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alphabetboyluvr · 1 year

Text

throttle │ jjk - two

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - just a littleeee (read: mostly) smut... fingering, titty sucking (his fave <3), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (female), creampie, post-creampie-pussy-eating, cum swapping, a little spitting i guess, titty worship, ?? more, maybe ??, idk, you get the idea. oh, and also dangerous driving and jk being down bad within like 5 seconds flat

word count - 13.4k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

Jungkook's cheeks are red, his nose blushed from the chill of the wind by the time you reach his place. It's just on the outskirts of town, past the jewellers' district and out towards the station, and it has you wondering why he's always getting fuel from your neck of the woods. It seems inconvenient, and if you were sober, you'd be questioning it.

Sober, you might have even made assumptions about it.

Hell, you know you would be making assumptions about it.

But you're not sober, and he's got a hold on your hand like you're one of the priceless jewels in the windows you've just walked past.

You're gold dust; a diamond in amongst the rough of downtown Daegu.

In fact, he's holding you so tightly that it's almost as if there's a price on your head, and he wants to be the one to reap the rewards. No sharing. His, all his.

He doesn't loosen his grip on your hand as he begins to punch in the code to his apartment door. It's steel, and robust, hiding everything that Jungkook is behind it. You don't know him, not really - not like you want to - but there's something so painfully intimate about being invited into his space. Has you thinking that maybe you'll get the chance to know him. For a few hours, at least.

The lock beeps, a mechanical whir sounding as the bolt retracts, but he pauses as he puts pressure down on the handle.

"Can you, like, close your eyes?" He grimaces, glancing back around at you. His tongue is tipsy, about to make admissions he never would do sober. "I left in a rush, and there are clothes everywhere 'cause I couldn't decide what to wear and I-"

"Wait, wait, wait," you grin, eyes centred on his. "Did someone get pre-date nerves?"

Jungkook presses his eyes shut, smiling as he rolls his head back. He's never nervous. Always cool, calm, collected - but he can hear your little drunk giggles, and his heart rate is up, and shit, he thinks he might be nervous.

He knows he was nervous before he left.

"I just-" he says with a frustrated groan, too exasperated to finish his sentence before he starts laughing, too.

You're both a little tipsy, swaying, drawing closer to one another. It's innate, the way your body leans into his, with zero resistance from Jungkook as your hands grip the front of his coat for support.

"Shuuuush," he whispers, all giddy and coy, holding his index finger to your lips. It's almost as if he gives a fuck about his neighbours.

He doesn't.

He's just using it as an excuse to get closer to you.

"You shush!" You whisper back, mirroring his actions and holding your finger to his lips, too.

His smile is so big that his dimples are on full display. They're as deep as his eyes are dark, and you just know he must have broken his fair share of hearts in the past. His hands cup your jaw, thumbs resting on the edges of your smile as if he's framing a work of art. He'd argue that he is.

You look so dainty in his hold, and he finds himself overwhelmed with the need to savour your pretty little laugh. It'll taste just like his, but he doesn't care. Thinks it'll be sweeter coming from your lips.

And, so, somewhere between your simpering laugh and his darting eyes, as a flickering light in his hallway beats in unison with your hearts, his lips find yours.

He's still telling you to shush as he does so, and you tell him it back - but neither of you actually shush until your tongues are in each other's mouths.

He fumbles the keypad of his door again, getting you both through the threshold and into his tiny studio before you can even look at the mess of clothes everywhere.

The nerves he once had are gone, because he's confident about this; about you.

The movements of your bodies bleed into one another, neither one of you taking the lead. Instead, it's as if you're a pair of figure skaters gliding through his apartment, eyes closed - not that it makes much of a difference. The lights are off, and a string of fairy lights left up since Christmas provides the only source of illumination.

Jungkook hadn't entirely planned on stumbling home drunk with you, but he knew he'd be stumbling home in some capacity, so leaving them on had seemed like a good idea at the time. He's proven right.

And even though this night hasn't gone exactly how he had planned, he's not complaining. Especially not when your hands begin to fumble with his jacket. You undo it, push it off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

Casual arrogance graces his lips as he smirks against you, unbuttoning the top of your skirt.

"I don't fuck on first dates," you tell him, but you don't stop him as he pushes the black denim over your hips and lets it fall to the floor. In fact, you're kind of giving him mixed signals as you reach for his belt, sliding the leather through its buckle.

"We've had, like, 300 GS25 dates," he mumbles into your lips between kisses, so casually that it's almost believable.

He pulls his shirt over his head, tosses it to the floor, and grabs your face just to kiss you again as soon as he can.

It's about now, just after he's finished evaluating your 'dating' history, that you notice the pressure of two small metal balls flicking against your tongue. They're evenly spaced across the centre of his own tongue, and the mere acknowledgement of them has your legs clenching together. The lip ring was bad enough, but a tongue piercing? Fuck.

He smiles as you moan into his lips, and assures you: "I think it's okay if we fuck."

Your hands are in his hair, his gripping onto your waistline before he rids you of your sweater, and all you can do is nod. Playing hard to get is a game for fools, and you're not really sure why you tried it in the first place. You're gonna be winning either way.

"Yeah, you're right," you mumble into his mouth. "We're basically married."

He laughs, and for a second you think that he must have been made by the Gods. It's the only way to explain how a human could be created so heavenly, even when they're about to commit enough sins to send them straight down to the pits.

"Happy honeymoon," he smirks, assisting you as you begin to push his jeans past his ass and down his thighs. Teamwork makes the dream work, after all.

You're both in your underwear, yet neither of you have even looked at the other's bodies yet. Too preoccupied. Too eager. Too consumed by the overwhelming need to feel one another.

His skin is warm, but the ridges of his torso are so hard that you'd be forgiven for thinking he's carved from stone.

Nudging his parted lips against yours, you gasp as his fingers curl in your hair. Jungkook just claims your breaths as his own, pressing his lips firmly shut against yours.

One hand clasps your throat, keeping you secure, as the other trails up your thighs.

"Sure you wanna consummate this marriage?" He asks a little breathlessly, playing on the narrative you built up for this moment, just checking before he does anything he can't take back.

But you're impatient, and you don't think you could be any clearer even if you tried.

"Oh my god," you whine. "Just finger me already."

Your words have him laughing all over again. He likes this, likes that you're not afraid to ask for what you want. He hadn't expected anything less, but it's satisfying to have his assumptions proven right. He kind of gets why you like making so many of them, now.

He fumbles about a little bit, not bothering to turn on the lights. It's not his first rodeo, and he doesn't think it's yours either - in fact, he knows it isn't. You wouldn't be so bold if it was. He doesn't embarrass easy, and knows that there are lessons to be learned with every new woman he acquaints himself with. You're no exception.

"Gotta tell me what you like," he notes as he presses a kiss against your neck, the smell of your perfume so divine that he thinks you must be some kind of lorelei. It's like a meeting of black cherry and vanilla, but when his nose nestles into your hair, he can smell gasoline - and he thinks it might just be the hottest thing about you.

You hum a response, the anticipation causing your heart to beat a mile a minute. He pushes the lace of your underwear to the side, his middle finger running between your folds. You're slick from his kisses alone, but so is he is. As you palm at the bulge in his pants, you can feel the wetness of precum leaking from his tip. He wants this just as much as you do.

"You can do better, little miss clutch control," he teases you. "Speak up."

Part of you wants to kick him in the balls. He's so sexy but so fucking annoying - he can hear how much you're enjoying his touch. He doesn't need confirmation - he just wants the gratification of hearing you say it. It's a power trip for him. You don't like giving men power.

"I like it when you shut the fuck up," you reply, hands in his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. If your words won't do it, then at least your lips will. The vibration of his laugh hums into your mouth, before he pulls away - only by an inch or so.

"That's more like it."

His lips return to yours, as quickly as they left, while he continues to roam. His fingers stay in your underwear, the very tip of his index finger mapping you out. Your body shudders when he brushes your clit, the direct contact a little too much.

He dips down to your entrance, pauses, and says "been thinking about this since the moment I met you," and then pushes two of his fingers into your cunt.

Your walls are tight and hot, but oh-so fucking wet. There's nothing about your pussy that he doesn't love. His thick knuckles are celestial inside of you, just as cosmic as the reflection of his fairy lights in his eyes, and you find yourself thinking that maybe those tattooed hands of his are something special, after all.

"Bra off," he husks, and you do as you're told. He'd have done it himself, but his hands are a little preoccupied.

He adjusts the pair of you as your bra hits the floor, encouraging your legs around his waist. Hoisting you up before you really have a chance to comprehend what he's doing, you're pretty certain that this is just an excuse to display his strength. You're impressed, so it's working, but you're also unable to really think about anything other than the way he feels inside of you.

Your back is against the wall, the weight of his body keeping you pinned in position as he fucks his fingers into you. There's no real calculation to his movements, just an awareness that he absolutely cannot fuck you yet. He'll simply finish too quickly.

It's not that he doesn't enjoy a quickie - truth be told, he finds them far more convenient - it's just that it would be mortifying.

He's not sure he'd actually be able to show up at the gas station ever again if you heard him whine like a little bitch and unload himself in five seconds flat.

Equally, he doesn't want you to dread his car coming into the forecourt.

He wants you daydreaming about him, all hazy-eyed, like you are when you're drunk, waiting for his car to roll in. He wants you musing about the way his tongue feels against your neck, and your coworker asking why you're smiling so much. He wants you blushing as you try to think of a justification, and he wants you excusing yourself to go to the bathroom to sort out the wetness pooling in your underwear.

So, yeah. A quickie simply won't do.

He grips onto the side of your neck with his spare hand as he sinks his fingers into your pussy again. The way you gasp is like music to his ears, every single one of his senses overrun by the entity that you are.

It's mutual though. You're consumed by everything that he is; his scent, the sound of his laboured grunts, the taste of his tongue and the feel of his hands all over your body. The only sense he isn't violating is your sight - but it's only 'cause he's making you feel so good that your eyes are forced to rest shut.

Jungkook, on the other hand, exclusively watches you. He marvels at the way your head leans back against the wall, neck exposed for him to leave a trail of pretty purple bruises. He knows he shouldn't. Knows he shouldn't leave a single mark on your skin. Knows better than to leave evidence of his crimes, but it's a sin he thinks he'd quite like to commit over and over again.

You're pretty good at faking it. A string of careless lovers, of whom you used to entertain prior to learning your worth, had helped you to perfect a moan. You can manipulate your body, make your chest heave with exertion, your pussy throb around their fingers, their cocks. You can make it leak, get yourself looking like a fucking mess for them, as if it's because of them. It's a fine art.

Botticelli would admire you, you think. His Venus couldn't compete with you. Femme fatal; a kisser of jaws, a killer of the men you have to let down gently because they fall too in love with you for your liking. Understandably, given what you can do. You've mastered it. Mastered men.

And it's for this reason, that you don't fake anymore. If someone isn't pleasing you, you let them know. You view it as a way of helping humanity - or their future girlfriends, at least. Why waste time letting someone else think they're getting you off, when it's you doing all the hard work?

You'd gone into this prepared; ready to remedy what would inevitably be a disappointing shag with a near stranger.

But you're not throbbing around Jungkook's fingers - you're trembling. There's no self-made stutter in your chest, but there's one a little lower down, one that you've got absolutely no jurisdiction over. Y'see, the way you're gasping, like you're struggling against a riptide, caught in the wave that is Jeon Jungkook, can't be faked.

It's what has him smirking as he puts pressure behind the kisses he's placing on your neck. It's the fact that every time you try and speak, even if it's just a curse or the sound of his name, it's cut short. You've no control. Fuck all. It's all on him, on account of him being inside you. If he's learnt anything about you in the short time that he's known you, it's that you're never speechless. Always getting that last word in.

But you can't even formulate one now, his fingers pumping into you at such a speed, that the lewd wet noise is almost louder than your moans. Almost.

Jungkook isn't a jealous kind of guy, especially not when it comes to casual hookups - but he kind of thinks he's jealous of his own fucking fingers.

Every single part of him wants your pussy; his tongue, his cock. You feel so good around him that he regrets not making a move sooner. Should have asked to fuck you as soon as you started talking about his car on his first visit to the gas station. Lord knows he thought about it.

His lips are on yours, not really kissing you, resting open, his breaths heavy and laboured. The way he's pushing into you, deeper, deeper, has you mirroring his expression, small moans pouring into his mouth. He wants to eat them up, devour them, use them as fuel.

You loosen the grip you have in his pale hair, gripping onto his neck with one hand, the other falling to his bicep. He likes the scratch of your nails against his bare skin, but there's a distance between you both that he wants to close. He pulls his hand from beneath your ass, relying on his core strength alone to keep you pressed into the wall, and reaches for your fingers. Intertwining them, he places his hand, with yours beneath it, back against the wall, above your head.

The change in position has your chest lifting, almost as if your tits are begging to have his lips around them - and who is he to refuse?

His tongue finds your nipple, flicking against the hardened nub before sucking it between his lips. The vibration of his studs against your sensitive bud has your back arching. He sucks you further into his mouth, tongue lapping against you, before he releases your nipple - but it's so puffy, and wet, and perfect, and fuck- he can't help himself, teasing at it again with his tongue.

So fixated on how you feel in his mouth, he's forgotten that he meant to be fucking you. His cock throbs beneath his boxers, as his fingers are kept warm by your walls, slick wetness creaming around the base of his knuckles and dripping down his palm.

His apartment is small, so it only takes him a moment to move you from the wall and toss you down into his sheets. There's a waft of his fabric conditioner as he does so, floral and soft. It's hard to imagine a man so broad, so handsome, so god damn irresistible, paying any attention to laundry - but you suppose it must just add to his charm.

"C'mere," you whine, as he takes a moment to take in the sight of you. Missing the way he feels, you pull him down onto the bed - but he's scared that even just rutting against you will have him spilling himself all over your stomach. Instead, he places himself beside you, and gets to work.

There's a familiarity now, his mouth taking your nipple again, wet and wanting, as his fingers toy with your pussy. He's not sure which he prefers, your pussy or tits, but he's more than happy to play with them both. His thumb presses on your swollen clit, and you writhe beneath him. "You like that, huh?"

You try and respond, but his thumb begins to rub languid circles against you. If you couldn't muster a word before, then like fuck can you speak now.

"Huh?" he teases, teeth grazing your hardened nipple, now. His finger strokes at your walls as he sinks into you once more, on the hunt for something that no one has ever been able to find, except you. The way your legs are tensing lets him know he's close.

"I asked if you like that." He's only a knuckle deep, stroking pretty little circles against your walls. Closer. You whine. "Don't go all shy on me now, doll."

Your body writhes beneath his, toes curling, teeth digging down on his shoulder in a failed attempt at keeping quiet. He hopes you'll leave a mark. His thumb presses a little harder against your clit, encircling it with pressure so deep that you're almost certain you'll die from his touch.

"Don't stop," is all you can manage. "Don't stop- fuck."

"Better," he says, pressing a kiss into your neck. You can feel his precum leaking onto your thigh, and the idea of him dirtying you has you insatiable. He can tell you're at his level now, so close to finishing that it won't be embarrassing when he's done in five-seconds-flat - but the way you're putty in his hands has him unable to stop himself. He's gotta make you cum. Needs to.

He presses his thumb down, fingers up, as if he's pinching them together, and then he's stroking and - "Oh, fuck it. Right there. Right fucking there." - he's found it.

He's fucking found it, the little ridge in your pussy that up until now has been just for you. You've lied before, told guys they've hit your g-spot and faked a little something that convinces them of it - but it's never been like this. Ever. Not even when you find it.

Jungkook follows your commands. He won't stop, doesn't stop, not even when your nails grab at his wrist because the pleasure is so unbearable, so intense, that it fucking hurts.

"Like that," you encourage, knowing your grip probably says otherwise. "Like that, fuck."

He does as he's told, and keeps like that, lips latching onto your nipple, sucking just as hard as his fingers are massaging. The slickness of your walls compared with the texture of your g-spot has him going insane. He doesn't think it's his first time finding such a sacred spot, but it's never been this easy, and the reaction has never been this good.

You moan out his name, 'cause he's all you can think about. Any and all articulation of your pleasure goes on him.

"Yeah, baby?" he asks, forgetting that he doesn't know you nearly well enough to be addressing you like that, but he doesn't slow down. You just moan. He can call you whatever the fuck he wants at this point. It's too good. Too much.

"Kook, I-" you try, but your hips are bucking, and there's fuck all you can do to stop it.

"Just a little more, baby," he promises you.

He will make you cum. Will do whatever it takes, if needs be. The tip of his cock is red and leaky against your thigh, ready to fuck into you, but he doesn't give a shit. Your walls are hot. Burning hot. And then they're throbbing, and your torso begins to tense. You whisper his name like a secret prayer, legs trying to close around the welcome intrusion of his hand.

"That's it," he keens. "Cum for me, doll. All over my fingers. That's it."

You're fucking mewling as your body shudders against his. There's no dignity left in your body. It's pooling in the palm of his hand, slick and slippery, just where he wants it.

"You're unreal," he hums, drawing the last of your little death from you. "Fucking insane, babe. So fucking hot."

Turns out the Grim Reaper had made an appearance that evening, just in the form of a 6-foot adonis, who knows his way around a pussy like he does a bloody electric switchboard.

You're panting, and so is he, his lips curving against your skin. Neither of you speaks for a minute, both casually aware that it - this, the night - isn't over yet.

And then Jungkook just thinks to hell with acting coy, or playing it cool. You're naked in his bed, and so is he. No point in beating around the bush (unless you're into it).

"Wanna eat you out," he says as he presses a kiss into your neck, placing himself more centrally over you. Your chest is still heaving, and the thought of cumming again makes you feel all dizzy. His elbows are rested by your head, cock stiff against your tummy. You wrap your arms around his neck, toying with his pretty blonde hair. "Wanna fuck you first, though."

There's a logistical step to be taken there. You're on birth control, and the subject of regularly testing had come up during a particularly suggestive conversation over dinner. You both know he'll be fucking you raw - which means he's finishing raw, too.

"But-"

"I don't care," he mumbles into your lips, a little rough, claiming them as his own. He really doesn't give a fuck if it means eating his own cum. Not like he hasn't done it before. He's probably just gonna spit it into your mouth, anyways.

He pulls his hips back to line himself up. The tip of his cock nudges into you slowly, gently, and then he eases himself forward. It burns, the thickness of his shaft spreading you in a way that his fingers couldn't. It's bliss. Divine. Heavenly, and yet absolute sin.

He revels in the way you feel, for a moment, letting your walls stretch before he sinks into you fully. You curse as he does so, the pain overridden by pleasure. His hips begin to pick up pace, eyes on yours to make sure that you're okay as he ploughs into you.

It's like he's digging for diamonds, almost. Funny thing is, when you gasp, eyes all wide and focused on his, it's looks like he's found them in your eyes. It's just the reflection of his fairy lights, but the illusion fools him.

Looking at you is too much for him to handle, so Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. He really wasn't kidding when he figured he'd finish in no time at all. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls.

"Gonna make me cum," he drowsily mewls, fucking himself into you like it's where he belongs.

His body is clammy against yours, stamina impressive but dwindling. His thrusts are getting sloppy, and so are his kisses, but you kind of love it like this; Jungkook so out of control he isn't even trying to keep a pace anymore. The rhythm of your body beneath his, the way he fits inside of you, how soft and warm your tits are as they pillow against his chest, it's all too much for him.

He's so deep he's practically kissing your cervix with the tip of his cock, and yet he still hooks your leg over his elbow. He needs to be deeper.

"Gonna make me cum so much. You want that, huh? Wanna be the reason I cum?" he grunts, and then his words become needy. "Tell me you want it, doll. Tell me."

He licks into your mouth, toying with your tongue before you even get a chance to respond.

"Don't want it," you pant, his harsh thrusts interrupting your words. He's about to be offended, all needy and pouty while he's buried inside you, but you're biting down on your lip and - oh, god - he's obsessed. "Need it. Cum for me. Want it so bad."

He smiles against your cheek as his hips move languidly between your legs. One of his hands comes down to your hip to help him control himself, but he can't. Not when he can feel you smiling, too. He laughs a little, soft and mellow against your skin - and when you do the same thing back, Jungkook knows he's absolutely done for.

"I'm gonna-" he rasps, unable to finish his sentence. "Where? Where do you want me?"

You don't say anything, just tighten the grip of your legs around his waist. You're a fucking mess, mentally, physically. He's ruined you in every sense of the word.

