and Cat. If you want the opinion of someone who likes that theory, you still need to ask someone else.)

Jon, yes, essentially wants to recreate his childhood home but with himself at the center. But he doesn't want to be Ned, specifically, with Cat, specifically. He is not attracted to "women like Catelyn", and Catelyn herself is a source of anxiety and even resentment.

He is into the general idea of a highborn lady with all the attendant skills and qualities.

Because he wants this:

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me.

He wants his home, but without any of the shame and condemnation and insecurity. Lord of Winterfell, children, a family.

Part of that image, a necessary part, is the Lady Wife. And Jon actually respects the role of the noble lady, against popular opinion. But she is not at the center of this fantasy. It's not about copying Ned and Cat, it's about the roles they inhabited there as parents.

Sansa has the mirroring fantasy about her children with Willas.

If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa's dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya.

They match up exactly.

Extrapolating from the desire to recreate their lost family through their children, you could argue that they want to be Ned and Cat 2.0.

It certainly birthed the popular theory of a political marriage between them that will grow into love eventually.

I don't subscribe to that, though.

Sansa also wants to name a son Eddard after her father, and Jon is dreaming of fostering children (no bastards, no hostages, foster children) so already this fantasy is about moving forward with distinct improvements on the original.

But also, while this fantasy playing out at Winterfell with Stark looks can only happen if you combine Jon and Sansa, the bare bones are always possible for Sansa in any number of political marriages. Not all men in Westeros are violent scum, so she could have this Willas fantasy, realistically, with anyone. This was always always always the path she was supposed to be on. Zero development, outside of changing the location where it plays out.

And it does absolutely nothing to address "No one will ever marry me for love."

Jon, also, literally could have tried to have this, but he rejected it. Accepting it with a different Lady Wife to become Lord of Winterfell after all doesn't work for me personally, because it undercuts the significance of what it meant for him to reject this title. To choose bastardy.

Ned and Cat were a political marriage gone well, and they have their own complex and tragic and sweet story, but it is not at all what I see playing out for Jon and Sansa.

That one - to me - is absolutely going to have to be a love story first. Independent of political benefit, independent of fantasy families, it has to be about who they are as individual people. A romance.

For Sansa, because she is more than a claim and a womb. She needs to be chosen for herself, without any regard for those two things. For her kindness and her wit, her creativity, her intelligence and her ability to love.

For Jon, because he is more than a sword and a man with Stark blood or a good provider and protector or whatever. He needs to be chosen for his own self, his nobility of spirit, his dumb sense of humor, his sense of responsibility, his romanticism, his ability to love.

If GRRM doesn't do that, if they are first pressed together by political gain, then their marriage is about blood and claim first, and the romance is... just a gimmick, an extra. It will hold little weight in the plot and it would not subvert anything. It would be incidental and potentially superfluous.

They need to choose each other first, unlike Ned and Cat. They were lucky to be as compatible as they were, they made a noble choice to make it work, but so do the vast majority of political couples one way or the other. Love becomes an incidental benefit to turning people's bodies into political tools.

Why would GRRM tell that story with Jon and Sansa? He already told it with Ned and Cat.

Jon and Sansa need to fall in love when there is no benefit, no necessity, no hope of that fantasy they share.

Love has to be that important on its own, a worthy prize even with no promise of its fulfillment. If they choose that and remain faithful to it, they will earn its fulfillment narratively, against all odds. And then they can create the family they long for together.

I know many jonsas would not agree with this, but it's my personal take on the couple and what GRRM is driving toward on the theme of romantic love.

#jonsa #ned x cat #foils #romance #parallels #not a political marriage #romantic love

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nikethestatue · 3 years

Text

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.

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!”

173 notes · View notes

felassan · 3 years

Text

Some DA trivia and dev commentary from Twitter

There’s a lot of different tweets, so I’m just pasting and linking to the source rather than screencapping them all or making several different posts or something. Post under cut for length.

User: Was dragon age 2 your favourite in the franchise?

