#one day ill have to make a decision one way or another. but i think either way might kill me

[toastsnaffler]

this assay is so fucking fake......

[allfearstofallto]

I Wonder if You Look Both Ways When You Cross My Mind

Yandere! Lyney x Fem! Reader

Part of {Mai Playlist}

“I'd like to give one last thank you to my assistant, Lynette,” Lyney called to the large crowd, before turning to you who still stood nervously on the stage. All the hot lights and loud cheering had you stiff as a board, wondering if your idleness made the show boring. But he still lifted your hand and placed a chaste kiss upon the back of it, “And another thank you to my wonderful audience volunteer.”

Another round of applause rang through, followed by a bow from Lyney and the curtains falling. Once all of the many eyes were off you, you felt as if your shoulders could finally slump, you could relax. Lyney, still gripping your hand stroked his thumb across it, a gentle smile on his face. You were starstruck at being able to meet the Lyney, not able to pull away from him and barely even being able to speak, other than what would be considered typical fangirling jurgen.

“You were an excellent volunteer,” he praised you while mystically pulling a flower from the sleeve of his shirt, “And a rather beautiful one at that, if you don't mind me saying. Have you ever considered acting? Maybe in a certain magician's troupe?”

You flushed from his bombardment of compliments, your hands trembling around the stem of the ruby red rose, “Oh, I could never-” you began to deny, but one of his hands was already at your cheek, calming you before you could speak ill of yourself.

“Nonsense,” He hushed you, “A beauty like you needs to be seen by the world, don't you think?”

Stage fright was the least of your problems. You found yourself lacking in fluidity, stiff when eyes were on your and not interesting to look at. Not eccentric and loud like Lyney, but not cold and captivatingly mysterious like Lynette. There was nothing you could do that would add to an already complete show, so politely, you declined.

“Of course,” Lyney said, seeming like he was forcing the words through gritted teeth. When you turned to leave, he squeezed your hand, a little too tightly, almost painfully. You let out a yelp and looked back at him, but he let you go with a playful laugh and a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

You found yourself at another Lyney show only a few nights later, having luckily won a ticket in a random drawing, much to your surprise, but you weren't upset about it. The energy of the crowd was almost addicting and the show never dull. Even though he seemed to perform everyday, Lyney had a way of making his set fresh, keeping it from ever growing boring.

Then came the part where a number was drawn, choosing which lucky audience member would join him on stage. Familiar butterflies swarmed in your stomach as you remembered your own number being picked during the last show. That same mixture of joy and fear. The crowd waited with bated breaths for who's number would be called.

“Seat number 47,” Lynette spoke softly into her microphone. Hushed whispers traveled across the room, waiting for the person who's number was called to stand. For you to stand. It was your seat number.

You could hear whispers about how you'd been chosen only a few days earlier as your feet that felt like lead carried you towards the stage. Lyney, once again, took your hand and helped you up, the same as before. Your body shook as you nervously smiled up at the man, who held your hand as he walked you to the center of the stage, eyeing you the entire time and not once the crowd.

“I should tell you, my darling audience that this decision was indeed rigged,” he squeezed your hand again as a wave of murmurs filled the room. Somehow those words made your heart drop to your stomach as sweat began to pool on your forehead, “I couldn't think of another way to introduce my newest partner and my perfect girlfriend,”

Dumbfounded didn't begin to describe the look on your face, nor the bewilderment you were feeling. You tried to see if he was referring to anyone else, but you were truly the only person on the stage and almost as if to prove his point, the back of your hand was kissed, his deep blue eyes lingering on your face as he gestured for the crowd to applaud again.

“I am a man that's not easily charmed, yet she truly took my breath away,” noises of interest followed and all you could do was stand there, opening and closing your mouth, unable to think of what to say. You could barely stand silently in front of a large crowd, let alone tell them that something was wrong.

So when Lyney leaned forward, pressing his cold lips against yours and placing a hand on the small of your back, you did nothing. When he pulled from that kiss, flashing you an almost sinister smile with eyes that looked empty, your voice bitched in your throat, almost keeping you from speaking a word.

“Forgive me for my vulgar actions, my dear audience!” Another statement spoken to the crowd as he held you firmly in place, “I simply can't keep my hands off of my sweet, my darling, my love, ma chérie!”

[jarofstyles]

prince harry and common girl lover (best friends since childhood) + “we can’t keep hiding like this”

OH YES!!!! A bit of forbidden love.

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The wind billowed the edge of the blanket they laid on, hiding underneath the willow tree as the sun got a bit lower in the sky. Being wrapped in Harry's arms was the most safe she ever felt, despite the fact it was the most dangerous place to be. His heart thumped steadily against her cheek, fingers running over the opposite as she felt his eyes burning a hole into her.

"We can't keep hiding like this." His voice rasped, lips turned downward. "I can't handle it anymore, Petal. I've been trying to find ways to be alright with hiding how much of my heart that you own but I keep hitting a wall. I believe it's because something is telling me I shouldn't hide you." He gently ran his knuckle over the bridge of her nose. "I want to tell them. Everyone."

Y/N's eyes burned as she closed them, trying to control the shaky exhale she released. It didn't work. She knew he was an optimist, her beautiful sunshine prince, but he had too much to lose. She couldn't be selfish with him, not when the entire kingdom would rely on him one day. "You know we shouldn't, Harry. You've been promised to someone else since the day you were noticed in your mother's belly." It was hard to control her voice, the weakness of it giving it away to Harry that she was struggling.

Nudging her up, he cupped the side of her face and thumbed over the high round of her cheek. Eyes scanned her face, taking in her slightly wobbly bottom lip and the glaze over her eyes that wrecked him. It shouldn't be this difficult. He shouldn't have to hide the person he loved with his entire being, so much so that she consumed him. He knew his mother would understand, but his father would be resistant. He would tell him that a future king had to make decisions they didn't like, and he would need to abide by the arrangement.

"I want to marry you, Petal." He whispered, connecting their lips at the end of the word. It was a pained kiss, one he was trying to melt into softness. Take away the brittle edges and file them down smoothly, let her feel the way he did. His sweet girl was so afraid, so nervous of what would become of them but Harry couldn't fathom a world without her at his side. "I want you to lay next to me at night, I want your hand in mine, your lips to only ever feel the shape of my own. I crave you every single second you are away from me. Don't you understand? How I yearn for you, I ache. Not just to be inside of you, but to be with you. To listen to your breaths as you sleep, just knowing that you're there." He swallowed thickly, nudging his nose against her own and took another kiss. Harder this time, a harsh breath leaving his nose as he pulled her, moving her dress so she could straddle his lap.

"My love, my sweet, my Petal. Please... allow me to take the risk." He pleaded. "Allow me to tell them of us, let me take the punishments if need be. I will do anything for you." His words were whimpered as he pressed frantic kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her forehead. "I feel like I'm going insane. As the day of the engagement party grows closer, I feel the walls of the castle getting smaller. I feel suffocated. The only time I can breathe is with you." His hands clutched her close, almost as if to prevent her from slipping through his fingers.

"Oh, Harry." She whispered sadly, watching his eyes water. It was unlike him, her sunshine prince. He was so bright, so warm. To see the storm clouds settle over the sun was alarming and she hated the sight. It wasn't right. "Do you think I don't feel the same? That I'm not physically ill at the idea of you bedding someone other than me, even if it is only to provide an heir? Do you think I don't cry in my bed after I leave the sparkling stars and you, wishing I could crawl back to you? But I feel so selfish." She pecked his nose, letting their foreheads rest together. "So, so selfish. What if they strip your title? What if they banish you? What if it's forced regardless and there's a rift between you and your family? I cannot bear the idea of ruining your life. I can't take the sunshine away from you."

The world was quiet. The birds chirped and the branches moved, leaves rustling in the wind, but the only sound they could hear was each others breaths and their own heartbeats in their ears.

"I would let them." He whispered after a moment. "I would let them take it all away from me before I let them take you. I don't think you grasp how much you mean to me. You are my heart." His eyes burned as he looked at her. "I would run with you, I would find us somewhere and build a life with you. Nothing else matters more than you." He sniffled, pressing his lips back against her and laying repetitive kisses to her lips. It was hard to convey just how much he truly loved her. How she had his heart in her hands and his should wrapped around her finger.

"Harry..." She laughed through a tear, looking down at the hand holding her waist tight. "I hope you know I feel the same for you. You're what I need." Her fingers brushed the hair that had fallen into his face, the soft curls unfairly highlighted caramel in the sunlight that bled through the leaves. He was inhumanly handsome. "I'm afraid for you."

"I'm afraid for myself if I don't admit my love for you. I can't be trapped in a loveless marriage when I have a love. The greatest lover there is. I want children with you, I want you by my side. Whether I'm king or not, having you would be my biggest accomplishment." He meant every word. Every beat of his heart belonged to her. "I'm going to tell them. I'm going to make you my wife, regardless of the cost. All I'll ever need is you."

[transform4u]

Getting taught a lesson

Ethan Campbell sat in his car, staring at his phone with a sense of resignation. His fingers scrolled through job boards as he contemplated his future, the morning sunlight casting a dull glow inside the car. Another day of teaching loomed ahead, an event he approached with all the enthusiasm of a dental appointment. The prospect of facing another day teaching the morons on this campus and dealing with their behavior was daunting enough to make him consider bringing a flask to work.

"God, I hate my life," he muttered, the words carrying more weight than he intended. His gaze flickered to his phone screen where a notification from Grindr blinked insistently, but he brushed it aside. The loneliness that had settled into his routine was a constant, punctuated only by sporadic, unsatisfying encounters.

Ethan navigated through the throng, feeling out of place in his own workplace. He questioned his decision to stay, debating whether feigning illness and leaving might have been the wiser choice.

Ethan Campbell's career as an adjunct professor of English had been marked by a distinct air of intellectual superiority, one that often set him apart from his students and even some of his colleagues. He prided himself on his erudition and discerning taste in literature, often dismissing popular fiction in favor of dense philosophical treatises and obscure literary works.

Ethan's teaching style and choice of literature often clashed with the expectations of his students. He favored novels that dissected societal norms, questioned authority, and probed the complexities of human nature. His syllabus included works by authors like Toni Morrison, James Baldwin, and Virginia Woolf—writers whose narratives challenged the status quo and delved into issues of race, gender, and identity.

To his students, Ethan's reading list was derisively labeled a "woke reading list," a term that sparked eye rolls and muttered comments among those who preferred lighter fare or more traditional classics. They found his lectures dense, his interpretations overly critical, and his insistence on unpacking every nuance of a text exhausting.

"He acts like we're supposed to dissect every sentence like it's Shakespeare," one student quipped to his friend after class, echoing a sentiment shared by many. Ethan's lectures were punctuated by impassioned monologues on intersectionality, postmodernism, and the deconstruction of literary canon—an approach that left some students feeling alienated and others intellectually stimulated.

For Ethan, teaching wasn't just about imparting knowledge; it was about sparking intellectual curiosity and fostering critical thinking. He saw himself as a gatekeeper to a realm of ideas that could reshape the way his students viewed the world—a responsibility he took seriously, even if it sometimes earned him the reputation of being pretentious or out of touch with the practical concerns of his students' lives.

In the quiet corridors of the college campus, a clandestine plan began to take shape among a group of unlikely allies—jocks and science nerds who shared a common disdain for Professor Ethan Campbell. They had grown tired of his lofty lectures, his condescending demeanor, and what they perceived as his out-of-touch worldview. As they idly bantered in the campus cafe, an idea was born—one that would turn Ethan Campbell into the very caricature of a college guy he'd disdain.

It started innocuously enough with a casual conversation over lunch. Chad, the star quarterback with a mischievous glint in his eye, suggested a prank that would teach Professor Campbell a lesson. The math nerds, led by Brian, contributed their expertise in chemistry to concoct a plan that would alter Ethan's reality.

Late one evening, under the cover of darkness in the campus chemistry lab, the group huddled around a workbench littered with beakers and vials. With meticulous precision, they synthesized a chemical compound that, when ingested, would temporarily alter the fabric of Ethan's reality based on suggestions fed to him—suggestions carefully crafted by the jocks to mold him into the exact guy Ethan hated, "typical college guy."

The plan crystallized around an innocent apple, carefully chosen to be Ethan's mid-morning snack during his next lecture. Brian, the brains behind the operation, carefully injected the compound into the fruit, ensuring it was undetectable to the naked eye.

On the appointed day, as Professor Campbell droned on about existentialism in modern literature, the unsuspecting target reached for the poisoned apple during a brief break in his lecture. Oblivious to the eyes watching him, he took a crisp bite, unknowingly ingesting the chemical that would soon alter his perception.

"James Baldwin didn't just observe; he dissected the human condition with a raw, unapologetic clarity that forces us to confront uncomfortable truths," Ethan reiterated, his voice carrying the weight of conviction that had long defined his lectures. His gaze swept across the room, meeting the eyes of students who had grown accustomed to his impassioned discourses.

Amid the expectant silence, Trey's meaty arm abruptly shot up, breaking the reverie. "Yo teach!" Trey grunted, his voice resonating with an unusual intensity. Ethan stifled a sigh, the flicker of annoyance evident in his eyes as he responded, "Trey— I'm in the middle of my lecture. Can't this wait?"

"Naw, professor," Trey persisted, his words laced with a disarming sincerity. "I got some uncomfortable truths for ya'. Don't you think all this woke liberal stuff is a bunch of crap?"

Ethan's fingers instinctively moved to massage his temples, a dull throbbing beginning to pulse behind his eyes. It was as though a haze was settling over his thoughts, obscuring the clarity that had once defined his intellectual pursuits. Ayn Rand's name surfaced in his mind, her ideas on rational self-interest and individualism now appearing more coherent, more compelling than they had ever been.

"As I was saying," Ethan resumed, his voice betraying a hint of uncertainty. "Ayn Rand believed in rational self-interest, the pursuit of one's own happiness…"

His voice faltered, the words hanging in the air like a fragile thread. The pain in his head intensified, a relentless pressure that seemed to coincide with the erosion of his once-firm beliefs. Memories of spirited debates on social justice and systemic inequality fragmented and slipped away, replaced by a growing inclination toward perspectives that he had once dismissed with righteous fervor.

Ethan's ideological landscape shifted, reshaped by the unseen influence of the chemical compound now coursing through his system. Concepts that had once anchored his worldview—equality, justice, solidarity—began to recede into the background, supplanted by a burgeoning affinity for viewpoints that echoed the sentiments of those he had often scorned.

As the lecture hall buzzed with whispered conversations and suppressed laughter, Ethan Campbell struggled to reconcile the fragments of his shifting consciousness. His head still throbbing, Ethan's focus wavered as he attempted to maintain control over the deteriorating situation.

"Bro! Yo, Bro!" Hunter, a burly figure from the wrestling team, called out, his voice tinged with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Ethan winced at the familiar address, his patience fraying. "I'm not your bro, Hunter—I'm," Ethan started, his words interrupted by a sudden surge of discomfort in his chest.

"I'm your—your professor, and you should address me as such."

"Okay—uh, Professor Bro, hahaha—uh, have you been working out 'cause you're looking ripped," Hunter rumbled, barely concealing a smirk. Ethan's hand instinctively gripped his chest, a sharp pain spreading through his muscles. His shirt strained against an unexpected expansion as his once-modest pectorals ballooned into hefty mounds of muscle.

Ethan staggered, his balance faltering as a sudden heat surged through his abdomen. His shirt stretched and strained as six tight-packed abdominal muscles emerged, carving themselves into prominence over his previously flabby gut. Each muscle group defined itself with startling clarity, a stark contrast to the softer contours that had defined Ethan's physique until now.

As Ethan struggled to comprehend the rapid changes overtaking his body, his legs began to thicken, quads bulging with newfound mass. His feet, confined within shoes too small to accommodate the burgeoning growth, burst through the seams as they expanded to size 14. The sensation was alien and overwhelming, his lower body morphing into a shape that bore little resemblance to his former self.

Simultaneously, Ethan felt his biceps throb with an unfamiliar sensation. The muscles swelled to the size of footballs, straining against the sleeves of his shirt. His arms, once slender and unassuming, now boasted a formidable strength that belied their previous appearance. The transformation extended to his neck, where his Adam's apple grew more pronounced, signaling a deeper, more resonant voice emerging from within.

"Well, yeah—Pride is coming up and I have to look good for—" Ethan's feminine voice faltered, the words catching in his throat as he struggled to reconcile the alien masculinity that now coursed through him. The jocks exchanged knowing glances, their mischievous grins widening as they witnessed the extent of their prank's success.

"Bro," one of them muttered under his breath, a smirk playing on his lips as Ethan's transformation continued unabated. The professor who had once commanded intellectual respect now stood amidst a chorus of laughter and incredulity, his physical and vocal metamorphosis a testament to the power of unintended consequences.

Tucker, the quarterback for the football team, couldn't help but be a prick in class. With his feet propped up on the desk and a smug expression plastered across his face, he had no qualms about disrupting Ethan's presentation. "Yo bro, what are you talking about pride for? You always tell us you hate fags, you're always telling about how much pussy you've scored over the weekend, bro!"

When Ethan heard Tucker's words, he felt a mix of embarrassment and anger welling up inside him. "I-I was just kidding," he stammered, trying to recover from the awkward situation. But as he looked around at the shocked faces of his classmates and saw Tucker grinning cockily at him from across the room, something shifted within Ethan. As Ethan tried to explain himself, a cocky grin washed over his face.

Ethan's face contorted into a snarl as a long-festering wave of homophobia washed over him. The mere mention of Pride and fags sent his blood boiling with disgust. Memories of making fun of loser gays filled his mind, and he couldn't help but let out a cruel laugh.

"Fucking fags," he spat, glaring at Tucker. "You think I give a shit about some gay pride parade? I don't care if you like dick or not - just keep it to yourself."

Ethan launched into a long rant about feminist bullshit and how it was ruining the world. "You know, I'm sick of all this political correctness," he said, gesturing wildly with his hands. "I mean, come on! We're men! We should be able to say what we want without having to worry about offending some snowflake."

He paused for effect before continuing. "But enough about that nonsense," he said with a smirk. "Let me tell you about the hot blonde bimbo I scored with over the weekend." Ethan recounted in vivid detail how he had fucked that chick's brain out - describing every moan and groan she made as if it were happening right then and there in front of his students

"Haha, teach that was epic! You'll be a perfect fit for the frat," Topher, the baseball pitcher, chimed in, his voice filled with a mixture of admiration and amusement. Ethan's head throbbed with each word, the impact of the chemical prank continuing to wreak havoc on his once-sharp intellect.

"You're the dumbest, loudest, most obnoxious bro on campus," another voice added, laughter rippling through the lecture hall. Ethan struggled to focus, his thoughts slipping like sand through his fingers. The weight of academic discourse and literary analysis dissolved into a haze, replaced by a flood of trivialities and frat-boy banter.

Like a wrecking ball to his mind, Ethan felt himself growing dumber, his mental acuity fading with each passing moment. The intricate plots of novels and the nuanced critiques of societal norms were replaced with useless sports trivia and memories of pulling pranks with his bros. The lines on his face seemed to smooth out, the clock of his life winding back until he felt like a carefree 20-year-old college sophomore once again.

He remembered the struggle of his freshman year, nearly flunking out until he switched to Econ to fit in with his frat brothers. Memories flooded back—a wild party last night, the taste of cheap beer still lingering on his tongue. A wave of nausea hit him, and he let out an unapologetic buuuuurrrrp, the sound echoing through the now rowdy classroom.

"You bros—what are we doing in this boring class, let's party! Let's get wasted!" Ethan hollered, his voice now unrecognizably boisterous and carefree. The words slipped from his mouth effortlessly, devoid of the eloquence and depth that had once defined his speech.

The entire class erupted in cheers, the students joining in the revelry of Ethan's transformation. Gone was the professor who had challenged their intellects with complex theories and philosophical debates. In his place stood a caricature of collegiate stereotype—a figure of amusement and camaraderie among his peers.

Ethan's name slipped away from him, lost in the tumult of cheers and laughter. He was no longer Ethan Campbell, esteemed professor of English. As the echoes of applause filled the lecture hall. And as he looked around at the faces of his cheering students, he was ready to party.

As the group entered the local college pub, Ethan's face underwent a subtle transformation. His jawline, already strong, seemed to chisel itself into sharper relief, giving his face an air of calculated confidence. His lips curled into a perpetually cocky grin, one that exuded a blend of charm and entitlement.

His eyes, normally warm and inviting, now sparkled with a glint of mischief and bravado. They scanned the room with a self-assuredness that bordered on arrogance, taking in the attention from others with a satisfied nod. Ethan's posture subtly adjusted, his shoulders squared confidently, as if he owned the space around him. As soon as Ethan stepped into the bar, he assumed a persona that was a stark departure from the reserved professor he had once been. He swaggered through the crowd with an air of entitlement, exuding the brash confidence of someone who believed the world revolved around him.

At the bar, surrounded by his bros, Ethan's behavior escalated to the epitome of obnoxiousness. He loudly heckled the players on the screen, critiquing every move with an exaggerated bravado. His voice carried over the din of the bar, drawing attention to himself with every shouted comment.

As he stood at the bar, Ethan's eyes were glued to the sorority chick with big tits and blonde hair across the room. Ethan's demeanor shifted into overdrive. He flexed his muscles, struck exaggerated poses, and flashed a grin that oozed harm. A sudden tan seemed to wash over his body, adding to the illusion of athleticism and vitality.

Ethan turned to his bro Topher and yelled out loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear: "I'm plowing that bitch tonight! Bet!"

"Dude, you're like the biggest party animal on the team," Spencer shouted over the cheers, slapping Ethan on the back with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Coach was right to make you the captain, Zayne!"

In that moment, everything clicked for Ethan—or rather, Zayne. He was no longer the boring college professor burdened with intellectual pursuits. He had transformed into Zayne, the embodiment of every fratbro stereotype—dumb, obnoxious, and self-assured. Captain of the college football team, his path was clear: lead his team to state victory and revel in the adoration of his peers.

Zayne was the loudest, most obnoxious bro at the bar that night. His muscles bulged under his tight t-shirt, and he downed shots like they were water. He grunted to his bros Topher and Spencer about his "sick gains" at the gym earlier in the day, flexing for them whenever he could get away with it.

Zayne caught sight of himself in the mirror at the bar, and he couldn't help but check himself out. His huge muscles were on full display, and he felt an undeniable sense of pride swell within him.