"Sure?"

"Sure," you pant against his skin, before repeating your earlier claim. "Need it. Need you."

It's a lie. You don't. You barely know him - but you feel so in tune, so aligned, when he's inside you that it feels like your pussy is the only place his cum deserves to be. It'd be wasted on your tits (though Jungkook would definitely disagree).

"God," he groans. "Don't say shit like that."

Jungkook has severely underestimated just how much of a little bitch you can be.

"Like what?" you pout as his thrusts get even sloppier, his skin slapping against yours. "What can't I say? How much I need you?"

He curses your name, lips showering you in pretty kisses. His tongue finds its home inside your mouth, but it's just an attempt to shut you up. A pretty good one, in all fairness. The way his studs feel against your tongue has you dripping around the base of his cock.

You can hear it; Jungkook slipping in and out of your soaked pussy like you're fire and he's ice.

"Need you," you simper again, just to fuck with him a little more. "Need to feel you fill me up."

"You want it that bad, huh?"

He pulls himself back a little, sitting up on his heels, holding onto your hips as he fucks himself into you. Your tits pillow on your chest, bouncing in time with his thrusts, hypnotising him, almost. You're smiling as your forearms cover your eyes, a little shameful of being caught in such a compromising position, but loving it nonetheless.

"Looking a little shy, there," he says, but his tone is so low it almost sounds like a growl. You pull your arms away, and he's amazed that you can still manage to raise a brow and throw him a pissed off glare even when he's balls deep in you. Truth be told, it just makes him want you even more. He's fond as he smiles at you. "There she is."

Even if you can't fake your orgasms for him, you can still fake annoyance.

"You gonna cum, or what?" You sigh, and then he's laughing, sinking back down, elbows either side of your head as he kisses you. "All men do is lie."

"Not gonna cum," he says, and you're right - it is a lie. "Just gonna keep fucking you forever."

"I have work tomorrow."

"Fuck if I care," he sinks his tongue back into your mouth, briefly, just to remind you who's really in control here. "Said I'll fuck you forever, so forever it is."

There's a bell chiming in your tummy, and you're not able to convince yourself that it's just another building orgasm. It's still him, though, in a round about way.

"We're not allowed to bring our pets to work," you deadpan. "No can do."

Jungkook stops thrusting, and pulls his head back, almost to look at you in disbelief. He's smiling, and he's so desperately turned on that his balls fucking hurt, but he's never been more perplexed in bed. You're equal parts a siren and a little shit.

You're grinning too, pleased to have rendered him speechless. "What is it, huh? Cat got your tongue?"

He smirks, now. "Nah. Not yet. But it will."

And then he's back at it, hips erratic, building such a pace that you can't even think, let alone come out with some dumb remark.

"Still need it, huh?" He recites your words back to you, voice raspy and hushed, so close it feels like his body could give out at any second. He's edging himself, trying to make it last just a little bit longer, but it's so wet, and you're so fucking tight, and he's throbbing, and grunting and - fuck - it's so fucking good he might just die.

"You're gonna look so pretty when I fill you up," he moans, before correcting himself. "Already pretty. So fucking pretty."

His hips slap against yours, once, twice, and then it's happening.

He buries himself in you, body tense as a shiver runs down his spine. Your nails dig into his back, a hushed whine escaping from his mouth and getting lost in your hair.

His cock unloads thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy, coating you with the very essence of everything that he is. It's overindulgent and unrestrained. Fuck if it isn't the most full you've ever felt, ropes of thick cum spurting into you like he was built to fucking breed.

He pumps himself gently inside you for a moment or so, just to ease the remainder of his hot cum into you. The sound is lewd as he adjusts, his job very much done.

Neither of you speak for a moment, hedonism taking heed. The way his heart beats in his chest is unlike anything you've ever felt before. In fact, you're almost in a state of shock, and so is he.

Only for a moment, though. He's not actually done yet.

Your first orgasm was cute - but there's no way he's letting you see him that pathetic, that weak, without making sure you end up in the exact same state.

He presses a few kisses to your damp neck, laughing softly. "Get what you wanted?"

Looking at you, brown eyes all big and sparkling, he pulls his torso back up, ass resting on his heels, before checking the state of his cock as he withdraws himself.

You're smiling as you watch him stare at where the pair of you meet with such devotion that it's hard not to feel a little enamoured with him. Even if it is just a casual fuck.

"Got what I wanted." Your voice is light and airy, like you're a Disney princess waking up from centuries of slumber. Might not have had true loves kiss, but you bet none of them has ever had a fuck like Jungkook.

You pout a little when he finishes pulling out, sad to have lost the feeling of fullness. He catches your expression, and smiles.

"Cute," he says a little mindlessly, articulating a thought that wasn't meant to be shared.

"Shut up," you reply, embarrassed, but he doesn't mind. Not in the slightest. In fact, he loves that you didn't want him to leave. Kind of wishes that he could have kept his cock buried inside you, instead.

But Jungkook is a man of convictions, and a firm believer that he'll simply die if he can't eat you out.

You sort of think the moment has passed, that it was something he said in the heat of the moment. Figure now he's orgasmed, he's finished - but Jungkook is an endurance athlete, not a sprinter. There's still a hurdle left to jump.

He presses your legs apart so that he can look at you. Your hole is creamy and fucked out, his load slowly seeping out of you with every beat of your heart. His fingers dip just beneath your entrance, collecting his cum on them, before he pushes it back into you. He doesn't look at you, just your cunt, as he says, "told you you'd look pretty full of my cum."

The way he's staring at you, like a man who hasn't eaten for days being presented with a three course meal, has you feeling all hot and bothered.

You're satisfied. The sex you just had was enough. More than enough - but you're getting weak at the knees again, his desire infectious. You can't remember a time you've ever wanted someone as badly as you want him. Not for any deeper reason than the selfish fact that he makes you feel good. It's pure lust, no romance about it.

His fingers continue to push his cum into you, stroking up and down your walls, applying just enough pressure to let you know he's there.

He moves his body back, keeping his fingers snug inside you - and then he lowers his body, just a couple of inches from you. His breath feels cold against the slick wetness covering your pussy.

"Also told you I wanted to eat you," he adds, as if you need reminding.

His spare hand strokes down the inside of your thigh before it reaches your hot core, and he begins to toy with your pussy. He spreads your lips open, just like he did your legs, and then he's studying you. Figuring out ways he can get your squirming.

The first initial contact is brief; the tip of his tongue licking across the top of your clit. A parched moan escapes your lips, and he smiles. "There?"

"There," you moan, eyes closed, head pushed back into his pillows.

He does it again, tongue a little flatter, a little firmer. You feel his piercing against you this time, smooth and hard. Your clit is snug between the two studs, like it was made to be there. He does it again. Wetter, deeper. And again. Slower, harder - and then his speed builds.

He licks up and down across your clit, rolling it beneath his tongue, once, twice- and then you lose count, so lost in ecstasy that all you can think about is his tongue lapping at your cum-filled cunt, plugged with his fingers.

Occasionally, he sucks gently on your clit, just to earn a little extra moan from you. It works every single time.

You're leaking around his fingers at this point, so close to cumming again that it's impossible to keep your legs open. He feels the pressure of your thighs against his head, and it only serves to encourage him. His speed builds, both his tongue and his fingers meeting with your pussy at such divine speeds that you're sure you'll cum in such an undignified manner that'll he'll perhaps regret his choices.

As your muscles begin to tense, his head in a literal death grip, he smiles, dimples deep and lips pretty against your pussy. Jungkook is utterly enthralled with how it feels to have his face between your thighs.

He keeps his eyes closed, letting himself experience the sensations of your body completely unadulterated. If he could see you, he'd be so obsessed with the view that he might not savour you in the way that he wants to. He wants to taste you, to smell you, to feel how soft and warm you are. If he wasn't obsessed before (which he was), then he definitely is, now.

The pressure builds, his tongue lapping against you, one of your hands tangled in his messy blonde hair, the other holding one of your boobs for a little moral support.

You're too far gone to even let him know you're about to come undone all over again. He knows, though. He can feel you pulsing, and then you're gasping, and panting, and mewling and fuck, he loves the way you sound.

Your muscles throb as he brings you to orgasm. It's so undignified that you're certain you'll never cum like this again. Your abdomen flexes involuntarily, making sure your orgasm is signed, sealed, delivered to you. He pushes your legs apart again, glancing up towards you as he licks one final stripe up your exposed mess.

You ignore the slick on his fingers that's now coating your thigh as he spreads them apart, too busy with the fact his chin is soaked, hair a mess, nose blushed. He's watching your entrance seep; a mixture of himself and you.

It's hard to know what belongs to who, but as he dips down and licks it up with the tip of his pointed tongue, the ownership is clear. It doesn't matter whose is whose, because your pussy belongs to him, now.

It's all his.

He gathers the creamy slick on his tongue, and then he pulls on your hand to encourage you into a sitting position.

You're putty in his hands, doing whatever he tells you, which is albeit very little. In fact, he doesn't say anything - just looks at your lips, then your eyes, and clasps your jaw.

He opens his mouth and pools his tongue, letting the mess that you've both made sit prettily in his mouth, dancing over his studs. He nods gently, moving his thumb from your jaw to your pillowy bottom lip, pressing down on it.

Open.

He's insatiable. Wants his cum on your tongue, but wants yours on his, too.

You spread your lips apart, eyes exclusively on his. Your tongue flicks against his thumb.

And then you nod.

Please.

Jungkook is slow in his approach, tentative as he holds your jaw, bringing your closer to him. His tongue licks into your mouth, swiping against yours, swapping his cum between the pair of you. It's a languid exchange, slow and sensual, neither of you caring for the boundaries that are being crossed.

He pulls away from you, hand gripping your jaw again. You open your mouth instinctively, just like he wants you to. Neither of you pay any attention to his phone, which is flashing on the floor next to his bed.

Spit gathers in his mouth, rinsing himself of the pair of you as he draws you closer to him, your mouth still resting open. He spits directly into it. You whimper a little as he does so, his grip on your jaw keeping your mouth open for him to observe just how messy it is; all thanks to him.

"Swallow," he tells you, easing his grip, and so you do.

Lips closed, you swallow everything; his spit, his cum, your cum, all of it. When he grips your jaw again, you know the drill, but it doesn't stop him from commanding you.

"Open."

He's pleased when you do, mouth all pretty and clean for him to ruin again - but instead, he just kisses you softly, hands on your cheeks, pushing your bodies back down into his sheets. There's a tenderness to the way in which he touches you; as if he realises you sacrificed a little dignity for him, so he's trying to restore it.

He's hard again - had never really softened, in all honesty - but he's too sensitive to do anything about it.

"Stay," he mumbles against your lips. Your hands are in his hair, keeping him close, as your legs wrap around his waist. "Stay the night. Wanna wake up to this."

You moan into his lips. His cock is firmly pressed into your stomach, his naked body warm against yours.

There's something about the weight of his body, the firmness of his muscular chest against the soft pillow of your own, that is unrivalled by any other sleeping arrangement you could think of.

And despite knowing exactly what he's saying, and being far too skeptical to think he means anything other than sex, you still choose to toy with him a little.

"Wake up to what?" You purr into his lips, aware that your hips are languidly rolling against him again.

He kisses down your neck, laughing softly to himself. His smile vibrates against your skin, and, for a moment, it's your favourite feeling in the whole entire world.

"To you."

You're pretty sure he can feel the way your pulse skips a beat in your neck. But again, you're difficult. And this arrangement definitely isn't anything more than just sex.

"You mean to my pussy, right?"

He presses pretty little kisses back up your neck, along your jaw and into your lips. They're cute. Kind. Romantic, even.

"Oh, a hundred percent," he grins against your lips, and then you're laughing too.

"You're so mean," you pout, as if you weren't the one to put the words into his mouth. There's a dimple etched into his cheek, eyes all hazy and sparkling as he shakes his head. He thinks you look adorable when you pout. So damn cute. He steals another kiss, and protests.

"Made you cum twice," Jungkook says, and has the audacity to scrunch his nose, acting all cute and shit. You're embarrassed, bringing your hands from his hair to cover your face, which you just know is flaming red. "I think that's actually pretty nice of me."

He pulls one of your hands away from your face, and kisses your knuckles. His smile matches yours - because while yes, you're embarrassed, you're still riding the post-fuck high, too.

"You also spat in mouth," you remind him, and then he's cringing. Jekyll and Hyde have nothing on Jungkook when it comes to him and, well, him in bed. "That's not very nice."

He covers his eyes with his hands, but his teeth are still on show, smile prevailing. "Shut up."

And then he's kissing you again, 'cause fuck it, he just can't stop himself.

It's been a while since he last got like this. In fact, he probably hasn't been this giddy post-fuck since he was a teenager. He's normally in the shower by this point, ridding himself of whoever he's been inside - but he doesn't have the compulsion to do that with you.

He knows that when he breaks from the spell you've cast upon him, he'll be back to reality. The fairy dust will settle on the ground like ashes, and the magic that once was will become nothing but malice.

There's a bridge to be crossed.

Jungkook has been fixing it up - repairing the cracks, making it sturdy - but he's not sure he wants what's on the other side, anymore. Not when you're in his bed, not when he can feel your chest wobble with every little laugh you do, and not when your nails are tenderly scratching at his scalp.

See, he likes being on this side of the bridge. Likes being with you.

But if he doesn't cross it, the trolls beneath it will inevitably come for him.

And so he asks you to stay again, but this time he says it like he means it.

"I want you to stay with me," he speaks quietly, rolling off of you and curling up beside you, reaching for the duvet that ended up at the end of his bed. He brings it back over your bodies, as if he's locking you in. You have to stay now.

You turn to face him, curling up too, mirroring him. Your fingers delicately tuck strands of his beautiful blonde hair behind his ear, ignoring the way his eyes are focused on you. Instead, you watch your hand as it moves, curiously touched by the fact he wants you to stay. You don't peg him as guy who often wants a girl to stay.

You're right to assume that.

Right to assume that he normally doesn't do this.

One night stands? Yeah, sure. He's had a handful - but never at his place. He doesn't like inviting people back to his apartment. It feels too personal. He likes being able to leave. He doesn't do the whole waking up together thing - no matter how much he likes morning sex (of which he does ( a LOT)).

But Jungkook's thinking about that bridge again.

He's thinking about the fact he knows shouldn't be at home right now.

He's thinking about the fact that you should be at home right now.

He's thinking about the fact his phone is on silent, and that Namjoon is probably cursing him out on voicemail right now.

But then you kiss him, and for a moment, he forgets again.

"I get grouchy when I'm hungover," you warn him, giving him an out, just in case he wants to retract his offer.

"Mhmm," he hums, pulling you into his chest. Your legs intertwine as he squeezes you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You're grouchy when you're not hungover."

You laugh, cheeks plump and full, resting right where his heart is pumping a little faster than usual.

"You're lucky you're a good fuck, or else I'd be out of that door ASAP."

It's a lie, and you both know it.

"Thank god for my cock," he says, grinning like an absolute twat.

He decides that he's still really drunk. It's the only way to explain how his body feels all disjointed but perfectly together at the same time.

"Thank god for your cock."

────────────

You're still awake as the sun begins to rise. He's mumbling, saying something about how a town in Alaska has a cat for a mayor, while your head rests on his bare chest.

He's a little clammy, the smell of sex stuck to him. Neither of you have showered yet. You enjoy the way your bodies are a little sticky, skin on skin, as if you're made for his bed; for him.

Every now and again, his hands roam out of the realm of safety, and you find your breath hitching, toes curling, lips parting. It's always accompanied by the sound of an airy smirk from Jungkook.

You learn that he's obsessed with your chest. Your tits, more specifically. So pillowy, so soft. A gift bestowed upon you from Venus herself, he thinks, or at least he would, if he knew who Venus was.

He just wants to hold them forever. In his hands, in his mouth, he doesn't care. He'll put his dick between them too, eventually. Another time. He's too sensitive right now. But definitely one day, and definitely soon.

A little sunlight pours in, and you watch speckles of dust as they dance around in the air. When he laughs, soft and serene in the hazy atmosphere of a post-fuck come down, it's nice. You imagine that you'd quite like to do this again. You hope he feels the same.

"Just think it's funny," he says, toying with your fingers. "How a cat can do a better job than fully grown men."

"Pussy power," you smile, and so does he, before he presses a kiss into your hair. It still smells like gasoline and he still thinks it's the sexiest thing in the world. It's funny, 'cause if you knew it smelt that way, you'd feel insecure about it. It's why he doesn't mention it. Doesn't want you withdrawing from his touch.

He nestles down, shifts his naked body beneath his duvet but keeps you close. His legs interlock with yours and his lips find a home on the curve of your shoulder. "I'm really glad you said yes."

The comment seems out of the blue, but it's not. Your thoughts have been echoing in his mind, too. It sounds a lot like vulnerability. To him, it feels more like he's laying down a safety net. Making his intentions clear. Doesn't want you second-guessing. Not this, at least. He knows the way you like to theorise.

"You didn't really give me a choice," you rib, as if that chime isn't back in your diaphragm.

He squeezes you tightly. "Don't say that. You could have said no."

You shuffle down, tilt your head, and press a kiss into his chest, just between his pecks. Sweet like honey, your lips trail across, placing delicate kisses in pride of place.

His firm muscle; one, two. His dark nipple; a flick of your tongue, one, two. Just above his beating heart; one, two, three.

Your lips feather across his collarbone and land where tattoo leaks ever so slightly onto the top of his chest. You sign the art with your kisses like the ultimate thief. Stolen. Yours, now.

"You'd have still shown up regardless."

And you're right, he would have done.

Not for any grand romantic gesture, nor to coerce you into something you didn't want. He's just got a job to do, that's all.

He doesn't respond, but you don't really notice.

By the time you're dressed and leaving his apartment, the 503 is running. He offers to pay for your fare, but you tell him that it's fine, and hop on the bus as if your insides don't burn. It's been a while since you had a workout that vigorous.

There are a few old women and a middle-aged man in a business suit taking the same journey as you.

Your cheeks flush crimson when you start to think about the ache in the pit of your stomach, right beneath that little chime that likes to ding every now and again. That feeling? The one that made you quietly gasp as you sat down? That's Jungkook.

The acknowledgement ruminates. It's insidious. Has you feeling all dirty.

You wonder if they know. The people on the bus, the one's sat around you. They couldn't possibly know, not really, but you brood over the notion that you give off an aura; one that says you've just been fucked by the most beautiful man you've ever laid eyes upon.

You wonder if the old ladies glance at you and long for the days when they'd go home with strangers.

You wonder if the middle-aged man is responding to the pheromones you're releasing without realising it, cock a little plump in his pants.

It's a morbid curiosity, but one that makes you feel all hot, and sticky, and sordid. Makes you feel good, too. A little dangerous. A little bit like you wanna get off the 503 and leg it back to Jungkook's place.

It has you reaching for your phone, pulling up kakaotalk and clicking through on your most recent contact. There's still a message at the top of your thread, warning about spam, or fraud, or whatever it is. You don't read it. Too busy typing away.

You're about to press send on a poorly thought out message when your phone vibrates in your palm. You pause. Cringe. Are aware that Jungkook will have seen how quickly you read his own message that's just come through to you.

꾹: i wanna do that again.

You: the galbi or the sex?

꾹: both.

꾹: mainly the sex, though.

꾹: the galbi i can take or leave.

Your legs press together, and realise you're squirming in your seat. It's subtle, but anyone who's looking at you must know.

You: funny, im the opposite.

You: id die for the galbi.

You: sex was alright.

꾹: wow, a glowing review.

꾹: can i add it to my tinder profile?

Like fuck you can, you think to yourself. If he's still active on tinder after the night you had together, you'll do the reasonable thing and learn witchcraft just so you can hex him. You tell yourself you're just joking, but honestly, the idea is tempting.

You: uh-huh.

You: you can put it right beneath a bullet point where you let them know how much you like eating your own cum :)

꾹: technically, you ate it.

꾹: i just delivered it :)

You: thank you for your services.

꾹: any time.

You: tonight?

꾹: please.

And so he arrives at the gas station just before nine, hood up, angelic strands of blonde hair tickling over his eyes. He's got a mask on, like he usually does, a black turtle neck resting prettily around his throat. An earth-toned flannel shirt peeks out from the bottom of his jacket, where the hem meets a pair of black jeans. He has a charm about him that makes the world stop turning for a moment when you first look at him.