David Gaider: DA2 was the project where my writing team was firing on all cylinders, and they wrote like the wind- because they had to! Second draft? Pfft. Plot reviews? Pfft. I was so proud of what we all accomplished in such a brief time. I didn't think it was possible. [source] DA2 is, however, also where the goal posts kept moving. Things kept getting cut, even while we worked. I had to write that dialogue where Orsino turned even if you sided with him, because his boss battle had been cut and there was no time to fix the plot. A real WTF moment. >:( [source]

Mike Rousseau: I remember bugging that! And then being told it wasn't a bug, and being so confused. Doing QA for DA2 was an experience. Trial by fire. [source]

DG: So I think it's safe to say DA2 is my favorite entry in the DA franchise and also the sort of thing I never want to live through ever again. Mixed feelings galore. [source]

User: (I personally blame whoever it was for ruining most romance arcs in other games for me; they don't live up to Fenris's romance storyline)

DG: I wrote Fenris, so uh - me, I guess? Or maybe his cinematic designer, who put in the puppy dog eyes. [source]

User: If DA2 had just been an expansion, do you think it would have been better received? There was a lot of great stuff in there, and I think my initial dislike of it was because of the zone reuse. If it hadn't needed to be a full game, would that issue not have arisen?

DG: Hard to say. It was either going to be an over-scoped expansion or an under-scoped sequel. If it had stayed an expansion, it might never have received the resources/push it DID get. [source]

User: I'd love to visit the universe where you had an extra year or so to work on it. You did a very good job as it stands, but it definitely had rough edges. Not just the writing team either. The whole game had hit and miss moments, that just a little more dev time could have fixed.

DG: On one hand, DA2 existed to fill a hole in the release schedule. More time was never in the cards. DA2 was originally planned as an expansion! On the other, if we had more time, would we have started doing that thing where we second guess/iterate ourselves into mediocrity? [shrug emoji] [source]

Jennifer Hepler: This is what I love about DA2. Personally, I greatly prefer something that's rough and raw and sincere to something that's had all the soul polished out of it. Extra time would have helped for art and levels, but it would have lost something too. [source]

DG: Right? I think we could have used some time for peer reviews (and fewer cuts), but I think the rawness of the writing lent a certain spark that we usually polished out. [source]

JH: Definitely. I think the structure (more character-driven) and the tightness of the timeframe let each individual writer's voice really come through. Polish can be very homogenizing. [source]

DG: I should add I'm not, by any means, against iteration. Some iteration is good and necessary. The problem that BioWare often had is that we never knew when to stop. Like a goldfish, we would fill the space given to us by constantly re-iterating on things that were "good enough". [source]

Patrick Weekes: I appreciate your incredibly diplomatic use of the past tense on "had". :D [source]

User: DA2 was my gateway into the series and I’m so happy it is. I love the game the way that it is. It’s one of my favorites of all time. But I am also aware of everything that was said here. If it were remastered, do you think it would change?

DG: I'd be surprised if it was ever remastered. If it was, do you really think they'd change things? Do remasters do that? No idea. [source]

User: Both sides got undercut as I recall. Didn't that whole sequence also end with the mage leader embracing blood magic? It was very much "a plague on both your houses" moment, at least for me.

DG: Yep. Orsino was supposed to have his own version of Meredith's end battle, which only happened if you sided with the templars. That got cut, but the team still wanted to use the model we'd made for him. So... that happened. [source]

DG: I would personally say that DA2 is a fantastic game hidden under a mountain of compromises, cut corners, and tight deadlines. If you can see past all that, you'll see a fantastic game. I don't doubt, however, that it's very difficult for most to do that. [source]

PW: I love DAI with all my selfish "I worked on this" heart, but DA2's follower arcs and relationships are probably my favorite in the series. [source]

User: As I've expressed many times, I love the game, especially it's writing and characters but, for me, the most impressive aspect of it, in consideration of it's lack of time for drafts and revisions, is the 2nd act with Arishok. What amazingly complex character and fantastic duel

User: Just played it again and I have to agree. Though he is bound by the harsher tenants of the Qun, he makes valid points about free marcher society. Though it is obvious that he and Hawke will come to blows eventually, the tension builds gradually and understandably

DG: Luke did such a fantastic job with the Arishok I found myself sometimes wishing the Qunari plot had just been THE plot. [source]

User: What do you think would have changed, story wise, if you had more time for DA2?

DG: I would have taken out that thing where Meredith gets the idol. It was forced on me because she needed to be "super-powered" with red lyrium for her final battle. Being "crazy", however, robbed her side of the mage/templar argument of any legitimacy. I hated hated hated that. [source]

User: I deeply lament that there wasn't/couldn't be some sort of DA2 equivalent of Throne of Bhaal's Ascension mod.

DG: I'd have done it, if DA2 had allowed for anything but the most rudimentary of modding. ;) [source]

User: I mean, and I think I understand where you were trying, but how much legitimacy did the Templars and her as top Templar have after they're keeping the mages locked up against their will in the old slave quarters? Feel free to not reply.