As he flexed for the mirror, admiring his chin strap beard and tight t-shirt, Zayne became more vain and vapid by the second. He couldn't believe how hot he looked; it was like all those hours spent pumping iron had paid off tenfold. With each passing moment, Zayne sank deeper into a state of self-absorption - lost in his own reflection.

The energy in the room was electric as Zayne, Tucker, Topher and the rest of the frat house down they're shots. They had just come from a grueling workout at the gym, and they were amped to let loose and party.

"Dude, I just hit the gym and killed it!" Zayne exclaimed excitedly. "I'm so pumped for tonight." His eyes scanned the room hungrily, searching for any signs of hot chicks who might be interested in joining them.

Topher nodded in agreement. "It's about to get lit af in here," he said confidently. "Damn right fam. Let's go find some babes to party with." Zayne hollered. With that, they made their way over to the bar where a group of girls were already gathered around another table laughing loudly.

Zayne spotted a drunk sorority chick from across the bar and grunted to his bros, "Yo, let me show you how it's done." He made his way over to the blonde bimbo and shamelessly flexed his muscles. She giggled vapidly in response.

"Hey babes, check out this fine piece of ass," Zayne said with a dumb laugh. His hands began roaming her perky ass and tits as he continued talking about football and gym sessions with with the blonde chick. Flexing his biceps as regaled her about today's football pratice. The girl seemed entranced by Zayne's bravado; she didn't even notice when he slipped his hand down her pants.

The night became a drunken blur of partying, drinking, and hitting on dumb bitches. Zayne lost track of time as he moved from one girl to the next, flexing his muscles and telling stories about football and gym sessions. His frat brothers hollered in approval from across the room while they downed shots of tequila.

In between making out with various girls, Zayne would occasionally glance over at Tucker who was deep in conversation with a brunette beauty at another table. Topher had disappeared somewhere into the crowd but could be heard cheering every now and then when someone scored a touchdown or did something particularly impressive on stage during karaoke night.

Zayne met up with a hot cheerleader chick who had the biggest rack he had ever seen. They ordered shots and grinded and danced throughout the night. He knew he had found the chick he was going to plow that night.

As they continued drinking, she began stroking his firm pecs and squeezing his huge biceps. She was dumb, blonde, and drunk - just the way Zayne liked it. He couldn't help but laugh at her inane comments as they made their way back to his place later that night.

Zayne was the most obnoxious, dumb, crude conservative asshole in the frat house. He loved to flex his muscles and brag about his "sick gains" at the gym. His favorite pastime was hooking up drunk sorority girls and taking them back to his place for a good time and working out.

Despite being a total douchebag, Zayne had an undeniable charm that drew people towards him. His bros Topher and Tucker looked up to him as their fearless leader - someone who could always be counted on for a good time or an epic prank. Zayne has become the epitome of an obnoxious, dumb republican bro in the frat house. He's always flexing his muscles and showing off his latest workout routine, which consists mostly of bench presses and bicep curls. His wardrobe consists mainly of tight t-shirts that showcase his pecs and abs, paired with baggy shorts or jeans that hang low on his hips.

His hair is styled into a messy quiff that he thinks makes him look like a "total stud," but it just ends up looking greasy most of the time. Zayne is constantly talking about how hot he is and how all the girls at the bar can't resist him. Zayne is just another spoiled, entitled rich white frat boy. He comes from old money and has never had to work a day in his life. His parents have always given him whatever he wants, so it's no surprise that he expects the same treatment from everyone else. He loves nothing more than throwing his weight around at bars and clubs, buying rounds for everyone just because he can afford it.

Whenever someone disagrees with him politically or challenges one of his opinions, Zayne gets extremely defensive and starts shouting about how great America is and how liberals are ruining everything. He loves to start fights at bars just so he can prove how tough he is by throwing punches.

Zayne is the epitome of what people hate about frat boys. He's the most obnoxious, dumb conservative bro in the house, and he knows it. His muscles are sculpted from hours spent at the gym, and his clothes scream "I'm hot stuff." He loves to show off his physique whenever possible, often wearing tight shirts that reveal his chiseled abs and flexing for anyone who looks his way.

His personality is just as big as his ego; Zayne thinks he's God's gift to women. At bars, he loves to order rounds of shots for everyone around him while shouting out cheers like a drill sergeant leading troops into battle. His favorite pastime is pulling gross pranks on unsuspecting victims with his bros –

When it comes time for scoring with drunken sorority chicks at bars (which happens often), Zayne goes all-in by buying them drink after drink until they can barely stand up straight anymore before making his move on them later in private rooms or dark corners of the bar.

In shot: if there were ever an award given out for being "Biggest Douchebag on Campus," then without a doubt that trophy would belong solely on Zayne’s mantlepiece because this guy truly embodies everything people despise about frat boys – but somehow still manages remain the most popular bro on campus. Zayne is the quintessential douchebag, and he knows it. He struts around campus with an air of confidence that only comes from being completely oblivious to his own shortcomings. His muscles are always pumped up from hours spent at the gym, but his brain is as soft as marshmallow fluff.

As he flexes in front of the mirror at the bar, admiring his reflection, he can't help but feel a surge of testosterone coursing through his veins. It's not just because he looks good; it's because he knows that every girl on campus wants him. And tonight, he has one lucky lady all to himself.

His date for the evening giggles vapidly as Zayne whispers into his ear "Why don't we had back to the frathouse and you can show me what a slut you really are". Zayne drunkly grunts. She doesn't even know what she did to deserve this guy; all she knows is that she wants him more than anything else in the world right now. As they make their way back to his place, Zayne can feel himself growing harder by the second… until finally, out pops a massive 10-inch cock! He grins like an idiot and starts thrusting against her without even bothering with foreplay or lube – after all, who needs those when you have such incredible stamina?

[throneofsapphics]

Hi I saw you were open for drabbles and I hate this idea of like reader gets sick or need to take medicine for whatever reason but wont take it because it tastes bad. So I was thinking either maybe Azriel, Fenrys or if you don't like the two you can do a poly couple having to like force feed the reader because she wont listen to them?

Its okay if you don't like the idea though.

easy decisions

Azriel x Reader

Summary: you’re sick and refusing medication, Azriel takes matters into his own hands. 

Warnings: illness, forced medicating 

A/N: thank you for the request! I’ve think i’ve written this idea before, idk why but I love it 

“Mother save me,” Azriel muttered, crossing his arms. A small mountain of pillows and blankets surrounded you, a fire still roaring in the corner of your room. You’d been ill for days. At first, Madja said you’d likely get better with good rest and food - but it had progressed to the point where intervention was necessary. 

Yesterday, you’d taken it willingly - today was proving a bit more difficult. Unlucky for him, you were the most stubborn person he’d ever met. Lucky for you, even if you didn’t think that, he refused to compromise when it came to your health. 

“I suffered through it once,” you hissed, “that was plenty.” 

“And Madja said to take it once a day.” 

Mouth clamped shut, you shook your head and slid down in the bed. Adjusting the comforters around you, you turned your back to him. 

In. one, two, three. Out. one, two, three. 

“It’ll be over quickly,” he sat next to you, running his hand over your shoulder, the other folded around the glass vial. 

“The taste will stay in my mouth for days.” 

“You’re being a bit dramatic,” he murmured, and you snapped your head towards him, eyes narrowed. 

“You take it then.” 

“I’m not sick,” he fixed you with a look, “and I have.” 

The same stubborn expression. He loved you, he really did, but right now you were making it difficult. 

“You're not going to convince me.”  

“I already have hot chocolate for you,” Azriel tried a bribe this time. 

A shake of your head. He’d give it one last try. 

“Don’t make me force you,” he said - a half plea, half warning. 

Eyes rolled, “you won’t.” 

Another breath, in and out. “One more chance.” 

You studied him for a moment, and a bead of hope flared in his chest - extinguished when you turned your head back, tucking the blankets up with you. 

Azriel didn’t like doing this, but you were forcing his hand. Either you take the damn tonic, or he has to watch you grow more ill. It’s an easy choice for him. Moving quickly, he placed the bottle on the nightstand, gently gripping under your arms, tugging you up to sit. You yelped, thrashing in his grip, but he was already straddling your hips.

A shadow floated the bottle over, he snatched it and flicked the cork off, sending it flying somewhere across the room.

“Take. It,” his jaw clenched, normally endless patience at its limits. 

Hands tried to shove at his chest, but shadows wrapped around your wrists, pinning them at your sides. Your jaw remained clamped shut, and he wondered if you were doing this just to spite him, or if it really was because you hated it. Either way, he wouldn’t feel too bad over it. 

His hand wrapped around your jaw, scarred fingers rough against your smooth skin, and he squeezed - just enough for your lips to part, and to tip the contents of the vial down your throat, before he squeezed your jaw shut. Your entire face scrunched, but your throat never moved. 

“Swallow,” his voice was firm. 

A shake of your head - as much as you could move it. Now he knew you were being stubborn on principle. He tossed the vial aside, letting it clatter over the carpet, and pinched your nose between his thumb and forefinger

A promise of vengeance gleamed in your eyes. He’d like to see you try. A few seconds passed, your face growing red, but the desire for air took over, and your throat bobbed. After taking a few seconds to make sure you actually swallowed all of it, he carefully removed his hands. 

You sputtered, sucking air in and out of your lungs. Shadows still held your arms down as he ran his fingers through your hair, one thumb brushing away the drops on your lip, before pushing back into your mouth. You glared, but your tongue swirled, cleaning the last few bits. 

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He couldn’t help the small barb - especially as he saw the spark in your eyes, the fire he loved so much. 

A healthy dose of self-preservation had him sliding off the bed before completely freeing you, ignoring the litany of curses you spit at him to retreat to the tray placed on the dresser. It was risky, giving you his back, but the illness had you weak enough you couldn’t do much to him. 

Approaching you like someone might a feral kitten, he extended his peace offering. The mug of warm molten chocolate, exactly as you like it. You huffed and rolled your eyes, but took it from him, trying to fight the small smile. 

Azriel sat a few feet down - out of your reach, and moved the blankets enough to reach under, running his thumb in circles on the inside of your knee. “I hate seeing you sick.” 

Clenching the mug with both hands, your eyes softened, “I know.” 

“Will I have to do this again tomorrow?” 

A small hum, neither a yes or no. For fucks sake. 

[ofallthingsnasty]

tw: workplace harassment, mental illness, gn reader, make sure to read the last paragraph as well characters: Crocodile, Doflamingo word count: 1k

While I may be suffering from "I'm a total newbie and scared shitless of my boss" disease + an anxiety disorder, this would be so perfect for either Crocodile and Doflamingo.

Just think about it… You just started working for one of them - and both men certainly demand respect, can be quite scary when provoked, but you think you can weather any storm that might be coming your way. You’re grown, you’ve got bills to pay, they’ve been professional enough so far, it won’t be too bad, right? Oh, stupid, stupid you - because they can smell your little authority figure issues ten miles upwind.

Both notice that you're green, easily impressed and hurried by their presence, notice how sweaty your hands and furrowed your brow gets - and both definitely corner you; try to get you into a frenzied state, right into panic mode just because it’s fun to see how you slowly fly off the hinges. They both toy with you in their own ways - Crocodile is just always standing behind you, silently watching, only the smell of smoke and his cologne telling you he's right there, looming over your shoulder. He enjoys the way your hands shake with whatever it is you’re doing, how you cough and shift around while he does absolutely nothing. His mere presence makes you so antsy he doesn't even have to say something and his silence is easily interpreted as criticism and mistrust by your anxious little brain. It only gets worse when he never talks about his little staring/surveillance sessions, never explains why he randomly shows up at your desk or workstation, never asks you for a word afterwards - you always feel like you’re not good enough, that no matter how long you’ve been by his side, he needs to check up on you. He’s an imposing man, too - so much bulk and smoke, just the thought of him asking you for a vis-a-vis keeps you up at night. And every day, every week spent fretting over him and his perception of you (coupled with the fact that you really, really need this job) makes you more and more insecure, makes it hard to unwind after yet another long day, makes you overanalyze every single glance, every word and move of his. He slowly creeps into your after-hours, your conversations with friends, your weekends, even your vacations.  And he can tell. Crocodile notices the slight, subtle changes. The way you smooth over your clothes before talking to him, how you place an index and middle finger over sternum as if to shield yourself from him, the fucking cold sweat shining on your forehead whenever he does question a decision of yours with a gruff bark. The way you avoid his eyes, stumble over your own feet in a hurry, the way he can see that you sleep worse and worse - that’s how he knows he's got you hooked, fully and wholly. That all you're thinking about is him and work and pleasing him and being good at work and again, him and work and him and- Your job is the only thing in your life now, from the moment you wake up to the time you lay your head down to sleep, everything is consumed by thoughts of him and his opinions about you and your abilities, always aiming to please and so, so nervous to fail. It’s perfect.

Doflamingo is way more vocal about it. He'll throw your work right back into your face, all sneers and acid tongue. It’s just not enough, never enough, reflects badly on him, on his company - whatever it is you do, it hails nothing but criticism and mockery and late nights to fix your stupid mistakes. He doesn’t even give you moments of rest, he just constantly picks on you until you’re seriously considering just resigning for your own mental health. He’s methodically destroying your self-esteem, makes you doubt your own abilities - you know you shouldn’t let him creep into your head as much as he does, but when all you hear is that you’re so fucking bad at your job, how much you suck - it sticks. You’re so stressed because of him you almost have a panic attack over putting your two weeks in and despite your suffering, you keep procrastinating, keep telling yourself you’ll do it tomorrow, when you have had a full night’s sleep. Problem is - you never do. He can tell by the way you’re idling, fiddling with the straps of your bag whenever he comes in for the day that you’re trying to leave - but that you're simply too scared of his reaction to pull the trigger. And that right there; that fear, that pedestal you put him on is the perfect breeding ground for all sorts of unethical things he can push you to do for him. He starts out small; things like getting him coffee in the mornings when you never did that before, a too-warm, lingering hand on your shoulder, a comment about your outfit - every little thing is calculated, tailored to slowly destroy your boundaries while you fear him more and more, give him way more authority over your life than you should. He knows it’s psychological, that someone else might be able to flip him off and leave without ever thinking twice about him. But you… You have accepted him as the one part of your life everything hinges on - you give him all that power in your sick little brain. Oh, he’ll use it well. The fun has only just started, rest assured. 

And while Crocodile gets to click his tongue, scoff and tell you that he'll take over from now on because clearly - you're just not capable and you obviously need him (not only at work but also in your whole life, silly), Doflamingo taunts you and tells you to make yourself useful, then, if you can't even do your job right. Maybe sucking his dick is your true calling - come on, let's see if you can do at least one thing right. One man wants to take your life over completely, sees you as the malleable (perfect) mess that you are, with all the potential that comes with it - and the other just wants to fuck you up for the next decade of your life, wants to be reason you wake up in the middle of night because his vicious smile still bounces around in that head of yours

[myluvrrhea]

hey! I'm glad your requests are open, well, I wanted to ask for one from Rhea x fem!reader where the reader is a model and friend with Rhea's benefits, so when they agree to go out together the reader ends up meeting Judgment Day and Damian become interested in her which makes Rhea jealous. (the ending can be whatever you want)

Embrace Me

Pairings - Rhea Ripley x Model!Reader

warnings - Jelousy, Rhea’s kinda toxic at the beginning, oral , I think thats it but tell me If I missed any

word count - 1.6k , Gif Creds

A/N - this is my first time writting smut so it might be rlly bad. But I also wanted to say that im still taking and doing requests:)

P.S - This is not proofread

You watched as Rhea pulled a girl towards her locker room. Towards you. As she walked by , hand in hand with someone else , she made eye contact with you. A sly smirk planted in her face. God you wished you were the only one. The only one she wanted at least. But how could you be? She made everyone’s heart flutter. She just had that effect on people. And to say you were jealous was an understatement. You wanted her to be yours and her to be yours. And you would be sure of that happening.

You and Rhea were a friends with benefits type of thing. if you could even call it that. She treated you like you were the only person that mattered in her life. But of course you weren’t. She had others yeah , but she assured you that you’re her favorite. And you thought that for a while. Until you saw her laughing and giggling with another girl. That wasn’t you. Your eyes rolled as you heard the woman call Rhea Rhe-Rhe. Why was she even calling her that? Didn’t they meet a couple minutes ago? You tried distracting yourself with your phone, but it couldn’t hold in the anger that rushed through your veins. You wished you scream your lungs out when she walked past you. Hand in hand. With another woman. 

Location - home

As you washed your makeup and headed to bed , you heard your phone buzz. Looking at your phone you read the id of the message. 

Rhea ❤️‍🔥

You up rn?

You felt your eyes roll as you read the message. 

Y/N💕🫧

I wouldn’t be reading this if i wasn’t and why?

You placed your phone back down as you waited for an answer , but were surprised when the phone buzzed a minute later.

Rhea ❤️‍🔥

You wanna meet up at mine? Room 253

Y/N💕🫧 

Why are you asking me that don’t you have other girls to keep you company “Rhe-Rhe “🥺

Rhea❤️‍🔥

I see your still stuck in that🙄

Whatever its your choice of you want to meet me ,or not

And if not Ill just find someone else to keep me company 

You felt like your heart stopped for a second at the last text. Was she serious? You felt as if time stopped and you could just imagine Rhea with someone else. You couldn’t bare that thought. You rolled your eyes as you threw your phone on the hotel bed. You quickly got ready to meet Rhea. Putting on light makeup, sweatpants and a tight shirt. “Just how she liked it” you thought.

You grabbed your keycard and phone as you locked the door behind you. 

After quiet awhile , you found Rhea’s room and knocked on the door feeling a hint of sadness at the thought of what Rhea had texted you.  You were quickly put out of your trance as you saw the black haired women’s standing form in the doorway. A smirk formed on her face as she looked you up and down.

“ I see you made the right decision ,” she spoke as she led  you into her room. 

“Whatever , what did you need me here for?” you questioned.

“Well I was hoping that you could be my girlfriend?” 

“Did I hear that right?” I thought. Did she really want to be my girlfriend or would she just use me. These thoughts ran through my mind as rhea fidgeted with her hands. Trying to figure out a way for you to be hers.

“Look , I know that flirting with another girl wasnt the best Idea ,and i know I said I wasnt willing to get into a relationship, but I really want to try to be in one with you. If not we can forget it never happened I just-,” Rhea’s rambling was cut off by you attaching your lips to hers. 

“Of course I’ll be yours Rhea ,” You spoke when you pulled away from her.

Time skip

Waking up felt like heaven. And being next to Rhea felt surreal. You wished you could  be in this moment forever. Cuddling with Rhea as she slept peacefully. It was something you never thought you would imagine from her. It had only been a couple weeks that you two had been dating , but it felt like years that you two have been together and better yet known each other. 

You yawned as you looked at Rhea’s sleeping figure. You tied to sitting up, but were instead blocked by Rheas arms hugging your waist and blocking your way.

“Where do you think you’re going with ought me?” She spoke. Her voice horse and raspy , which made your heart beat faster.

“Didn’t you say we were going to meet The Judgment Day? It’s already 8:13am we have to be there by 9:00” You said as you traced her arm tattoos. As she played with your hair.

“Well then let’s get ready if then my love,” She answered back as she removed her hands from your waist. 

Time skip

Taking Rheas hand , you hopped out of her truck. You two had arrived at a nearby restaurant. You and Rhea walked hand into the restaurant and I immediately made eye contact with a man with tattoos and braids. Do I know him from somewhere? My thoughts were cut short as Rhea lead me to the table The Judgment Day was at. Which , surprisingly was the table with the guy I made eye contact with.

As we sat down , Rhea greeted the boys as she introduced me. 

“I think Ive seen you on  a magazine somewhere?” Dominik said as he took in my appearance. I smiled as I explained my modeling job to him. We made a small conversation as Finn , Damian  and Rhea talked and laughed. 

Dominik also explained his job as a wrestler as well as him finn and Damian. So thats where I know him from. I thought to myself. Although Damian was in a conversation of his own, for some reason he kept looking my way. Did I do something? Why did he keep looking out me instead of Rhea while he was talking to her?

After eating , We all walked outside towards put cars. But before I could follow Rhea, Damian asked if we could talk. I raised my eyebrow as I looked at Rhea , her giving me the okay before I walked with Damian. Before I knew it we were next to his car. 

“So what did you want to talk about?” You asked him.

“I wanted to ask for your number,” He replied.

Suddenly everything clicked. Thats why he was looking at you…

He came closer to your face as he began to speak again. “Look , I know we hardly know each other , but I just want-,” Damian was cut off by a deep Australien voice. Turning around I saw the figure of Rhea. And she didnt look too pleased by the whole interaction. But she chose to hide her anger with a smile.

“Sorry , we have somewhere to be,” Rhea spoke with a smile. Although her voice sounded anything but happy. 

I followed Rhea into the car. As Rhea sat in the drivers seat, she began talking.

“What was that about hm?” She spoke , her eyes never leave the road. I could hear the jealousy in her voice as she talked. 

“I dunno Rhea lets just talk about it at the hotel,” you replied.

- at the hotel ( NSFW WARNING )

“P-please..” I breathed out as Rheas finger brushed against my heat. I needed her. But she wasn’t going down that easily. At least not right now.

“You really think you deserve this after what happened back there?” Rhea asked you. Her voice was soft and low. Slowly Rhea’s hands grabbed the waistband of my panties as she pulled them down. 

I whimpered as the cold air hit my clit. She looked up at me as a sly grin grew on her face. Withought warning she put both her index and middle finger into my wetness, making me squirm as she pushed my hips back down into the mattress.

I led out a lengthy moan as she moved her hands at a slow pace. It wasn’t much but god did it make you go feral. You broke the eye contact from Rhea as you felt yourself getting closer. 

“Nuh-uh eyes on me ,baby,” Rhea spoke as she stopped her movements completely.

You looked down as you felt a tear roll down your cheek. You felt relief when Rhea put both fingers back into your aching whole. But this time instead of going slow, her movements were a faster than before. The sounds coming out of your mother’s were outright pornographic, making rhea smirk. She loved seeing this side of you.

You felt Rheas lips connect to your clit as she began sucking and licking. You were clutching onto her scalp as she drew out the most pornography moans.

“oh my goddddd,” you moaned as you felt your orgasm approaching.

“Demi—please,” 

She slapped your thigh at the name , making you jolt from the sudden pain.

“Try again,” She said in a stern voice as she settled herself back in between your legs. She began to kitten lick your clit as she waited for an Answer.