He's not really sure how to greet you. With a kiss? A high five? Neither of these seems like a good idea, so he just does an awkward half-bow, which leaves cringing.

"Just gotta cash up," you smile from behind the kiosk. "You walked?"

He shakes his head. "Parked around the corner again. Didn't wanna block the forecourt."

It's a reasonable enough excuse, even if a little weird. You finish what you're doing, cash up, give Jieun the keys (and ignore the way she's grinning at you) and then toss your jacket over your shoulders. He walks beside you as you leave the store, popping your hood up again just like he did the night before. "It's windy."

The forecast said it would rain, too, but Jungkook doesn't know this. Doesn't actually give a shit about the weather. Just needs excuses to put your hood up.

"So I've been thinking," he says as you make your way to the side lane.

"Dangerous," you quip, but he ignores it - though he does nudge you a little. You let your body move in accordance with his, swaying back into him slightly. Like a swinging pendulum, you're about to recoil, but Jungkook's arm drapes around your shoulders, keeping you close. The scent of his clothes is a mix of fresh cotton and WD-40. It makes you laugh, how much a walking juxtaposition he really is.

"I've been thinking," he reinforces, and pauses just in case you're planning on interrupting again - but you don't. You want to hear his thoughts. All of them. No matter how big or small. "What if... What if we skip the sex tonight?"

You don't respond immediately, walking around to the passenger's side of his car. He clicks down on his key, opening up the locks. The lights flood your features, illuminating you in warm hues, reds and oranges, as if to send Jungkook a warning: she's dangerous.

"Skip the sex?" You raise a brow, ignoring the butterfly atrium that has spontaneously constructed beneath your ribs. "You lured me here under false pretences, Mr Gimbap."

He doesn't question the nickname. Figures he'll find out its origins this evening. After all, all he wants to do is talk.

Talk about you, where you come from, where you plan on going. He wants to know more; what makes you tick, your favourite chocolate bar wrapper joke, if you really meant what you said about not fucking on first dates. Wants to know if he's special. Wants to know if he gets to you the same way you do to him.

He'll ask you about your favourite Shakespeare play, and he'll hope that you'll say Romeo & Juliet. It's the only one he's read.

You'll tell him that it's not a representation of love, and he'll say he knows. He doesn't - he just won't want you to think that he bases his idea of romance on such ill-fated endeavours. Thinks it's about stars-crossing, illicit affairs, love that prevails. Shit like that.

He isn't really sure what it all means, but he's seen the Baz Luhrmann adaptation, and that's enough.

You'll say that Romeo is an ass, and he'll feign offence and tell you that you'll never be his Juliet. It'll earn him a laugh from you. That's fine; you never wanted to be her.

You're a Beatrice in search of her Benedict, after all - and the way that the pair of you bicker, it seems like you might have just found him - even if he does think he's a Romeo. Twat.

"I didn't," he laughs in response to your earlier statement. "I just like to know the girls I'm sticking my dick in, that's all."

"Ohh, romance," you whistle through pursed lips, throwing him a coy smile.

He nods towards the buckle by your seat and tells you to do the belt up, as his key turns in the ignition. There's a small rumble, his exhaust rattling as fumes begin to bluster around the end of the pipe. He's listening again, revving the engine ever so gently, foot on the throttle.

The way he cares for his motor makes you laugh. He's so temperate, so careful - but you know he abuses the engine like no tomorrow whenever he races it. He treats it almost as if it's a racehorse; something with actual feelings.

You do as you're told, clicking the belt into place, and remind him to do the same.

"The girls?" You question as he passes you the aux. "Multiple?"

There's a static click as you plug it into your phone, before your playlist starts up again. His hands move like machines, smooth and automatic as he slips into first gear.

"The girls," he echoes, eyes flicking up to the rear-view mirror, and then over his shoulder to check the blind spots, before easing onto the main road.

"Charming," you say dryly.

It's not like you hadn't assumed this already. You had already decided that he at least had a friend with benefits lurking about (even if she had become too clingy (actually, no, especially if she had become too clingy)).

You'd figured that it was where he had been on the night that he was a no show - but then he'd shown up all apologetic and shit. You had let his innocent eyes win your skeptical mind over.

"Guys aren't really my thing," he follows up, sensing your discomfort. He knows he's beating around the bush, not giving you the answer that you want - and he also knows that you're getting in your head about it. Knows you'll be questioning what he means, and if he's sleeping with anyone else. He'd be within his right to. You barely know each other. Where he sticks his dick isn't really any of your business. "And I'm hardly a virgin, am I?"

"Gasp," you say. "You're not?! Could have fooled me."

He's smiling again.

You like how much he does that around you. Wonder if he's like that around other girls, too.

"Was I really that bad?" He flirts.

Jungkook knows how to fuck. He's been given enough positive reviews to know that he's anything but bad. Although... he kinda is. But in a good way. In the way that you want him to be bad.

"I've had better."

Liar.

"Ouch," he laughs as he presses down on his indicator for the next left. "Guess I'll just have to keep practising."

City lights cascade over the pair of you as his car rolls through the quiet streets, splintering like refractions of a mirror ball. He hates that he has to keep his eyes on the road. Wants to drink in the way you look almost as much as he wants to drink up the way you taste again. The night is dark, the moon hiding behind a fluffy cloud that looks like charcoal cotton candy beneath its radiant light. Jungkook loves nights like these; likes them even better with you in his passenger seat.

Green flashes over your features as he passes beneath a traffic light. You cross your legs, adjusting your posture. It's so subtle that you don't even realise you're doing it - but Jungkook does.

"On your other girls?"

There she is, he thinks. It's what he's been waiting for. Confirmation that the idea of him fucking other girls irritates you. He reaches across and taps your knee. He enjoys the predictability of you.

You resist the gentle nudge of his hand, the pads of his thumb and fingers resting on your kneecap. Your legs remain crossed, just as his hand remains on your knee. The stretch of road you're on is straight, requiring no gear change for a little while. He can play this game, if you really want him to.

"No," he says. There's pressure beneath his fingertips now. "Be a waste of time, wouldn't it? Everyone's different. If I wanna get better at fucking you, specifically, then I gotta keep fucking you."

He's not wrong. You can't fault his logic, and in all honesty, the way he's talking is so abrasive, so raw, that it's got you feeling all hot and bothered again. He may as well be stroking your pussy, not your knee, with the impact he's having on you.

His grip tightens, then pulls your knee back over. Commanding, not requesting. Your legs part for him, because of course they do. There's something about knowing he has options, knowing that he could be with someone else, but is choosing to be with you that gives you a little ego boost.

"Maybe I've changed my mind," you feign indifference, but Jungkook knows there's a handful of feelings beneath your words. "Maybe I don't wanna fuck you anymore."

He strokes his broad palm along the inside of your thigh. It's warm, wrapped in the sheer nylon cover of tights, and he'd obsessed with the way they feel. So smooth, so soft, so perfectly pristine. He wonders if you're making a mess of them. Hopes you are.

"I don't like maybes," he says. "Either you wanna fuck me or you don't."

"I don't like fucking boys who fuck other girls."

"Who said I was fucking other girls?" he smirks, and lets his hand trail a little further up. He squeezes the flesh of your thigh, getting a feel for you.

"You did."

"No," he corrects. "I said I've fucked other girls. Past tense. Never said I'm currently fucking other girls. You really gotta stop making assumptions, little Miss Clutch Control."

"I hate you," you say with a smile, and you really do mean it.

"I like girls who hate me. Makes the sex so much hotter."

"Despise you."

"Ugh," he grins, as he lets his hand reach the top of your thigh. He squeezes again, and you hum a little moan for him. "Doesn't sound like you hate me."

You giggle, soft and serene in the safety of his car. Reaching a junction, he pulls his hand back to change gear. You're at a four-way intersection, the light only just hitting amber, so he reckons he has a least a couple of minutes to toy with you.

When his hand returns to your thigh, just like you hoped it would, it's beneath your skirt. Right at the top. Right where it belongs. The pressure beneath his palm is firm, fingers sinking into the softness of your leg.

"But I do," you say, voice quiet, anticipation lacing your breath.

His pinky finger stretches out a little, just to stoke over the mound that rests between your legs. He can already feel the heat, but what surprises him - and excites him - is the slick that's seeped through your panties and onto the outer side of your tights.

"Doesn't feel like you hate me, either."

"No?" You toy. "Feel again."

And so he does. He points his index and middle finger, and holds them flat against you. They're instantly met with a slippery mess. He slides them up and down, once, twice, three times, and then cups your pussy with his palm. You're fucking pulsing in his touch.

"See?" You speak as if you don't wanna whine his name. "Loathe you."

"So you do," he mumbles as he presses his palm tight against you, inhaling sharply as he does so. One glance at his lap and you can tell he's just as turned on as you are. His cock is solid beneath his trousers, jeans tight, keeping him concealed. Part of you feels a little bad. Looks painful. He's too big to be confined by such unforgiving material.

"Still wanna skip the sex?"

Jungkook presses in index finger against where he can feel your entrance is. You're so wet that his fingers are already coated in everything that you are. He wants more. Wants your tights gone. Wants his fingers inside you.

But he's a stubborn asshole, and hates being proven wrong.

"Sex?" he pulls his fingers back, and rests the heel of his palm on the top of his steering wheel. They're covered in your juices. He considers licking them clean, but figures that might be a bit too brash - and then thinks fuck it, and does it anyway. There's a sweetness to your taste, one that has him holding back a moan. Absolutely fucking divine. You don't even realise that you're staring at his hands - the way they sink into his mouth - until he pulls them back out. He looks at you. Shrugs. "Yeah. Not really in the mood."

"Thank god," you say, not skipping a beat. Even when your need to fuck him is so intense that it manifests into a physical form and leaks onto his passenger seat, you're still able to bicker with him. It satisfies him like nothing else. Makes his cock so hard. "Me either."

The light turns to green, his hand is back on his gear stick. You stick to looking out the window, not favouring looking at him. The temptation to palm his crotch is overwhelming, but you're just as stubborn as he is. If you've said you don't wanna fuck, then you're damn well gonna act like you don't wanna fuck, until you simply can't take it anymore.

"Glad we agree," he says. "So let's talk."

You half wonder if this was his plan all along. You actually do think you hate him - but only cause he makes you feel weak. You don't enjoy that feeling, but you enjoy him.

"I'm an open book," you lie.

He flicks his eyes to the rearview and mutters under his breath, "shit."

"What is it?" you glance over your shoulder, noticing a pair of headlights flashing Jungkook. You can't make the car out. Its lamps are on full-beam. Blinding.

Jungkook leans over, the fingers that had been stroking against your pussy now pressing down into your buckle. There's a click as it releases, before he moves down and pulls up on the lever by the front of your seat, dragging you forward.

"Get in the back," he says, as if he isn't still driving. You go to question him, but he cuts you off. "In the back. Now. Middle seat."

You stare for a second, until he glances over to you, jaw tense, with no hint of a smile. "Don't argue with me, now. Middle seat. C'mon."

"Kook-"

"Now."

And as unsafe as it feels, you find yourself twisting, hands gripping onto the back of the passenger seat as you bring your legs up to crouch.

"Quickly, babe," he says, his hand reaching over to tap your ass gently. Your back is to the windshield, and Jungkook's terrified that the fucker behind him isn't gonna wait for a respectable start - but he's also anxiously aware of the fact he isn't explaining himself to you, and that it's gonna make you hesitant. "Please. Trust me."

And so you do. You wobble a little as your leg dips over the centre console, his hand still on your ass to keep you stable.

"That's it," he encourages. You make your way into the back, a little squeal as you leap soundtracking the move. "Seat belt. Now."

The leather of the backseat is cold against your tight-covered thighs, legs pressed together, feet firmly on the raised centre of the footwell. You do as you're told, all rather quickly.

"Hands on the seats," he tells you again, and you don't question it, even though it's all that you want to do. There's a time and a place for bickering with him, and while it's the perfect place, the urgency of his commands suggest that now isn't the right time. You grip onto the seats in front of you, and Jungkook reaches up to feel your hand, just to make sure it's where he wants it. His hand is clammy and warm, safe against yours. He lingers for a second, not wanting to lose the way your feel against his skin. "Hold tight."

He slows to a near stop, and you almost laugh when you realise where you are. That fucking bridge, again. The car behind you pulls up beside him, but it's hard to make it out through his back windows. They're so intensely tinted that all you can figure out is the rough shape. "Is that-"

"Yep," he cuts you off, knowing what you'll ask. "Car from the last time. It's cool. I got this. I will warn you, though, he's a little pissed with me at the moment."

"A little?"

You can hear the engine revving. Sounds more than just a little pissed.

"We're friends. It's okay."

Friends is a loose description. It would have been the right term, once. Jungkook thinks of him more as a colleague these days. A pain in his ass.

"Doesn't sound very friendly."

"I'ma need you to be quiet, babe," he says, voice soft. He isn't trying to be rude, he just needs to concentrate. Needs to win this. Needs to get Namjoon off his back. Needs to get you away from, well, here.

"Noted."

Jungkook watches the lights. It's how races like these work; the impromptu kind that first got him acquainted with Namjoon. They wait for the lights to shift, throttle teasing on amber, rubber-burning on green.

His gaze is on the lights and the lights only. The leather binding of his wheel almost squeaks as he grips against it, shoulders rolling back ever so slightly. Glancing over to the black SsangYong, he nods, and then his eyes are back on the lights. The lack of a flagger has never bothered them. In fact, Jungkook prefers racing without one. Fewer variables. Less chance of things going wrong. He knows the time of the lights. Trusts them. Trusts his muscle memory to do the hard work for him.

You can feel that chime in your stomach again - but it's different this time. It's a warning bell. The kind that tells you to get out of the situation you're in. Fat fucking chance.

There's a purr as the lights flicker into amber, Jungkook's rev count building. The sound of the SsangYong rips through the windows, letting you know just how powerful it is. Ain't no way Jungkook's fucking Pony is beating it. His grip adjusts, foot sinking further down onto his throttle. He builds it, 2, 3, 4 - and then the light is green.

The way Jungkook moves is as if he's at one with his car.

His movements are slick, well-oiled.

There's no hesitation, just an innate understanding of what needs to be done. His car tears from the starting line, and you forget all about the SsangYong he's racing.

It's hard to think about anything at all, in all honesty. Hard to comprehend the speed he's built so quickly; the control he has. There's a rush pulsing through you that you haven't felt since, well, ever. You don't enjoy racing, not really. You hate it whenever Yoongi rags his car about, but you trust him.

And you find yourself trusting Jungkook, too.

Maybe it's because you've already seen him tame his car when it's been out of control, or maybe it's because you've already trusted him with your body, so what difference does your life make?

His tyres are almost silent, moving at such a pace that there's no chance for anything to reverb. He grunts a little, pushing the car up to fifth, building, building and then -

"Corner," he braces you.

You're pretty certain you're going to throw up.

It's a route that Jungkook knows well, just a short circuit, over the bridge, sharp left out along the riverside road until they reach Kang's. Same every time. Hasn't yet thought about what he's gonna do when he gets there. Just knows he has to get there first to buy himself a little time.

He knocks the car into neutral, clutch down, brakes too, and then he's turning the wheel just a little. Not too sharp. Doesn't wanna oversteer. He coasts it round the bend, knowing better than to be in neutral, but he isn't thinking about that right now. He's thinking about the fact that Namjoon's car is fucking faster, and he needs every gain he can get.

Your hands grip into the padding of his seats, desperately trying to stop yourself from toppling over. Elbows locked, it's hard to determine the sheer amount of force you're putting behind your bones.

There's a screech as the tyres burn against the road, no doubt leaving thick black streaks on the tarmac. You're so used to seeing them on your way to work that you never really consider how they get there. Now you know.

He pummels the car forward, knocking it back into third, and then up into fourth. It's a miscalculation. Should have jumped right up into fifth - but he can lament that later.

He corrects his mistake. Strikes it into fifth. Namjoon is trailing. Jungkook has got this.

Eyes hard against the horizon line, Jungkook has no time to think. He flicks his eyes up to the rearview, catching sight of the SsangYong's bonnet. He's miles ahead.

Well, no. Not even a metre - but it may as well be miles. He just needs to keep up this pace.

Foot to the floor, he's tanking it. The shops you dart past become a blur of neon lights, nothing for your eyes to absorb other than the chaos of light beneath a dark sky. In the distance, you see Kang's.

"Shit," he hisses as the light at the intersection ahead begins to flash amber.

"Hold on," he says, as if you've even thought about letting go. Hands clammy from nerves, you adjust your grip. Tighter. So tight, your nails will leave prints in his leather.

He pushes further, further, further, but the lights are flashing quicker, quicker, quicker. "C'mon, beauty. C'mon."

He hits the junction line.

The lights are still amber.

And then he switches from gas to clutch. Easy does it.

Jungkook pulls the handbrake up. Clicks it into place. Pulls the car round with a single hand on his steering wheel.

He has full control over the vehicle as it roars into position right in the middle of the cross-section.

There's a blaring horn sounding behind you - but it's not directed at the Pony.

It's directed at the SsangYong, which has screeched to a halt. The oncoming traffic has been set free, lights fully changed. Jungkook made it just in time.

"He's stuck," you tell Jungkook, head over your shoulder, making sure that the SsangYong hasn't moved. "Can't get past the traffic. You're good."

You expect Jungkook to ease off the throttle, but he doesn't. He takes a sharp right instead, and begins to tunnel down back allies. Right, then left. Then left again, and another right. Takes so many rogue turns that you don't even know which direction you're facing in by the time he comes to a stop. It's been nearly five minutes since you lost the SsangYong - and yet he just won't ease off the gas. Not until he's certain Namjoon isn't lurking in the shadows of his exhaust fumes.

By the time he does eventually stop, his chest is heaving. Breathless.

You're down a back alley, across the other side of town. You don't recognise it.

Pressing down into the buckle, you undo your belt and clamber forward into the passenger seat again, feet up, body facing towards him.

He doesn't look at you for a while. Just stares ahead. Inhale, exhale. You can see his jugular vein beating.

"Hey," you reach out to his wrist, and stroke on his arm gently. He doesn't respond instantly. Just lets his eyes close. It's nice, the way you're so gentle with him, he thinks. So nice. So soothing.

And then his body acts before his mind does. He pulls on your wrist, grip firm, as his other hand pushes down the lever by the front of his seat. Weight on his feet, he pushes himself back, making space for you in his lap.

The way you clamber over the centre console is less than elegant, but he doesn't care. Just needs you on his thighs. Needs to suffocate in the scent of your gasoline tainted hair, and taste the sweetness of your tongue in his mouth. Needs to remember everything that you are, so he can forget who he is.

His hungry lips find yours, a hand in your hair, the other on your cheek.

There's really not enough room, your legs straddled over his, trapped by the door on one side, the gear stick on the other. It's tight and claustrophobic, but he likes it. Likes how ensnared he is by you. Wants to be even more trapped.

He licks against your lips and begs for permission to enter - as if you'd ever refuse. His tongue strokes against yours, the studs you'd (somehow) forgotten about making you whimper. He's rough and aggressive with his kisses, the adrenaline manifesting itself in the form of intimacy.

"I lied," he says breathlessly. "About the sex. I want it. Let me fuck you."

He wants to lose himself in you. Needs to.

"Backseat?" you moan into his lips as he begins to encourage the movement of your hips against his painfully hard crotch.

"Backseat."

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

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milliesfishes · 2 months

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𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓮𝔂 𝓣𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓼𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

[fem reader] contains: angst, self deprecation pairing: peacekeeper coriolanus snow x fem reader summary: coriolanus gets it in his head that you're too good for him author’s note: haven't done a pk coryo fic yet so I hope this is good! Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Coriolanus could have sworn you didn't cry salt like everyone else. Your tears had to be sugar. As sweet as the rest of you.

As a peacekeeper he was forced into a certain mindset, one of orders and direction and plans. But you had twirled into his life and flipped it all upside down, throwing all his caution to the wind. The night you'd met at the Hob was ingrained in his eyes to dwell upon during a dull moment on patrol or as he was falling asleep at night, only topped by every second he'd spent with you since.

The Covey had fled after the Games, he'd been told, taking Lucy Gray with him. He'd been disappointed, understandably, but it wouldn't do him any good to dwell on the past. That had gotten him into enough trouble.

All rituals and worries of the Capitol were tossed to the wind. They had no place here, in the rural nature of District Twelve. Sure, there were rules and regulations, but they required no masks or games. Here there was only hard work.