DG: I think it's the kind of discussion which requires nuance, and which discussions on the Internet are not prone to. [source]

User: Was a compromise that the quest lines don’t branch? It felt like it was supposed to be that way but then you end up in the same place later regardless of what you pick. Like I hoodwinked the templars so good to help the apostates escape but in Act II they were caught anyway.

DG: I remember us having a lot more branching in the initial planning yes. Most of this got trimmed out in the first or second wave of cuts, in an effort to not cut the plots altogether. [source]

DG: "If you could Zack Snyder DA2, what would you change?" Wow. I'm willing to bet Mark or Mike (or anyone else on the team) would give very different answers than me, but it's enough to give a sober man pause, because that was THE Project of Multiple Regrets. [source] I mean, it's the most hypothetical of hypotheticals. It's never gonna happen. I wouldn't be surprised if EA considered DA2 its embarrassing red-headed stepchild. We'd also need to ignore that in many ways DA2 was as good as it was bad BECAUSE of how it was made. But that aside? [source] First, either restore the progressive changes to Kirkwall we'd planned over the passing of in-game years or reduce the time between acts to months instead of years... which, in hindsight, probably should have been done as soon as the progressive stuff was cut. [source] I'm sure you're like "get rid of repeated levels!" ...but I don't care about that. All I wanted was for Kirkwall to feel like a bigger city. Way more crowded. More alive! Fewer blood mages. [source] I'd want to restore the plot where a mage Hawke came THIS close to becoming an abomination. An entire story spent trapped in one's own head while trapped on the edge of possession. Why? Because Hawke is the only mage who apparently never struggles with this. It was a hard cut. [source]

User: I would LOVE to hear more details about this! I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a short story?

DG: I don't even remember the details of the story, sorry. There was a fight, and you caught the bad guy and then realized none of it was real and woke up idk [source]

DG: I'd want to restore all those alternate lines we cut, meaning people forget they'd met you. Or that they knew you were a mage. Or, oh god, that maybe they'd romanced you in DAO. So much carnage. [source] I'd want to restore the Act 3 plots we cut only because they were worked on too late, but which would have made the buildup to the mage/templar clash less sudden. Though I don't remember what they were, now. Some never got beyond being index cards posted on the wall. [grimace emoji] [source] As I mentioned elsewhere, I'd want to restore Orsino's end battle so he wouldn't need to turn on you even if you sided with him. And I'd want an end fight with the templars that didn't require Meredith to have red lyrium and go full Tetsuo. [source] Heck, maybe an end decision where you sided with neither the mages nor the templars. Because it certainly ended up feeling like you could brand both sides as batshit pretty legitimately, no? That was never planned, tho. No idea how to make that feel like an actual path atm. [source] Maybe an option to go "umm, Anders... what are you DOING?" 👀 [source] And, of course, a Varric romance, because Mary took that "slimy car salesman" character we'd planned and did the impossible with him. I can feel Mary glaring at me for even suggesting this, tho. [source] Lastly, the original expanded opening to the game which allowed you to spend time with Bethany and Carver BEFORE the darkspawn attacked. And, um, that's about it off the top of my head. Zack Snyder, WHAT PANDORA'S BOX HAVE YOU OPENED. [source] Shit, I remembered two more things: 1) Restore the "Varric exaggerates the heck out of the story" at the beginning of every Act, until Cassandra calls him on it. Yes, that was a thing. 2) Make DA: Exodus. Yes, I am still bitter. [source] God damn it, I meant "Make DA: Exalted March". The DA2 expansion, NOT Exodus since that was DA2's original name and makes no sense. Because the expansion ended with Varric dying, and that will always be on my "things left undone" list. [source]

User: Whaaaat?

DG: Well, you know that scene in Wrath of Khan where Spock goes into the dilithium chamber because he's a Vulcan? Well, imagine that but with Varric and red lyrium and because he's a dwarf. ;) [source]

John Epler: I distinctly remember referencing the bit from MGS4 where you crawl through the microwave corridor in the split screen, while cinematic battle rages on the other half. [source]

DG: It would have been glorious, John. Glorious. [source]

JE: I don't think I've ever been so certain what a shot should look like as I did Hawke coming in and finding Varric in the broken throne, just like when he was telling Cassandra his story. [source]

DG: It would have come full circle! Auggghh, it still kills me. [source]

User: Lord, you folks are a little too good at this.

JE: The true secret behind videogame narrative is knowing how to make yourself seem a lot more clever than you actually are. [source] 'Oh, we TOTALLY planned that.' [source]

User: Ok, this thread [the DA2 regrets thread, which is the big chunks above] but Inquisition.