“Mami p-please,” I spoke, almost breathless as she began putting more pressure on my clit. Licking and sucking

I squeezed Rheas hand as I felt my orgasm Approaching. 

“Cmom pretty girl, let it out,” Rhea spoke almost immediately.

My head fell back onto the silk pillows as I came on Rheas face. 

Rhea got up from her knees, getting a wet rag from the bathroom. When she was done cleaning me up, she washed her face and laid down next to me. Holding me to her chest. God you wished you two could stay like this forever. In her embrace

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Place your gilded crown upon my head (and carve your home into my chest)

Day 6 of Thank You, Haikyuu - event masterlist here

pairing: iwaizumi hajime x reader (gn) x oikawa tooru

length: 8.3k

genre: medieval royalty au !! fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: arranged marriage but they fall in looove, some vague talk of war, also some very vague talk of prostitution, guys this is as close as I'll get to writing smut ever so soak it up

a/n: tell me you can't tell how in love I am with hanamaki and how badly I wanted to make this abt him

tags: @love-and-lore

Tooru thinks, at first, that he must have misunderstood the words directed at him, that there's no crisis he could come across that would cause Hajime to cast him aside like this. But when he blinks and stares, his eyes boring into the knight until he repeats himself, Tooru knows it to be true.

The betrayal that coils in his gut when he realizes that is painful in a way that Hajime had always protected him from. He'd forgotten what he was capable of, really, having seldom been on the receiving end of Hajime's sharp tongue. But it is there, nonetheless.

He supposes, though, that Hajime was always capable of it, and he can see it when he really considers the man in front of him. The two of them had grown up together, afternoons as children spent with wooden toy swords and sand castles morphing into long nights pouring over treaties and battle strategies, a shining sword strapped to Hajime's hip and a gilded crown perched atop Tooru's head.

There is a reason he chose to keep Hajime by his side, a reason he relies on his sharp wit and firm resolve. He just hadn't thought that he would ever have to pay the price… not like this, at least.

"We both knew this day would come, Your Highness," Hajime's voice rings through Tooru as he watches the prince lean, keeling over a bit to brace himself on the table between them, staring at the map of his nation. "Arranged marriages like this are… unavoidable."

"But not yet," Tooru snaps, his hands gripping the stone edge of the table. "We have… we had time. We still have time. This doesn't have to happen yet."

"You Highness," Hajime says it kindly, with a love that feels like a knife twisting in Tooru's ribs. "This is the best decision. A civil war in a neighbouring nation is dangerous. An allegiance like this will bring us the promise of peace no matter the outcome of the war on our borders."

"There's another way," Tooru says stubbornly, but his eyes flit over the maps in front of him desperately. "We don't need to do this. You - you don't need to ask this of me. We'll find another way." Hajime's sigh is almost imperceivable as he steps towards the Prince. 

"Tooru," he says gently. "This is the decision that must be made. Go to your father. Tell him what's been decided."

"My father is ill and bedridden," Tooru snaps. "And he doesn't - he doesn't know what's best for me or this country anymore. He will say yes no matter what I ask of him."

"I know, Your Highness," Hajime says firmly. "Which is why I will only ever present him with what is necessary… and right." Tooru's eyes, when he finally looks up at Hajime, are big and glassy, plush bottom lip quivering.

"This is not right," he chokes out. One of the knights by the entryway shifts on his feet, restless as he pretends not to look on.

"It is," Hajime insists,

"There is another way."

"Your Highness, this is-"

"You will find another way." There's a desperate tilt to Tooru's voice, a hysteria that threatens to break through that has Hajime turning his gaze sharply to the men on either side of the door.

"Matsukawa," he barks. The knight turns and stares. "Watch outside. No one is to enter." Matsukawa salutes to his captain as he leaves, slipping out and leaving just one other to look on as the scene unfolds, as Tooru crosses his arms and glares.

"Do you understand how much I love you?" Hajime says simply. Tooru straightens. 

"You have told me."

"Then please, my love, remember that it is true. Everything that I do here… I do for you. I must ask this of you… I would be a coward not to." Tooru scoffs at his words and looks away, blinking the tears back from his eyes.

"You could never be a coward," he says weakly. 

"I would be if I didn't guide you towards this decision. If I let my love for you cloud my devotion to you… there is no greater sin to me. I will not abandon my prince in his moment of need." Hajime's words are final, and when Tooru stares at him, he can't help but feel a bit of guilt swirling in his gut. How could he think that Hajime was ever doing this to cast him aside, to forsake this forbidden love that they share? Iwaizumi Hajime loves through loyalty, and it is not so often that Tooru forgets this. In this moment, Hajime bending to kneel before him, his head bowed, Tooru wonders how he ever thought his lover would abandon him.

"Please," says the knight, like a blade bowing before its master. "Let me love you in the only way that I know how. Let me keep you safe." And Tooru… well, he is often powerless in the face of his love, he finds. And this is no different.

"It will be done, then," he says simply. And in that moment, his fate is sealed.

"What if I am unwanted?" Tooru muses, a servant brushing through his hair as another smooths the silks that he wears. He watches Hajime through the reflection in his vanity mirror, the knight standing dutifully by the door of his chambers.

"Have the people not told you enough, Your Highness? You are beloved by all - there is no one who could not want you," he says honestly, but a glance towards the servants has Hajime clearing his throat and breaking eye contact with the prince, choosing to stare straight ahead, instead.

"What do you think?" Tooru asks the servant in front of him, the one who's just stepped back to admire their work. He blinks when he's spoken to, a nervousness hazing the air around him.

"Me, Your Highness? Well… it is true, of course. Your strength and beauty are known by all," the servant says politely. Tooru hums thoughtfully.

"And my fiance?" He asks bitterly, a sour look passing over his face. Hajime doesn't look at him this time, though, too aware of the watchful eyes of those attending to his beloved.

"It is as discussed, Your Highness. Your betrothed will be here shortly - a portion of your guard has been sent to… retrieve them and ensure safe travels. You will meet your fiance soon."

"Well," Tooru sighs with all the weight of a boy being adorned in a golden crown. "I suppose we'd better get on with this, then."

But as he stands and straightens his shoulders and walks past Hajime out into the long corridors of a place he once called home, Tooru can't help but feel the shackles of this life tightening around his wrists and ankles every step of the way. Hajime is dutiful as always, three paces behind him and never straying further, but with every moment Tooru feels the gap between them growing. He bears the weight of the crown on his head and wonders, in a sharp, stabbing sort of way, if Hajime feels the weight of the shield on his back and the sword on his hip, as well.

More likely, Tooru thinks bitterly as they approach the castle entrance, Hajime bears this weight better than Tooru ever could. As the commotion of a series of carriages pulling up outside clouds his thoughts, he thinks that perhaps Hajime has just always been a bit better at all of this than him.

But Hajime wonders, just for a moment, if this really was the right decision when you step out of the carriage in front of them and come face-to-face with your future husband. Your bow is… minimal, the action of someone who's grown up close enough to the throne to think it to be theirs. And as you're introduced by one of the attendees you've brought with you, Hajime takes note of you - of the way you speak, sharp and quick and clever.

Your eyes, most of all, are what startles him as they sweep across the people in front of you, settling on him for just a moment before returning to the Prince. There's a sort of hunger in them, a lust for power that he's often seen in royals. As Tooru glances towards him, Hajime knows that they're both wondering the same thing. Why would you willingly give up the war for the throne in your home nation, stepping down and allowing your siblings to continue the struggle without you, when you are so clearly hungry for that power?

"This is Iwaizumi," Tooru's voice pulls Hajime out of whatever trance he was in as he turns and bows to you while he's introduced. "He's the captain of my royal guard. He will… be yours now, as well. Your safety is in his hands. " Tooru stumbles a bit as he speaks, the reality of it all slamming into him a bit too harshly. Hajime is… no longer his alone. You are to be his spouse, his partner. His guard will be shared, his secrets will be… well, he tries not to think about it. Not yet, at least.

But his worries follow him into the evening, trailing after him as they curl into the long shadows cast by the torches on the stone walls. When he speaks to Hajime in hushed tones in his chambers after everyone's settled, you secluded to your pre-marital suite in a separate part of the castle, these worries of his seem to only grow.

"This was a bad idea," Tooru hisses. "We're going to get caught. It's - they don't seem like someone you can get a secret past, do they?"

"This is good," Hajime argues back patiently, settling Tooru with a calmness that the prince wishes he could share. "You chose well. Remember, we needed this to secure an alliance with whoever siezes the throne in their nation. They're quick and sharp, yes - but that's good. That's helpful to us, my love." 

"But what if we're discovered?" Tooru says desperately, a cracking pain heard in his voice that has Hajime moving towards him where he sits on his bed. He kneels before the prince, reaching to gently unfurl Tooru's clenched fists and release the silk bedding from his grip so that he can hold onto his hands instead, pressing kisses across his knuckles. 

"We will not be," Hajime says firmly. "I promise, my love. I will not let anything happen to you."

Promises such as that, however, are often difficult to keep - secrets becoming harder to bury under the weight of watchful eyes. As the days pass, you remain much the same as you were when you first arrived, quick and observant and upright, but… silent. Proper and polite with that razor-sharp edge of yours. It's when you and Tooru are in one of his many sitting rooms, a myriad of people having come and gone throughout the morning to speak to you about wedding preparations, that it begins to wear on the prince a bit too much. 

You're… quiet, throughout the whole thing, always looking to your fiance to answer, always letting his preferences take precedence. Tooru, for what it's worth, is trying desperately to figure out why - to try to decipher the intent behind your sharp gaze and politely folded hands. It unsettles him, eventually prompting him to huff and slouch in his chair and wave everyone away until it's just the two of you, Hajime standing where he always does by the door, always watchful, always present.

"Is something troubling you, Your Highness?" You ask as the last servant scurries out of the room and the door is shut once more. Tooru doesn't really try to hide his scowl at your words, but a sharp look from Hajime over your shoulder has him catching himself as he remembers the knight's words - as he remembers his lover begging on his knees to find some way to make this work.

"You have to at least try," he'd said. "This is your future spouse. Perhaps they are not so awful as they seem." Tooru sighs at the memory, at the way Hajime had kissed him and held him and coaxed him into agreeing. So, the prince tries.

"We'll have everything moved during the ceremony and wedding festivities," he says instead of answering your question. "So that the process doesn't disturb you."

"Moved, Your Highness?"

"Into my chambers," Tooru explains, his brows furrowing as he wonders how you're confused. "Your things will be moved into my suite when we're married because… you'll be moved in then." You look at him for a long moment then before you roll your shoulders back just a fraction, a split second of your perfect facade cracking. It's a moment of understanding, almost, as he sees the instant you show how heavily this weighs on your shoulders, as well. But it's gone as soon as it happens and Tooru's left with his lips downturned as he watches you again.

"May I speak candidly?" You ask. Tooru's frown deepens.

"We are to be married. I'm not sure why you wouldn't."

"Well," you begin carefully. "I'm not sure why we would alter our current arrangement. This is a diplomatic marriage - nothing more. There's no need for us to pretend that it's anything other than that." Tooru gapes at you as you speak, shock crossing over his face before anger burns through him. Hajime, where he stands behind you, turns and lets his gaze fall on you. You, who's come into his nation, inserted yourself into his life and his love, you cannot stand him enough to even live with him.

"We will be married," he repeats, his words a bit more venomous than perhaps is warranted, something he's reminded of when Hajime frowns pointedly at him over your head. "We could at least pretend to be able to stand one another."  You straighten back up at that, any moment of softness that had seeped into you slipping away at Tooru's outburst. 

"Your Highness," you say firmly. "I have no plans to chain you to me in any way that you do not wish. I am saying this for your benefit. I see no reason for you to cease living the way you please just because I'm here." Tooru sort of freezes at that, his gaze flitting to Hajime as the knight stands still, holding his breath at your words.

"What… do you mean?" Tooru curses himself for the way his voice wavers. But, in response, you almost smile, a quick upturn of your lips.

"The working girls employed by the royal families are famed across our nations' lines. I am not so ignorant as to be unaware of them," you say simply. Tooru almost chokes at that.

"I - I beg your pardon?" He splutters.

"What I'm saying, Your Highness," you sigh, apparently tired of him feigning ignorance. "Is that I understand how difficult it would become to continue having these visitors to your chambers, as I'm sure you do now, if I were to be here with you. I'd rather not be sent away in the evenings to bide my time elsewhere. I'd rather… well, my moving into your chambers is not a necessary part of this agreement."

You're quiet after you speak, turning your gaze to the window, to the summer sun that shines in and the sheer white curtains that blow in the breeze. You look… trapped, helpless and longing in a way that you hadn't before. Or perhaps, Tooru thinks rather painfully, he'd just never noticed.

You, with your endless pride and self-respect, who holds your head so high and your spine so straight - Tooru can't understand how you think so lowly of yourself that you expected him to keep you away from him, in a separate part of the castle alone, so that he could have affairs and live a life of his choosing so far from you.

When he reaches for your hand, tangling his fingers with yours despite your shock, Tooru feels like he's looking at you for the first time. Your hands, soft and gentle and trembling ever so slightly. Your eyes, soft and hurt in a way that only comes from fleeing a civil war. Tooru finds himself wishing he could apologize, wishing he could take back his cold, sullen gaze as you look at him. 

"I would not do that to you," is what he says instead. "I hold too much respect for you to treat you in such a way."

"You needn't have any respect for me, Your Highness," you say simply. "That was not part of this agreement." Tooru squeezes your hand gently.

"I am to be your husband. That is reason enough for me." Tooru says it like it's simple, like it's a fact written in the stars that you should already know. You stare at him unwaveringly, though, when he speaks, an uncertainty twisting in you.

"I'm not sure," he goes on. "Why you would think anything other than that. You hold onto your righteousness so tightly, I wouldn't think you'd be so willing to sacrifice your marriage like this." Tooru looks down at your hands as he speaks, at the way he twists his fingers with yours and the way that you so easily let him.

"It is all I have," you say quietly.

"Hm?"

"My righteousness. It is all I have. I have lost my nation to the war of my brothers. I have lost my home and been sent somewhere with customs different from mine, with food and weather and clothes that I barely know… all to marry a man who will barely speak to me. I have nothing left, Your Highness."

If Tooru hadn't been so shocked by your words, if a guilt and a selfishness had not burned through him, perhaps you wouldn't have been able to slip your hands from his grip so easily and stand before him. He looks up at you, all the same, his face twisted with regret. You take no notice.

"If you'll excuse me now, Your Highness, I'd like to retire to my chambers." You bow then, a proper and humble thing that has Tooru standing and putting his hands on your shoulders as you rise. You, royalty in your own right, stand before him and wait for his permission to leave.

"Why are you treating me as if I am crowned and you are not?" Tooru asks and his hands tighten on your shoulders. He wants to shake you, just a bit, just enough to rattle his panic out of himself.

"I am not anymore," you say, and you're not sure who flinches more at the waver in your voice, the flutter of your eyelids over glossy, tear-filled eyes. "I am marrying you. Your titles, your throne, your life will be mine." Tooru takes his hands off of you at that, stepping back to bow to you, ignoring the sharp, little inhale of your breath at the action.

When he rises, he glances at Hajime, and the knight straightens at the attention.  

"Iwaizumi will accompany you," he explains firmly.

"It's simply a walk to the other side of the castle."

"And your safety is my utmost priority. I've put my life in his hands many times. There is no one better to watch over you."

"He is your guard. You already gave me Hanamaki," you point out stubbornly, but Tooru just shakes his head.

"He is as much yours now as he is mine… all of this is," he says earnestly. You wonder, as you sweep out of the room with Hajime following dutifully behind, how truthful Tooru was being - how willing he will be to follow through with his promises.

Hajime, for what it's worth, is also reeling from the interaction, following swiftly behind you as you walk through the corridors as if they're your own. Although, if Tooru is to be believed, they really will be your own soon enough. He assumes, then, that you know your way around well enough to know that you are not, in fact, heading back to your rooms at all. Instead, you veer left, away from the stone walls and arched ceilings and out towards the castle gardens. 

"Your Highness," Hajime says gently. You stop slowly, a resigned sort of look passing over your face as you turn to him, like you knew this moment was coming.

"Am I to go back to my rooms?" You ask. Hajime blanches at the insinuation that he could order you to go anywhere at all. Hanamaki, where he's been trailing after the two of you, snorts at the look on his captain's face.

"No, Your Highness," Hajime says patiently, reeling himself in from the shock. "You are to go wherever you please. I merely wish to make sure you are confident in your direction." You tilt your head at that, eyeing him up and down for a moment before turning on your heel and continuing on your way.

"I am often confident, Iwaizumi," you call over your shoulder. "It is a small comfort amidst all of this." Needless to say, neither Hajime nor Hanamaki questions you beyond that as they follow you out to the gardens, dutifully walking three paces behind you as you wander endlessly through paths of flowers and around fountains and under great statues, the sun pouring and endless, golden glow onto the three of you. 

Hajime is impressed, he finds, at how long you walk and wonder and move before you finally give in to rest. The bench that you've found is shrouded by the shade of a weeping willow, a dozen or so of them scattered across this section of the garden and holding the sky's great light at bay. Hajime takes the time to look around while you sit - and pretends not to notice the way you slip your feet out of your shoes for just a moment to ease the ache that he's sure has set in. You're deep enough into the gardens that he has difficulty even remembering this place.

Hanamaki, to Hajime's firm approval, takes up residence a few feet from your bench, standing at attention solidly despite the heat and the sun shining down on his armour. As you sit, you tip your head back to look up at the tree, at the way the breeze slowly sways the branches and bathes you in shadow. The endlessness of the sprawling, open gardens and the distant horizon beyond, you learn, cannot find you here, and there is a peace to be found in this small solitude.

"I didn't know there were trees like this here," you say softly, keeping your head tipped back.

"They are not native to this area. The climate makes it difficult for them to grow here - it's only thanks to the dedication and skill of the groundskeepers that they are able to survive. But this is not their home." Hajime regrets adding that as soon as the words have left his mouth, pointedly looking away as Hanamaki tilts his head to scowl at him when he sees you clench your fists in your lap and bite your bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

"They grow everywhere back home," you say quietly, in a voice that's so soft it's almost missed by the two of them. But then, you begin to weep, shuttering sobs leaving you as you sit quietly, trying desperately to keep the outburst at bay. "I would like to be alone for a while," you say, keeping your eyes trained down to the ground.

"I am sorry, Your Highness." And Hajime does mean it. "You have been left in my care and I cannot leave you unattended here. However… privacy is something I can always offer you." With that, Hajime turns sharply to Hanamkai, who's already watching him, waiting for a command that he knows will come.

"The bridge we passed under that marks the entryway to this section - remain there. No one is to enter until you hear from me. Understood?" Hanamaki's response to his captain's command is firm, his departure from the two of you swift. Hajime, in turn, moves to stand just in front of the bench that you're seated on, off to the side so as to not obstruct your view of the surrounding gardens. He keeps his gaze trained forward, away from you and unable to look on without you noticing. 

When you weep then, there is a part of you that cries for the kindness of it all, for the steady, reliable solidness that is Hajime as he stands dutifully. The loyalty that he shows - it feels a bit too much like love, and that's something that you've found yourself desperate for since coming here.

Hajime stands for hours as you sob and sniffle and then breathe deeply to calm yourself. Through it all, he does not move, does not waver, does not look. When you clear your throat and stand, smoothing down your hair and patting your face, he does not move. 

It's not until you stand in front of him and speak that he looks at you.

"I would like to go back now… to my chambers, please," you say quietly, the solidness that he's learned to be so familiar with finding its way back into your voice.

"As you wish, Your Highness," is his response as he dips his head to bow. He does not mention the flush of your face, the redness of your eyes and nose and the way you quietly sniffle during the walk back. He offers his arm silently when you sigh, your feet aching as you begin the long trek. He does not complain when you lean a bit too much weight on him. Hajime loves through loyalty, through a constraint steadiness, and you find yourself understanding quickly why Tooru values him so much. 

That value, you learn over time, is something more than the loyalty of a knight to a prince. The pre-marital chambers that you'd been given are lavish, tall ceilings and velvet couches, the bed piled with silk sheets and cushions and woven blankets. Despite that, however, sleep evades you on the night before your wedding. 

As you roll over again, having tossed and turned the whole night, you wonder if you could make it to the ground floor from your window, if you could tie your sheets together and fling them out as some sort of line to climb down, a way out of this life and this love.

But there is nothing out there for you, just as there is nothing here. And Hanamaki stands guard just outside your door, tall and sturdy and… caring, if you're honest, trailing after you throughout your days and looking on. You can only begin to imagine his captain's punishment for him if he learned that the Crown Prince's betrothed flung themself out a window in the night.

So, instead, you rise, the sun just barely brushing over the vast horizon and giving you enough light to slip on layers of robes, the fabric laying heavily on your shoulders as you leave your chambers.

"Your Highness?" Comes Hanamaki's questioning voice as he dutifully falls into step behind you. You pause long enough to turn and look at him, at his wide, concerned eyes.

"Does sleep ever come on nights like these, do you think?" You ask. Something in him softens.

"I'm sure I wouldn't know, Your Highness, but there's not much the willow trees can't fix," he says kindly. You smile a bit, then, something that feels far off and foreign to you these days, and begin to make your way out towards the castle gardens.

As you pass the prince's chambers, however, your footsteps come to a stuttering halt. Matsukawa stands on guard outside the doors, stoically staring ahead so as not to intervene in the scene unfolding before him. Hajime stands in the doorway, having just slipped out from Tooru's rooms. He's dishevelled, his shirt untucked and his hair tousled. He looks like he's been caught, and there's a static in the air as you straighten, confirmation of the lingering theory that had been taking root in your heart making itself known.

"Iwaizumi," you say sternly. He straightens and bows.

"Your Highness," he says it quickly, but he does not move, does not rise. 

"Take a walk with me… clean yourself up first. I trust you'll be able to catch up." With that, you sweep past him, robes billowing as he remains still, waiting until you're out of sight to chastise Matsukawa for not warning him while the knight helps Hajime sort himself back into his armour.

Sure enough, you're merely entering the gardens when Hajime falls into step beside you, his shoulders heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You say nothing, merely continuing your stroll until the summer sun rises, the light peaking over the trees and illuminating the two of you, shining into the endless, open sky above.