He'd hardened considerably between the moment he'd been informed of his new service on, adapting a new protective shell. The one he'd built in the Capitol would do no good.

But when he began to see you, he could feel it soften.

You with your diamond eyes and smile like warm sunshine, you who entered his life like a rainbow after a storm. You who brightened the dreary scenery of District Twelve and lightened his mood so much he was worried he'd swapped personalities. The second he'd seen you dancing at the Hob he'd known you'd change his life forever. And so, he let you.

In the time that followed you became a fixture in his life that he wouldn't trade for anything. You made him better, he was convinced. With every sweet word that fell from your lips and sweet kiss you gave him he fell more madly, deeply in love than he'd known himself capable. You were a drug tailored to his tastes; a delightful aphrodisiac sent by a higher power. He never wanted to get sober.

Still, a secret thought had made itself known the second he realized his feelings for you. You're not good enough for her.

Coriolanus was a Peacekeeper drafted after a stint cheating in government sponsored murder. You were a sweet country girl, an angel in the midst of the dirt and grime of the lowest district. Never had there been a more mismatched pair.

Even now as he sat in the wildflower field you'd shown him a week into knowing him, holding you between his arms and breathing in the sweet scent of your hair, he knew he was on borrowed time.

You were cradled between his legs, back against his chest as he fingered a strand of your hair. Your adorable obsession with flowers was evident as you flicked the stems between your fingers. You'd given him a few of your findings, and he'd stuck them all in your hair, feeling unworthy of your treasures.

He kissed your hair gently, nose bumping one of the daisies. You were humming and watching the fluffy clouds in the sky; where you truly belonged in his opinion. "Are you comfortable, sweetheart?"

Turning your eyes like shining jewels to his blue ones, you nodded, looking the very picture of happiness. "You're a very good pillow."

"Ah, is that all I am to you?" he teased, the doubtful thoughts leaving him for a moment.

"No, but you're a very good one," you giggled, turning around to nuzzle into his chest. He fixed the flowers that fell from your locks as you did, gently smoothing them.

His heart grew heavy the more he looked at you. Your bright eyes and beautiful smile felt unattainable as time went on, even though you were here with him. Coriolanus had tried, but he hadn't been enough for you for even a second. What had previously been weight was now a crushing thing sitting atop him.

It came out before he could control it. "I can't see you anymore."

Time seemed to freeze as you sat up, turning around to face him. You were sitting between his legs still, the grass tickling your knees. One of the wildflowers behind your ear descended to the earth, bouncing once as it hit the dirt. Your voice was small. "What?"

Right then he could have just said he was kidding, that he hadn't meant it, and gone back to holding you. But he didn't. his own self-loathing propelled him forward into a mistake. "We can't be together."

The shock in your eyes was awful, a thing he didn't want to ever see again. You looked down at the ground, hands gracing your forearms and seemingly trying to self-soothe. The amount of guilt he felt in that moment was terrible.

Seeing that he was serious, you drew back, turning your head so your hair fell over the front of your shoulder. He longed to reach out and touch it, smooth it back, but he knew that privilege had been revoked. Finally, you lifted your eyes. "Why?"

The question was asked so meekly that Coriolanus felt guilt fester in his chest. He tried to keep his face even, unchanging. "I'm...I'm not good for you, sweetheart. You deserve someone better." Each word was wrenched from his mouth. He didn't want you to be with another man. The thought alone sent his mind into fits of jealousy. But he forced himself to continue. "Somebody will treat you better."

"No," you shook your head passionately, another flower meeting its demise in the grass. "I don't want somebody else. I want you."

He was nearly helpless to you. Coriolanus didn't want to deny you a single thing. But he had to let you go. Standing up and taking a few steps away, he hardened his tone slightly. "This is what's best for you."

"No!" You scrambled to your feet, hurrying after him and tugging on his arm. Oh this was becoming painful. "Please Coryo...please don't do this. I want you. I want to be with you."

Coriolanus tried to look away, but you were too magnetic. He couldn't resist reaching out, cupping your cheek in his palm. "I love you. And it's going to ruin your life."

"No-" the word was choked as it slipped past your lips. He could see your eyes welling up, his heart breaking at the sight.

Rubbing your cheek with his thumb, he clenched his jaw. "This is for the best. Don't cry."

But one teardrop like crystal escaped, rolling down your cheek. He remembered his thought from earlier, and was tempted to brush the tear away and lift it to his lips; see if it was as alike to clear honey as he thought it would be. Despite his mind's insistence, he resisted. If there was anything he had gained from his Peacekeeper training it was discipline.

So, taking in one last look at you, the sunset giving you an angelic outline as the final flower slipped from your hair, a single tear track on your cheek, Coriolanus gave your face one last caress and turned, briskly leaving the field.

Coriolanus hadn't realized how slow and merciless time was without the comfort or notion of his girl.

Every day was a twin to its previous and next, creating an unbearable mass of time that overwhelmed him. Even more so was the knowledge that all his days in the future would be inevitably added to it, and then before he knew it he'd be old and gray and despondent, dreaming of the angel he'd let slip between his fingers.

You haunted him day and night, and he saw you everywhere without really doing so. The stars spelled your name, the breeze whispered it, and every flower he came across was you. All he wanted was to abandon his post and run to your little cottage and kiss you senseless, tell you how sorry and stupid he was.

Every thought he'd had before about him being too dangerous felt silly. When a man had someone so good in front of him, he wasn't supposed to force it away. He was supposed to treat it the best he could. And he hadn't. He'd broken your delicate heart, cut it into ribbons like the ones you wore in your hair.

Having to see you in his dreams was a fresh torture. His unconscious mind would imagine he'd come to you, and you'd welcome him back with open arms; tell you how much you loved him and missed him. And then he'd say he'd never let you go again and this time it would be true.

And then just as you were about to kiss him, he would be yanked from his dream and thrust back into the cold barracks, listening to the snoring of his roommates. Whenever he tried to close his eyes and find the dream again it never worked.

Coriolanus kept his blue eyes peeled for you when he was on patrols, grip loosening on his gun whenever he saw someone with even the same length of hair. It was agonizing, thinking he had a glimpse and it turning out to be nothing. He hoped that if he did see you it wouldn't be in the arms of another man, though that was what he'd originally told you he wanted. Unfortunately, what he said, and thought were two separate things.

Finally, one day when rain drizzled dully from the grey sky, he spotted you walking with your shoulders hunched, arms folded over yourself. He nearly did a double take- he may have been far away but you looked nothing like the girl in the meadow that day.

The wet of your hair and dimness of your skin could be accounted to the rain, but it was the look on your face that got him. Your lips were drawn down, eyes somber even from where he was standing. Nothing like the embodiment of sunshine he once knew.

Coriolanus was sorely tempted to drop his gun, throw off his helmet and go to you. But his mind stopped him, those same old insecurities creeping in. Maybe when he'd been a student at the Academy; poor but with a bright future, he'd have found himself deserving. But he was still a Peacekeeper with no future save for the long days of patrols and rules ahead. There was nothing to offer you- the love that put anything he thought he had with Lucy Gray to shame.

Seeing you so miserable now though...it hurt. He knew he wasn't in much better shape.

As he roved over it for the rest of his shift, a realization dawned in him. You needed each other. You kept him grounded, kept him good. You were the hope and light he required to stay afloat in the storms of his life. And for whatever reason he didn't understand, you wanted him too. He'd been a fool to keep denying you what you wanted.

The second he'd returned his gun and changed from his uniform he was booking it. Out of the base, through the streets of town, trying to determine where it was you'd gone. He'd knocked on the wooden door of your cottage, but there was no answer, the windows dark. He asked around, but nobody had seen where you'd disappeared to.

With nowhere left to look, Coriolanus determined only one solution and went there as quickly as he could. His feet didn't carry him fast enough, his eyes didn't work the way he wanted them to. But it was all worth it when he finally spotted your silhouette, tiny in the distance, sitting under a lonely tree.

He approached cautiously, unsure if his arrival would upset you. Did you miss him? Did you even want to see him after the horrible mistake he'd made?

A branch snapped under his foot, and you whipped your head to face him, eyes wide. Coriolanus cringed at the sudden announcement of his arrival but decided to take it in stride. He watched you realize who it was.

Your lips parted, and a single word fell from your lips. "You."

He couldn't help his nod. "Me." You looked nearly frightened at his presence, which was the opposite of what he wanted. Hesitantly, he knelt beside you, lifting a hand to your cheek, fingers gently grazing the skin.

Tears sprung to your eyes the second he did, and you bit the side of your cheek. His heart broke in half. How he'd missed you. He missed the girl that would jump into his arms and snuggle up to his chest, giggling the whole time. He missed his sweetheart.

You sniffled, attempting to turn your head away, but he wouldn't let you. Bowing your head, you began to openly weep into the wildflowers, tears watering the blossoms. He brought his other hand to the corresponding cheek, holding your face up to look at him. "Angel..." he breathed. "Why're you crying, darling?"

"I'm sorry," you choked, chest shuddering as you looked up at him. "I'm so sorry."

Now he was confused. Coriolanus knew he was the one to hurt you. "What are you sorry for?"

"I wasn't good eno-ugh for yo-ou," you shakily got out, breath hitching every other word.

His heart dropped to his stomach, and he acted without thinking for a second, pulling you straight into his arms. "No...no, sweetheart. No, it wasn't you. I wasn't good enough for you."

"I know I'm just holding you back," you wept into his arms, body limp against him. "You could move up in rank, get transferred to a better district. Maybe you'd even be able to go home. And if you've got a girl here it'll just get in the way."

Coriolanus was in utter shock at your confession. This was really what you'd thought all this time? He needed to fix it. "No...no that isn't it at all...oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry..." Hating the sight of you crying, he tried to think. What would distract you? Looking to your knees, he noticed the absence of the little bouquet of wildflowers you usually had in your vicinity. Maybe if he tried something you liked you'd feel better?

Tilting your chin back up, he winced when he saw your watery eyes. His poor girl. Swallowing his hesitance, he rubbed your cheek, saying softly, "Would you do me a favor, my love?"

You nodded, a leftover tear slipping down your cheek. He brushed it away distractedly, focused on the task at hand. "Would you pick me some flowers? Can you do that for me?"

Doe eyes soft, you nodded once more, the usual sparkle in your eyes hiding behind your tears, but still, he could see it. You sat up straighter, brushing your cheeks once for any pearls of water that may have escaped again. He smiled softly as you shifted on the ground, looking around for the perfect flowers for him. It was touching how dedicated you were.

As your soft eyes surveyed and contemplated the flowers, soft hands plucking the stems, he felt a tiny smile break the cracks of his tough demeanor. You tended to have that effect on him, and now he was eager to embrace it. As you gathered flowers into a bouquet, he could see the girl he loved coming back to the surface. There she was. His sweetheart.

You presented the flowers to him hopefully, in a messy bouquet, and his smile split his face. "Pretty," he cooed, taking the bunch from you and delighting in the look in your eyes when he gave his approval. "Thank you, baby."

He carefully put the flowers in his pocket, careful not to crush any of the buds, and held out a hand to you. "Come here."

Easily, you shifted into his arms, soft head resting against his chest over his heart, just where he liked it. Once he had you cuddled against him again, like how he'd been missing for weeks, he whispered, "I'm sorry for leaving you."

Nuzzling your head against his pec, you blinked hazily up at him. "It's okay."

"No it's not," he corrected, plucking a daisy from the ground and tucking it behind your ear. "And I'll spend a long time making up for it, I imagine."

"I forgive you," you said sincerely, and he almost melted. "I love you."

The sunlight was no match for your adorable smile that reappeared like a rain after a drought. You looked up at him like he'd hung the moon in the sky.

And he'd strive to be that man for you.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he kissed your head and then your lips, more tenderly than he'd kissed anything. No, he wasn't worthy of your angelic presence, but you wanted him.

Who was he to deny you of the one thing he knew he was capable of giving?

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instantcaramel · 1 year

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A month ago I went to Amsterdam and visited all the filming locations for Ted Lasso‘s „Sunflowers“, so I figured I‘ll finally put something together here.

First of all, basically all the scenes involving the majority of the Richmond himbos were not shot on location - their epic discussion followed by pillow fight was filmed in an abandoned hotel in London. (Info per David Elsendoorn). The same would go for Ted & Beard‘s room. Scenes on the bus or outside it were also filmed in Richmond.

The only Greyhound who doesn‘t have his own larger plotline in the episode who was actually in Amsterdam was David Elsendoorn, because they did film the first scenes at Johan Cruijff (you know how to pronounce it now!) ArenA, the home of Ajax Amsterdam (which is also the one place I didn‘t have time to visit). They could have easily filmed that in London in a different stadium but I guess they didn‘t want to pass up the opportunity - and give David something to do on his home turf.

Edit: I visited 3 months later, so here‘s some pics from the ArenA, I couldn‘t find out which hallway they used/dressed up for the press interviews, but here‘s some shots from the stadium and the VIP lounge we see at the beginning.

So, first up is Roy & Jamie‘s adventure: Jamie takes him sightseeing against his will, and the first place they stop on is Magere Brug (Skinny Bridge). (They run up the street to that before.)

Edit thanks to @warriorhoneybee: Roy grabs Jamie’s wrist at Diamond Factory on Rokin and then tells him he can‘t ride a bike outside Lyppens Jeweler at Langebruugsteg.

They go around the corner to Oude Turfmarkt (which is what I took a picture of) for Jamie to teach him how. For Grandad!!!

The fucking windmill they see before they lovingly gaze into each other’s eyes is De Riekermolen at the Southern end of Amstelpark, where they also cycle. (It‘s actually realistic for them to do that, it would be about half an hour between those locations by bike).

Rebecca doesn‘t see the obvious bike lane (that doesn‘t actually exist there) and falls into the gracht at Raamgracht. Boaty McBoatface‘s houseboat is still there, they just had it dressed up a bit with plants and such when they filmed. (Unclear if anyone currently lives there). The interiors were shot in a studio.

Trent follows Colin to Prik night club (which was absolutely buzzing when I was there, I really want to go back).

And then they sit at the Homomonument, the Pink Triangle memorial at Westerkerk, having that tearjerker of a conversation, before returning to party. (It walked that distance at night, it‘s a beautiful stroll and less than 10 minutes). When I visited someone had left sunflowers. 🌻

Leslie & Will first go to Hotel Prins Hendrik in the Red Light district (and steps away from Amsterdam main station) where Chet Baker died. They then make their way to Jazz Café Alto, which is just down the road from where Boom Chicago used to be on Leidseplein. (It‘s about 30 mins on foot between those two locations so they could have walked or just taken the tram for a few stops. The interiors were done at a studio though).

Ted of course visits the studio-filmed fictional themed restaurant where he has a BBQ sauce induced, Corey Burton-narrated epiphany about triangles, but first he sees Vincent‘s „Sunflowers“ at Van Gogh Museum during Museumnacht (which btw would mean the episode is set first weekend of November). As you can tell they moved some things around, so at least currently the painting isn‘t hung on that beautiful blue wall anymore.

As a bonus, here is a picture of where Boom Chicago used to be when Jason Sudeikis, Brendan Hunt and Joe Kelly performed there - Brendan also used to live above the McDonald‘s on Leidseplein just steps away for a while. And the other picture is the current Boom Chicago on Rozengracht, definitely go enjoy a show there if you can.

Anyway thus concludeth my trip around Ted Lasso‘s Amsterdam. I visited for the Boom Chicago Comedy Festival and fell in love with the city, it was … magical / gezellig. I will never forget it, but then again, some people get Alzheimer’s.

#ted lasso #filming locations #amsterdam #boom chicago #jason sudeikis #brendan hunt #david elsendoorn #ted lasso cast #brett goldstein #phil dunster #hannah waddingham #matteo van der grijn #rebecca welton #roy kent #jamie tartt #leslie higgins #will kitman #charlie hiscock #jan maas

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preet-01 · 6 months

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I've had this idea for a few days. Batman Max/Catwoman Daniel

When Max decided to don the cowl and cape, he’d done it to protect the city he’d grown up in. For the most part at least.

Gotham ran rampant with crime — mob bosses, crime lords, and costumed villains alike ran around causing havoc. The GCPD and district attorneys did the best they could, but corruption was more common than one would think. So Max had become the protector that the city needed.

By day, he was the elusive, playboy billionaire with more money than anyone ever needed. If Max Verstappen wasn’t off doing some rich person extreme sport, then he was believed to be in his empty manor with a new flavor of the week. And by night, much to the chagrin of Alfred, he was vengeance personified. A demon bringing fear into the eyes of Gotham’s rogues gallery.

But for all he caught the Joker, Scarecrow, Harley, Ivy, Penguin, Riddler, and all the various other rogues that weren’t actually deadly but more like nuisances that would ruin a perfectly gloomy day with their antics (particularly Condiment King or fucking Calendar Man), one rogue always seemed to evade him.

Catwoman.

He’d heard conflicting rumors about the cat burglar, but one thing remained consistent — the Cat was drawn to shiny things. And despite all the doom and gloom that Gotham was known for, there were countless shiny things for the Cat to steal.

He gets his chance to catch the Cat when there's a new museum exhibit opening. He doesn't go to the museum, no Catwoman is smarter than that. Well, Max hopes that Catwoman is smarter than that because otherwise, Max has been unable to catch an idiot.

Instead, Max heads over to the mayor's mansion. The mayor's wife had recently been in the news for buying a new diamond necklace. it was ostentatious in Max's opinion, but with the new diamond necklace resting on the mayor's wife's neck, then the rest of her jewels would be back at the mansion.

_____

Max is crouched in the shadows as a man dressed in a black skintight suit and cat-shaped cowl sneakily enters the mayor's mansion.

He doesn't make a move until Catwoman (or is it Catman? He'd only heard Catwoman from other Gothamites and talk about how Catwoman's childbearing hips. He would have to ask about that) leaves the mansion.

With his grappling hook, Max swings over to the roof that Catwoman is using for his escape.

"That isn't yours," Max growls, thankful for the voice modulator he uses these days.

"Haven't you heard, darling, finders keepers," Catwoman drawls. His lips quirk up in a smirk. "I was wondering when the Dark Knight would honor me with his presence," he continues on, raking his eyes down Max's body.

"Honor?" Max questions, no rogue was honored by his presence. Terrified? Yes. Manic? Almost always. But never honored.

"Oh, definitely an honor, Batsy," Catwoman retorts. "And as much as I want to explore this, I've got brand new pearl necklaces to try on."

"You know I can't let you leave with those," Max states. He's got a batarang in hand.

"A shame, darling," he sighs and jumps off the building, "until next time!" He yells. To Max's surprise, Catwoman lands on all fours like an actual cat would.

#batman au #maxiel #Batman max #catwoman daniel

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grogusmum · 1 year

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A Javi Drabble

JAVI GUTIÉRREZ X F!READER

WORD COUNT: 565ish

SUMMARY: Javi and Reader get engaged.

A/N: Javi reminds me of my honey. And the way in which we got engaged feels very Javi to me.

Reader is not physically described, nor are any pronouns used, but traditional female expectations are discussed as is starting a family.

You and Javi had already made a promise to each other months ago. In the middle of the night, after sharing his then secret desire to leave the family "business" and write screenplays.

When you talked about telling people he told you, his family won't take it seriously until there is a ring on your finger.

“Isn't that usually the bride's family's job… traditionally speaking?" You laughed, "still dumb, of course”

“I know it is, but they just… they think I’m um… flighty, maybe?” He said apologetically.

You kissed him and told him it was fine.

So, with your best friend to help, he went to the jewelry district and picked out a ring.

Today, he planned to pick it up and give it to you at a romantic dinner.

But he'd gotten distracted, again.

He has trouble saying no to people.

Now he is running late and has to pick you up from work first and then go get the ring.

Not ideal, not the romantic movie scenario he'd written in his head. He isn't an actor or a director… he knows what he wants to happen, but not always how to make it happen, just how he envisions it.

Javi explains as you walk to the car together, apologizing profusely, but you know him and love him. And this is just him.

“I know you do not mind, mi amor, but I do. I must learn to manage my time better…” He kisses your face, each cheek, your nose, and forehead, with an 'I’m sorry' after each one. Finally, he kisses your lips, where he lingers. But when you attempt to deepen the kiss he yelps, looking at his watch-

"We've got to get here before they close!"

You walk into the Jewelers building, ride the elevator, and just as you get to the shop, he stops you at the door.

“Can you wait here? I don't want you to see yet.”

You huff a laugh and nod.