DG: My regrets about Inquisition are, more or less, the normal kind. Nothing so dramatic, I'm afraid. [source]

User: You can keep your Varric romance, I want a Flemeth romance goddamnit!

DG: I would allow for one flirt option, and then a recording of Kate Mulgrew laughing for three minutes straight. [source]

User: I had a hypothesis about the repetitive caves in DA2. They're repetitive because it's Varric telling the story and he didn't consider them important. They're like sets in a play. (Okay, I really suspect it was a time/money/resources thing but I like my fake explanation better.)

DG: Hang a lampshade on it, maybe? Cassandra: "But that's the exact cave you were in last time?" Varric: "Whatever. They all look the same, I'm not THAT kind of dwarf. Can we move on?" [source]

User: that makes sense, hypothetically to make Varric romanceable and keep his arc—that had to happen for the main plot—I imagine you would have to make double the content (or more)? which would've been a tall order given the time/budget constraints the game was under

DG: Right. When it comes to "romance arc" vs. "follower story arc", we generally only had time to do one or the other. Never both. Romancing Varric would have meant not getting the story of his that you did. [source]

Mary Kirby: The one exaggeration I really, REALLY wanted, that we never got to do was Varric narrating his own death scene with Hawke weeping over him, then cutting to Cassandra's pissed off glaring at him. [source]

DG: Haha! The one I wanted was Varric's plot where he takes on the baddies single-handedly, sliding across the floor like Jet Lee, action movie-style, until finally Cassandra gets irritated and he has to admit Hawke & the rest of the party showed up to help. [source]

MK: We did that one! (He didn't do any Jet Lee moves, though.) Jepler gave him letterboxing to get The Good, the Bad, & the Ugly showdown vibes while he shot a ton of mooks single-handed. [source]

DG: Wow. Shows how much I remember. [source]

JE: I found it! I remember seeing this sequence as my treat for doing a bunch of much more challenging work. It was fun to see how far I could push our limited library of animations. [link] [source]

DG: Heh awesome. I could have sworn it was cut, honestly. I think I was even in that meeting. [source]

User: no disrespect but that’s surprising and rich of Mary “Hard in Hightown” Kirby to think DA2 shouldn’t have had a Varric romance when she wrote an entire book of Varric’s self-insert character pining over his Hawke insert character… HIH is the reason we had VHawke Summer 2018

DG: I can't *really* speak for Mary, or how she feels about it now compared to back then. I only know how she felt about it back then, and I'm not sure it was as much the concept of the romance but that Varric's entire story would be bent to "romance arc" ...a very different thing. [source]

JH: I remember pushing to have the first DLC start with Hawke having an option to ask Varric, "Did you tell Cassandra about us?" and if you picked it, Varric would answer, "Of course not, baby. I told her you were sleeping with X..." and then proceed as if you had had a full romance. [source]

DG: I still wonder how that would have gone over. x) [source]

JE: Okay, one more DA2 thing. Putting together the cinematics for this scene was a blast. [link] [source]

MK: These lines are my greatest legacy. I want "Make sure the world knows I died... at Chateau Haine!" inscribed on my tombstone. [source]

JE: I was so glad no one said 'no' to the crane shot. [source]

MK: It needs that crane shot. It's the perfect icing on that cake made from solid cheese. [source]

DG: The designers were all "we need more combat" and I think we were all "I think you underestimate just HOW interesting we can make this dinner party". [source]

JE: And finally. I think @SherylChee wrote the one-liner. I think we had a collection of like, 20. [link] [source]

Sheryl Chee: Yeah! Something like that! I remember submitted a whole bunch and Frank said you only needed one. Wish I'd kept the other fifteen. [source]

JE: A random chooser where, each time through the scene, you get a different one-liner. [source]

JE: DA2 is the project I'm the proudest of. I also absolutely get that it didn't land for a lot of people. But I don't think it's inaccurate to say that, in a lot of ways, DA2 defined my career. [source] Everyone spent a year working at their maximum ability. I was a fresh cinematic designer and was given all of Varric's content, as well as the Act 1 Finale mission. It was a lot for someone who had been doing the Cinematics thing for literally 6 months. [source] There's some stuff in there I can't look at without wincing. And there's some stuff I'm genuinely proud of. Not to mention, it was my introduction to most of the writing team. Several of whom I'm still working with today! Albeit in a different capacity [source] Also, weirdly, one of my most enduring memories of Dragon Age 2 is how much Bad Company 2 we'd play at lunch. It was a LOT. [source] Every game I've worked on has a game I played attached to it. ME2 is Borderlands. DA2 is Bad Company 2. DAI is DayZ. I, hmm. There's a progression there. I don't know how I feel about it. [source]

User: Is DA4 going to be tarkov then?