"Tooru is kinder than he lets on when I'm near," you say honestly, continuing to stare ahead as you walk. Hajime, dutiful as always, follows your lead, walking and looking forward, beyond the flowerbeds and towards the endless, golden horizon. "And he is good - as a ruler, that is. I'm not sure our feelings for one another matter much beyond that."

Hajime bites his tongue at your words, at his urge to tell you that you're wrong, that Tooru spends his evenings speaking of you, of the wild lavender in your perfume and the sharp fire in your eyes. But Hajime knows that sometimes love is silent, and he lets this moment be whatever it is that you need. If you need to punish him for this, then so be it.

"It is a lonely life that he and I lead," you continue. "If someone were to find some kind of… companionship, something genuine and private, I…" You trail off then, just for a moment, staring out at the way the sun bathes the gardens, the way the light shines through the branches of the willow trees. "I would not take that from him - from anyone. Tooru deserves a love that is honest and real. I will not be what stands in the way of that. You have nothing to worry about."

Hajime, in a rare moment of emotion, turns to stare at you, struck by your words as he looks on at the way you blink to fight back the dampness pooling in your eyes. Something painful lurches in his heart at the sight.

"Your Highness -" he begins. 

"That is all," you say firmly, your voice wavering. "You may go back to him now. You are his… more than either of you could ever be mine." All that Hajime can do in that moment, then, is bow deeply before making a hasty exit, away from the shining light that floats around you like a halo and back through the tangled maze of castle corridors, the stone dark and cool and arching overhead.

Matsukawa is still standing guard outside of Tooru's chambers, and he stares at Hajime as he approaches, eyes searching his captain's face for any sign of pain, of the suffering that he's sure would follow a confrontation from you.

But Hajime is quiet, sullen in a way that isn't like him as he nods in acknowledgement and slips back in through the doors. Tooru, when he enters, sits up with a frown. It's not often that Hajime will come back like this after a night in his bed and Tooru knows that something must be wrong.

"Your fiance is kinder than we could've known," Hajime says softly, sitting on the edge of Tooru's great bed to stroke a hand through his hair slowly.

"What are you talking about?" Tooru's voice is breathy, his words rushed in his anxiety. Hajime just smiles, a sad, remorseful sort of thing.

"We've been caught," he says simply. When Tooru tenses, preparing to rip himself from bed in his panic, Hajime latches his arms around him to pull the prince against his chest and shush him softly. "It's alright, my love. Let me explain. And then… and then let me have their belongings moved in here with yours. Let your future have this."

"My future?" Tooru says quietly, slowly letting himself relax against Hajime's chest as the knight relays his conversation with you to him.

"Your future," he finishes with. "Perhaps it is time we stop fighting fate and let this life of ours take its course." Tooru tilts his head up at Hajime's words to look at him softly, reaching up to card a hand through his unruly hair. 

"As long as it is our life, still," he says quietly. Hajime presses a kiss to his forehead.

"It always will be, my Prince."

The wedding ceremony is, naturally, the biggest event in the nation, the spectacle of it all overwhelming even to the two of you, something that you realize as you stand at the alter looking up into Tooru's eyes, his hands gripping yours firmly as they tremble slightly. You're not sure if it's your nerves or his that are ricocheting around, but either way, the moment that your vows are spoken, it all seems to… calm, just a bit. 

When the two of you lean forward to press your lips together gently, you wonder if this was ever really so bad. The way that Tooru tangles a hand in your hair confirms that he's thinking the same thing. The polite ahem of the bishop and the joyous cheering of the crowd, however, has the two of you breaking apart, and as you stare up at him, you wonder if the nation has ever seen their future king flushed to his ears like this. You wonder if you'll ever have the privilege of seeing it again.

That, of course, brings you back down to earth - the thought of your cold, quiet chambers secluded away from him and the endless nights that you'll spend there begin to loom in front of you. As the two of you walk through the crowds of people, accepting well wishes and blessings and having flowers thrown at your feet, Tooru squeezes your hand in concern as your arm is slotted through his. He looks down at you with furrowed brows, but you smile in return, a painted-on sort of thing crafted for the masses of people in front of you.

"Smile, Your Highness," you say lowly to him, the display of him bending so that you can whisper something private in his ear an endearing one to the spectators. "Make them believe it, or this will all be for nothing." Tooru wishes desperately to tell you how wrong you are, but the facade continues through the exiting of the ceremony and all the way through to the feast that night, the hall of the castle filled with noise and cheer and festivities. 

There are fireworks somewhere outside, and you turn in your chair at the head table, as if somehow you'll be able to catch them through the window, but you catch Hajime's eye, instead, and turn back abruptly.

"We can have more," Tooru says easily.

"Your Highness?" You prompt questioningly.

"My name is still Tooru. We can have more fireworks if you wish to see them. Every evening for a fortnight in celebration." You click your tongue disapprovingly at his words.

"The people will think us too lavish," you say as you look out towards the crowds of people.

"The people will thank us for any reason to celebrate," Tooru says easily as he shrugs. But then he looks at you and it has you straightening, the way his eyes bore into you, big and honest and empathetic.

"There is no war here, my love," he says gently. "There is no reason not to live the way we do." You clear your throat and turn to sip your wine, anything to break his stare, to rid your mind of the words that roll off his tongue. My love.

"Perhaps," is all you say in response.

"Speaking of," he continues, reaching for your hand to tangle his fingers with yours. "Everything should be moved into my chambers by the time we're ready to retire tonight."

"Your Highness?" You question again.

"Tooru," he corrects gently. "Your belongings. They're being moved into my chambers."

"I thought we agreed that we wouldn't be doing that, Your Highness," you say pointedly, your voice a hushed whisper.

"It's Tooru," he repeats. "You suggested that, yes, but I disagreed." When Tooru looks at you then, you find yourself unable to look away. His eyes, boring into yours, are filled with something akin to passion, something gentle and loving and hungry swirling in them as he looks to you. "I would be a fool," he continues softly. "To keep someone like you away from me."

"Your Highness," you say desperately, shaking your head slightly as if to rid the heat from your cheeks. Tooru takes your intertwined hands to his mouth so that he can press kisses across your knuckles. Somewhere in the distance, onlookers cheer at the display, but you can't hear them past the blood pumping in your veins.

"It's Tooru," he says patiently. "And there is no part of me that wants you cast aside… tonight or any other night. If you are to be mine, then you shall be mine. And I shall be yours, in return."

"Tooru," you say firmly, your eyes wide at his sudden display. But he merely grins at his name finally passing your lips and pulls you to him gently, a hand on the back of your head as he kisses you.

This time, there is no bishop commanding it, no nation relying on it, no war held at bay by it. This time, Tooru kisses you just to kiss you, and you cannot help but let him. You cannot help but feel loved through it. 

But it is when the two of you break away that you fianlly look at him with concern. He pouts in response, a "what's wrong, my love," leaving his lips softly as you turn from him to look behind you. Hajime, standing dutifully in his place just out of reach of the two of you, looks on subtly. You expect, of course, to see some kind of sorrow in him, some sort of jealousy or loneliness painting his face. 

When he looks at you, though, his pupils blown and shoulders tense, the concealed lust in his eyes has you turning back in shock, leaning towards Tooru as he laughs and presses a kiss to your temple.

"Forgive me, my love, but you've been discussed," he says honestly.

"Clearly," you respond weakly, but you can't help but look back one more time, catching Hajime's gaze for just a moment.

"Well," you say quietly, Tooru tilting his head so that you can whisper in his ear once more. "It's a good thing the Crown Prince has such a large bed." At that, Tooru really laughs, a loud, honest sort of sound ringing through the hall as you smile at him, swirling the wine in your cup and hoping that everyone blames that for the flush of your cheeks and your husband's giddy smile.

When that laughter continues on throughout the night, into the privacy of Tooru's chambers and then his bed, you're sure that it's not the wine that's done it. You're sure that it has something more to do with the way you tug Hajime into the room after the two of you, his palm warm and calloused against yours. 

"What about Matsukawa?" You whisper as Tooru huffs somewhere behind you, the layers of your wedding robes thick and intricate against his wandering hands. Hajime stands before you, pressing kisses first to your intertwined hands and then up your arm, pausing after he places a final kiss on your shoulder, now bare thanks to Tooru's quick fingers.

"Matsukawa's loyal as a dog. He has protected Tooru and I from being found out for many years. He will protect you, as well," Hajime says softly, lips brushing against the skin of your shoulder and up your neck.

"And Hanamaki?" You ask, the breathiness of your voice peaking Tooru's attention as he smiles against your neck where he skims his lips across your skin.

"He is your private guard now, my love," Tooru reminds you gently. "Your fate is his own - your successes, your downfalls… he will not turn his back on you. Not for something like this."

"He and Matsukawa will entertain themselves in the hall. I wouldn't worry about it," Hajime says dryly. You laugh at that, an honest, real sound ringing through the room, and the two men on either side of you soften, arms reaching out to tug you closer and into bed. 

You wonder, somewhere distant in the back of your mind, how you ever sat in the darkness of your chambers, separate from the light and love that shines through Tooru's rooms. You wonder, throughout the night, why you'd spent those evenings like that, why you'd wept and longed for home when home is right here with you, in bed next to you. 

But loneliness is a stubborn, fickle thing, and it has you rolling over some hours later, poking Hajime's side gently and being met with a responding grunt.

"Is this really alright with you?" You ask him suddenly. On the other side of you, Tooru laughs, pulling the blankets further up your naked shoulder and pressing a kiss to your arm while Hajime grabs your other hand - the one that's smoothed itself over his abs and exposed stomach. He kisses across your knuckles as he watches you, your kiss-bruised lips and hair splayed across your pillow.

"I have no envy for this life of yours," he says honestly. Tooru's hand trails up and down your side under the blanket and you shudder at the touch, at the way his fingers brush over your exposed skin. "This tightrope that the two of you walk, filled with politics and customs and endless ceremony. I am content to stand right here by your side, keeping the two of you safe while you navigate this life."

Your eyes, wide and solemn at Hajime's words, grow damp as you blink up at him.

"Hajime…" you say softly as you reach for him. He lets you, of course, lets you wrap your arms around him and press your lips desperately to his for a moment before you bury your face in his neck. Tooru laughs from somewhere behind you, leaning over you to lay a series of kisses across Hajime's face.

"I know," he coos. "Hajime's always like that. I'm afraid there's no getting used to it." Hajime, for what it's worth, looks thoroughly embarrassed by the whole ordeal, a dusting of pink covering his cheeks up to his ears as he murmurs something about how it's just the truth. When you laugh and poke his cheek gently in mocking sympathy, he snaps at it playfully with his teeth before rolling you onto your back and making both you and Tooru forget whatever it was that you were laughing at in the first place.

It's early morning, then, when you're woken up, the faintest bit of sun peeking over the hills and through the windows, bathing Tooru in a halo of gold as he sleeps next to you. The source of your waking moves on the other side of you, Hajime leaning to press twin kisses to your foreheads - one to yours and one to Tooru's.

You watch as he clambers out of bed and begins picking up his clothes, donning layers of fabric and then armour, building himself back into the knight that he's known to be - building himself into a shield blocking the door to the outside world. You fold your arms over Tooru's chest and lean on your hands, eyeing the way Hajime moves as Tooru wakes slowly, bringing a hand up to clumsily brush through your hair.

Hajime spares just one glance back as he slips out of the room, one shining look of love and contentment shown to the two of you before he disappears.

"Go back to sleep, my love," Tooru says gently, his eyes already closed again as he settles. "It is still early. We have time." But try as you might, the world of sleep evades you and leaves you rolling over yet again, staring at the gilded patterns of the ceiling above you.

"What's bothering you?" Tooru's voice is gentle, thick with remnants of sleep as he brings a hand up to cup your cheek, turning your head gently to face him. "What are you thinking of?"

"Home," you respond easily. Sorrow flashes across his face, a touch of guilt clouding it. 

"I am so sorry, my love, for the way things turned out," he says softly.

"Are you?"

"I am sorry you had to stray so far from your home."

"But that's just my point," you say quietly, turning further to tuck yourself into Tooru's embrace. He welcomes it, of course, letting your legs tangle together under the sheets and you press your face to his chest, listening to the steady thumps of his heart. "There is a home for me here. I have strayed just far enough to build myself something new."

"Ah," Tooru says in acknowledgement, his arms tightening around you as he buries his face in your hair. "Well, don't let Hajime hear you say that. He doesn't like crying in front of his knights." You laugh at that, at the thickness in Tooru's voice and the way his words warble.

"I'm sure he'd make an exception for me," you say easily. When Tooru smiles down at you, the sunlight finally breaks properly over the horizon, shining beams of gold into the room and across your skin.

"We both would, my love," he says softly. "Time and time again."

It's over breakfast many months later that word finally comes from your family. Peace has come at last - although it is a delicate, precarious thing, you tell Tooru as you pour over the letter. One of your brothers has seized the throne and is attempting to restore the kingdom, reaching an olive branch towards you and your husband, willing to rebuild the alliance that once stood between nations.

"I'm glad it was him," you say as you fold the letter, handing it across the table for Tooru to read through - much to his pleasure. The letter had not been addressed to him. It was marked very clearly as a private letter for you alone and feels, through the weight of the paper, the heaviness of this trust that you've begun to build. "If it couldn't… since it wasn't me. I'm glad it was him. He'll do right by our people," you continue. Tooru eyes you over the letter.

"May I ask…?" he begins. You look at him pointedly. "Why didn't you stay to fight? You had other siblings who would've fit into an arranged marriage easily, so why offer yourself so willingly when it went so far against what you wished for yourself and your future?"

"Are you saying you wish for a different option, Your Highness?" You quip back. Hanamaki, standing at attention near the door, doesn't quite catch his laugh in time and is pinned by Hajime's chastising look at his obvious entertainment. Matsukawa smiles in that lazy way of his on the other side of the door at the spectacle, but Tooru just blinks, looking at you fondly.

"I would choose you in an endless crowd, my love," he says easily. "But I spend my days chasing after any glimpse I am worthy of getting into that head of yours."

"Flirt," you shoot back, but your cheeks flush all the same. You glance at Hajime, though, at the way he stands in his usual position by the two of you, his gaze fixed on you as you grow sombre. "Not all of us would've been good for the throne. Those who seek power, in fact, often abuse it. The surest way to promise safety to my people was to either take the throne for myself… or make sure that the right person took it in my place." Tooru pauses at your words, looking at you intently.

"You had a hand in your brother seizing the throne?" He asks.

"Of course," you respond easily. "It was the best decision. I also knew that a union with your nation would do a great deal of good for us. Everything I have done both here and in my life before you has been for the sake of my nation - my people. That is all." You say it like it's simple, like throwing yourself onto your sword in an act of love and loyalty is as easy as breathing.

Tooru stares - falls a bit more in love with you moment by moment until it feels as if the ground is disappearing from beneath his feet. Hajime, where is stands at his post by your side, softens so visibly that Matsukawa laughs.

Neither you nor Tooru can hold in your own laughter at Hajime's flustered chastising and Matsukawa's unbothered smile. Nobody really seems to mind. As the sun shines through the stained glass windows, bathing the three of you in colours akin to the fireworks of your wedding night, the patterns dancing in the safety of this sturdy love, you find that you really can't bring yourself to be bothered by it at all.

[crow2222]

Darry getting the TLC and hugs he deserves (which is a crap ton )

he deserves it all!

WC; 1,371 words

It wasn't a physical sickness he was feeling. Not at least to his knowledge. He'd checked his temperature multiple times, and heaved infront of the toilet, but nothing seemed to help treat the illness he felt plaguing his body.

That specific day was a Sunday, and fortunately, a day off both jobs. He took the spare time he planned to use to clean the house, to stay in bed as long as possible, all day even, if he could manage it.

His room had dirty clothes thrown carelessly all around, a muddy sock even held up by his bedside lamp, (he forgot to put on his shoes one morning, his ailment has been progressively gotten worse and worse until this point.) His small trash bin overfilled with old papers and wrappers from protein bars he'd scarf down before his stomach got too upset.

Dust could be seen floating around through the small crack in the blinds. Light shined in softly, telling Darry it was way past the hour he'd be up and at 'em already, but he didn't care.

Maybe if he stayed in bed long enough without a care in the world, his covers would just swallow him up whole, his feelings getting justified as it happens.

That thought reverberated in his head as everything went dark; his eyelids were too heavy to keep open.

...

"Pony? What're you doin' making the breakfast?"

"Darry's still asleep, I think. If I didn't do it, we'd starve."

Sodapop chuckled as he snuck up behind his brother, taking a peak of how he started the sunny-side up eggs alongside the bacon for Darry's sandwich. Soda had just gotten out of his bed, too afraid to check how bad his bed hair was, but none of the guys stayed over the night, which gave him a couple more minutes before he'd have to look presentable for an audience.

Ponyboy on the other hand, was already in a clean shirt and jeans, his hair nicely slicked back with grease. His hair was getting real long, to the point that Sodapop considered teasing him about it.

"Wake him up, would ya? He'd be all pissy if he let himself sleep so long.. that, and he wouldn't want to eat all this cold, now would he?"

With a shake of his head at his younger brother's colorful vocabulary, Sodapop followed his orders, and headed to Darry's room.

What hit him first was how dark it was in there, and when he flipped the switch on, Darry yelled at him to turn it off.

"Cripes! Why'd you have to go and do that for?" The older man whined, lazily pulling an arm over his eyes to block out the blinding light.

Another click went by without a word from Soda, and he neared Darry's bed. He had to step over random shirts and objects on the floor to avoid slipping and snapping his neck. Since when was his older brother so messy? He hadn't entered the room for a week, and it'd become a downright pigsty in that short amount of time!

Then, he was right above his brother, who by then had moved his arm off his face, and was staring off into space. Eerily similarly to Ponyboy, but it happened much quicker than his did.

"Darry.. do you feel alright?" His hands reached out to feel his forehead almost instantly, but pulled away once he noticed Darry had no fever of the sort, despite the sick look he had on his face. Eye-bags hung below his dull blue eyes, his hair was greasy from being unwashed, and his lips were chapped as if he was a dehydrated man stranded in the desert.

No response.

But what he didn't know, was that Darry could hear him, but it was all noise. Maybe he should've known what the words meant, he should've; but they didn't make a single lick of sense in his head. He made the conscious decision not to respond, how could he? His throat was scratchy and he doubted anything that would come out of his mouth would make sense.

Sensing it was a pointless game to try and get anything out of his older brother, Sodapop went back to the kitchen, quite frankly shocked. The silence following the footsteps scared Ponyboy, so he looked up, watching as Sodapop threw himself onto a chair by the table.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Darry."

The younger boy didn't push. Just waited, letting his older brother collect his thoughts and form them into words. (something Darry often didn't let him do)

"He's sick or somethin'. He's acting real funny Pony." He bit his tongue, refusing to let the "real funny like you" slip from in between his teeth.

Ponyboy let the words sink in as he assembled the sandwich for the very brother they were talking about. He wasn't going to let his efforts go to vain.

"Let's go pay him a visit then." He held up the plated breakfast, and strolled over to the closed room, his own food long forgotten. Sodapop was right behind him, thermometer in his hand, with a fear that he guessed wrong and he really did have a fever.

The handle creaked as Pony pressed it down, Darry refused to fix it, deeming his room as something he could leave to rot, but the rest of the house had to be squeaky clean. That was very evident as both of the brothers looked around the room, really taking in how dirty it all was. It wasn't a word that would be associated with Darry often.

A low sigh could be heard from the eldest Curtis and the other two came up to his bed, Sodapop sitting by his legs and Ponyboy standing towering above his face, plate in hand.

"The breads toasted!" He handed it over to his brother, but when he made no move to grab it, Ponyboy set it down on his nightstand, narrowly missing placing it on his watch.

"Darry, what's wrong?"

"Yeah, is there something up?"

Tears prickled at his eyes as his eyes darted from one brother to the other, as he suddenly felt overwhelmed. (It wasn't sudden, but he'd been able to ignore it before then.)

His brothers, both concerned, climbed up into the bed, squishing him in between them both. He felt cornered, choked, it was like brain went short circuit as he once again heard the noise, which he had to imagine was his brothers asking him what was wrong, once again.

"I don't know!" He garbled out, but to his amazement, his brothers understood. He wanted them off, to leave him, let him wallow in his misery.

But they didn't do any of that.

Instead, arms reached from both sides, one pair hugging his bicep, and another squeezed his entire body.

He wanted to tell them to knock it off, maybe knock their heads together too while he's at it, but he couldn't. Then, he noticed that the ache that had been persistent throughout his body for days now, seemed a little less.

His own arms brought free from the hold he was in, and wrapped them around the two bodies around him.

Warmth, coming to him when he thought he'd never have it again.

Brothers, who didn't have a single clue of how much this meant to him. (They knew. Of course they did.)

Tears spilled over, rolling down his face as he kept the last of his family in his arms. This action once being to keep them from harm, now kept him grounded. They were safe, that was his duty. Why is he trying to give it all up when they're still here, needing guidance and protection?

He could feel himself succumb to his exhaustion, but for the first time in months, he knew he'd wake up well rested.

..

Under his arms, he felt the rise of Darry's chest even out from his earlier erratic breathing, until it steady. He should've let go, and eat his breakfast that was waiting on the table, but he didn't. He had to stay, and Ponyboy seemed to think the exact same thing.

So they did just that,

falling asleep mere minutes after Darry.

[mickandmusings]

iv. so high school

part of the 'hangman & honey' series!

summary: With Honey and Jake's senior year coming to a quick end, Honey is more than thrilled to dream about her upcoming days in the Austin sun as a future UT student. Blindly, and perhaps naively, she assumes Jake will be at her side for another four years. Jake has a secret he's refused to tell her, and the weight of it threatens to collapse his chest. He knows it's the right decision, but he can't help but think of the hurt it will cause the girl he loves.

word count: 4.4k

warnings: fluffy->angsty, building up to some major angst, folks, buckle up, also two posts in one week is crazy, just let me be mentally ill thanks <3

-

'And there he goes! #86, Senior Jake Seresin catches the ball from #19, Senior Ethan Williams, and runs towards the end zone for the touchdown and...it is good! That's a win for the Haven High Bobcats! The Blue and Gold Nation is officially in the playoffs!'

The crowd roars in Honey's ears as she jumps up and claps in elation at Jake's score-saving play. Haven had been behind by just a handful of points, and he'd won the game just before the buzzer sounded for the end of the fourth quarter. She smiled as she watched his teammates pummel over him, lifting him above their heads as he slings off his helmet, sweaty blonde hair shining under stadium lights. His Hollywood smile is blinding, and although she can't hear it, she can see him laugh.