He disappears into the shop, and you wait several moments. When he pops out of the shop, a bounce to his step, and his eyes dance with excitement. At the end of the hall, he turns you around, ring in hand.

“I thought you didn’t want…”

He sneaks a kiss.

“Please marry me?”

“We established that already, silly!” You laugh again, “are we doing this in the hall?”

“Yes, we are doing this in the hall!” Javi exclaimes as he gets down on his knee, holding the ring up.

It's as beautiful just as you had talked about. Your favorite gemstone with smaller diamonds on either side... they are bigger than you thought they would be.

“The diamonds are my from my abuelas' rings, I had the jeweler put them into the setting. You said that diamonds are beautiful, but you didn't want to add to the whole ‘blood diamond’ thing, so...”

“You did that for me?” Your eyes well up at the gesture, “I love having tokens from your grandmothers.”

“They're very excited, mostly to get me married off. They started talking about great-grandkids right away” he laughs uncomfortably, thinking perhaps he shouldn't have told you that.

“I’m ready to have kids when you are, Javi!”

“You are?”

“We aren’t in our twenties anymore, I probably have to get going if we are going… But um, one step at a time, right?”

“One step at a time, mi vida," he nods as he slips the glittering ring on your finger, in the hall, on the 3rd floor of the Jeweler’s Building.

THANKS FOR READING💚

#javi gutiérrez #javi gutiérrez drabble #javi g #javi gutiérrez x you #javi gutiérrez x reader #javi gutierrez x you #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez

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tswaney17 · 1 year

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I Do Bad Things with You - Part 41

Happy 3rd Anniversary, IDBTWY!! 🎉 I can't believe we're celebrating three years of this fic. This journey has been incredible and I'm so excited (and a little sad) to say that we are close to finishing this story. I'm very close to getting this on a regular publishing schedule. But in the meantime, please check out the art I had commissioned by the incredible SnCinder here. 💙💚💜

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Catch up here.

Credit to @featherymalignancy for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault , language, NSFW

Word Count: 12,145

It was three days before their wedding and the only thing Azriel felt was utter bliss. He couldn’t believe that in just a short time, he would have Elain as his wife. Even though they were eloping to the Summer District, they’d been head down in wedding plans over the last month.

Elain and her sisters went shopping for her dress a few weeks ago, finding—according to El—the perfect dress that didn’t require any alterations. She refused to let him see it, claiming that even though they were eloping, the rules of bad luck still applied. He had to snort at the notion, but Az would admit that not knowing what she was wearing had him curiously wondering what it would look like. He pictured many different styles in his head, all of which Elain was absolutely stunning in.

He had been in charge of the rings, Elain claiming that if he could pick out the most perfect engagement ring, then she trusted him fully to select her wedding band. His jeweler managed to match the style of her ring, adding a few extra smaller diamonds to the set. He selected a titanium, black band for himself, having Elain’s name engraved on the inside of it. Az thought the black and rose-gold colors would compliment each other well, and when he put them together, he knew he was right.

Now they were sitting on the jet, waiting for the rest of their family to arrive. Rhys and Feyre were not far behind them in getting to the airstrip. Nuala and Cerridwen—as he and Elain had decided were family—were also joining them. The Moonbeam twins picked them up from the penthouse and were also coming along, both as security and because Elain considered them like family as well. All that was left was Cassian, Nesta, and Sutton.

The new parents decided that since they could travel by private jet, they felt comfortable bringing their new baby on board—since neither of them wanted to miss their siblings getting married. When they boarded, looking slightly disheveled, they apologized for the delay, claiming Sutton was fussing and they struggled to get her to calm down.

Elain moved towards her sister, taking her niece from Nesta’s arms. “Hello, beautiful girl,” she cooed, snuggling into the baby.

Azriel watched as his fiancée’s maternal instinct took over, soothing the child when she started to fidget.

Cassian approached his side, taking in the scene between his sister and daughter. “She’s a natural mother. You’ll be eternally grateful for that instinct deeply rooted in her when you two have kids.”

He didn’t bother responding, not even knowing if Elain wanted kids. Az had been waiting for her to bring it up, but when she hadn’t even after they got engaged, he started to believe that perhaps she was happy just being an aunt. She had put so much work into her career, he wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to take away from that. Even though he had some deep desire to get Elain pregnant, to watch her grow with life inside of her, their children, he didn’t want to put that pressure on her if it wasn’t something she wanted.

So, he didn’t say anything at all, content to just live with her.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked his brother instead.

Cash saw the change in the subject for what it was, shaking his head with a sigh, but let it go. “Sure.”

Azriel popped a bottle of champagne, serving everyone a glass aside from Nesta who declined because she was still breastfeeding and took the flute of sparkling cider in replacement.

“To the bride and groom,” Rhys announced, raising a glass.

He wrapped an arm around Elain’s waist, tucking her into his side while she held their niece in one arm and her champagne in the other. It was hard not to picture them as a little family, but he gripped that dream in a fist until it was a fleeting thought. He wanted nothing more than to marry the love of his life and wouldn’t let anything ruin it.

~~~~~

As soon as their flight landed and they arrived at the house—their entire family in disbelief at what they had purchased—everyone was tasked with something for the wedding. Meeting with the caterer, getting the arch and chairs they rented for the ceremony delivered, confirming the photographer, checking in with the florist on Elain’s bouquet, the petals that Nesta would help Sutton toss along the beach, and arrangements for the tables they were setting up on their courtyard.

There was one other thing Elain still had to do, pulling Cash aside before the rehearsal dinner.

“What’s up, Ellie?” he asked, a look of concern on his face.

Pink touched her cheeks, the only hint of her nervousness. “So, I know you’re Az’s best man, but you have been such an important part of my life. You’ve always protected me and taken care of me, especially when I felt utterly alone in the world. I was wondering—or hoping—you would walk me down the aisle tomorrow before you stand next to Azriel?”

Shock rippled across Cassian’s face. It was obvious that he had not been expecting her to ask him that. “Elain,” he said, emotion clogging his voice. “It would be my absolute honor to walk you down the aisle.” Tears lined his eyes as he pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly.

“Thank you, Cash,” she murmured, trying and failing to hold back her tears.

That night, Azriel and the other men stayed in the guest house, giving the main one to the girls.

“No strippers, boys,” she said as they tugged Az away from her.

“The same could be said for you,” Rhys called out, giving her a wink.

Her fiancé growled, slapping his brother up the side of his head.

Elain laughed. “Believe me, the only man I want to see stripping is staying with you.”

“I’m happily taken, Ellie!” Cash called out flashing the cheekiest of grins.

She could only shake her head at their antics, returning to the main house where the girls were waiting for her with drinks, games, and a bride-sash.

“Since we didn’t have time to host a bridal shower and bachelorette party beforehand, we’re improvising,” Feyre announced, throwing the sash over her head and guiding her to the living room where they had decorated for their little party.

The whole night was perfect, celebrating her final night as an unmarried woman.

The next day was filled with a flurry of commotion, everyone getting ready for the wedding. Feyre had stuck Elain in a chair and was painting magic on her face while Nuala and Cerridwen worked on her hair, curling it into gorgeous beach waves and tying half it up into a knot at the crown of her head. They wove flowers into the knot atop her head and behind her ear.

When she looked in the mirror, Elain gasped. It was beyond stunning the work they had done on her. “Thank you,” she whispered, trying to hold back her tears so she didn’t ruin her makeup. “All of you. I’m so grateful to have you all here with me.”

“There’s nowhere else we’d rather be, Ellie,” Nesta told her, hugging her from the back. “Come on, let’s get your dress on.” Her sister walked over to the garment bag and unzipped it.

Untying her white robe, Elain slipped on the dress behind the partition, coming out only to have help buttoning up the back. The dress was simply gorgeous. The bodice was made up of floral lace, plunging to just above her belly button while keeping her modestly covered. Delicate, thin straps of the same floral pattern went over her shoulders to the scooped back. The tulle skirt gathered at her waist, adding a layer over the lace skirt that sucked into her legs. It gave her this gorgeous silhouette under the gown.

Elain would go barefoot for the ceremony on the beach, wearing jeweled barefoot sandals that hooked over her middle toe and around her ankle. She had a pair of white heels she’d put on for the reception in the courtyard, once she was back on solid ground.

She slipped on the halo sapphire and diamond earrings that Azriel had gifted to her for her birthday—the only jewelry she wore aside from her engagement ring. They were one of her something blue, the other a cobalt garter in testament to Az’s favorite color. Grabbing the perfume she bought specifically for the wedding, Elain gave herself a few sprits, letting the delicate jasmine scent wash over her before making her way downstairs to the living area where Feyre, Nesta carrying Sutton, and Cash were waiting for her.

“Elain,” Cassian said her name with such reverence that she almost broke down right there. “You look so beautiful.”

Her pink lips pulled up into a joyous smile. “Thank you, Cash.” She hugged him, careful not to smudge her makeup on his suit jacket.

“Ready?” Feyre asked, handing her the blush-colored bouquet of peonies. The florist had done a stellar job with the bridal bouquets and centerpieces for the table.

“I’ve never been more ready for anything,” she said. Elain had waited for a decade to marry Azriel. Her excitement to finally get the chance left her breathless.

Though Feyre was Elain’s maid of honor, she walked down the aisle first since Nesta was carrying the flower girl.

Elain watched her sisters walk through the courtyard, out to the beach where they had set up the arch, decorated with more flowers. Where Azriel awaited her.

Cassian helped her out the door, holding a bit of her dress for her so it didn’t drag too much until they reached the edge of the courtyard and waited for the queue with the change of the music.

Elain and Azriel had picked strictly piano pieces to use for their ceremony and reception. It was fitting to them since that was how he proposed and they spent countless hours listening and him playing it.

Her brother fixed her dress one last time before offering her his arm. “Thank you for choosing him,” he said so quietly she almost missed it.

She furrowed her brow looking up at him, waiting for him to continue.

“I always worried that Azriel would never find happiness after high school. I watched my brother enter this cruel world intending to own it, even if it destroyed him in the very process. I thought I was going to lose him for a while…He’d been so depressed, I worried for his life.” Those pain-filled eyes looked down at her.

She knew Az had some internal struggles, but she didn’t know how bad it was. It broke her heart to hear that Cassian had feared for Az’s life.

“The one thing he never lost was his love for you,” he continued, likely noticing her inner sorrow, but needing to tell her this anyways. “And I’m so thankful that you forgave him for his past mistakes. The only time I ever saw Azriel happy was when he was with you, Elain. You are the world in which he revolves around. His entire being is to keep you safe and to love you, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before.

“Thank you for loving him in the way he deserves but never letting himself have.” Cassian’s eyes misted over by the time he finished and she struggled to not let herself cry at the confession.

“He is worth loving,” she admitted, looking out towards the beach like she could see him from where she stood.

“That he is,” Cassian murmured as the music changed, indicating it was time.

The few steps to the beach seemed like a lifetime until she turned the corner and saw him standing at the altar, waiting for her.

Even this far away, she could hear his choked sound at the sight of her. His face crumpled in elation as he wiped tears from under his eyes.

Elain’s hold on her damn broke and she let out a sob, face splitting in the most adoring grin. Only Cassian’s firm grip on her arm prevented her from running down the aisle and leaping into his arms.

After what felt like an eternity, Cassian was leaning over to kiss her cheek, and offering her hand to Azriel before taking his place at his side.

She handed off her bouquet to Feyre so she could take his hands.

Unable to help himself, Az leaned forward to brush his lips on her cheek before he gently pulled her forward until she was facing him. “You look…” he paused, silver-lined eyes scanning her from head to toe. “I have no words to describe how exquisite you look, El. You’re radiant.”

She choked on her laugh, her face morphing into actual rays of sunshine. “Thank you, Az. You look beautiful, too.” And she meant it. He had on a brand-new suit, cut to every defined muscle. He wore a crisp, white button-up underneath the jacket with a blush-colored tie around his neck. Even the peony boutonnière contrasted perfectly with his tanned complexion.

Rhys cleared his throat, recapturing their attention. He gave them a knowing smile. “It brings me great joy to officiate the wedding between Azriel Knight and Elain Archeron. Azriel, my brother, you have been a part of my family since we were kids. Though our relationship started rocky—”

“You beat the snot out of me that first night,” Az muttered making everyone laugh.

Their brother waved a hand. “Semantics. It didn’t take us long to warm up to each other, finding that brotherly bond we both needed. I’m grateful every day that we took you in—that we became family.”

Those violet eyes turned to her. “Elain, my darling Elain. You have always been like a little sister to me. Even before Feyre and I started dating and later got married, you’ve held this special place in my heart to love, to protect. When you and Azriel began dating in high school, I was ecstatic because I always hoped you would one day become a part of my family. And you’re now a part of it in more ways than one.”

She released one of Az’s hands to grip Rhys’s forearm, squeezing it once before returning it to her fiancé.

“I’ve never met two people more perfect for each other. Where one hides in the shadows, the other shines. You two lift each other up in the best of ways and I have no doubt in my mind you will build the most perfect life together. I believe you both wrote your vows. Elain, if you would please go ahead.”

Her brown eyes, reflecting pools of gold in the setting sunlight looked at her husband-to-be. “Azriel, you are the strongest, most considerate man I have ever known. Our love has definitely been tested to limits that most couples never experience, but I know that makes us more solid in the foundations of our marriage.” He chuckled at how true it was. “I know that when in moments of hopelessness, you will lend me your strength. In times of sorrow, you will give me your love. When the world around me becomes too loud, you will hold me close and protect me.

“You are so many things that it sometimes makes my head spin because how could you possibly be every dream I wished for myself to find in a lover? You have broken down every fear; every mark on my life and filled it with joy. I will love you with my entire being because you deserve that from me. You deserve to feel my elation in the life we have created together. I love you more than words could ever express. My life partner. My friend. My soulmate. My husband.” Tears rolled down her cheek and he reached out, swiping them away, ignoring how his face was also wet from waterworks.

Rhys turned to his brother. “Azriel, would you please say your vows?”

He took a steadying breath. “Fuck, I should’ve gone first,” he said quietly to her.

She couldn’t help but tip her head back and laugh.

“Elain Archeron.” Her name curled on his tongue. “You are, without a doubt, the light of my life. A decade ago, I made the biggest mistake of my life by letting you go and the gods know I didn’t deserve your forgiveness for it, but you gave it to me anyways. I sometimes have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. To verify you’re actually here with me.” She squeezed his hands in reassurance. “You have the most generous heart I have ever seen; have ever had the pleasure of being held within.

“You claim that I am strong, but my strength comes from you. Your resilience is unparallel. You have made me a better man, one who will love you faithfully even after we are but dust in the wind. I promise to share my life with you. To hold you in times of need and when you require a sturdy presence. I promise to help you pursue your dreams. To take you on adventures and everything else your heart desires. I consider myself the luckiest person in the world to get to call you mine. My light. My heart. My love. My wife.”

Rhys had to wipe a tear from his eye, clearing his throat to rein in the emotion he was feeling. “May I have the rings?”

Cassian slipped behind Azriel to hand his other brother the two rings.

Rhys handed them each one. “Elain, do you take Azriel to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold? In sickness and in health? From now and forever?”

“I do,” she said, sliding the black band onto his scarred ring finger.

“And do you, Azriel, take Elain to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold? In sickness and in health? From now and forever?”

Az’s dazzling smile lit up the world around them. “I do.” He slipped the beautiful rose gold band onto her delicate finger.

Rhys clapped his hands together. “Well, thank god for that!” he teased. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

The powerful male in front of her stepped forward, slinking one hand around her waist, the other cradling her head, and pressed his lips on hers.

Elain felt her back arch as he leaned them over, gently prying her mouth open so his tongue could slip inside. The kiss was languid like they took the time to learn about each other as husband and wife. Her fingers went to his nape, ruffling the hair there.

Time slowed as if even the world paused for that kiss. The kiss that certified them as one. A unit. And when they finally broke apart, when the sounds of their family’s cheers entered their ears, neither could look away from the other. An unbreakable chain linked between their souls, connecting them in the most intrinsic of ways.

He was hers and she was his. Now and forever.

“I love you, Elain,” he whispered, bringing her back in for another kiss, arms going around her lithe body to lift her off the ground.

She erupted into a fit of giggles, eyes shining with more tears, with love, with devotion for the man in front of her.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present for the very first time, Mr. and Mrs. Azriel and Elain Archeron-Knight!”

Grabbing her bouquet, she took Azriel’s hand as they walked back down the aisle toward the house. But about halfway back, he leaned down and lifted her over his shoulder, making her squeal. “Azriel!” she shouted, laughter echoing around them. “Put me down!”

He hauled her over his body until he was carrying her bridal style. “No,” he grinned, leaning forward to kiss her as he made the trek back into the courtyard.

Elain welcomed the kiss, wrapping her arms and the bouquet around the backside of his head and holding him there for a few extra seconds. The flash of the photographer lit up their bodies, but they didn’t care as they just held each other’s stare. She traced her index finger over his cheek. “Hi husband,” she whispered shyly.

His smile was too infectious to not beam back at him. It made him look so young, boyish. “My wife,” he murmured, nudging his nose into hers. Azriel set her back on her feet, pulling her close and never letting go.

~~~

Azriel was her husband. Elain couldn’t believe that after everything they’d been through—waiting a decade for this moment—it was finally here. Everything about this moment was completely different from anything she ever shared with Graysen.

Graysen’s priority had always been himself. She didn’t even think she was in his top five important things in his life. Their entire relationship had been based on their fathers’ friendship and a setup—and she had just let it go on, not really living, but simply existing.

It was nothing like the life, the love, she’d built with Azriel. This had been wholly hers. Her decision, her choices, her life.

They’d only been married for a few hours and she couldn’t help but think of how well it suited him. He couldn’t keep his hands off her (more than he normally couldn’t). Taking her hand in his large one, setting one on her thigh while they ate, tugging her onto the makeshift dance floor by the edge of the pool. Whatever they were doing, he couldn’t seem to let her go.

And she had no desire for him to stop. Currently, she was tucked into his arms under the twinkling lights as they swayed to the soft piano music. Her hand was curled in his, head resting on his chest as she listened to his thundering heartbeat.

Every once in a while, she’d let out a contented sigh and found herself somehow melting further into his embrace. He tucked her under his chin, giving him ample opportunities to lean down and press his lips to the crown of her head.

Elain had wrapped her arm around his waist, sliding it under his suit jacket so her palm laid on the backside of his button-up. Her fingers would flex, pressing the pads of them into the strong muscles of his back.

It was late evening. Nesta retired to the house earlier, taking a sleeping Sutton to lay her down, and never returned. Cassian followed shortly after, looking for his wife, and if Elain had to guess, found her asleep still in her dress.

Fenrys and Connall had sat with Cerridwen and Nuala on the porch patio and were chatting. Had been nearly all evening, but not before each of them took her and Azriel for a round on the dancefloor.

Her other sister and husband were twirling next to them, enjoying the soft sounds of the night around them.

Azriel pressed his lips to the top of her head again. “Would you like to head in now?” he asked her quietly.

Elain tipped her face up, a beautiful smile painted on her pink lips. “Sure.”

He gave her a soft kiss before leading her not to the main house, but to the adjacent one. She looked at him with confusion when he glanced over his shoulder at her. “I thought we could take the guest house tonight, so we don’t have to worry about anyone overhearing us.”

A cheeky smile threatened to turn up her mouth. “Azriel Archeron-Knight, are you trying to get into my skirt?” she teased, giggling.

He flashed her a heated look. “Always.” And then swung open the door.

Elain couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her, taking a single step forward. But before she could even get to the doorway, she was scooped up into his arms and carried over the threshold. She squealed in delight, wrapping her arms around his neck as he carried her in, kicking the door shut behind him.

The whole place was lit up with candles. Rose petals littered the floor, leading up the stairs and, what she assumed would be into a bedroom.

“Az,” she cried, eyes wide in astonishment. “Did you do this?” she asked as he set her back on her feet.

His hands came down onto her shoulders, thumbs swooping over the bare skin. “I had some help,” he admitted. “After our poker game last night, the guys helped me set up the candles. Nuala and Cer came in during the reception to sprinkle the rose petals and light everything.”

“It’s beautiful,” she told him. And it was, completely and totally romantic. Turning to face him, she kissed him hard. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, stroking his.

Azriel gripped her rear end, molding the flesh to his scarred palms and making her whimper. He sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, the sensation pulling a heeding sound from her throat. Breaking off the kiss, Az took her hand and led her up the stairs toward the bedroom.