JE: I've kind of churned out of Tarkov for now. Probably Hunt Showdown, at least right now. [source]

User: I think people also don't take nuance into consideration -- like I FULLY acknowledge the flaws in my favorite games and will openly criticize them, but that doesn't mean they're not my favorite games anymore??? You can like and thing and still be critical of it.

JE: A lot of my favourite shit is deeply flawed! I acknowledge it and I think it's interesting to dissect the flaws. [source]

User: I still wish Justice was an actual character in DA2 rather than a plot point.

DG: There was a moment during DAI where we *almost* put in you running into Justice with the Grey Wardens, and he's all "Kirkwall? I never went to Kirkwall" [source]

User: Does that imply that Justice was shoehorned in to DA2?

DG: Nah, it was an in-joke where we thought it'd be fun to suggest that "Justice" was simply some demon that tricked Anders in DA2. Wooo those tricky demons! We didn't do it, though. [source]

User: [about templars] except, I don't think it had very much legitimacy to begin with. keep in mind, we interact with other characters with the same argument. The one that comes to mind is Cullen, a sane templar in power. The templar's side of the argument is inherently flawed.

DG: I don't doubt that many people agree with you, and yet people can and do argue on behalf of the templars as well. My place isn't to pick a side, but to provide evidence that players can interpret for themselves [source]

User: Can you shed some light for us on how DA was able to do multiple same-sex romance options for different genders but the Mass Effect team treated them like the plague? What process existed for your team that just wasn't their for the other tentpole franchise?

DG: Different people making the decisions, almost different cultures. I don't know what it's like now, but for many years the Mass Effect team and the Dragon Age team were almost like two different studios working within the same building. [source]

User: It truly boggles the mind. Kudos for doing demonstrably better on consistent queer representation than the ME teams. Y'all never needed us to make petitions to try to get the studio's attention and ask them to do better by us. That's the fight we're once again embroiled in now.

DG: Honestly, I don't feel like tut-tutting the Mass Effect team. They did their part, and if they were a bit later to the show than the DA team they certainly did more than almost every other game out there -- and willingly. [source]

Updates begin here

User: So what was the reason for naming Dragon age 2 "Dragon age II" and not using a subtitle?

DG: As I recall, that was purely a publisher decision. I think they wanted to avoid the impression it was an expansion. [source]

User: Is there no chance of ever remaking DA2 under better circumstances? -Somehow remove the repetitiveness of gameplay by making changes and updating the tech and adding much more to the storyline. It could almost be a new very exciting game.

DG: I'd say there's zero chance of that. Let's keep our hopes up for the next DA title instead. [source]

User: I am a little confused here, help me out here please! How exactly was the cut boss battle with Orsino supposed to work out? How it would've kept him from turning against the player?

DG: It means that, if you sided with the templars, the entire boss bottle at the end would have been against Orsino and the mages. No fight against Meredith. The end decision would have been more divergent. [source]

User: I do remember that one of the reasons going around for that, was that resources were going to the transition to Frostbite. I'm still not fully sold on that having been a good choice. I felt that more time should have been given for that transition considering it was made for FPSs

DG: We didn't transition to Frostbite until DAI. Given our time frame for DA2, I don't think we *could* have transitioned to a new engine. [source]

User: Since your talking about the what could have been for DA2. Could you say what your script was for Anthem? Cause I remember reading that you wrote the plot on that game.

DG: I created a setting for Anthem and scripted out a plot - but, as I understand it, almost none of that ended up being used. So it's a bit pointless to talk about what I'd planned, as that'd be for some completely different type of game. [source]

User: [in reference to the exchange above where DG said “Being "crazy", however, robbed her side of the mage/templar argument of any legitimacy. I hated hated hated that.” re: Meredith] except, I don't think it had very much legitimacy to begin with. keep in mind, we interact with other characters with the same argument. The one that comes to mind is Cullen, a sane templar in power. The templar's side of the argument is inherently flawed.

If I missed a tweet, got the wrong source link or included a tweet twice, feel free to let me know and I’ll correct.

Edit / Update: Post update 22nd April

#dragon age #bioware #video games #fenris #the Fenaissance #long post #longpost #cassandra pentaghast #my lady paladin #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #mass effect

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