Honey turns to Janet and Jacob Sr. moving next to her, both of them picking up their stadium seats and filing out of their row in the bleachers. Honey picks up Jake's football sweatshirt and slings it over her shoulders. She sported a solid navy long-sleeve under Jake's spare gold jersey she wore, but Jake had insisted she bring another layer. He had been right, of course, she had shivered through the first half of the game, but after halftime, she had broken into a sweat cheering Jake on. She trailed behind Janet, making their way back to the parking lot to meet up with her small-town football star boyfriend. Honey chatted pleasantly with Janet and Jacob Sr. as she stood next to their truck, telling them about she and Jake's after-game plans. They had decided on their usual post-game dinner at The Basket, then they'd slip off into one of the empty pastures far from the farmhouse and simply enjoy some alone time, not that the grandparents needed to know that detail. She waved them goodbye when they parted to their truck, and Honey walked across the parking lot to Jake’s truck. She leaned against the side of it, waiting for him to arrive. She didn’t bother to pay attention to the stares in her direction or the whispers filling the air, Jake was the senior football star hanging out with her, so she’d expected the push back.

She heard him before she saw him, his hearty laugh filling the air. He’s fist-bumping and bro-hugging his teammates before he makes his way over to her. His smile widens, throwing down his duffel at her feet and lifting her up off the ground, kissing her lips. Honey's own smile appears, lightly chastising him to put her down. When he does, he notes her appearance, fondly looking at his own numbers across her torso, but concerned she’d be freezing.

"I told you to wear that sweatshirt, not tie it 'round your waist. You're gonna end up with a head cold and you're gonna be all mopey and miserable."

Honey gave him a pointed look.

"Okay, Dad, cool your jets. I'll put it on when we get to the truck."

He opens her door and she slides in, and he opens the back door to throw his duffel bag on the floorboard. Honey waits for him to slide around to his spot at the front, but a voice calls out his name.

"Hey, Seresin! You comin' out tonight, man? Everyone's coming down to my place, gonna have a bonfire."

Ethan Williams' voice calls after him. Honey listens in as they speak, her eyes cutting awkwardly to her hands, fiddling with the hem of the jersey she's wearing. Truthfully, all Honey wanted to do was grab their dinner, go back home and plop into Jake's bed, and sleep until noon the next day. She understood why Jake would want to go, Ethan was captain of the football team, quarterback, and Jake's friend. It was their senior year, the last chance to soak up any childish memories before their impending adulthood. Jake was funny, the life of any party, but Honey was still learning to adapt to that sort of environment. Jake cut his green eyes to look at Honey, raising an eyebrow as if to ask what she wanted to do. Honey nodded slowly, a forced smile plastered across her face. Honey hated parties, especially ones like these, where almost everyone in attendance was friends with one another, while she was just there by association. She took a deep breath and calmed herself, it’d be fine, she’d go along with Jake for a few hours, let him laugh and mingle, and then they’d go back home. There she would have him to herself.

“Yeah, follow you there?” Jake replied back quickly. Ethan nods and walks toward his own truck. Jake quickly slings into the driver’s side of the truck, cranking it, and waiting for Ethan to roll out.

“Honey, you say the word and I’m blowing this party, I know-“

“No, no,” her voice is confident, at least to her. “These are your friends, and you just took us to the playoffs, Jake. You should celebrate, you deserve it.”

He gives her a wide grin, one that makes her heart swell with ridiculous adoration for the boy across from her.

-

A few hours later, Honey finds herself sitting on a bale of hay a few yards away from the bonfire, nursing a beer she hadn’t taken more than two sips of. She didn’t care for the taste of beer to begin with, often starting one and letting Jake finish it, but this one tasted particularly sour. It likely had nothing to do with the beer at all, her attitude had been sour for the past hour or so, and she was more than ready to go home. She had sat and listened to the other player's girlfriends gossip amongst themselves-who was sleeping with who, who cheated on who-typical high school gossip. She had tuned them out mostly, her eyes following Jake as he laughed with his friends. His eyes would meet hers occasionally, checking on her without having to say a word. She wasn't sour at him for having fun, she had wanted him to have this, childish teenage memories to look back on ten years from now. It wasn't his fault she wasn't having fun, it was hers, she should've tried to talk to other people in school these past four years. She remained relatively uninterested in their blabber, but when she heard something that perked her ears, she simply couldn't stop listening in.

“I know you all saw those scouts tonight, they were hard to miss in that bright orange.”

“Of course I did, they’re always at Haven games when the season is good. The question is, who are they scoutin'? Ethan has already announced he’s going to A&M, they’re not there for him.”

“They’re at the games for Jake Seresin, duh! He hasn’t accepted a scholarship anywhere, it’s got to be him. None of the other guys are good enough, my own boyfriend included.”

“Well there’s only one person who would know his plans, you just have to ask her,” Brett’s girlfriend Haley spoke. She was turning to Honey, her pale blue eyes kind. “Hey, Honey, why don’t you come sit over here with us?”

Honey stilled, the condensation on her beer can making her hands cold. Haley had always been kind to her, their boyfriends were close friends, Brett was one of Jake's few friends that spoke to her, and it made for easy camaraderie. Before she could overthink it, her feet carried her over to the group of girls, sinking onto a hay bale next to Haley.

“So, Honey,” Sarah Grace, Ethan’s girlfriend, started. “Where does Jake plan on signing to?”

Honey’s mouth felt as if she’d been eating cotton, her eyes wide. She, truthfully, had no idea. It wasn’t something Jake had ever talked to her about. She’d assumed he would go to UT Austin, it was his preferred team, and it wasn’t too far from Haven. It was Honey’s future school, hopefully, because she’d follow him anywhere.

“Um,” she started. “I don’t really know, but if I had to guess, probably UT Austin. I mean, he’s been a Longhorns fan since before I knew him, and that’s where I’ve sent my early decision application, so..." She ends her statement with a shrug. She feels like everyone’s eyes are on her, feeling a blush forming at the unusual attention.

“No matter where he goes, he’ll be a star, so it’s a win-win for you either way.” Haley smiles encouragingly, now turning her full attention to Honey. “On a more important topic, have you picked out your color for prom? Because Brett and I are doing pink, which he hates, but I’ve had my heart on this dress since freshman year so-“

Honey listens to Haley, but her mind is far from prom and dress colors. How was it this far into their senior year and she had yet to talk about college plans with Jake? She had just assumed they’d go to UT Austin together, but maybe she’d read it all wrong. What if he didn’t want her to follow him?

“-so you should come with us, we’re all going together, it would be fun, having another girl around.”

Honey’s eyes widened, realizing Haley was inviting her to come prom dress shopping. Her eyes widened, she’d never been invited anywhere, not sincerely at least.

“Um, yeah, that sounds great. I-I’ll be there.”

Haley lets out a squeal of excitement as she smiles, making Honey smile too. She’d spent the rest of her night engaged in conversation with the other football girlfriends, finding herself laughing as the girls welcomed her warmly. Jake watched from afar, smiling to himself as he watched Honey's body language begin to settle in the small group of girls. He gave her space to socialize amongst them, proud of her for stepping even a foot out of her comfort zone. He finds her a few hours later, bidding the other girls a swift farewell before sweetly grabbing her hand and whisking her away back to the truck, back home. As the pair walked away into the distance, the girls began a new discussion.

“So, who wants to bet on how long those two have been more than friends?” Sarah Grace starts, her eyes still on the couple fading into the distance.

“Jake Seresin and her? Listen, she’s a sweet girl but they’re polar opposites. No way they've got somethin' going on. They’re nothing but friends.”

“Bullshit, she’s worn his jersey every single game, and he’s always got his arm around her. And those eyes he gives her? No way they’re not at least fooling around.” Ethan's girlfriend pipes up.

“Rumor has it she lives with the Seresin’s cause her mom’s a deadbeat. I mean they share a bed and everything, I bet they fuck like rabbits. We all know how well-off the Seresin's are, not to mention the influence that comes along with it, what if she's like, baby trapping him or something? I'm calling it now, she'll be pregnant before prom."

“You’re all wrong,” Haley finally piped up, shaking her head at the ignorant girl's statement. “Those two have been dating since sophomore year, are you truly that blind? For God's sake, have you ever seen Jake let anyone else borrow his clothes like that? Fuck no. Not to mention his obsession with touching her every time she's in his vicinity-they hold hands, she'll intertwine her arm around his, sleep on his shoulder-they're not hiding it. You just didn't notice it because you don't think someone shy like Honey could pull a ladies man like Jake Seresin. You should’ve seen them at Brett’s New Year’s Eve party last year, I swear Jake wasn’t going to let her breathe he kissed her so hard. Those two are in love, crazy about each other, but Jake is…not like other guys. He'd never let something like that happen to Honey. He isn't the idea you have in your head, at least not with her."

-

Jake cranks the truck and swings his arm around the headrest, his head peering out the back glass to back out. His hand lands on Honey’s thigh when he finally gets on the road. It's routine, his hand always rests against her when they ride together. She made no move to scoot closer, and when Jake looked at her, he expected to see her eyes shutting with sleep, but he instead found them wide awake, eyebrows pinched in thought. He sighs, he should’ve known from her being abnormally quiet when it was just the two of them.

“I can feel you thinking all the way over here. Talk to me. What's the matter, baby?” Jake’s voice is calm, soothing, as his thumb rubs lazy circles on her leg. Honey looks over at him, catches a glimpse of his concerned eyes, and looks back out her window before responding:

“There were scouts there tonight, from UT Austin. Word around the party says they were there to watch you.”

Jake shrugs, confused at where the conversation was heading. “That's a bad thing?”

Honey shakes her head. “No, it’s just, Haley and the other girls were asking if you were hoping to go to UT, and I realized I couldn’t even tell them, because I didn’t know. I-I even put my early decision application there, because I just thought that was where you’d go. It occurred to me I didn't even ask, I just thought we'd go together.”

As Jake processes her statement, he swallows thickly. He knew Honey's college plans, and as much as he'd wanted to follow her, he knew in the depth of his heart he wouldn't be following her to Austin. He had no aspirations for a traditional college route, and had already sent in his application to the Naval Academy. He hadn't told her, he hadn't told anyone, with the exception of their guidance counselor.

“I, um, I’m sendin' my application to UT too, just trying to scope out some other options, ya know? If I get hurt during a game or somethin', I’m over, I’ll lose my scholarship. I-I mean, my grades are there, but they’re not perfect, not like yours. Grandpa Seresin, he went straight to the Naval Academy after high school, paid for everything until he retired to the farm. Danny did too, played football there and everything. I just, need somethin' with some padding like that, just in case, so I’ve been holding out on a definite answer.”

His answer hadn’t been a complete lie, just, not the truth either. Honey nods in understanding, satisfied with his answer for now. Finally, she scoots over in the seat and leans her head on his shoulder, burying her head into the crook of his neck. She’s comfortable, content.

“That's good, just know I’ll follow you anywhere. I couldn’t imagine not having you around for four years, no way I'd survive without you."

Jake gulps, his heart breaking in half in his chest. His mind raced, if he told her the truth, it would kill her. There was no guarantee he'd be accepted into the Academy, but he hadn't even told her that he'd tried for it. He knew he had to tell her, but he kept it to himself for now, trying to enjoy their moments of being seniors together. He leans down and kisses her head, his mind swimming with thoughts of how he would tell her if he got accepted into the Naval Academy. He could already picture her big eyes swimming with tears, the fake smile she’d plaster across her face for his sake, telling him how proud she was, and how she would be hurting on the inside the entire time. He didn’t want that, he couldn’t face that, so, as fall turned to winter and then winter into spring, he’d neglected telling her completely.

-

When her early acceptance to UT Austin came in December, Honey had been all smiles and excited rambles, and that night, as they ate the celebratory dinner Janet made Honey, his stomach turned with guilt. Come the spring, when everyone else was announcing acceptances, he would no longer be able to lie to her, to defer the truth. But he pushed it to the side, letting both himself and Honey focus on all the exciting things that came with the last few months of high school, but they passed quicker than he wanted them to. They’d made it into the playoffs, won a few rounds before their luck run out and the football season was over. Christmas was done and over before he blinked, and his heart all but shattered at Honey’s blinding smile when she opened her very first orange Longhorns sweatshirt of her own-a gift from his grandparents. Honey had let her shoulders fall in happiness, tossing off Jake's Cowboys sweatshirt she was wearing to throw it over her head. She’d cried and squeezed both Janet and Jacob Sr. so tightly, but Jake could not smile, his entire chest was tight with words he couldn’t say. So when he opened an identical box with the same sweatshirt in a bigger size, he had to wipe on a smile and swallow the lump in his throat, because everyone still believed he’d be tagging along with Honey come August, his grandmother included. He had spilled his secret months before to his grandfather, who listened earnestly, but gave him a raised eyebrow look.

"This got anythin' to do with Danny?"

Jake had sighed, choosing not to say anything. Nothing got past his grandfather. His Uncle Danny had served in the Navy his entire life, as long as Jake had been alive. When Uncle Danny hadn't come back from his last post with the Navy, it had sent the entire family into shambles. It wasn't until months later that they'd found out the truth-he'd been shot down and lost his life.

Jacob Sr. had only nodded his head, sort of shocked by Jake's sudden announcement, but not surprised. His grandson had always had a flair for the unexpected.

"He'd be proud of you, kid. Just, the truth is better out than in. I know you haven't told Honey, that sweet girl deserves the truth, Jake. And you better tell ya Granny too, if she finds out from someone other than you, she'll kill you before you even get to Maryland. Believe me, women always find out the truth."

Jake suddenly wished he would've taken that advice sooner.

For the entirety of the next few months, he burned as he listened to Honey talk about them at UT: the apartments they'd move into together, joining him for football games, being his tag-along at parties, and him joining her in the library to help her study. She was so excited, happier than Jake had seen her in, well, ever-she was getting away from everything: her mother who she despised, this small town that felt suffocating at times, the people who talked shit about her, but she’d still have him, the one person she truly loved. She'd make him stop and let her check the mail each day as they came in from school, waiting for an acceptance letter for him that would never come. Honey would give him a sweet smile and assure him it would come sooner or later. He wouldn’t burst that bubble for-he couldn't-at least not yet.

-

As the colder days turned into a particularly hot April, Jake had five weeks before graduation, meaning he had T-minus thirty-five days to tell her. He had prolonged it this far, because after he told her the news, it was likely he’d never see her again. He'd received his Naval Academy acceptance letter two weeks ago, and as proud of himself as he was, he knew the disaster that would lay ahead of him, all at his own hand. He had broken down on the couch the night that Honey was out with Haley and Sarah Grace prom dress shopping, and his grandmother had gotten the truth from him. Janet had wrapped the boy in her arms, the boy who now towered over her, as if he was a toddler again and let him cry, knowing his decision had been made, but it didn't mean it would be easy.

Instead of focusing on the imminent pain, he spent his free time working on the old farm house on the south side of the farm. The house was nice, built years ago for a group of farm hands hired for the summer, but was in desperate need of a deep clean and some minor fixes. He had thought it’d be a great place for Honey and her new friends (Haley and Sarah Grace) to get ready for prom together, and a place he and Honey could decompress afterwards without any prying eyes, or worrying about waking up Janet or Jacob Sr. His grandparents had thought it was a good idea, happy to see Honey bring around more friends than just their grandson. As he scrubbed the floors and moved furniture into the house that week, his mind raced with ideas of how he would tell her, and, more importantly, when. After an internal pep-talk, he decided on telling her after prom, after the last fun before graduation was over. He wanted her to have one good night after her hell of a high school experience, but he needed to get the truth off his chest, and fast.

-

For now, he's wrapping his fist against the wooden door of her bedroom across the hall from his. He stares back at the Dawson's Creek poster plastered across it as he speaks.

“Honey, can I come in?”

“Hold on!” Her voice pipes up, and a shuffling noise is evident behind the door. “Okay! Now you can.”

Jake pushes open the creaky door and notices nothing out of place, which makes him raise a brow.

“What was all that racket about?”

“I had to hide my prom dress, I don’t want you to see it before prom night, it’s supposed to be a surprise! Haley said it was a ‘crime’ to look that good, so I should keep it a surprise from you.”

Jake shakes his head, kissing the top of her head as he pulls her into his arms.

“Well that poses a bit of a problem, darlin’. Don’t know what color tie I need, or what flowers to put on your corsage.”

Honey blushes, forgetting about that.

“For the flowers, do whatever you want, just something pretty, and the tie, black.” She attempts to mask her sly smile.

“Black?” Jake’s green eyes widened, his arms pulling her closer as he looked down at her. The sight of Honey in a black dress would probably kill him on the spot. "Don't think I've ever seen you in a black dress, baby."

Honey smiled as he spoke the nickname that still gave her goosebumps nearly three years later. She shrugs nonchalantly, as if the sudden change was nothing.

"Wanted to switch it up, leave our whole class with the whole 'wallflower is hotter than you think' dramatic exit, like a movie."

Jake chuckles, "You've got to stop watching so many of those cheesy romances. C'mon I got to show you somethin'."

He pulls her forward by the hand as she quickly slides on her sandals at the door. He brings her out the door and pops open the passenger side of his vehicle, helping her in. He slides into his driver's side and backs out, leading to her incoming question.

"Jake, where are we going?"

"That field with the house in the middle."

"Care to tell me why?"

"You'll see, darlin', patience, please."

Honey rolls her eyes at him as she looks out the window at the fields full of animals passing them by, slowly morphing into empty ones. Jake pulls into the driveway of the house, and Honey notes the lights on in the house.

"Did they hire some hands for the summer? You should've told me, I'm not really dressed to meet strangers, Jake."

Jake opens her door, and helps her out.

"Nobody's here but us, Hon. Just c'mon," He leads her through the front door and into the house, and she's immediately in awe of how nice it looks. There's no more layers of dust, or the sort of weird, tangy smell a shut-up house has. She turns to her boyfriend again.

"You did all this? You cleaned this place up?"

He nods, pulling her into him, her back to his chest.

"Thought it would be nice for you and the girls to get ready in, since me, and Brett and Willie and Ethan are getting ready at the house, no way we could share a bathroom with all of us."

"You fixed the bathroom in this place?" Honey's eyes widened, launching from his arms and into the hallway. She opens the door and audibly gasps-he added lighting around the mirrors, something the bathroom was once lacking, giving the perfect spot for them to get ready. "You are somethin' else, Jake Seresin."

She approaches him as he's standing in the door frame, kissing his lips sweetly. When they break apart she catches sight of the open bedroom door, immediately moving to look at it. She pushes the door completely open, finding the once broken headboard fixed, clean sheets, and the curtains are no longer filled with dust. The boy who she had to force to pick up his laundry had vacuumed this house from top to bottom.

"It looks amazing here, J, seriously." Her eyes are round as she looks around.

"I, um, I thought it'd be nice for us to have this place for just us, ya know? For prom obviously, but also if you wanted to come home during school or the summer? Wouldn't have to be cramped up in the house with the old folks."

He didn't have the heart to say he had done it so she would have some space away from the memories of him if she decided to come home. He didn't like imagining her working her ass off for some overpriced apartment during the summers when she could live here. The place wasn't anything fancy, and it's interior was definitely aging, but that was something she could fix, if she wanted. It gave Jake peace of mind to know that even if he wasn't around for her, that she would have somewhere to go, that she would be taken care of. She leans back into his embrace, taking in the house's appearance.

"Hey, J?" Her voice is quiet, but not somber.

"Yeah, baby?" He replies, his chin falling to her shoulder, planting a chaste kiss on her temple before he rests there.

"Do you think, someday-, maybe-, maybe s-someday we'd fix this place up together? It could be ours? I mean, it's perfect, a decent size house on a big patch of land. We could make it our own."

Jake's heart sinks to his feet, feeling like he might hurl with the amount of guilt swirling in his stomach. Her eyes are so wide, full of hope, and she gives him that smile, the one that's so rare it's practically reserved for him alone. He swallows down the round of tears threatening to choke him, and gives her a smile of his own.

"Someday, I'll give you the house of your dreams, baby. I'll give you whatever you want, if you'll let me."

-

taglist:

@djs8891

@unattainablesillygoose

@psuedochakra

@fraaaaankiiiiieee

-

[westside-rot]

Kill For You

Authors note: This was intended to be my first drabble but my brain wouldn't let me stop and here we are with all these words. I'll get it right and stop rambling eventually lmao

Also, I'm dipping my toe into fanfics, having fun with ideas and seeing what sticks so please be nice. It's never that serious. This has light editing so excuse any errors.

Minors dni. I do not consent to my work being copied/reposted anywhere. Stealing is lame so don't do it. Reblogs and comments are always welcome after you hit like lol

Protective husband Toji

Mentions of violence and smut *sorry not sorry*

Choosing an outfit is never easy for you. Most days it’s more like a chore and less like a first step in having fun. The way Toji’s eyes tear away from the video game he’s playing to shamelessly appraise your body is confirmation you made the right choice. Going out tonight was a last-minute decision. With limited time to get ready you opted for a backless navy-blue halter dress that showed off plenty leg without having to worry about your ass being exposed. A modest selection for the club. There’s nothing modest about the way Toji admires your curvy frame.

You pretend not to notice as you drop your phone into your purse and inform him of your plans for the evening.

“I’ll see you in a few hours. Enjoy your game. I love you.” It’s foolish to think you’d get away with a rushed explanation and a quick kiss goodbye. When Toji’s large hand catches you by the wrist you aren’t the least bit surprised to have your departure interrupted. You huff and scrunch up your nose to hide your amusement. The charade ends the moment you lock eyes. With a smirk on your face you melt into his broad defined chest and the kiss accompanying his possessive hold on your waist.

“Now let’s try this again Mrs. Fushiguro. Where do you think you’re going in this dress?”

You can’t answer right away as your husband leads you into one kiss and then another. Soon you’re in a full-blown make-out session. When he does finally let you up for air it’s a miracle you can speak. An even bigger one that your panties haven’t melted right off your ass. You explain how one of your girls is going through a bad breakup and you and the rest of the friend group have decided to get her out of the house for a night of drinks and dancing. Toji hums in what you assume to be understanding. The way his lips ghost over the creamy brown skin of your collarbone, tongue dipping between your boobs says otherwise.

“You look gorgeous my love. Maybe you should change. I don’t think I want you wearing this dress without me around.”

“Baby, I can’t. The girls will be here in five minutes. Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve felt pretty in a dress.”