The bed wasn’t their usual size, but Elain had no doubt he could worship her like how she imagined he would.

Taking his phone from his pocket, Az turned on the same music they had playing all evening.

Her lips quirked up in the corner. “Setting the mood?”

He chuckled. “Something like that.” Azriel flicked his wrist in a circular motion. “Turn around.”

She did as requested, turning to give him access to her back.

His fingers slid into her thick, soft hair, plucking the loose flowers from her locks. He pulled the pin from her knot, letting the rest of her hair drape down her back. Gently, those scarred fingers grazed over her scalp, massaging.

Elain hummed in pleasure.

Azriel swept her hair over her shoulder, giving him access to the line of buttons that ran down her spine. He took his time opening each one, kissing at the patch of creamy skin it revealed as he went until he reached the final one just above the swell of her ass. “May I?” he asked her, fingering the delicate straps.

She nodded. “Please.”

Azriel slowly dragged her dress down her body, offering his shoulder to help her step out of it. His eyes dragged over every inch of the white lingerie she wore, all the way down to the cobalt-colored garter that adorned her luscious thigh. “Fuck me, Elain,” he groaned, moving to hang her dress up before turning to look back at her.

She appreciated he took extra care to hang her dress so it wouldn’t get ruined. Flashing him with a mirthful smile, she said, “I plan to.”

His long, powerful legs swallowed the space between them in two single strides as he crashed their lips together, nudging her toward the bed and carefully laying her down on top of it. He kissed her deeply, with long, sensual strokes from his tongue until their mouths were bruised and swollen. His hands swept over her body, feeling the texture of the lace. “I believe I was supposed to take this off with my teeth,” he mumbled against her lips, thumbing the garter.

He kissed down her body, in the valley between her breasts, over the soft swell of her tummy, across her hip, and down her thigh to where the garter sat, leaving little marks as he went. She squirmed under his machinations, but he didn’t let up, taking his time with each place he sucked a bruise onto. His teeth clamped down on the frilly fabric, slowly dragging it down her knee, her calf, and off her foot, tossing it over his shoulder.

She laughed at the audacity of it.

Gripping her hips, he made his way back up her body, only stopping at her neck to lick and suck at her delicate skin.

Elain’s fingers got to work, shoving his jacket off his shoulders, followed by his tie from around his neck, but he stopped her from tossing it on the floor.

Taking the silk fabric, he smirked, telling her, “We’ll save this for later,” and set it aside on the bed.

Heat pooled between her legs at the promise. As of now, he had yet to tie her up, but Elain wouldn’t lie and say the idea hadn’t crossed her mind. To be immobilized by him and only him made her blood heat.

Sensing her growing need, he rolled his hips into hers, giving her just a taste of what was to come.

Azriel didn’t seem to know where to touch her first, so he kept his hands moving in possessive little touches across her body. Pinching her nipples, gripping her hips, spreading her lush thighs apart so he could settle more firmly into their cradle. No matter what he did, it just made her ache for him.

She needed to feel him. Feel his skin on hers, sliding against the lace of her lingerie. “Az,” she whined. “Take it off, please. I want to feel you.” Elain pushed at his shirt, trying to unbutton it.

He obliged her, rising to shed his button-up, and then flicked open his belt to strip out of his pants. Az seemed to care much less about his expensive suit than her dress, tossing the garments onto the floor. In his boxers only, he crawled over her.

Her hands scratched at his skin, sliding up his sides to hook around his shoulders. Elain prided herself in knowing his body thoroughly. She knew every scar, every ridge, every whorl of ink. So, when he lay back on top of her, she immediately noticed something new on his chest.

“You look so fucking beautiful, Elain,” he groaned into her neck, sucking on her pulse point.

But her hands were on his shoulders, pushing him up to get a better look at whatever he had added to his chest. Her eyes went wide in shock, finger tracing the new whorl of ink on his pectoral, right over his heart. Because, holy fuck, that was her name he added. “When did you get this?” she asked, her eyes flicking up to his in wonderment.

A smile curved up the corner of his mouth. “A few days ago.” Which, kind of explained why she hadn’t seen it since they agreed to hold off on sex the past week to make tonight more special. And why he wore a T-shirt to bed the last few nights.

“It’s my handwriting,” she deadpanned. How did he have this perfectly done?

A blush heated his cheeks as he looked down at her with such love and devotion, she felt it in the very marrow of her bones. “I took a photo of your signature on our marriage license and sent it to the artist to create a stencil. I wanted your essence imprinted on me forever. Your handwriting, your name, permanently marked over my heart where you belong.”

Elain was desperately trying to swallow the emotion that had choked her. This man. This wonderful, incredible, selfless man tattooed her name on his body to always keep her close to his heart. She didn’t think she could love him any more than she already did, but he continuously proved her wrong.

Leaning her head forward, she kissed him right over that ink, then cupped his face in her palms; let her thumbs trace lightly over the apples of his cheeks. “Make love to me, Azriel.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, taking her hands from his face and lacing their fingers together by the side of her head. He sucked and licked the soft swells of her breasts, plumped up from the lingerie she was still wearing. His mouth attached to her nipple through the lacy fabric, pulling the point deep into his mouth until her back arched.

She raised her hips, rubbing them together. The wet spot on her panties would’ve told him just how desperate she was for him. It matched the one on his boxer briefs.

Az released her hands to work on the straps of her lingerie, pulling the white lace off her until she was completely bare before him. His thumb gently stroked her slit, grazing her clit just so, sending bolts of pleasure through her body.

Elain’s fingers slid into his dark locks, mussing them as she tugged him closer to where she needed him.

“Tell me what you want me to do, El,” he groaned, sliding his nose into the crease of her thigh.

A hot, needy sound tumbled from her throat, but she said the words that she knew would elicit actions. “Feast, husband.”

He growled, lapping at her entrance before plunging his tongue inside of her. He licked and slurped at her like she was the last thing he’d ever eat. It felt so good, she was nearly delirious with pleasure. Sliding two fingers into her, he pumped slowly, stretching her. “You’re so fucking close already, I can feel you quivering around my hand.”

Elain threw her head back, eyes squeezed shut as she focused on the pull, deep in her gut. Her hips undulated into him and she tugged his head down to where she needed him. Wanted him. “Please, Az,” she cried.

Knowing exactly what she was asking for, he sucked her clit between his teeth, finally drawing her to the brink, and pushing her off.

Elain shattered on his tongue, screaming out his name and tightening her grip on his hair hard enough that he groaned against her, the vibrations sending her spiraling.

He didn’t stop until she went limp, licking every drop she gave him. Azriel looked up at her from between her legs, her release dripping off his lips, and fuck, did the sight have her body trembling for more.

Using his hair as leverage, she pulled him up her body until she could kiss him. Elain moaned at the taste of herself on his tongue.

Brushing hair off her forehead, he smiled down at her. “Hi, wife.”

Those words made butterflies erupt in her stomach, her heart pounding against her ribcage. Azriel could’ve made his vow to her from that look alone, with so much love and longing, Elain knew he was feeling the same emotions as she was.

She reached down, cupping him in her small palm and earning a hiss as he pumped into her hand.

“Still need more from me?” he teased.

“I need everything from you.”

Heat flashed in his eyes. Crawling off her, he stripped out of his boxers, that last piece of clothing between them, then resituated himself between her legs. Azriel rubbed himself over her drenched slit, coating him in her release and adding friction to her clit.

Elain’s head tipped back as a moan crested from her lips.

He took advantage of the exposed skin, attaching his mouth to her neck and sucking a bruising mark into her skin. She loved his love bites, loved when he covered her in his marks like he was staking a claim.

Blindly reaching, Az grabbed the tie from the other side of the bed and held it between them. “Do you trust me?”

The corner of Elain’s lips quirked up. “A little late asking me that since I just married you.”

He pinched her butt cheek in reprimand making her squeal.

“Yes, of course, I trust you.”

“Give me your hands.” It was a soft command, but she listened, bringing her palms forward and presenting them to him. Azriel wrapped the small end of his tie around her, binding her arms together at her wrists with the soft silk. “Is that too tight?” he asked, sliding a finger under the fabric.

She shook her head. “No.”

He kissed her fingers. “If you become uncomfortable at all, tell me.” And then he pushed her arms above her head. “Don’t move these.”

Elain felt herself shudder, stretching out her body as he leaned over her again, mouth going straight for her neck. Her husband’s neck kink was out in full force that night and she loved every bite, every swipe of his tongue on the sensitive skin.

His hips rutted into her, sliding himself through her lower lips and coating his cock with her arousal.

It was heavenly. From the sensual tug of his teeth and the friction he applied between her legs, Elain felt herself slicken even further. “Azriel,” she groaned, arms aching to go around his neck but remaining still above her head. “Please. I need you inside me.”

Grabbing her plump thigh, he hefted it onto his shoulder, splitting her open. The head of his cock nudged at her entrance before he rolled his hips, sliding into her with ease.

Her back arched as he entered her, his grunts of pleasure from her clenching around him only enticed her further.

“El, fucking hell. If you keep doing that, I’m going to come before I’m even seated,” he complained, lips pulling her pert nipple into his mouth and sucking.

She couldn’t stop the cry from escaping her as he filled her to the brim. His cock sheathed in her warm heat was better than any feeling. She couldn’t explain how the fullness made her whimper from pleasure but also feel at home at the same time. Elain wrapped her other leg around his hips, urging him to move.

And move he did. Long, slow thrusts had her seeing stars when he hit that spot deep inside her. Everything he gave her was measured, from how far he pulled out, to how fast he pushed himself into her.

She needed him harder. Deeper. “Fuck me, Azriel. Like you mean it,” she growled.

His teeth bit down on her nipple in reprimand and, fuck, did she feel it everywhere. Pain mixed with pleasure. But he did as she demanded, snapping his hips into hers and building her up, up, up until she teetered on the edge of her pleasure.

He released her nipple, lips traveling up her jaw to find her own as he thrust into her again. Az grabbed the large end of his tie, wrapped it around his hand, and pinned it to the wall as he fucked her harder, the headboard slamming into the plaster with enough force to leave a dent.

But she didn’t care. She didn’t care about the goddamn wall, or how her arms ached, or that their family might hear them if they were still outside. All she cared about was the wonderful, delicious feeling that grew low in her belly.

Azriel’s tongue licked up her neck, sucking her delicate skin. He angled his hips up to catch her clit with every thrust. It was what she needed to send her shattering into a million little pieces.

Elain’s cries were smothered by his mouth like he wanted to swallow every sound she made.

It only took a few more thrusts before he careened into his orgasm, spilling himself deep inside her, her body milking him.

Azriel collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily into her neck as she fought to catch her own. He brought his arm down, pulling her hands until he could slip his head between her arms. She carded her fingers through his damp hair, scratching at his scalp. He hummed in contentment.

They lay there for a while, snuggled into each other’s embrace, Elain brushing her lips on the top of his head.

After a few moments, he was tugging himself out of her sensitive center, kissing the wince away before sliding out of her arms and sitting up. Az carefully untied her silk from her wrists, dropping, even more, kisses to where they had been bound. “How was that?”

She hummed, a soft smile painted on her lips as she circled her free wrists. “That was better than amazing.”

“Better than amazing, hmm?” he murmured, nudging his nose into her cheek.

Affectionate Azriel was one of her favorites—his need for physical touch after they had sex always led to some cuddling. So, she was quite surprised when he began climbing off her. “Where are you going?” she complained, reaching out for him, but her weary arm fell to the mattress with a thud.

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss her lips once more. “I’ll be right back.” Azriel walked over to his suitcase, sitting in the corner of the room.

Elain rolled onto her side, propping her head on her fist, and watched him stoop down. “Nice ass, husband.”

Her comment had him laughing, deep and full-bellied. He glanced over his shoulder at her, humor dancing in those dark eyes. Grabbing whatever he needed from his bag, he walked back over to her with a mischievous grin. “Since this is our wedding night, I thought we could make it traditional in that we take your last virginity.”

She raised a brow. “Virginity? Az, what are you talking—” Elain paused, taking in the items he presented to her in his palms. The pink vibrator, a tube of lube, and a plug were cradled in his hands. “You want to take my ass?” she asked in disbelief.

“You make it sound so dirty,” he snickered, kneeling on the bed. “And only if you want to. I know we’ve discussed it lightly before, but I brought everything we’d need if you want to explore it.”

Pink rushed to her cheeks, dripping down her chest. She’d be lying if she said the idea hadn’t prickled her curious mind. Whenever he touched her there, her pleasure always intensified. It felt so forbidden, but so right at the same time. Her eyes traveled from the items still in his palms back to his face. “Okay,” she breathed.

Setting everything on the bed, he kissed her belly, smiling into her skin. “My good girl,” he murmured, the words igniting something inside her. “On your knees.”

Elain rolled over, rising onto all fours. Her stomach clenched in anticipation.

Az placed another kiss at the bottom of her spine, kneading her behind. “You have less give back here, so we’re going to take this nice and slow. But I need you to tell me when it’s getting close to being too much to handle, and when you’ve reached your limit. We don’t go past anything that you’re uncomfortable with. Okay?”

She nodded, flipping her hair over her shoulder to look back at him. “I understand.”

“Good girl. We’ll start with my fingers to get you stretched, then I’m going to try and insert this plug.” He leaned over her to show her the plug again. Elain ran a finger over the cool metal. “First off,” he started, setting the plug back on the bed, “we need to get you stimulated.” Azriel slid two fingers inside of her, wetting them with their combined releases.

Elain moaned as he thrust into her, filling her, stretching her. Pulling his digits from her cunt, her body clenching around nothing, he then slowly inserted the toy. They had only played with it a few times, but it had become one of her favorite things to pull out when they got hot and heavy. She waited in baited silence for that first vibration, jolting at the first flick from his fingers on his phone. Hips stuttering, she bowed her head, moaning.

“Easy, love,” he murmured, stroking up to her rosebud. Az worked her opening with his two fingers. The squeeze was tight, but then she felt him add a generous amount of lube, slickening her hole and allowing him to slip in both digits to his knuckle.

She whimpered, rocking back onto his hand. The sensation of his fingers pumping in and out of her, the vibrations from the toy in her pussy had her sprinting towards her next orgasm.

But as soon as he felt her crest, Az pulled out of her behind.

Elain was close to crying out when she felt the plug being pushed into her gaping back hole. Holy fuck, the plug was larger than his two fingers. She whimpered as her body stretched to accommodate the toy, bordering on painful.

“You’re doing so well, my good girl. Breathe, love.”

She took shallow breaths, eyes screwing shut. “Az,” Elain cried out his name. “It hurts.” Her fingers tightened on the sheets beneath her palms.

Immediately he pulled back slightly, giving her body some relief. “Do you want to stop, Elain?”

Did she want to stop? No—she didn’t. Elain wanted this. “No,” she breathed, head bowing. “Just give me a second.”

He kissed her sweaty back, reaching between her legs her to lazily rub at her clit.

“How much further until the plug is seated?” she panted, glancing over her shoulder at him.

Azriel’s burning gaze was already on her face, the hunger she saw nearly made her quiver. “About a half inch until you reach the jewel. Once it’s in, it shouldn’t hurt anymore.”

Elain swallowed, nodding. “Okay, go ahead.”

“Are you sure, El? We don’t have to do this.”

She reached back, grabbed his knee—the only thing she could grasp—and squeezed it. “I’m okay. I want to continue.”

Adding more lube to her back entrance, he continued, twisting the plug back and forth to add to the pleasurable sensation.

The break was exactly what her body needed, because, after another moment or two, Elain felt the plug settle into her ass. She moaned, toes curling at feeling so full.

“Good fucking girl,” Az groaned, circling her clit with his fingers. “You did so well, my love. Let’s get you to come, shall we?” Kicking up the vibrator, he gently tugged on the plug, not pulling it out but giving her a sensation of a thrust.

Her body shook, teetering on the edge of her orgasm. “Az, I’m so close. Please, please.” Tears rolled down her cheeks from the pleasure she felt. That deep pull in her backside, the vibrations. Everything inside her was pulled taut and ready to snap. So, when he twisted the plug, Elain shattered in a way she had never done before.

She screamed, her body quaking around everything. Wetness poured out from around the vibrator, coating her thighs. Unable to hold herself up anymore, she collapsed, face first, into her pillow, forcing Azriel to let go of the plug lest he accidentally pull it out of her.

Elain shook, and shook, and shook, the aftershocks of her orgasm running up and down her spine like ocean waves crashing along the shore.

His body sidled up behind her, tugging her limp form into his arms to whisper words of comfort into her hair.

“Turn it off,” she panted, the stimulation overwhelming enough that it was too much.

He moved quickly, releasing her to sit up and grab his phone.

Elain whimpered when the toy was switched off, her sensitive center aching. She was gathered back into his arms, her back pressed into his chest. His hard cock was digging into her backside, thankfully not adding any pressure to the plug.

She panted heavily, her entire body unnaturally boneless. It almost felt like she was hovering just outside of her physical form, not quite drifting back down from her high.

Azriel ran his scarred hands over her curves, soothing her to finally come back to him. he planted kisses on her shoulder, her neck, wherever he could reach with his mouth while keeping her secure in his embrace. “I’m here, El. Just breathe,” he murmured into her hair, making sure she could feel his presence.

It could’ve been minutes or hours before she finally collected enough pieces of herself to twist her neck and look at him over her shoulder.

A dopey smile was on his face at her blissed-out state. “Hello, love,” he whispered, gently kissing her lips.

“How long have we been laying here?” she asked, genuinely curious if she passed out.

He kissed her cheek. “About fifteen minutes.”

That had her blinking. She’d been out of it for fifteen minutes? Holy fuck.

His low chuckle had her eyes snapping back to his. “That was a rather intense orgasm for you. It’ll take a while for you to come down from it,” Az explained, reaching over her to cup the side of her cheek. His thumb swooped over her skin and she couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “How are you feeling?”

How did she feel? Elain wasn’t quite sure she could explain it, to be honest, but she tried anyways. “I feel—” she weighed her words, trying to find the best ones, “light, I suppose is a good way to put it. Like I drifted out of my body.”

“Did you enjoy it?” Of course, he would ask her that.

“It was overwhelming, but yes, I enjoyed it. A lot. I’ve never felt anything like that before.” Elain reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Just give me a couple more minutes and then we can continue.”

He squeezed her palm. “Baby, we don’t need to go any further tonight. You’ve already been through a lot and I don’t want you pushing it—”

“I’m not, Az,” she interrupted him. “I want to try it with you. I’ve got one more in me tonight, but that’s it. And I want to share it with you.”

It was obvious he wanted to protest, but she didn’t let him. “You’ve only come once tonight. I want to be the reason you do it again. Please, Az. Just try. I’ll tell you if I can’t handle it.”

Scarred fingers brushed her hair behind her ear. “Okay, let me go get a towel before we attempt to pull the plug out.” He dropped another kiss on her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” Sliding off the bed, Azriel padded to the bathroom, bringing back two bath towels.

She watched him place one at the end of the bed, and then unfolded the other, sliding it partially under her hips.

At her questioning look, he told her, “It might get a little messy and I’d rather not have to change the sheets tonight when we’re finished.”

“You’re not going to put me on my knees again?”

He resumed his position behind her. “No, I don’t think you have the energy for that right now. So, I’ll take you like this.” Propping her knee up, he traced the pads of his fingers over her hip, sliding until her could toy with her clit, lightly circling it. “Tell me when you’re ready. I’ll put the vibrator back on but will keep it low.”

Elain took a steadying breath. He was right, she didn’t have the energy to keep herself upright and she was incredibly thankful that Az could read her body better than she could. “I’m ready,” she said with conviction.

His thick arm slid under her waist, coming up to cup her breast, pinching her nipple just enough to send bolts of pleasure through her body.

She whimpered, pressing herself further into the cradle of his hips.

“Touch yourself for me,” he ordered, taking her hand when she brought it between her legs and showing her just how much pressure to apply. “Good girl. Just like that.” Releasing her, he reached back for his phone, kicking on the vibrator to a low setting.

Elain sucked in a breath, her body still slick with her arousal. When she felt the twisting on the plug, she couldn’t stop the low moan from escaping her throat.

“You’re doing so well, love. Just breathe for me. Nice and slow.”

Doing as he told her, she inhaled slowly, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth as he carefully pulled the plug from her ass. As soon as it was gone, Elain whined, her body clenching around the open air.