He knows you’re being genuine just like he knows you don’t fault him for the long work hours and long overdue date nights. Giving you his blessing is the first step in making amends. Even though he raises you to your feet and readjusts the bottom of your dress back into place you can see the conflict happening behind his dark green eyes.

“I promise to be good.” You pout and run your fingers over the clipped black hair hanging over his forehead. He growls and pulls you closer.

“Keep your phone on. Should any man dare speak to you let them know disrespect is a crime punishable by death. Your husband is the executioner.”

“Yes sir.” You purr against his lips and erupt into a fit of giggles when he sends you on your way with a firm smack to the ass that stays with you long after you join your friends in the rideshare. It requires some convincing not to fake an illness to stay at home with your husband. Nurturing your friendships is important to you. The last thing you want is to become the friend who forsakes all others for her man. A night away from him will do you both some good. And so you turn your thoughts away from him and focus on the night ahead.

Hours later you’re regretting your decision. It’s not that you haven’t enjoyed yourself. After spending weeks going from work to home you loved every second of existing in your own bubble with your girls. The music had been on point and the drinks were nice and strong. That seemed like a good thing in the moment. By 1am you remember why you could only handle the club in small doses. The men had officially lost any sense of decency. While you understood wanting to end the night in good company, you were tired of having to relay Toji’s message to every man occupying your personal space. The massive ring on your finger should’ve been effective fuck boy repellent. Yet here you were on your fourth insincere apology. To their credit, they eventually cut their losses and backed away. There was always one that refused to take no for an answer. This particular jerk refuses to accept your no, going as

Deciding you’ve reached your fill on corny pick up lines, you and your girl decide to wait for the rest of your group outside. You've dealt with your fair share of thirsty men, none crazy enough to get physical and call you an uppity bitch for dismissing him. Pulling away only gives him reason to tighten his grip on your arm. Before you or your friend can respond with a swift kick to the balls a strong pair of hands pull the man off his feet and cast him aside like a rag doll. Your eyes practically fall out of your head when you realize it’s Toji. He’s too busy making good on his word to acknowledge your shock. While the dumb ass puts up an impressive defense he’s easily overpowered and pummeled to the ground. Every punch he throws is reciprocated with two more that land directly in his face until he's unrecognizable. Toji shows no sign of stopping. Even though you'd bet money you weren't the first woman this piece of shit has put his hands on, he isn't worth a prison sentence.

It's your voice pulling Toji back to his senses. One more punch and a kick to the ribs and he's snatching the man up by his collar to hold the man's bloody face in your direction.

“Apologize for putting your filthy hands on my wife. I’m only sparing you because she asked.

He complies and stammers out an apology through the stream of blood running down his nose into his mouth. You’re disgusted by how little you care about the beating he’s taken. Unlike the idiot before you, no one is going to force you to apologize for noticing how well your husband is filling out his thermal. In the hours since you last saw him his corded muscles appear larger and more defined underneath the black fabric. It looks painted on. The color has always been your kryptonite. Toji is wrapped in it, from his jeans down to his work boots. It’s the black beanie tugged down over his ears that turns you feral.

Toji’s voice cuts through your thoughts with a clear directive you can’t ignore. “Let’s go. All of you. NOW.” He leads you out of the club with your gaped mouth friends trailing closely behind, the crowd parting like water to let you pass. Some women gawk, one gave you a thumbs up, while other voices agreed with Toji’s methods. You have the urge to remind everyone he's your husband but decide against it.

Once in the car Toji instructs you to put everyone’s addresses into the GPS. After that the ride is tense and mostly silent. In the group chat your friends are remain crazy and undeterred as they unanimously decide Toji’s deserves immaculate head on everyone’s behalf.

You bite down a laugh then respond in chat, assuring them you will but you can't pinpoint Toji’s mood. He seems upset with you. Despite being grateful for his presence you’re somewhat annoyed with him for infiltrating your girl’s night out. Exactly how long had he been spying? Why hadn’t you noticed him before? Was he being protective, or did he not really trust you?

It pisses you off that while you’re stewing in emotions you shouldn’t feel Toji is being the perfect gentleman, not only driving your friend’s home but escorting them to the door to ensure they make it inside safely. Upon arriving home you decide you're going to sleep off your frustrations and be a responsible adult tomorrow.

Toji has other plans. Resisting your inner brat, you allow his firm yet pleading tone to keep you in your seat with arms folded across your chest.

“I’m sorry for not getting to you sooner baby. I was trying to be respectful to the hoe asking me dance and got distracted.”

The way your jaw clenches at the mention of the faceless woman proves Toji isn’t alone in his unhinged behavior. In your defense your patience runs a bit longer than his. You certainly haven’t beaten any women to a pulp for getting close. No woman had dared to touch what belonged to you either.

“Sure.”

“I got this bad feeling after you left that I couldn’t shake. Maybe it was nothing. But I rather have you upset with me than ignore my gut and something happens. You’re my entire world. I can't exist without you.”

Suddenly you’re climbing into your wonderful man’s lap to shower him with appreciation one kiss at a time across his beautiful face. You’re a brat that needs to correct her attitude. To further drive home the point you drag your tongue over his scar then back down to his chin, bearing your teeth and latching on. Toji’s lips curve into a vulgar smile but otherwise appears unfazed.

“How do you intend to make it up to me brat?”

His dick, hard and restricted against the crotch of your panties sends a message to put action to words. You comply with eager hands fumbling with his belt as you lean back on the steering wheel. “By letting you use me. You can start by fucking me right here in the driveway.”

He groans as though he’s already inside of you. What you mistake for passion on the verge of release is restraint to keep both hands firmly at your waist. He refuses to touch the intimate parts of you with soiled hands. Another reason to despise the piece of shit from earlier. But you’re too horny to argue. You practically race up the driveway, fumbling with keys to unlock the front door. The kitchen to wash your hands or a shower. You can’t decide. Toji makes the decision for you.

“Take off your panties.” Pulling them down your shapely legs, you toe the lace off to the side along with your heels. You abruptly clamp on the taunt you’ve prepared when you see him kneel before you, presenting his shoulders as a thrown he wishes you to occupy. Always mindful of safety you drape one leg across him and keep the other on the ground for leverage until he demands your trust. You comply. Your husband is a strong man. You’re reminded how much when he straightens his back, hoisting you off the ground, trapping you between the door at your back and the tongue in your pussy.

You close your eyes and surrender to weightlessness, tugging at his hair and mewling your pleasure, vocal but not too loud. You want to hear him lewdly slurp at his meal, burying his face in it like he’s eager to drown and die a satisfied man. His tongue is just as big as the rest of him. You love the way he alternates between the wavelike motions against your clit to stuffing your needy walls. It doesn’t take long to come like this. You whimper his name on its arrival, shudder then relax on his shoulders with your feet set firmly at the center of his back. When he finally sets you on the ground with a suckling kiss to each thigh you follow him on shaky legs into the kitchen.

The energy shifts from two wantons chasing pleasure to comedic and downright absurd. Toji has you pinned in front of him at the sink, his burly figure towering over you in playful competition for his share of the running water all while he struggles to penetrate you handsfree. You wish you could see how silly he looks with his jeans below his ass grinding near your entrance like some inexperienced teenager. The failed attempts have given your abs the workout you haven’t asked for. You’re the drunk one. Toji has no excuse for his antics but you’re honored he trusts you with this silly version of himself, a side the world doesn’t know exists.

"Spread your legs a little wider—push your ass up."

"Give up please." Laughter splutters from you when he notches the head between your folds, almost but not quite. The way he dips and rolls his hips as if he's sure it'll get him where he needs to be put tears in your eyes. "You’re trying to kill me." Resting your head on the counter, you give up attempting to wash your hands to fully commit to laughing. Toji joins in while taking full advantage of the water.

"Not at all gorgeous. I’m trying to fuck you." He doesn’t bother to dry off his now thoroughly washed hands as guides himself to your entrance. He reaches his target on the first try. Neither of you is laughing anymore.

The first thrust is always the sweetest. Especially when you’ve gone deprived for so long.

"There ya go. Shut that pretty fuckin mouth and let me inside." He kicks your legs apart to widen your stance and ruts into your ass. You nearly submerge your head under the water from the impact but recover quickly, stretching your soapy fingertips into the water instead and deepening the arch in your back. It gives him a full display of your ass bouncing off his pelvis and aligns him with just the right spot. He drills you for several heavenly minutes then fucks you into a standing split. Somehow you manage to cut off the water and just in time because he's snatched you off your feet, locking your knees over his elbows to fuck you midair.

There's nothing gentle about the way he fucks you. He fucks you like he's upset, like he's secretly harboring a grudge he doesn't want to speak on. You love it but feel as though you owe him another apology.

Toji isn’t giving you the chance to speak. Even as he walks you into the living room, he’s slamming you down on his dick, knocking the words right out of you. He’s relentless even in the way he places you back on your feet and jerks you around by the hair to segue right back to hard thrusts in one disorienting motion.

"I’m sorry. I’ll burn the dress—Don’t be mad." You wail over the sound of his balls colliding with your ass and frantically attempt to leverage yourself on the couch. He’s quick to restrain both arms behind your back, locking them at the elbow in a one-armed restraint. His free hand snakes your throat. There’s nowhere to run even if you want to. You don’t. He slams into you numerous times before his brain processes what you managed to say.

"What? No baby--just need to feel you and remind myself you’re mine... beautiful and all fucking mine."

"All yours. Only fucking yours." You echo the words. It earns you more sharp thrusts in powerful succession, the intensity forcing you on to the tips of your toes. You chant the words through your delirium and yield as he cranes you backwards by a makeshift ponytail to roughly kiss his way into your mouth. Not the most comfortable position but you love being treated like his personal doll. It doesn’t matter that you watched him mark his territory in the most violent way possible or how ridiculous it might seem to need the reassurance. He's a man, your man, the person you vowed to spend your life with. If he needs his ego stroked, you'll gladly stroke it. Perhaps not in the way he’s stroking your insides but close enough for him to feel cherished and irreplaceable. He deserves it after giving you some of the best orgasms of your life.

All you can do is scream your praise when the third one hits. Every nerve ending in your body feels like tiny focal point detonating at once. The pleasure overtakes you, seizing control of your limbs and coherence. You topple over the couch’s armrest to sob face first in the cushions below. Tremors ripple through your fingers down to your toes now arched and pointed at the ceiling. You fear any sudden movement will remove you from this new blissed out existence. So you don’t. You remain in your wilted position, crying and fully possessed by endless quaking yet aware enough to sense Toji kneeling at eye level. Warm hands caress your face, coaxing a gratified drunken smile to confirm you hadn’t passed out.

"Did I break you?"

“Uh-uh.”

His thumb catches your bottom lip and pries your mouth open. "I’m putting you to bed."

Instantly you muster the strength to speak. "Nooo. Just gimme a minute."

His laughter soothes your rapid pulse and puts breath back into your lungs. You think you won’t need the minute you requested. Not anymore. You only need him to find his way back home. Toji ignores your pleas with soothing kisses to your nose and lips. He guides you out of the awkward position you landed in and carries you to your bedroom.

It's a welcome change to be returned to your plush bed with your husband looming over you, gaze imbued with love you'll never get tired of seeing, removing the dress still gathered at your waist as though you'll break if he handles you poorly. He removes what remains of his attire and rejoins you on the bed. Finally you’re both gloriously naked. You pull him down on top of you, hard lines melding with soft russet contours and entangled limbs sharing a single heartbeat.

He fucks into you slow, takes his time delving to where your soul resides, whispering his devotion against your damp skin. When you reach orgasm for the last time he isn’t far behind you, filling you with his cum, marking you as his. It isn’t until he pulls out, when the urge to watch his cum leak from your spent body is too great to ignore do you realize how turned on you were watching him defend your honor. It’s toxic to wish for such things but it’s a subject you refuse to drop until you’ve talked it out with your husband. Toji will have to be the one to put a stop to your fantasy, that or replace it with something different, something better. Until then you drift back to the present, shut your eyes, and plan out your next outfit.

[vodika-vibes]

Hiya,

I hope you are feeling rested on your road to recovery and I wish the best.

I was wondering if you could something similar to your Tup selkie au but with a clone of your choice

It would be lovely if you have the time to do so🫶🏾

Swan Prince

Summary: You’ve been tending to your father’s garden since he fell ill. Not by choice, but because there’s no one else to take care of the garden while he’s in the hospital. The most interesting animal in his garden is a personable black swan. You don’t think twice about confiding in it. Until, one day you are late with your chores, and your swan friend turns into a man.

Pairing: Selkie! ARF Trooper Hound x F!Reader

Word Count: 2205

Prompt: Selkie AU

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Hihi! Thanks for your request! I hope you like this story. I wasn't sure at first, but I think I came up with an idea that I like.

Sometimes, you wonder what your father was thinking building his home so far away from civilization. You have to drive thirty minutes from your home to the subway station, and then sit on the train for an hour, and then walk for another fifteen minutes to get to his house.

It wouldn’t be so bad if you were able to drive the whole route, but that’s not possible. Hasn’t been possible since the storm came through several years ago and washed away a large section of the road.

You know that this land has been in your family since your great-great-grandfather built the family home on it so long ago, and you know that your father loves the home that he was raised in. 

And, you know that as his only child, it falls on you to make sure that the house doesn’t fall into disrepair while he’s in the hospital.

You just really, really wish that he lived closer.

The house your father lives in, the house you were raised in, is very pretty. Built like a ranch, spread out rather than up, it was designed by your great-great-grandfather to make it easier for his wife to navigate.

Your great-great-grandmother lost the use of her legs in a riding accident when she was a child, and, by all accounts, your great-great-grandfather was adamant that she be able to navigate her home with the same ease as someone who was able to walk.

Your grandfather, however, was the one who built the massive garden in the backyard. 

And when you say massive, you mean it. The garden is large enough that it has a lake, a lake that your family is responsible for maintaining. Not to mention the dozens of exotic plants and trees that make it look like a garden from a fairy tale.

When you were a little girl, you would take a small boat to the small island in the middle of the lake and climb the tower your grandmother had made to house her library. You would spend hours curled up on one of her many couches and lose yourself in books and stories about faraway places.

It wasn’t surprising to anyone when you went to school for archeology. In fact, you only returned home from where you were living halfway around the globe when you got a call from a family friend, telling you that your father had fallen ill.

It would be easier if he was more tolerant of other people, but he’s refused medical care from anyone who wasn’t completely human. This is completely ridiculous, in your opinion, but he’s still able to make that decision.

And people wonder why you only speak to your father on major holidays.

You jog up the gravel path that leads to the house, digging your keys from your pocket. Your father’s car sits in the garage, where it’s been since the road was washed out all those years ago.

The bushes at the front of the house are overgrown, and you huff out an annoyed breath as you dig your phone from your pocket and snap a photo. Your old roommate from college decided to become a landscaper rather than complete law school, maybe she’ll offer you a deal.

Of course, your old college roommate is a dryad, and she’s heard more than one rant about your father’s bigoted ways, so it’s just as likely that she would only offer her assistance if you were the one who owned the house.

You pull the mail out of the box and flip through them as you open the door.

There’s nothing important, just a couple of magazines and a predatory credit card offer from the local bank. But nothing that you need to bring to your father. 

You sort the mail on the table, putting all of the similar mail together for him to sort later, and then you focus your attention on the house proper. You check that the water is still off, make sure that all of the windows are still shut and locked, and then push open the door to the back garden.

The truth is that the only reason you need to come out here every day is to make sure that the koi in your mother’s koi pond get fed. 

The reality is that if it wasn’t for your mother’s koi you wouldn’t have returned from the dig. Though, you’re pretty sure that your father isn’t aware of that fact.

You follow the familiar path from the house to your mother’s koi pond, you can tell as you get close to it that the feeder is still working and doesn’t need to be refilled, and that the filter is working well.

For a moment, you watch the familiar fish swim around in the water, and it’s almost like your mother hasn’t passed away. If you close your eyes, you can almost hear her singing her silly lullabies to her koi.

Old, familiar grief washes through you for a moment, but you shove it away with the ease of long familiarity. You straighten and turn away from your mother’s koi pond and towards the lake.

The path from the koi pond to the lake is twisting, but it eventually leads to a shallow staircase that leads you down to the lake itself.

As you approach the shoreline, a small smile crosses your face as a black swan swims over to you from the island in the middle of the lake, and makes a beeline for you, stopping at your feet and butting his head against your leg.

He makes an unhappy noise, and you smile at him as you stroke his head.

“I know, I know. I’m late. I’m sorry.” You crouch so you’re not standing over the bird, “Father had an appointment and he insisted that I just had to be there.”

The swan releases another unhappy noise, at the mention of your father and you smile at him before sitting on the sand, “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you hated my father as much as I do.” You joke.

The swan settles onto the sand next to you, his dark eyes focused on your face.

You’re not sure how your father managed to catch a black swan and force him to live here, but the poor thing seems unable to fly. You hope that he hadn’t clipped the swan’s wings, though that would be very on-brand for him.

Your father has always viewed people and animals as possessions, after all.

“I’m going to have to spend the night, probably.” You say with a sigh, “At least my room is still set up.” You cross your legs and cast your gaze over the water, “I never should have come back,” You murmur, more to yourself than the swan sitting next to you, “This place is like a black hole, it just sucks the life out of everything.”

You watch the moon inch across the sky, and then you stretch your legs out in front of you, “If I leave now, I might be able to catch the last train back to the city.” Of course, you don’t have the desire to get up and try to do that.

So, instead, you release a sigh and flop back on the sand, focusing your attention on the stars over your head. Sleeping under the stars isn’t too bad, you think absently.

You’re jerked from your thoughts when there’s a sudden light from right next to you. You half sit up on your elbow, and you stare, speechless, as the swan next to you glows and transforms.

From a swan to a man.

Now, you’re not a stupid woman. You’ve heard the stories, and you’ve even seen proof of old curses while on digs, so you know what you’re seeing. But, never in a million years, have you ever expected to see one so close.

The man standing before you is tall, with curly black hair and dark skin. He’s wearing casual clothes, a tank top, and loose lounge pants, and he has a leather jacket hanging from one hand. 

You stare at him, jaw dropped, and he holds out his hands placatingly, “Please don’t freak out—”

“What the actual fu—!”

“Okay, that’s freaking out,” He says as he drops to his knee in front of you, “I can explain.”

“That’s a curse.” You say, your voice faint, the first stirrings of hysteria building in your chest, “Being turned into a swan is a curse—”

He clamps his hand over your mouth. He smells nice, like earth and pine and salt water. “Yes, yes it is. Please, let me talk.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, but nod mutely.

“Okay,” Slowly he pulls his hand away from your mouth and presses his hands on your shoulders, “My name is Hound and I’m a selkie. Your father, for some reason, decided that all selkies were women and kidnapped me, and when I turned back to this form, he lost his shit and cursed me to be a swan.”

“What.”

“Because I, and I quote, ‘tricked him’.”

You gape at him, “That…makes no sense.” You finally say, “My father has about as much magical potential as a brick.”

“Well, apparently not.” Hound replies with a shrug, “Honestly, I was all set to hate you when you first showed up, but you’re not anything like your father.”

“Yeah, well. I take after my mom.” You say faintly.

Hound smiles at you reassuringly, “You’re handling this very well.”

“Uh…well, I was in Greece last year, and there was a whole island dedicated to people who were cursed to be swans—” You say, your hands coming up to press over his, which are still resting on your shoulder, “How can I break the curse? I don’t have any magic at all.”

“Well, true love’s kiss is a pretty potent magic,” Hound points out.

“Great! Who’s your true love?”

He shoots you a bemused look, “That would be you.”

“Well. Well, that’s silly.” You reply, “You don’t know me.”

“In the last couple of months, I’ve come to know you very well. Why do you think I followed you everywhere?”

You blink at him, “I feel like you need to have better standards than the daughter of the man who kidnapped and cursed you.”

Hound shrugs, “I disagree.”

You huff out a heavy breath and reach up to press your hands against his cheeks, “Fine, but when this doesn’t work, we need to come up with another plan.” You warn him before you tug him in and press your lips lightly against his.

It’s a very quick kiss because you honestly don’t think it’s going to look. Even if Hound, swan Hound, has been your only friend and confidant for months. That’s not the same as true love.

Turns out, the magic doesn’t agree.

You have to turn away to shield your eyes as Hound glows brightly, and there’s an audible snap of the curse breaking. 

When the light fades, Hound is still himself, and he looks very, very smug. “I knew it was going to work.”

You shake your head and duck long enough to pick his jacket up off the sand. You shake the sand off the soft material and hold it out to him, “It makes no sense.” You counter.

He stares at you, before he slowly takes his jacket back, “Thanks.”

“I appreciate you, and I do think of you as a friend, but that’s no true love.” You say.

“Well, maybe the curse broke through the selfless action of the daughter of the person who cursed me.” Hound offers.

“I mean, I guess that’s possible. Magic is finicky like that.” You mutter as you fold your arms.

“It is finicky like that.” He agrees, “Now, I have just one more question.”

“Hm?”

“Would you prefer an autumn or a spring wedding?”

“I…what?”

Hound holds up his jacket with one finger, “Selkie.”

You stare at him, and his jacket, for a moment, and then you curse, “That can’t be legally binding—”

“It is. Both magically and legally binding.”

“I’ve never even had a boyfriend before!” You blurt.

“That’s alright,” He replies brightly leaning in so that he’s able to press his forehead against yours, “I’m a patient man. Even though we’re already legally married, we can take our time and pretend that we’re just dating.”

“I…suppose that works.”

“Great. Now, I’m starving for real food, do you think we can go up to the house and get something to eat?” Hound asks, “Also, I need to call my brothers.”

“Yeah, alright. I’m sure there’s something in the house I can make.” You turn to head back to the house, only to pause when Hound takes your hand in his and threads your fingers together.

For a moment, you stare at your joined hands, and then your face heats. You can almost feel the amusement rolling off of Hound, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” You murmur, and then you tug his hand to lead him towards the house.

Your father’s head is going to explode when he finds out about this. But maybe that’s a good thing.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #40] Spinning Bottles

warnings: one of my faves!! drinking games, alcohol, home noraebang a la in the soop, brief game-related kiss with someone who isn't kook, jealous kook!!, ankle hold!! mm mm mm, kitchen kisses <3, mutual masturbation, sex toys (m&f), cum eating, cum swapping, multiple orgasms, just a fun time all round <3, the starlovers are really good at taking breaks!! self control is their forte!!

a/n: they're on wings which is like track 3 of the sy: final setlist and I can't promise ill get much more done of this bc they're in sparkly suits and I'm just a girl

wc: 14.5K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"Stop," you laugh in that oh-so-serene way you always do when you don't really want Jeongguk to stop whatever he's doing. You just like an excuse to bicker - but he's just the same. Enjoys the back and forth. Always puts a smile on his face.

In the kitchen area of the main house, you've been setting up with Namjoon for the better part of half an hour, making sure that everything is ready for tipsy bingo later that evening.

The room is a chaotic mix of party decorations; an exuberant clash of colours that makes the previously millennial-grey kitchen come to life. Streamers hang from the ceiling, as do the balloons, and a few tiny disco balls, which are really just repurposed Christmas tree decorations.

"Not doing anything," Jeongguk mumbles through a mouthful of the puffed cheese balls that have been set out on the table as a snack for the evening.

Stood on a chair as you tape another one of the disco balls in place, you look over your shoulder to find Jeongguk's cheeks full to the brim. Eyes like a deer caught in headlights, he whips his hand away from the bowl, which now has significantly fewer snacks in it than it did 5 minutes ago.

"Gguk!" You laugh once more, simply shaking your head. "Told you already. They're for later."

"I'm not doing anything," he protests yet again, as if you don't have a pair of working eyes and ears.

"Well, in that case, do something ," you say. "Be useful."

"And do what?" He mumbles through yet another mouthful.

Unbelievable .

Tossing the tape in your hand down onto the kitchen counter, you hop down from the chair and just shake your head as you approach him. His fingertips are orange, and he can't lick them clean because his mouth is full of the cheese puffs that he's pretending aren't there.

"You're like a hamster," you deadpan, squeezing his cheeks a little bit - which causes his ever-so-large eyes to widen even further, scared of the pressure you're applying. Thankfully for him, you don't really fancy getting coated in his regurgitated food. You'll share many things with him, but this is not one of them.

Loosening your grip, you walk around the kitchen island to check in the fridge for the alcohol you bought earlier. "Fancy tending the bar, Dionysus boy?"

Jeongguk frowns. Swallows down the food he totally wasn't eating. Says, "It's my day off!"

"Pretty please," you plead with a pout, and then for good measure you add, "Koo. Please."

He outwardly scowls, but his insides are doing all sorts of silly loop-di-loop shit that usually only happens on rollercoasters. "Don't call me that. Witch."

"Just make a few pitchers for me," you implore, ignoring the choice of insult. You quite enjoy the idea of putting a spell on him. Might make him behave for once. "Starfuckers, Star Lovers, anything. I don't mind. A Woo-woo maybe?"

He scoffs, now. "A Woo-woo? Who do you think I am, B?"

Making his way around the counter, he taps your hips and scoots you out of the way before grabbing the liquor from the bottom shelf.

"A fuckin' woo-woo. It's like you don't even know me," he scolds you. Is ridiculously obtuse in his little tantrum, not caring for the fact he'll be making you exactly what you want. "You'll get what you're given - and you're getting star fuckers. And you're gonna like them."

Rather be getting star fucked, your brain sighs, and you almost verbalise the command for it to shut up.

Instead, you just beam at him like the shooting star you are. "Thank you!"

Leaving him to mumble false annoyances under his breath, you get back on with decking the room to the absolute nines. Jeongguk takes over the playlist, and you let him, even if you do lament the fact Charlie Puth seems to be every other song. The thing is, Jeongguk's voice harmonises so heavenly that it makes even the most overplayed of songs enjoyable.

Eventually, he makes himself extra useful and helps Namjoon rearrange some of the furniture to make the set-up a little bit more like a bingo hall. You and Namjoon get your very own stage - or rather, the boys just haul in a couple of wooden palettes from the deck area that will one day be chopped down for firewood.

Disguised by a little fabric and even more decorative touches from your hands, the room looks like a whimsical coming together of Dionysus and your apartment. Colourful, a little makeshift and incredibly welcoming, it's perfect. Fairy lights line the walls, balloons are scattered around the floor and disco balls take their place on the ceiling.

"Christ alive," is all Jimin mutters as he enters the room - and that's how you know it's perfect. As long as his minimalism-loving interior designer ass hates it, it's everything you could ever want and more.

There's a joy that comes with a room decorated like they're anticipating a toddler's birthday party, yet there are wine glasses in the place where there should be sippy cups - although now you come to think about it, perhaps sippy cups would have been a good idea.

You've barely explained the instructions of the night, and the group are already getting merry. Jeongguk's welcoming shots were a little stronger than normal, by design. He knows you have high hopes for your little event, and wants to help achieve that.

Dressed to the nines while the rest of the group are casual, you and Namjoon are severely committed to the bit. He's in a sweatshirt and bowtie, while you're wearing a pretty, white summer dress with a few ruffles. It's not all that dignified. It's so short that you know bending over isn't a good idea - but it doesn't matter.

Jeongguk still stares at you like a lovesick puppy regardless.

The first round is simple - just your standard game of Bingo. Namjoon has been brushing up on all the correct terms - "Legs eleven! Duck and dive, twenty-five! Meal for two, sixty-nine!"

That last one earns a few groans from the crowd.

It does, however, get a little smirk on Jeongguk's face. On yours, too. You think you're coy when you sneak a glance in his direction, only to see he's doing just the same.

The contact of your gaze lasts for a fraction of a second, but it's enough to awaken dormant butterflies that seem to have hatched quite recently. You're all of a flutter. Can't quite seem to focus.

Thankfully it's Namjoon leading this round, and not you.

Yoongi is the first to call bingo. Screams it quite violently, actually, then plays it cool as if he didn't give a shit. Strolls up to the stage to present his card - not that you've been keeping track of the numbers. Still, you and Namjoon feign deliberation between yourselves, then crown him your first winner.

His prize? Watching on as everyone takes a shot of his choice.

And because he's an absolute heathen, he chooses Fireball.

"You sick fuck," Jimin gasps before he's even taken the shot of cinnamon whisky. Hates the stuff. Knows he's in for a world of pain when he wakes up with a hangover the next morning.

"Not my fault you're a loser," Yoongi teases. "Win next time and then you can pick."

And so, by some miracle - or just him convincing Nabi to switch bingo sheets with him - he does.

Living with a bartender has many perks, and learning specific shots is just one of them. Jimin really hasn't utilised it enough, but Jeongguk looks on with pride as Jimin sets up a round of slippery nipples.

Equal parts sambuca and Baileys, the different densities of the alcohol means that the bottom half of the glass is entirely transparent, while the top half is a pale, creamy brown. Appetising? No. Delicious? Also, no. Fun to watch other people drink? Absolutely.

This time, Jimin forces you and Namjoon to drink. You protest. Cite a particularly bad night out (and morning after) thanks to slippery nipples.

Jeongguk calls you a pussy from across the room.

Challenged, you down it instantly, and mouth 'fuck you' at him after you've stopped wincing from the taste.

He just knocks his shot back without any trouble, grinning as he looks at you, his brows quickly rising and then falling. In the corner of his mouth, his lip ring does that godforsaken thing you love so much, and you decide that you simply cannot look at him for the rest of the evening.

By the third round, things are getting lairy.

Seoyeon calls bullshit when Yoongi wins again - "We're supposed to be a team! You can't be throwing me under the bus!" - and the judges have no choice but to disqualify him - "It's my party!" - and then give him a penalty shot for arguing with the adjudicators - "You're both uninvited to the wedding."

When Seoyeon calls 'bingo' two numbers later, you realise that perhaps she had ulterior motives.

"Unbelievable," Yoongi mutters when she passes him a shot of vodka with a giggle - but as soon as he's downed it, he's got his arm looped back around her shoulders again, and a kiss is being pressed to her cheek.

So in love are Seoyeon and Yoongi that both you and Namjoon gag a little - then force everyone else to take a shot. Star fuckers, this time. One of the pre-made batches you had Jeongguk mix-up earlier. Far more palatable than the other shots. In fact, they're so much nicer, that most people do another shot voluntarily.

With enough liquor in your systems to really let loose, you and Namjoon introduce the real bingo of the night.

Numbered balls back in the cage, Namjoon hands out fresh bingo sheets while you hold up a list, a wicked smile on your face.

Jeongguk recognises that smile. Fuckin' loves it. Knows it means one thing and one thing only: trouble.

"Each number correlates with a 'Never Have I Ever' prompt," you explain. "If you've never done it, you can cross the number off your bingo card."

"And if we have done it?" Taehyung asks, as if you weren't about to just move onto that stipulation of the rules. He's impatient. Wants to win.

"If you have done it, you take a sip of drink."

"And cross it off?" He clarifies, but is horrified to see you shake your head.

"Nope. If you've done it, you take a shot, and leave it uncrossed ."

"No one will ever win!" He wails - not realising that's the whole entire point.

The list is a combination of yours and Namjoon's knowledge. You've directly targeted your friends with things you know they've done. Have tried not to incriminate yourself too much, but you know there are things both you and Jeongguk will be drinking for.

Collectively deciding that no one would be able to win the game, you had both spent the entire time writing out the list giggling.

It was truly a bonding moment for you both - just as you're sure the revelations of everyone's sex lives will be for the whole group. Nothing says 'strong friendship' quite like knowing what your mates get up to in the sack. You and Jeongguk are a testament to this.

With 92 balls in the cage, you really had to scrape the barrel of sexual exploits when coming up with the list.

Which is why the first one gets you laughing before you even read it out.

"74," you announce. "Never have I ever had someone else's toes in my mouth."

"What?!"

"You guys are horrible," Danbi laughs - then takes a shot... as does nearly everyone in the room.

The only person who doesn't is Hoseok. He looks at you all with mild horror and intense curiosity. Points his finger around the room, and judgmentally says, "Disgusting. All of you. Animals."

"Don't knock it till you try it," Namjoon says, before swigging down some of his drink. You can't work out if he's flirting. Decide not to let it linger, 'cause from the look on Hoseok's face, he can't work it out either. Cute.

Namjoon begins to spin the ball cage once more. The small numbered balls rattle against one another as they fight to escape, until one eventually wins.

"21," you declare. "Never have I ever... been walked in on by my housemate."

Taehyung and Danbi both narrow their eyes at you - and your little grin only serves to prove that they're right to think it's aimed at them.

The horrors of New Year's Day still live in your mind rent-free. You don't think you'll ever be able to forget the image of Taehyung darting across your living room stark-bollock naked. You've seen freckles you never should have seen.

"What if your housemate heard you," Jimin asks. "Does that count?"

You and Namjoon deliberate for a moment, then decide that anything that gets more people drinking is positive. Tell him yes.

"Drink up, Gguk," Jimin teases across the room, earning himself a curt, but giggly 'Oh, fuck you' from his housemate. They've lived together for years, so it's hardly a surprise.

Thing is, you know Jimin to be a heavy sleeper. Know that you've gotten away with it pretty much every time you've hooked up with Jeongguk in his apartment. His room is against the living room, but it's across the apartment from Jimin's room. Even times in his bathroom have been masked by running water and the promise of Jimin's hangover keeping him knocked out.

Jimin doesn't tell you to drink.

An ache blooms in your chest in a way you don't really understand.

"Oh actually, in that case," Danbi speaks up, pulling you from your pitiful thoughts, as she pours out a fresh shot and passes it over to you. "You too."

"When?!" you exclaim, previous ponderings of Jeongguk's sex life fading into the abyss.

"Our walls are so thin," she laughs - and you know this to be true. "I've heard horrors."

"Oh, get fucked," you laugh, taking the shot regardless, deliberately not focusing back on Jeongguk.

Probably best.

The way he's looking at you right now would make you spiral; stare hard, jaw tense. He looks down at the table and shakes himself out of it before anyone can notice it. Stupid thing to get worked up about. He knows this. Refuses to let his misplaced emotions ruin the evening.

By the time someone calls bingo, you've lost track of everything - who's done what, which numbers have been called, quite literally all the important stuff.

Still, Taehyung takes his victory like a champ. Makes a speech.

Slurs, as he says, "I'd like to thank my beautiful girlfriend-" hiccups "- And say a very merry fuck you to all of my best friends. I love you."

And then he proceeds to dance, in a way no one expected, and nobody understands. He sort of looks like a cross between a 90-year-old man who occasionally transforms into a pole dancer - things he's learned from Danbi, no doubt.

Everyone watches on with mild horror, but nobody stops him. Jimin films it. In the morning, Taehyung will realise it's been viewed a couple of thousand times on the TikTok account that Jimin has never posted anything on before - but right now, you're all capable of making bad decisions.

Everyone, except for Yoongi and Seoyeon. Already pretty much stolen by drunken slumber, Yoongi carries her bridal-style back to their room in one of the outer houses, and you watch on with Danbi and Nabi cooing at just how sweet they are together.

Nabi knows full well the boys would draw moustaches on her if she fell asleep, and Danbi knows that Taehyung will be the one to fall asleep first if his little dancey-dance is anything to go by. You think about Jeongguk. Wonder if you'd become his responsibility.

"Oh, give over," Danbi laughs when you say you'd be left well alone. "Gguk'd probably worry you were dead and start doing CPR, or something stupid like that."

Nabi laughs. Agrees. "He'd get you on his back and Naruto-run you to the house. Probably land you both in the hospital."

Giggling at the stupidity of it all, you can't help but let the residual stardust in your heart burn. Glancing over at him, you wonder which scenario would be more likely to come true. When he feels your eyes on him, and looks up to meet them with a smile, you decide that you wouldn't mind either of them. Memories made with Jeongguk are things to be cherished, regardless of how stupid they may be.

It's why you ask him to come with you when you head over to the house you're staying in to grab a jacket. The air cools significantly at night still, and your little summer dress really isn't offering you enough protection from the chill.

"I like the dress," he says quietly as he sits on your bed while you rummage around for a jacket.

Holds his hands out for you to take - and when you do, he pulls you back to where you belong, between his spread legs.

Jeongguk looks you up and down as best he can when you're in such close proximity. Ends up just looking at your lips instead. Strokes your hip with the pad of this thumb.

"Pretty, pretty star, aren't you?"

Your eyes drop as your cheeks begin to flame ever so sweetly. Compliments from Jeongguk are nothing new, but they're never quite like this.

"Hmm?" He whispers, a little lopsided grin forming on his face when he realises how bashful you're being. "What's got you shy, huh?"

He really has to ask?

"Not shy," you hum sweetly. Dust make-believe lint away from his shirt. "Was just trying to figure out if that was dust or dandruff."

Rolling his eyes, he just says, "Fuck you, Byeol. My scalp is, like, a gift from the gods. Never had dandruff a day in my life, even when I bleached it."

"Should bleach it again," you tell him just to continue the deflection from your own awkwardness.

"Think you'd like it?" He asks.

"Not really into blondes," you lie. "Would be better for us if you repulsed me a little bit more than you already do."

"You'd be into me even if my head was shaved," Jeongguk snorts.

Ruffling your fingers in his hair, you shake your head. Smirk, and give him those eyes you always pretend to not realise you give him, before turning away to head for the door. "Nah. Need something to hold onto."

"You're filth, Disco Ball," he calls after you.

Looking back over your shoulder as you reach the door, the swish and flick of your ponytail matching the skirt of your summer dress, you're well aware that you're flirting. Well aware you shouldn't be flirting. Well aware that you shouldn't say the next few words, and yet you just can't seem to help yourself.

"You love it."

Jeongguk says nothing. Purses his lips. Fails to hide his smile, or formulate any response before you're already heading through the common area of the house and for the front door. He's damned if admits it, damned if he denies it. Silence in the space of truth is far safer, he thinks.

Following as you head back to the main house, you talk nonsense. The stars watch on with a fond sparkle, waves crashing ever so softly against the shore.

By the time you're back at the house, everyone has migrated to the sitting room, and Namjoon and Nabi have just finished a rendition of Finesse on the home-noraebang system.

Lights off, a couple of lamps and disco bulbs are the only thing providing any light, dappling you all in the most whimsical colours, as if you really are in a noraebang.

Jeongguk watches on with a quiet smile as you and Danbi enthuse over which song to sing next.

Neither of you are able to remember the name of any song ever released, apparently, and instead have resorted to tapping through random lettings into the machine and seeing if something tickles your fancy.

Currently, you're scrolling through artists that begin with 'C', and you can't help but fixate a little bit when you scroll down to Charlie Puth.

He's not your favourite - something about him just irks you - but you know Jeongguk loves him. Know that if you and Danbi sing one of his songs, it'll put a smile on Jeongguk's face. That he'll watch on from the sofas with a giggle, and probably sing along, too. Knowing the boys, you half think they all will.

And so you wave your arm in front of you as Danbi continues pressing the down button, and say, "That one! The duet with Selena."

One of Danbi's many blessings is the way she seems to retain every song she's ever heard in her brain. Even if a song she doesn't know is chosen, she can usually pick it up.

And so, even though it wouldn't be her first pick, she's more than happy to oblige. Clicks through, as Taehyung walks into the room with the final jug of premade starfuckers. Wisely, he's also got a big bottle of water tucked beneath his arm, but you doubt you'll be having much of that, in all honesty.

"I'll be Charlie," Danbi offers, knowing that her register is a little lower than yours - not that either of you can actually sing well. In fact, you half think the boys might have to leave the room. Singing really isn't a strength that belongs to either of you, but it is also what makes it so much fun.

You avoid turning to look at Jeongguk as the instrumental starts, the multi-coloured disco light shining on you both like you really are fully-fledged pros. Naively, you think you can get away with a glance in the mirror that's standing in the corner of the room - only to find a pair of fond eyes staring back at you.

Immediately, you look away. It's so embarrassing to be caught, regardless of how many times Jeongguk has locked eyes with you in mirrors. In the gym during those early days, in his bedroom, in his lounge, bars, bathrooms - ever-present. Always there. Like a pair of cosmic entities, you're still orbiting one another.

You're on course for collision, and it'll be catastrophic.

The inevitable calamity of your pairing is disregarded as Danbi gets into the lyrics, and you're pleased she's just as terrible as she always is. Gets everyone laughing, and singing along. It's Jeongguk's voice that holds your focus - and the way he stops singing when Danbi reaches the pre-chorus.

Don't wanna know,

It's odd, you think. The pre-choruses are always fun.

What kind of dress you're wearing tonight.

But then you stop singing, too.

If he's holding onto you so tight, the way I did before.

And then you're a little bolder in the way you let your eyes land in the mirror. Accept the way his eyes are already on you, lips parted ever so slightly, brows hard as he contemplates thoughts you don't want to let yourself imagine.

Jeongguk is in your head. The touch of his soft hands against your hips. The way he had declared you to be a pretty, pretty star bouncing around your skull. The fondness of his eyes on yours in the sanctuary of a private room.

It's so stupid . It was just a compliment. It really doesn't mean anything more than what it exactly expressed - and yet you wonder if Jeongguk is listening to the lyrics a little too intently. If he's thinking about you how you thought about him during the final round of bingo; with someone else.

You don't let yourself dwell on it. Danbi's chorus is finishing, and you've got lines to belt. Can't be letting your drunk brain get wrapped in nonsense that really doesn't make a difference.

Danbi forgets the concept of a duet, and continues to sing full pelt into the mic during Selena's part, but you don't mind. The pair of you sing at one another in such an aggressive manner that you can't help but giggle.

Every now and then I think you might want me to come show up at your door.

Jeongguk watches you a subtle smile on his lips. Wonders if you realise just how awful your singing is, and how volume doesn't negate a total lack of tone.

But I'm just too afraid that I'll be wrong.

Despite the fact you do sound like a drowning cat, there's something about this line that makes him feel a little something more than just bemusement. Previous uncomfortable thoughts of you with someone else echo in his mind.

He can't work out if there are signals that he's missing. Knows you've been working on your fears together, and quite successfully at that, but wonders which new ones could have evolved since you first wrote out the birds.

Neither of you are the people you were back then. Jeongguk thinks you're both better for it - but you're not perfect. Not by a country mile.

But perfection is for Hollywood stars, not the actual, living, breathing manifestation of the cosmic entities. It's your flaws that make you shine, and so maybe small fears are okay. If you've got someone to hold your hand throughout them all, then you'll never really need to be afraid again.

If you've done one thing right in your lifetime, it's befriending Jeongguk.

He's brought a richness to your life that you don't think you've ever known before. A year on since your first introduction, and it feels like this is exactly where you're supposed to be.

So you ignore the weightiness of your pre-chorus lyrics. Push the thoughts of Hayun out of your mind when you sing about another woman. She can only ruin your mood if you let her.

In the darkness of a room lit only by party lights, surrounded by friends, mediocre pop hits and the laughter of the ones you love, you never want to lose moments like these.

Finishing off on a particularly horrifying note, you and Danbi are the first to call bullshit when the noraebang system gives you a score of 63.

"Fuck you!" Danbi calls into the mic. "We were perfect!"

"You just don't know talent when you hear it," you second, middle finger pointed upwards, directed at the plastic box full of wires.

"Biased! Tone deaf!" Danbi insults the machine, just for good measure, then hands the mic over to whoever wants to go next, but warns. "It doesn't know what it's on about!"

Jimin hops up instantly. Tells the boys that they have to join. Refuses to tell them what they'll be singing - but makes sure they close their eyes until the instrumental starts.

There's laughter amongst the boys that just glows and illuminates the room. Opening their eyes, they instantly get themselves into a little formation, Jimin in the central role.

The look on his face is one of unbridled success. This is exactly what he was after.

Yourself, Danbi and Nabi watch on with great amusement as Shinhwa's Perfect Man begins to belt out of the speakers, and the boys start their rendition with fucking choreography. Practised shit. Learnt .

The three of you giggle at the sight in front of you, completely bemused.

Jimin is pitch-perfect taking the lead, and the rest of the boys share a mic between them, passing it around every now and again. You can tell it's not the first time they've ever done this, and truth be told, you'd like to know when the first time was - what on earth prompted them to learn a full routine?!

Cheering them on, you and the girls play the ultimate role of cheerleaders - and when Jimin strips off towards the end? Oh, you've never screamed louder for a man. There are smiles on the faces of quite literally every single person in the room.

Or at least there is, until the noraebang machine grades them, and you think Jimin might just throw it out of the window.

"SIXTY-TWO?!" He yells. "Sixt- oh, this is unbelievable! Sixty-fucking-two?!"

"Losers," Danbi teases the boys, who are finding the whole thing hilarious - but also begin to take offence, too.