Azriel cursed into her shoulder, applying lube to his hard cock. “Your body is begging for me, love,” he groaned, nudging the head at her back hole. He grabbed her thigh, hauling her bent leg into the air and exposing her to the cool air. “Tell me when you need me to stop.”

She didn’t. Elain relaxed her body as best as she could, taking him inch by glorious inch as he rocked himself into her. She reached back, gripping his hair at the scalp and holding him into her neck while he sunk deeper and deeper until she felt her rear end pressed into the cradle of his hips.

“Fuck, El,” he moaned. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Elain couldn’t form words. She was delirious with pleasure, edged with pain, and everything in between. It was life-altering, how full she felt with his cock buried into her ass. Nothing could compare to how good it felt to have him like this.

When he started to move, the only sounds she could form were heavy breaths and low moans. Her mind was a kaleidoscope of color as he thrust into her, his fingers digging into the back of her knee, holding her open for him.

His strokes were measured and deep, sliding nearly all the way out, and pushing in until he hit a spot inside her that had her gasping every time.

She needed more. She needed it faster. She needed to come. “Harder, Az,” she cried out, her face burying into her shoulder.

He picked up the pace, snapping his hips into her, his mouth latching itself onto her the back of her shoulder.

Oh, gods. Oh, gods, it was so good. Her hand left her clit to clutch the edge of her pillow, but he quickly replaced it, releasing her breast to slide his fingers down between her legs, tightening his circles on her.

Elain sobbed in pleasure, climbing higher and higher. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. She couldn’t think straight. Her name…what was it? Oh, fuck, he felt so good. She had no idea it could feel like this. “So good,” she moaned pathetically. Her body had turned to putty beneath his careful hands and his hard cock. Another whimper passed between her parted lips as she climbed up to the top of her orgasms, teetering on the edge of something she’d never felt before.

Azriel brushed his mouth to the shell of her ear. “I’ve got you, baby. Let go for me.”

His gruff words were her undoing as Elain dove headfirst into the largest orgasm she’d ever experienced. She squeezed the hair between her fingers, hard enough that he grunted into her neck, but she didn’t let go—couldn’t let go as she fell, fell, fell, all while he fucked her ass harder and faster, prolonging her pleasure.

Her face was soaked with tears, body pulsing around his cock.

It only took another thrust or so before Azriel came with a shout, pushing himself as deep into her as he could go to spill inside of her, claiming her ass as his. Her body convulsed around him, taking everything he offered her and more.

The sweat between their bodies rolled over her skin, but she didn’t care. She was too far lost in her mind to worry about anything but how incredible she felt.

His hot breath panted over her shoulder as he gently laid her leg over her body, keeping her knee still bent. Grabbing his phone, he switched off the vibrator. Az gave her a while to catch her breath, before he murmured into her ear, “I’m going to pull everything out. Slow breaths, love.” The words rattled in her skull but didn’t fully register. She was too lost in the sensations.

Bringing her leg back up, he reached between her thighs and gently tugged out the toy. It didn’t stop the whimper from escaping her lips.

“Easy, baby. We’re almost finished,” he whispered, his voice velvety soft and covering her like a warm blanket.

Removing himself from her behind was another story. Her body clamped onto him, causing her to cry out from her sensitive hole.

He slowed his movements, stroking her hips soothingly. “Relax, El. I need you to relax.” His hands gently swept over her body, helping her body come down.

She did, inhaling deeply until he managed to pull himself free. Elain felt incredibly empty without him in her, missing it already, but was too exhausted for anything else tonight.

Azriel pulled himself from behind her, leaning over her body to kiss her cheek. “Don’t fall asleep. We need to clean up first. I’m going to start the bath.” Gripping her chin, he turned her head and dropped a kiss on her swollen lips, smiling down at her before padding into the bathroom.

Elain heard the water turn on and then him rummaging through the drawers, looking for something if she had to guess. Frankly, she didn’t care. She just wanted to sleep. But as soon as she started to drift off, Az was hauling her into his chest, her arms sliding around his neck.

The scalding water made her flinch when it touched her overly sensitive butt. She whimpered again, tightening her hold on him.

Az hushed her, murmuring sweet nothings into her ear as he slowly sank into the tub.

Fuck she was so sore, but the heat of the water felt so good too. She nuzzled into his neck before allowing him to twist her on his lap so she sat between his legs. Elain rested her head on his shoulder while he washed her down.

“You did so well tonight, love. I’m proud of you,” he told her, kissing her temple. “Are you feeling all right?”

Elain hummed in contentment. “Fine, just tired.”

His chuckle reverberated through her spine. “We’ll get to bed soon. I need to clean up the mess first and blow out all the candles. Do you think you can manage sitting in the tub a bit longer while I take care of that?”

“Mhmm.” She had no energy for anything else.

His soft laughter chased her in her dreams. Elain felt him climb out from behind her, carefully laying her back against the edge. “Don’t fall asleep, El.”

Good luck with that, she wanted to say but couldn’t. Her eyes had already drifted shut, but she could hear him opening the slider to the small balcony, letting in the fresh air, and then collecting all the items from their bed. She peaked an eye open, seeing him drop the toys in the sink to clean them.

Az didn’t bother to dress, standing nude at the counter as he took care of everything.

Gods, she loved him. He always did everything for her so she never had to worry about anything after sex.

Turning to face her, he grabbed a towel and knelt by the edge of the tub. “All right, love. Can you stand for me so I can dry you off?” He popped the drain, gripping her under the elbow to help her to her feet.

Elain swayed dangerously, making him lurch to hold her under her arm so she didn’t slip.

Az dried her off as best as he could, tossing the wet towel over to the sink before lifting her back into his arms and carrying her into bed, sliding them both under the covers he had pulled down.

She snuggled into his chest, lips pressing over his heart where her name was permanently tattooed. “I love you, Azriel.”

He held her close kissing the top of her head. “Sleep, my beautiful wife.”

But she was already gone, pulled by exhaustion into a dreamless slumber.

~~~~~

Azriel woke to sunlight streaming in from the white curtains across the balcony slider. The rays reflected in Elain’s golden-brown hair, strewn across her pillow. His beautiful, naked wife was curled up on her side, her back pressed into his chest. He was pretty sure his left arm was completely dead, but he didn’t care. Not when he woke up to her every goddamn morning of every day.

She was his wife.

Fuck, she was his wife.

He couldn’t believe he got to call her that forever now. Az didn’t know who he should be thanking for it, but he sent up his prayers to anybody who would listen. His arms were banded around her, one across her chest, the other slung over her waist. He tightened his hold on her, nuzzling deeper into her jasmine and honey scent. She always smelled so good.

The faint laughter of their family told him that they should probably get up soon—join them for breakfast before the jet flew everyone home. He and Elain were going to stay here for a few days before starting on their three-week honeymoon. They were flying to the Winter District first, staying in this dome-like cabin under the northern lights. From there, they would travel to the Spring District to go through its impressive rose gardens. Elain had always wanted to see them and he was obliged to give that to her.

Three whole weeks to themselves. Three weeks of traveling across the country, taking in different sights, sounds, and tastes.

Speaking of tastes, Azriel was greedy for the delicate taste of his wife. Breakfast before breakfast, he told himself, leaning in to kiss her bare shoulder. When she didn’t stir, he moved further into the junction of her neck. He swept his hands over her body, the black band on his fourth finger catching the morning rays.

Elain shifted then, murmuring something in her sleep. Still, she didn’t fully wake.

So, he moved his lips to her nape, kissing her there and nudging his nose into her.

She sighed softly, rolling back into his chest to look up at him. Elain flashed him a sleepy smile. “Good morning, husband.” Her voice was a whisper on the morning breeze.

Gods, when she called him that…he had never felt happiness like this. “Good morning, wife,” he told her, tone husky as he leaned down to claim her lips.

Elain responded to his ministrations eagerly, allowing him to roll on top of her. Her fingers wove into his mussed hair. “What time is it?” she asked as he kissed down her throat to the center of her chest.

Az looked up at her, her brown eyes already dark with lust. “Mid to late morning if I had to take a guess. Everyone else is up. I can hear them.” His tongue darted out to lap at her nipple, sucking the point deep into his mouth.

She sucked in a breath, arching into him and pushing her breast further between his teeth. “Az,” she moaned.

He slipped further down her body, settling between her thighs. His thumb stroked her slit, feeling the wetness that had gathered there already. “Hush, love. You have to be quiet or our family is going to hear you while I enjoy my breakfast.”

At the first swipe of his tongue, Elain clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes screwing shut.

Azriel chuckled against her, throwing her legs over his shoulders and setting a brutal pace. He licked her entrance, plunging his tongue in and out of her, then slid up her slit to suck her clit.

Elain grabbed a handful of his hair, moaning against her palm as she writhed against his mouth, fucking herself on his tongue.

He loved when she took her pleasure from him, rode him to her heart’s content like she was doing now.

With her grip on him, Elain undulated her hips into him, positioning his mouth where she wanted him—needed him. When she tugged him to her clit, he sucked it hard, careening her into her orgasm.

She came with a muffled cry, body going limp into the mattress.

Swiping his tongue up her slit one more time, Azriel kissed his way back up her body, bringing his mouth to hers and letting her taste herself.

Elain hummed, hooking an ankle over his hip and flipping them over. Straddling his waist, she kissed him again. “My turn.” Following a similar path he took, Elain made her way down to his aching cock, at attention and eagerly waiting for his wife’s delectable mouth.

“Fuck, Elain,” he groaned at the first lick.

She smirked at him from between his legs. “Quiet now. You don’t want our family to hear you while I eat my breakfast,” Elain teased, repeating his words back to him.

“Let them,” he growled, sucking in a breath when she swallowed him whole. Fuck, he brushed the back of her throat in her bobbing. Azriel grabbed her hair, holding it at the back of her head and off his thighs. He wanted to watch her suck him.

And suck him she did. Elain’s cheeks hallowed, taking him deep into her mouth and swirling her tongue around his shaft. The warmth was fucking heavenly. “Baby, I’m going to come,” he warned her, feeling the pull low in his belly.

It should be embarrassing how quickly he’d orgasm when she put her mouth on him, but frankly, he didn’t care about staving off when she fucked him with her mouth. It felt too good to stop. “El…”

Feeling him at the precipice of his orgasm, she took him as deep as her throat would allow, finishing him off with a final draw from her mouth.

Az came with a groan, spilling down her throat.

Elain pulled off him with an audible pop, swallowing everything he gave her.

Fuck he loved her. He said as much, grabbing her under his arms and hauling her up his body to kiss her roughly. “You have no idea how much I want to be buried inside of you right now, but we should probably get down there to see the family off. I have housekeepers coming today to clean this place.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “We should definitely put away the toys from last night before they get here.”

He laughed, alerting the others to their woken state because a few minutes later, Cash was banging on the front door, shouting, “Lovebirds, get up! I’ve got breakfast ready.”

“We’re coming!” he growled back, making Elain giggle into his chest. “Come on wife, let’s get dressed.”

Half an hour later, they were cleaned up, dressed, and making their way across the yard to the back patio where his brother had served up a ton of food. Bacon, eggs, potatoes, toast, fruit, and every breakfast drink you could imagine.

Azriel pulled out a chair at the table for Elain, pushing her in before taking a seat next to her. He grabbed platters of food, piling various things onto her plate before his own.

“Elain, you look incredibly well-rested,” Cassian said.

He froze in the middle of scooping fruit, eying his brother in suspicion.

El blinked at his brother. “I am Cash. Thank you.”

He knew it wasn’t a compliment based on the tone of voice. “Cash, if you ever want to have children again, I suggest you not voice whatever is sitting on the tip of your tongue,” he warned.

His wife glanced at him, brows furrowed. “What?”

But Cassian just threw an arm around Nesta’s shoulders, smirking. “I’m just saying, if she’s well-rested, then you must’ve not done your job last night well enough.”

Elain’s cheeks turned pink at the comment, but before he could throw the platter at his ass of a brother, she said, “Cash, perhaps you shouldn’t be so boastful. You should know that women tell each other everything.” Elain propped her cheek on her fist, staring his brother down. “And I mean, everything.”

He glanced at her, unsure of whatever it was she had on his brother, but he was curious. And the look that Cash shot her was not one of pride, but rather one of caution.

“You don’t know anything,” he dared.

His wife’s smile was nothing short of chilling.

“Oh, really? I wouldn’t be so quick, to assume.”

Cassian’s face went pale and he whipped his head to Nesta who was trying not to smile, patting her daughter’s back. “You told her?!” he accused.

Nesta buried her face into the side of Sutton’s head, trying to hold back her laugh.

Feyre raised a glass across the table. “I can back, Elain.” The younger Archeron winked at his wife, sipping from her mimosa.

Cash gaped at the three women. “I can’t believe you told them,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

Nesta patted his thigh. “It was years ago, babe. Who cares?”

“I care,” he muttered, looking put out.

Azriel reached under the table to grip Elain’s thigh, pouring her a mimosa from the pitcher on the table.

She slid her hand into his, lacing their fingers together. Picking up her glass, she clinked it on his, her smile brighter than pure sunshine.

He couldn’t stop himself from leaning down to kiss her, oblivious to the whoops and hollers from their family. Az ignored all of that and just let himself enjoy the moment with his gorgeous wife.

~~~

A few hours later, the newly married couple was lying on the beach, soaking up the sun’s warmth. He had dragged out two lounge chairs, sitting them side by side in the sand. Elain looked ridiculously good in her high-waisted bikini.

He had thoroughly ravished her body last night, her creamy skin plastered with his claiming marks. A few were covered by the swimsuit, but the ones on her neck, her ribcage, between the swells of her breasts remained visible.

Fuck she looked sexy covered in his bites.

And Elain didn’t seem to mind them showing, walking out of the house with the confidence of a queen.

Az had groaned at the sight of her. “I did a number on your body,” he’d told her.

She simply smirked, stating, “Perhaps you can add another one later.” Then she handed him the bottle of sunscreen and asked him to lather her back up.

He definitely did more than just her back, kneeling to cover her gorgeous legs, her toned arms, her ample chest, and her lithe waist. She laughed when his fingers slipped into her bikini top, asking him what he was doing. “Making sure my wife doesn’t get burned.”

Elain could only shake her head at his antics.

Laying out, she had tipped her floppy hat down, shading her face as she napped, the book she’d been reading discarded in the sand underneath her chair.

Noticing the pinkening on her stomach, Azriel got up, grabbing the bottle of sunscreen to rub more on her.

She jolted slightly at the contact.

“You’re getting pink,” he explained, spreading the white cream over her body. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Elain hummed, running her hand up his arm. Quick as a flash, she pulled his Ray Bans off his face.

He gave her an exasperated look. “What are you doing?” Az laughed.

“Here, you can wear mine,” she said, holding out her pink aviators to him and pushing his onto her nose.

Huffing, he grabbed hers from her outstretched hand and slid them onto his face. “How do I look?”

“Fabulous,” she said, grinning.

He grabbed her waist, hauling her over his shoulder and making her squeal.

“Azriel! What are you doing?” she laughed.

“Taking my wife swimming, that’s what.”

She smacked him on the butt. “Put me down!”

“No,” he said, popping her on the ass. “And believe me, baby, if you want to start the ass-smacking, I will win.”

Azriel should’ve known that her silence wasn’t her conceding, but that wicked little mind coming up with something truly devious. He hadn’t anticipated her grabbing his hips and biting him on the cheek.

A shout sounded from his throat, and he whipped her back over his shoulder to carry her bridal style. “You little minx. Did you just bite my ass?” He stared down at her in disbelief.

“I told you to put me down. It’s your fault,” she told him, smiling sweetly.

The heated look he shot her had her squirming in his arms. “Oh, I will get even for that later tonight.” His sensual promise had blood rushing to her cheeks. Despite his desire to turn around and carry her right up to the house and fuck her senseless, he continued into the cool water, setting her on her feet about thigh deep.

Elain bent at the waist, dragging her fingers in the waves. Giving him a feline smirk, she splashed him and took off running.

Stunned for a second, Azriel ran after his wife, following the sound of her joyful laugh. When he finally caught her, he kissed her like it was his last.

~~~~~

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powderblueblood · 9 months

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I’m a slut for a good heist, what’ve you got cooked up so far? 💜

cee my love let us walk and talk

so the conman!steve au has been once again on my mind like a hat for many a hundred of year mostly because i want him to have his danny ocean moment!!!! and danny ocean isn't full smooth either, he's got a little goofy energy like steve has

this really came to light after i got this whopper prompt request from my love cherry @stveharringtn

and with this i formulated the plan.

steve is fresh out of the joint, and you're a former mark of his. you met him while working at a country club in order to put yourself through college. during this whirlwind little affair, he (stupidly?) had you stash a number of stolen pieces of jewelry on his behalf. he eventually went to jail for this and the running theory is you're the one who ratted him out-- the main runner of this theory is robin buckley, president of the don't shit where you eat club, and steve can see where she's coming from. but still. love prevails and makes you do dumb shit.

you, on the other hand? well, since steve's arrest, you changed your career path-- studied to become a gemologist so the next time some bastard in a linen suit asks you to hold a couple of sparklers, you'll at least know what they're worth. you're currently working as a fence in new york's diamond district.

and steve harrington is back on the streets. and old habits die hard.

supporting cast of characters include but are not limited to--

the aforementioned robin buckley as steve's partner in crime (our resident rusty ryan), dustin henderson as the bright-eyed young pickpocket-turned-professional conman under steve and robin's detailed tutelage, eddie munson as our beloved munitions expert, lucas sinclair and mike wheeler as the resident getaway drivers and will byers as the surveillance expert.

and on your end? you've got jane hopper and max mayfield working as your very own diamond scouts-- two former teenage cat burglars who you weren't about to leave starving in hell's kitchen.

the student becomes the master.

but then the master approaches you with a plan to lift millions of precious jewels from a prestigious new york exhibit (one that nancy wheeler happens to be managing (robin? your wife is calling)). he also plans on lifting YOUR HEART!!!!!!!!! FUCK!!!!!!

#powder room talk #whatis-much #conman!steve #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fic #wips #our cee ❤️‍🔥#clear cut

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jaredonlinestore · 2 years

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Phoenix's Best Jewelers For Your Special Occasion: Diamond Jewelry

Phoenix’s Best Jewelers For Your Special Occasion: Diamond Jewelry

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#Best jewelers Phoenix #best jewelry stores Phoenix #jewelry Phoenix diamond district #jewelry store in Phoenix #jewelry stores in Phoenix #Phoenix luxury jewelry

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happyhauntt · 10 months

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BURIAL GROUND, a hunger games fic. ─── summary: In District Four, they teach you how to survive the Games. They don’t teach you how to survive what comes after. ─── warnings: this story contains triggering themes including sexual assault & rape, prostitution, self-harm and thoughts of suicide, death and canon-typical violence. these themes, along with others, are prevalent in the hunger games universe and will come up in this story, so please don’t read if these things affect you! ─── fic tag. read on ao3. fic masterlist.

CHAPTER TWO ─── pretty things��(5.1k words.)

LONG AGO, BEFORE THE GAMES clawed their way into Nimah's life, she dreamed of being the guest of honour at one of President Snow's glittering pageants.

She remembers being a seven year old girl, crouched right in front of the television in her old house. Her mother bustling in the kitchen, her father at the factory, her grandparents sitting on rickety wooden chairs behind her. They were chattering to one another in hushed voices, pretending not to watch the broadcast.

Her brother, Caspian, had been at the combat academy. Months before had been his first reaping. He'd been twelve and terrified, with trembling hands he'd balled into fists to hide the tremors. He'd worn his best shirt and their mother had combed his hair, and he'd stood in line with the rest of the children to await his fate.

He hadn't been chosen. Both Nimah and Caspian were born with knives in their hands and sweat on their brow, but she'd still been a child then, too. She still had chubby cheeks and shining brown eyes, and she'd leaned in so close to the television that every breath made the image flicker.

Nim's parents spent every bit of money they had to send their children to the combat academies. Nim learned to fight as soon as she could walk, and yet, with her knees pressed into the grimy carpet, the horrors of the Games never reached her. Only the glamour of the Victors, bathed in riches beyond all imagining.

She had dreamed of Snow's parties. The champagne, the glitter woven through her hair, dripping in jewelry and adored by the nation. On television, the Presidential Palace stood proud and pale, seeming to shine beneath the lights. Nim had wanted to be there. She'd so badly wanted to have that life.

She had not known what her naivety would cost her.

The diamonds wrap around her throat like a noose. Jeweled bracelets layered upon bird-like wrists feel like shackles weighing her down. The lights that had made the mansion shine on television are blinding in real-life, technicolour flashes painting rainbows across the party.

Everyone else is made to shine, too ━ skin splashed with gold-and-turquoise body paint, gems of every kind adorning every surface of their bodies, everyone draped in expensive silks and brocades. Each and every Capitol citizen trying to outdo one another, to look more outrageous than the next, trying to grab the attention of the cameras, the president, anyone worth something.

Unfortunately for them, all eyes have been on Nimah Caplan since the moment she won her Games.

President Snow's mansion has always been a sight to behold; whether she is seeing is through a television screen or in person, the grandeur of his home never fails to take her breath away. Tonight, the ballroom has been transformed into what Nimah assumes must be intended to imitate Mount Olympus.

High above her head, stars twinkle where dozens of chandeliers used to be. It must be an illusion, some trick of the light or a clever projection, but the dark abyss of the night sky stares back at her. In spite of the bright stars and pretty constellations, it feels as if it is trying to swallow her whole.

All around, there are guests lounging on soft sofas and large, fluffy cushions. There are fireplaces and gardens and small ponds filled with exotic fish, and the faint scent of honey lingers on the air. Everyone here behaves as if they belong; as if they truly are gods resting on their mount in the heavens, ruling over the unfortunate mortals below.

Nim is too used to playing the role of goddess.

As sure as she is with a knife in her hand, temptation is the game Nimah was truly born to play. Her eye patch is bedazzled with emeralds and held in place by a stiff golden braid, and her hair, left to fall down her back in sleek curls, is speckled with rhinestones. Her stylist chose a forest-green dress, simple by the Capitol's standards ━ swathes of silk pool around her ankles, a sweetheart neckline guards her modesty, and the sleeves come all the way down to her wrists.

To anyone who looks ━ and all eyes are on her, the belle of the ball ━ she is the very image of an angel. Saintly and demure, she floats through the ballroom, gracing familiar faces with a pleasant, welcome smile. But when she walks, those watching will catch brief flashes of smooth skin, courtesy of the thigh-high slit in her dress.

She knows how best to get them talking.

Someone taps her shoulder. For a moment, Nim's whole body stiffens, her muscles coiled to strike out at the stranger. Within seconds, the facade slips seamlessly back into place; she turns on her heel and greets the man, someone she recognises vaguely from other Capitol parties, as an old friend. She allows him to take her hand, lets him lead her into the center of the dance floor.

He twirls her slowly, his grip on her waist too tight to be polite. Her senses scream at her to run ━ to peel his roaming hands off her body and snap his fingers like twigs ━ but she carries herself as she always does. She lets him touch her, tossing her head back to laugh at every word he says, more of a showpiece than a person tonight.

That's all he wants. Everyone to watch them, him dancing with her. To watch his light fingers wandering dangerously close to inappropriate places, to know that he got to touch her, the Capitol's darling.

When the song ends, he finally releases her. She gives him a coquettish smile and promises to save him another dance for later in the evening. No sooner has he left that someone else arrives ━ a woman this time, who kisses both of Nim's cheeks, her spidery lashes fluttering against Nim's skin in a way that makes her stomach churn.

Her skin burns, but the mask never slips. Not for a moment.

In the Capitol, Nim becomes someone else so easily, it's like she never existed before. The moment she steps off the train, her sharp heels clicking against the pavement, the cameras flashing, dazzling her, she is a shapeshifter. A woman once dead, come alive again.

When people are watching, there is nothing else she can afford to be. She'll paint her lips red and flash her smiles, make them all swoon for her; the performance, the persona she slips into, did not come easily at first. Now she is a well-oiled machine, a doll the Capitol gets to play with, to dress up or dress down, to play with and then discard. The mindless gossip, the glitter, the constant reaching hands, all of it is precise.

She can play her part better than anybody else, but it leaves her reeling for weeks after.

Some of the others don't play their parts as well ━ and some of them, the unlucky few, have very different roles.

Cosmo Byrd lies slumped over one of the sofas in the corner of the ballroom. There are some who earned their victories, like Nimah and Finnick, with blood and guts and lifetimes of guilt to show for it. They parade around with their crowns forged in death. They are society's glittering elite ━ the ones who fought. The ones who earned it.

Then there are the ones, like Cosmo and Annie Cresta, who were lucky. They snatched their lives back from the jaws of death through sheer circumstance, and now they must live with the trauma of it. He was seventeen when he became the Victor of the 60th Hunger Games, and all that time he was just a boy running scared. The last one standing.

In the fourteen-and-a-half years since that moment, he has never stopped running.

There is a boy attached to his neck; in the hazy light, Nimah can just make out blue-painted nails and hair slicked back with green paint. Cosmo lifts a hand and greets her with a lazy smile. She wonders if he knows who he's waving at, or even where he is.

A presence hovers near Nimah's elbow as she finishes dancing with another Capitol citizen. It is strangely comforting, the way the man's pink irises flicker between her and the girl at her side. He bids her goodbye, stuttering as he does so, before swooping back into the crowd that huddles at the edge of the dance floor.

With a gentle smile, Nim turns to greet her old friend. "Derry. Enjoying the party?"

If Nimah is the bright shining light at the center of a room, attracting glossy-eyed people like moths to a flame, then Alderry Minette is a lightning strike in the middle of a forest. Something about her has always screamed DANGER ━ from her sharp jaw to the curve of her lips, the devious look in her eyes and the strange quickness with which she can move, standing at Alderry's side has always felt more like handling a pit viper.

Perhaps that is why, after all these years, Nimah feels more at ease when Derry is in the room than anywhere else in the world. With Derry near, everyone else seems to steer clear; they know who she is, how she won, what those quick little hands are capable of.

She won the 68th Hunger Games, two years after Nimah. She was sixteen.

She was one of the ones who earned it.

Derry flashes a quick grin. "As much as I enjoy any other party. When do you have to leave?"

Nim clenches her jaw for a split second, the only flaw in an otherwise perfect performance. She glances quickly at the edges of the room; the doorways are cloaked in shadow, almost giving the impression that there is no escape from this decadent illusion. Something about that reminds her of the arena so suddenly that her lungs constrict painfully.

If Alderry notices, she doesn't remark on it.

"I'll go when the party's over, and not before," Nimah says finally, when the panicked feeling passes. It leaves behind that prickling static that dances across her skin; it never really goes away. She spares a glance around the room, wondering if her client for the evening is among the guests, or whether she'll find them waiting at her apartment. They might be eager to begin with her, but they'll have to be patient. President Snow likes her to stick around until the end of the festivities, showing off. "Was fight club before the party, or after?"

Derry gives an unpleasant snort. Her faces has been splashed in rouge and shadows; her eyes streaked with black liner, her cheeks and lips painted pink to highlight her porcelain skin. Her hair is sewn with quartz crystals. She looks more like a doll than a killer.

"They'd never risk bruising my face before the party," says Derry, a cold smile curling on her lips. She swipes two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and offers one to Nimah, who accepts it gladly, downing the contents in one mouthful.

They all have their parts to play. Nimah and Finnick, the Capitol's darlings. Cosmo, a cautionary tale. Alderry Minette, a bloodthirsty girl, forced into underground fighting rings to earn money for sponsers.

And Katniss and Peeta, Nimah thinks, as they enter the ballroom together. She wonders what roles they will have to play.

All attention shifts to the newly-engaged couple, and Nimah slumps for a moment, taking the opportunity to catch her breath. Most of the time she can make herself love the lights, the glitter, the attention when it's happening. She can regress to the starry-eyed child who wanted to be there, shining ━ but not at the cost of who she is.

These people, all of them, think they know her because they watched her transform from an innocent girl to a teenage killer on a television screen. They don't know half the shit inside her head. They don't know half the shit she went through. It sticks to the inside of her skull, messy and black and congealed. She tries her best to deal with it, but the more she scrapes and claws at it, the messier it gets.

Her whole body is a cage. Her skin holds back a tide of black matter, of rage and ruin; it wants to escape. It wants to stain everyone it can, to blacken everything Nim touches, to make the world as dark and messy as she feels.

She can smile, and smile, and flatter and shine, but her fingernails still bleed when she scratches at her bedroom walls. The inside of her throat is still raw from screaming, from the alcohol she swallows to fall asleep at night, to keep the nightmares at bay.

Nimah catches her reflection in her champagne glass. Just for a moment, her gaze lingers. Someone strange stares back at her; a green-eyed, eye-patched girl she cannot be now. She wrinkles her nose, bile rising in the back of her throat, and she passes it off to another waiter. Her hands tremble; she closes them into fists and prays for the shaking to pass.

"I feel sorry for the poor kids," Derry mutters, taking a sip from her own glass.

Katniss and Peeta are sixteen, just teenagers, their faces fresh and pulled wide with smiles as they circle the room, led by their escort. Their eyes are shiny and bright, they kiss the cheeks of those clamouring to meet them, but there is a tensity in their shoulders that Nimah knows only too well.

She frowns. "All of us were those kids."

And none of them are kids anymore.

She shakes herself out of her daze, plastering a pleasant look on her face as the other guests flock back to the dance floor.

Gently, she taps Alderry on the shoulder, leaning close to murmur in the woman's ear. "Check on Cosmo before you leave for fight club, please?" She spares a glance at their barely-conscious friend. She wishes she could spend her days in a similar state of numbness. "Another public overdose is what none of us need."

Alderry nods. Nimah leaves her, disappearing back into the crowd as stretching hands reach out to brush over her shoulders, her face. A million tiny spiders scatter across her skin.

She finds Finnick at the other end of the ballroom. He stands tall, like a statue made of bronze, copper hair glowing beneath the dim lights. The crisp edges of his suit are bedazzled with precious gems; when she reaches him, emerging from the crowd of admirers like a rose blooming in the summertime, he greets her with a gracious, slightly-relieved smile.

"Dance with me?" It is more of a demand than a request. She stands too closely to him, trailing the tip of her finger along the sapphires on his lapel. She leans in and murmurs, "It'll look good, like the king and queen dancing. That's always great publicity."

The corner of Finnick's lip twitches with the hint of a frown. He always struggled to understand the difference in Nimah, when she comes to the Capitol. As a snake sheds its skin, she sheds her insecurities and twirls in her sparkling dresses. At home, she cannot sleep without a light on in every room. She is frightened and fierce, two entirely separate entities. He always wondered how two creatures like that could live inside the same body.

But now he sees the anxiety flickering in her eye. The nervous flick of her wrist as she flattens down his lapel. They're watching us. He can feel their eyes, too, all of them, like a burial shroud. Without another word, he leads her into a dance.

Most of the time, he's used to it. Someone is always watching. You get used to the burn that comes with eyes staring at you. Like an unfamiliar smell in your bedroom. At first, it's all you can think about ━ how different everything feels. But if you live with it long enough, it becomes part of your life. Another thing to carry.

His fingers hold tightly to Nimah's waist, their hands clasped together. She lets him lead, for once. The song changes to a light, airy tune, floating down from above them. The other dancers seem to distance themselves, making space for their golden Victors in the center of the dance floor.

Nim plasters a deceptive grin on her face, one that must be convincing to everyone in the room except him. Finnick cannot tell whether it is a blessing or a curse that he knows her so well.

"I hate this," she murmurs, so quietly that he almost doesn't hear her. Her lips hardly move, the words breathed between her teeth as if they are some secret, revolutionary covenant that cannot ever be heard by prying ears.

Finnick gives her waist a gentle squeeze. Nim can't tell if it's because he has one more year of this under his belt than her, or if the looseness of his shoulders comes naturally, but his smile is too easy. He is all charm.

Is it easier for him? Did he just... adjust better than she did?

Their hell will last for only a few hours more, at most. By midday tomorrow, they'll both be on a train back to their district, and the decompression will begin. Nim will lock herself inside her house for days, hiding beneath the duvet with all the lights turned on, an empty bottle resting on the pillow beside her. Hobbs might try and break the door down again, if he doesn't see any movement through the windows.

"It won't be like this forever." The words taste stale and false on his tongue.

Nim scoffs. She looks up at him through her lashes, her lime-green eye narrowed scornfully. The emeralds on her eye patch wink. "You're too smart to believe that."

He doesn't try to correct her.

When the song ends, morphing into another ethereal melody, Nimah peels herself away. The few minutes of peace she earned with Finnick vanish as she slips back into the sea of guests. Various excuses spill from her lips as she makes a beeline towards one of the tables lining the walls, an array of stunning food laid out to be sampled.

She plucks a small, rose-shaped pastry from a plate and pops it into her mouth whole, careful not to smear her lipstick. A delighted moan springs from someone nearby, and her eye wanders to find Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire and the Capitol's newest obsession, with another pastry caught between her fingers.

"Congratulations." Nim's heel-clad feet carry her toward Katniss before she truly knows what she's doing. "On winning your Games."

Katniss looks startled, choking on a stray flake of pastry for a moment. She swallows quickly, a strange frown overtaking her features as she realises who spoke. "You're Nimah Caplan," says Katniss. "You, uh..."

The younger girl struggles to find the right words. Nimah chuckles. "You can say it, you know. I killed my brother." The wet squelch rings in her ears; her brother's dying words float through her brain. She thought it would hurt less, almost ten years later. When someone dies so you can survive, though, that pain stays with you like an open wound.

Still, she presses her lips together in a grim smile. "My favourite response is usually your Games were very memorable. But not more memorable than yours, hm? Two victors." It isn't bitterness that colours her voice; it's almost wonder. "Star-crossed lovers."

Katniss narrows her gaze for a moment, as if trying to decipher whether Nimah is mocking her. In spite of the scorn curling up in her ribs, though, Nimah wouldn't mock Katniss. Not for such a clever move. Not for pulling one over on a system designed to make them suffer.

"You're not very good at masking your feelings, are you?" Nimah mutters, observing the uncomfortable tension in Katniss' jaw. Nim keeps her features locked in a steady smile, always ready for the cameras. "You'll learn to. You'll have to. But you don't love him, huh?"

Katniss doesn't respond.

Nim almost doesn't expect her to; denying it would be an outright lie, and both of them know better to tell half-truths in the Capitol, a city built of pretty falsehoods.

The muscles jump in Katniss' cheek. Nim fixes the younger girl with a piercing eye. "There are worse things," she says quietly, turning back to the dessert table. She surveys the pastries, one ring-laden hand lingering over some chocolate tarts. "There are roles we have to play for the rest of our lives. Most of us would kill to be in your place, Katniss. Can I call you Katniss?"

The District 12 girl blinks. Nimah wonders if Katniss is imagining lodging a knife in her throat.

"Playing happy families is a dream compared to what some of us have to do." Perhaps she is being cruel, but it's not her intention. She was thirteen, but she could've been sixteen; she could've fallen in love, or pretended to, just to get out of there alive.

Nim has too many regrets, but there is only one thing she would do differently.

Her brother would be standing here, instead, if she could make that happen.

The silence between them stretches on as Nim chooses another pastry, the otherworldly music wrapping around them like silk, swallowing them whole; insects caught in a fantasy, something soft and warm to keep them happy while they are digested.

Then Katniss says, "What happened to your eyes? I don't recall hearing about any head injuries in your Games..."

Nimah swallows roughly, her smooth facade chipped slightly at the edges. She turns to face Katniss, and finds the younger girl staring at her through narrowed eyes, triumph dancing through her expression.

Perhaps, Nimah realises, Katniss is better at this game than she thought.

"It happened after."

She hardly remembers it; the hilt of the kitchen knife clutched in her hand, digging into her skin. The white-hot flash of pain and the blood and the screaming. The memories of that awful morning stay hazy and pale at the edges of her mind, and she is thankful that she cannot remember the true horror of it.

"A few years ago." She wipes the discomfort from her eyes, paints the simple smile back onto her face as if she is some perfectly-poised doll. "It was an accident."

Katniss clicks her tongue, and mutters, "Some of us have to do what we have to do, huh?"

Nimah nods soundlessly. "Call me if you need any advice," she says, after another moment of silence passes between them. She takes a step closer to Katniss; she stands half-a-head taller than the younger girl in her heels. Her eyes bores into Katniss, almost pleading. Her voice is low when she adds, "The fight is over. We've got the rest of our lives to deal with now, and it's easier to do it together."

She spent years hiding. Growing thorns instead of skin, pushing away anyone who dared try to help her, dared to try and share her feelings. All of them are Victors. All of them won their Games.

Now they get to live with it.

. . .

THE NEXT MORNING, Nimah lies on the bare wooden floors of her apartment, in the patch of sunlight streaming in through the window. She doesn't know if the weather outside is truly good or bad; she changed all the windows to show only sunny days the moment she got the keys, and ever since, her mornings in the Capitol have been spent wishing the sun could burn her up.

President Snow pays for it. Nimah is sure he pays for all of their apartments in the city, so the Victors he chooses to use for his own gain are always shown in the best light. Expensive furnishings, silk bedclothes, he made sure these rooms were a luxurious paradise fit for a queen.

Nimah emptied out all the furniture as soon as she could.

She kept the bedroom the same; perfumed bed sheets with a thread count higher than the sky, candelabras in the corners, a rug that must've cost a fortune, which Nimah poured a bottle of red wine over out of spite. But everything other room is bare.

She wanted a place that felt safe and empty. The Capitol has never been either of these things, but in the middle of a bare room, with wooden floorboards digging into her shoulder blades, she can trick herself into believing something else for a moment or two.

A light tap at the front door grabs her attention, but Nimah doesn't move. She lays still, her limbs protesting against the discomfort of the floor, the urge to run rising as heavy footsteps thud across the floor, but then Cosmo's face dips into her line of sight.

He raises an eyebrow, a silent question. His eyes scrape over the dress she wears, the same dress from the night before, except one of the sleeves has been torn away, exposing her arm to the sunlight. One knee is drawn up, so the slit in the skirt falls away almost completely.

Nimah remains quiet, and Cosmo accepts her non-answer, lying on the floor next to her. She wonders if he cares about the dust sticking to his brocade waistcoat.

He rakes one hand through thick, curly hair before drawing a lighter from his pocket. He lights the cigarette that dangled between his fingers and takes a drag; the heady scent of cloves and some sweet drug Nimah can't identify clouds the air around them in a pale yellow haze.

She plucks it from his grip and takes a long drag. Her lungs fill with smoke, an unfamiliar sweetness sits at the back of her throat. Before she can take another drag, Cosmo swats her and snatches the cigarette back.

Nim blows smoke through her lips. She watches it swirl through the air, long tendrils curling and then vanishing entirely. "This wasn't what I thought it would be."

Cosmo turns his head to face her, blowing smoke into her face. "What, the cigarette?"

She reaches out and flicks the end of it; ash sprinkles down to powder Cosmo's face with tiny speckles of black-and-white. He rolls his eyes at her. "Go on."

"Not the sex." That's almost empowering, for Nimah ━ for an hour she can be the center of someone's world, feel the illusion of total control. She can make someone feel exactly as she wants, twist the whole world to her whims for just a little while. When, for so long, control has been something that slips through her fingers like sand, pretending to possess some is a strong tonic.

But it isn't her choice.

"If I decided to stop, someone would get hurt." Fear races, black and cold, through her bones. It leaves her shivering. "Look at what happened to you. And Haymitch."

Cosmo looks away, and takes a long drag of the cigarette. Something in his dark eyes turns murky. It aches them both to think about it; Cosmo Byrd, ten years her senior, a man who'd love to slip inside of himself and never, ever come out.

Nimah wishes she didn't know about what happened to Cosmo's family. She wishes she didn't have that knowledge hanging over her like a sword, a threat to never step out of line.

"Do you think it makes Finnick feel better?" she murmurs. Her green eye finds the window; she fixes her gaze on the artificial sun glaring through until her eye waters. "Taking secrets instead of money. If it makes him feel less used, less... dirty."

She doesn't remember much of what happened, but she recalls how it felt in perfect clarity. The knife in her hand, the way she'd driven it into her own skull. How much it had hurt. How relieved she'd been, to believe she'd found a way out of this.

"This is the game, honey. You bought a winning ticket," Cosmo tells her, glassy eyes settled on the bare ceiling, "and you get a lifetime supply of bullshit as your prize."

Above all else, Nimah wishes she'd known, as thirteen-year-old girl craving glory, that it wasn't such a pretty thing.

#* fic: burial ground.#* chapter update.#the hunger games #thg series #finnick odair #the hunger games fanfiction #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x oc #finnick odair x reader #* ch: nimah caplan.

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