"It's wrong!" Taehyung begins to insist, too. "We are perfect men."

How on earth they scored a point less than you will remain a mystery until your dying days, you're sure of it - but for now, it's fun to tease them.

As Jeongguk takes the seat beside you on the sofa, you get a little more comfortable. Bring your knees to your chest, and then lean into his relaxed recline. His breath is a little heavier thanks to his dancing, lungs heaving ever so slightly, skin warm.

You speak quietly to him beneath pandemonium unfurling.

"Since when are you a K-pop trainee?" you say with a teasing smile.

Jeongguk just nudges you away, then pulls you back, his drunk smile so pretty beneath purple lights currently dancing around the room. So pretty. So perfect. So deserving of a little kiss for a job well done.

"Eyes up here," he whispers, still grinning. "Why? Did you like it?"

"Fuck you," you reply to his first statement, and take one last glance at his dewy lips, which he licks, before toying with his lip ring in the way he does that always drives you a little bit insane.

"Now? B, our friends are here," he flirts quietly before you can answer his questions. There's a certain sin to the way he looks at you after a couple of drinks, and it always gets you thinking about the way he worships you like a saint beneath the sheets. Gets you a little desperate; needy for a touch you know you shouldn't love as much as you do. "A little decorum, please."

And so once more, you just say 'fuck you' with a giggle - but then you're letting out a small yelp as Jeongguk drags you to your feet, grabbing the mics from Jimin, who is still cursing out the machine.

Your friends cheer you on while you accept two shots of fuck-knows what from Taehyung, while Jeongguk loads up a song. He doesn't consult you first, and you don't care to be consulted, either way. You're so drunk that anything will do. So is he - but he picks this one deliberately: Replay by SHINee.

Picks it, 'cause every time he hears it, he thinks of you. Wants to sing it with you, 'cause he's too timid to sing it at you. This gives him a little plausible deniability. Smart, even when he's steaming, Jeongguk is pleased when he sees you smiling at the screen.

It's a break-up song, but that's not really why he chose it. Chose it 'cause he remembers the way you, Danbi and Hoseok fuckin' lit up one evening towards the start of your friendship with him when it came on in Dionysus.

Reminds him of how the lyrics bemoaned other guys looking at the singer's pretty Noona, and how he'd sung along quietly by the bar, glancing over to you discreetly - only to earn himself a whip from a tea towel thanks to Yeonjun.

See, Jeongguk has never been discreet a day in his life when it comes to you. Is realising this much later than he should have done - but is already fuckin' serenading you in front of all of your friends, as if he didn't realise they'd all totally know what he's doing.

You're completely unsurprised that Jeongguk somehow seems to know the dance to this one, too.

You do not, but you also don't need to because Jeongguk is playing the role of a devoted, love-drunk fool perfectly. Gestures towards you with every beat of the song.

The real pièce de résistance?

When Taehyung and Jimin join as fucking backup dancers to the bridge and final chorus.

At this point, you take a seat next to Danbi on the sofa, and the pair of you belt the lyrics into your shared mic, though half of the words are replaced with your drunk giggles instead. Holding out your hand, you beckon for Nabi to come and join you. She happily obliges you, and the three of you are the perfect recipients of the boys and their little performance.

Hoseok and Namjoon are half invested, half busy animatedly chatting about something else instead. You leave them be. Think they look quite cute.

The boys in front of you, however, are a picture-perfect idol group, even if they are rat-arsed, and a little rusty on the old dance moves. Somehow their coordination is spot on, and it just raises even more questions.

You're still laughing when the score comes through and the boys are too busy congratulating themselves on a job well-done to notice it either.

Still holding the mic, Jeongguk holds his hand out for you to join him again.

"Sorry," he laughs. "We'll do something properly this time - your choice."

And even though it is your choice, you pick something that you know will be right up his alley. Wanna do something he likes, because seeing him with a smile on his face is maybe your favourite thing in the world.

"Oh, banger," he beams as the song loads up, and you're pleased to have chosen well.

"Young Money," you start, then replace Justin's name with that of your best friend and gesture towards him. "Jungkooooook!"

He takes the role of Justin Bieber so seriously that you can't help but laugh. Smoulders .

"Show you off," he gestures towards you as the song begins. "Tonight I wanna show you off."

The pair of you dance around, both singing, not really caring for the lines you're supposed to take. Really do party like it's 3012 tonight.

Moments like these - trapped between the unadulterated joy of what it's like to be young, and the heavy understanding that the people around you will be with you until you're old - are what life is for. You've sung in countless noraebangs, and consumed even more countless drinks - but this? Here? Right now? Tonight?

This is one night you'll remember for the rest of your life. Perhaps not the specifics, and perhaps the alcohol will ravage your memories, but in 5, 10, 20 years, you'll feel just as fond about this evening as you feel about it right now.

Not just for Jeongguk, but for all of your friends. For the unwavering amusement that comes with being in a group that just gets each other, despite any differences. There's a safety and serenity here that is rare to come by. You're lucky.

And yet all of these complex and heavy emotions fizzle away to simple joy.

Jeongguk's hand snakes around your waist at some point or another, and you know you're dancing a little too closely in front of everyone else.

Not a single person cares. They just cheer you on. Will be dancing in just the same ways when it's their turn.

The fact that you took the role of Selena in your earlier duet with Danbi isn't lost on anyone, as Jeongguk gestures towards you when you sing, "Gotta keep an eye out for Selena."

The whole thing is ridiculous. The song, the way you and Jeongguk are so into it, the way you're acting if a little bit of free space in the sitting room is a stage in front of thousands.

Arm around your waist, Jeongguk pulls you a little closer as you finish Nicki's verse. Your arm slinks around his neck - and your friends go absolutely feral . Sharing just one mic, eyes on one another, there's no denying that your bodies are well-acquainted. It's in the way they move together so effortlessly, his hips a little too telling as they roll to beat of the song.

Body rock; I wanna see your body rock.

Oh, it's dastardly. Sinful. Who do you think you're fooling?!

'Cause all I need is a beauty and a beat, who can make my life complete.

A beauty and a beat? Yeah. When he looks at you, Jeongguk knows in this moment he's got both .

The way friends cheer you on would suggest they're very much aware of the fact Jeongguk has, by all metrics, seen your body rock. Neither of you care for subtleties. You're drunk, and it's your nearest and dearest around you. Who gives a fuck?

The way he belts the final chorus - it's aaaall 'bout yooouu - just solidifies the fact he's wasted behind a bar. Should be on stages, in some capacity. Calls you a star, but fuckin' hell - he's the real one.

Earning a much more respectable score - 83 - you and Jeongguk are given a standing ovation as you laugh all the way back to your previous seats.

Bundled up next to Jeongguk on the sofa, Danbi is on your other side.

Taehyung takes centre stage. Does that weird little dance again. Starts a song that nobody recognises at first, until the chorus kicks in - " Because you're gorgeous, I'd do anything for you" - and he turns to dramatically serenade Danbi à la Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You. Different song, granted, but same exact vibe.

A one-man show, Taehyung is every bit the charismatic casanova. Even gets to his knees in despair, just so that Danbi knows how tragically gorgeous she is.

And yet despite the showmanship, it's Jeongguk humming along quietly to the song that has you feeling all sorted of fucked up. The way he nudges against you so subtly that nobody in the darkened room notices? The way he sings softly beneath his breath, right into your ear? The kiss against your hair that is fleeting everyone will miss it?

Oh, it's torture .

When Namjoon and Hoseok take the mics and do their best rendition of Epik High's Born Hater, everyone loses their shit. Taehyung is the best hype man you think you've ever seen - part of you thinks he might actually steal the mic at one point. Thankfully, he grabs an empty soju bottle and uses that instead.

They're the first - and only - 100-point score of the evening. You're pretty sure Seoyeon and Yoongi's early night will have been disturbed by the shriek of congratulations from you all upon the big shiny score on the screen. All far too drunk to really care for volume control, the party is far from over.

In fact, it's only just getting started. For all the talk of your house being the people who would be partying the hardest, you think it's pretty evenly split.

Danbi and Taehyung are, predictably, disgustingly cute together - but you know your best friend. A few drinks in her and she'll become trouble.

You're proven right when you're all sitting on the floor, taking a break from the home-noraebang session.

Still drinking, talking about nonsense, Taehyung is twiddling with his empty soju bottle turned noraebang mic on the carpet. He's spinning it without much thought, never really letting it stop - but when it does?

Yeah, Danbi is in one of those moods.

"On Jimin?" Danbi exclaims with a gasp, casting her eyes down to the bottle as it comes to a stop, the cap-end facing a very confused Jimin.

Taehyung looks just as confused for a second. Follows her gaze - and then realises what she's insinuating. "Oh, God. No. Absolutely not!"

He's not about to play spin the fucking bottle - especially not with his friends when his girlfriend is right beside him.

Jimin immediately takes offence, much in the same way he did when Jeongguk refused to fuck him. If even his friends won't get with him, what chance does he have?

"What's wrong with me?! Why wouldn't you?" He wails, flopping down to the floor from his seated position. "First Gguk, now you?"

"I'm not kissing you."

"Why not?" He whines. Doesn't really want to kiss Taehyung, but is offended that Taehyung doesn't want to kiss him. Rude.

"Because!" Taehyung says, hoping that it's reason enough.

For Jimin, it absolutely is not reason enough.

"This is so mean. I'd kiss you if the bottle told me to," he assures his friend.

Danbi, in classic, troublesome, Danbi style eggs it on. Says to Taheyung, "I'd kiss DB."

"Okay firstly," you laugh, looking at her with shock. "Since when the fuck have you ever called me DB ?!"

"It's just your name, now," Jimin interrupts. "Accept it."

"No," you don't bother humouring him, but are still finding the whole thing incredibly funny. "And secondly, we've already kissed a bunch of times, so it doesn't matter."

Jeongguk and Taehyung both chirp in surprise at this. Look at their respective girlies with little confusion, and are both met with a collective, "What?"

"I mean, do guys not kiss their besties?" Nabi interjects from across the circle, which also makes Jeongguk whip his head up towards her. You know the confusion directed at you is now directed towards her, and her bestie.

And it pisses you off - because you're drunk, and thoughts are irrational, and even though Jeongguk is well within his right to maybe be surprised, you think he's stupid for caring about where Hayun's mouth has been.

He doesn't care. Not like that. You know this.

Know that any embers that had still been burning for her when you first met him have well and truly been put out.

You're the one who cares. You're the one who is being stupid.

But isn't everyone a little irrational when they've had a few too many?

Reaching over to the bottle, you turn to look at him, and just say, "It's like, so normal; kissing your friends."

It's not like you ever kiss Danbi when you're sober. Only ever when you're drunk, and not really ever with much thought behind it.

Granted, you haven't done it in years. Was more of a thing you'd do during your reckless uni years.

Once you met Seokjin, your behaviour on nights out changed quite significantly. Matured. And after him? Well, people would be lucky to get a kiss from you, full-stop.

Your words are layered, though. It's so normal, kissing your friends.

He says nothing. Keeps his mouth shut. Tense. Looks at you as you turn away, and refuses to look elsewhere. Knows exactly what you meant.

What we do? It's normal. Nothing special. Don't get it twisted.

Spinning the bottle on the carpet, you're the one asking for trouble, now. Are committed to the bit. Want the thoughts of you kissing someone else in his head, purely cause you don't want the thoughts of Hayun in there instead.

It's a strange sensation that sears through your veins. One that you don't often feel; one that you hate. Makes you feel all green. Bitter.

You don't let it show. Instead, as the bottle slows to a stop, you're a bit giggly. It's the alcohol influencing your behaviour; thoughts not as clear as they usually are. Your intentions differ from the oncoming outcome. The dots of any hurt that could be caused don't join with the dots of your pre-existing sour emotions. The lines are wibbly wobbly.

Jeongguk knows that drinking is a big factor in your boldness, now. Also knows you've got total free will. You can do what you like. He won't stop you.

If anything, he should be proud of this. Of your willingness. Of the fact you'll kiss someone without a care in the world.

Yes, it's different to kissing someone in bed, but it's still a kiss. Still something he thinks you wouldn't have done this time last year. It's progress, albeit at the expense of the progression of whatever the fuck your relationship is these days.

He watches on with a stern gaze as the bottle finishes its final spin.

Directly across from you, it points to Nabi.

Poetic, almost, how you were concerned about Jeongguk's thoughts of Hayun kissing her.

She tilts her head a little, as if to ask, "Shall we?"

You repeat her motion, and remind the boys, "It's really not a big deal."

Jeongguk bites back a remark he could make about you, and kissing, and it being the biggest fuckin' deal he's ever known.

Yet he's silent as the rest of the group egg you and Nabi on. It's juvenile, how neither of you properly stand to cross the circle, but instead both lean forward, supporting yourselves with your hands and knees until you reach the centre.

He's thankful for one thing only, and it's the fact you're wearing a teeny tiny pair of shorts beneath your dress. Would have been catastrophic otherwise. Already kinda is.

There's a subtle curve to your spine. One that Jeongguk knows well. Doesn't notice if Nabi has a similar feline posture, for he's only focused on you.

And even as you and Nabi get far closer than you've ever been before, giggling like a pair of kids getting up to no good, it's the loose grip that Jeongguk has on your ankle that really has your attention.

It's a warning.

Have your fun, his touch tells you. But not too much fun.

You could pull your leg further forward. Could rid it of his grip.

But you don't. You stay shackled to him like a prisoner of crimes you're yet to commit.

There's no build-up, nor anticipation of the meeting of your lips with Nabi's. No trepidation. No nerves.

Admittedly, there's a slight hesitation. A couple of giggles. A little excitement, sure. She's gorgeous after all - the kind of girl anyone would be lucky to kiss. You've thought from the get-go that she's attractive, but have also never spent time with her when Jeongguk wasn't there, too.

No matter how pretty a face is, his will always be your favourite.

Even as she presses down into the kiss, lips gentle and plump, quite unlike Jeongguk's, it's the soft stroke of his thumb over your ankle that cracks through you like a volt of electricity.

Over as quickly as it started, you and Nabi both come away from the kiss with smiles, and coy looks upon your faces.

"See," you tell Taehyung, who is staring in disbelief, as you come to sit back beside Jeongguk. Are sad to lose his touch, but daren't look at him, because you don't want to know how he's feeling. What you just did was selfish, and you know it. "It's not a big deal."

Danbi nods. Takes the reins of the conversation. Agrees with you, but also caught the look on Jeongguk's face as it happened, and realises that maybe she should be careful about what she wishes for.

Decides that Spin the Bottle should remain a relic of cursed high school parties. Has no space at an event like this. Instead, she reaches for the deck of cards on the side table and gets to arranging them in a circle. Bottle still in the middle, she swaps it out for an empty glass.

Jeongguk gets to his feet. Is only going to grab another drink, but doesn't voice it to you. Doesn't voice it to anyone.

Danbi glances over to you - and unlike Jeongguk, she is good at being discreet. Tilts her sharply, subtly. Silently says, " Go ."

You relent for a moment, 'cause you know you're in trouble - but also know that's exactly why you need to follow him.

The lights are out in the kitchen, illuminated only by the lamps pouring in through the arch from the living room. The fridge is open, and Jeongguk is hidden by the door that he opens as soon as he notices you entering the room.

Really did just come for a drink, but also doesn't really wanna talk to you right now. Doesn't really understand the way he's feeling. It's not jealousy. That's one feeling he thinks he's got a good grasp on. It's something, though. Not nothing.

Coming to stand in the corner of the counters, you're also obscured from anyone entering the room. The fridge door acts as a shield.

And so Jeongguk closes it.

Turns to face you, but doesn't walk towards you. Is silent.

The shrouded darkness of the corner you've backed yourself into hides the way your heart is beating a mile a minute. The shadows obscure the look on Jeongguks face but you know him well enough now to know that his jaw is tense.

Shoulder silhouetted, you can see they are, too. Scatches as he finally asks, "Did you have your fun?"

You're silent.

He looks as if he's about to say something, and then just sighs.

Placing the bottle in his hand down on the counter, and there's a clatter that you assume is a bottle opener going with it. His sighs. Relaxes his shoulders.

Shakes his head. Considers for a second, then husks, "Fuck it."

The gap between you both is closed by Jeongguk, his hand cupping your jaw as he presses his liquor-laced lips down into yours. Has your body pressed close to his, then deepens the closeness and he does the same with the kiss. Pulls away, but only briefly. Only to give you a chance to stop it.

But you just pull him back. Needily get his lips on yours. Mirror his body language. Are desperate to feel his desire; begging for him to want you as much as your drunk mind wants him .

His kisses are rough. Aggressive. Assertive.

Until all very suddenly, they soften. The exhale of breath from his nose is warm on your cheek, both of you unable to properly regulate the oxygen you need. The issues had been fast and fleeting, but they'd been a force to be reckoned with. He rarely kisses you like that; without sweetness, or reservation.

He'd kissed you with purpose, and you damn well know it.

Is still holding your jaw as he leans his forehead against yours, noses nudging ever so gently.

"You gotta stop kissing my fuckin' friends, B," he says. " Our friends. You gotta stop."

It's not like you make a habit of it. You've kissed Jimin, like, once - but you know exactly what he means. Say nothing. Just nod. Let him kiss you again. Tenderly, now.

He's slow as he withdraws. Keeps you trapped between his body and the cabinets as he reaches behind you for an empty glass. Remains in position as he twists his upper body to swing the fridge door open, and grabs the filtered water jug.

The light around him from the fridge casts a halo, befitting of a man such as him. Heaven-sent, is Jeon Jeongguk, and you've been blessed to have known him during your time on this earth. You might not get so lucky in your next life. Need to stop taking it for granted.

It's funny, 'cause he's thinking the exact same thing about you.

The refrigerator light gets you sparkling. Puts all those stars back in your eyes. Ones he needs to stop stealing, 'cause you deserve to be as shiny as you possibly can be.

He comes around you like a magpie, and takes your shine, he thinks.

Doesn't realise you've been glowing ever since you met him because of him.

You were dull, before. The glitter was only ever a facade.

Yet it's permanent now - or a least it will be, until your star lover decides chasing a shooting star is a losing game.

"Here," he says as he passes you the water. "You're fucked."

You take a sip, then pass it back and say, "Here. You're fucked."

This does at least make him smile. Alleviates some of the discomfort that had temporarily brewed between you both. He nods. "Yeah. I am."

Pulling himself away, he holds his hand behind himself for you to take. Doesn't wanna fight with you. Just wants you two to be good. Doesn't care for dumb, petty fights. Knows that deep down, you don't either.

"C'mon," he hums quietly, as your fingers lace between his. "Let's go back."

He deliberately leaves the drink he was getting behind on the counter. Has had enough tonight. Doesn't tell you as such, but is pleased that you seem content sipping your water instead of reaching for more drinks during the next game. Just giggle along with whatever is happening, the mood between you both far easier than it had been a few moments previously.

Communication, it would seem, is key. Jeongguk appreciates the fact that you sought him out, even if you didn't really say anything. Knows that it was a way for you to let your defences down, something of which he isn't sure you'd have done a few months ago.

Then again, he's also not sure he'd have felt so irrationally jealous a few months ago, either.

But you're learning. Both of you are. Rome wasn't built in a day, and Jeongguk's just glad you're getting your hands dirty with the rubble and bricks of your relationship traumas, too. Are rebuilding yourself, and in turn, something new. Somewhere he thinks could make for a lovely home, one day.

One by one, back in the living room, yawns spread contagiously. It's Hoseok first, then Namjoon. Across the circle, Jeongguk follows suit. When you begin to yawn, he strokes your back.

"Bed?" he asks quietly, to which you nod.

He nods back. "I'll go get some water to take back to the house. Want any snacks?"

You shake your head, unable to verbalise a response thanks to the yawn taking hold of you. Dawn will be breaking soon, you're sure. Yoongi and Seoyeon went to bed hours ago. All you need is a really good sleep.

As the four of you meander back up to your house, Nabi and Jimin nattering, while Jeongguk hangs back a little bit, you find yourself distracted.

Arms crossed, all you can think about is Jeongguk, and his lips on yours in the kitchen, and how unbelievably reckless it was. Anyone could have walked in.

But perhaps that would have been okay.

Turning to check he's still walking towards the house, a smile settles on your face where a frown once was. Phone held up to the sky, Jeongguk is taking pictures of the moon. Zooming in as far as he can, and getting frustrated every time his still-drunk hands wobble a little too much.

"Tomorrow," you call over softly - and like a dog hearing a whistle, he doesn't hesitate to walk your way. "We can go star-gazing. Get pictures."

He nods. Comes to stand by you. Carries on walking, taking your hand as he does so. Sounds sleepy as he mumbles, "M'kay."

By the time you arrive back at the house a few minutes later, Jimin and Nabi are still nattering in the communal area. With your rooms being on different floors, and both of you desperately fighting alcohol-induced yawns, neither you nor Jeongguk can be bothered with the hassle of sharing a bed tonight.

You retire to separate rooms, and both hate it.

There's an emptiness, you think. One that only he can fill. The room is dark, but a little light sneaks in from the harbour, and the lamps that remain lit all night to keep boats away.

Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, it's your glitter that acts like harbour lights, you think. A warning to never get too close.

Jeongguk did it anyway.

Thoughts like these plague your mind as you toss and turn, failing to get comfy. There are enough pillows. The duvet is perfectly nice. The mattress is fine. There's just something missing.

Someone .

But fuck- you don't need him. Depending on a man is something you never want to do, especially not for something as simple as falling asleep.

Even though you're trying to rid your brain of his presence, you find yourself thanking him as you hop out of bed and head to your suitcase. If there's one thing that will exhaust you, it's a good orgasm.

Given how sleepy his eyes were prior to you saying your farewells, all puffy and a little bloodshot, you don't imagine he'll hear a peep - and if he does, it'll likely just become a strange addition to whatever bizarre dream he'll no doubt tell you he had in the morning.

Rummaging around a little, you look for that one final thing he ensured you added to the suitcase. Find some lingerie first that you definitely didn't add to the pile - the same ones you packed for Busan just to get a rise out of him - and scoff. Presumptuous mother fucker .

Eventually, you find your rabbit. A dildo-vibrator hybrid, it works wonders. The translucent black silicone is always a little cold to touch - never like the real thing - but it fills a hole, for lack of a better term. Does the job. Does things a cock can't do - but it can never make you feel like he does.

The house is quiet, now. Nabi and Jimin retired to their own beds a good quarter of an hour ago. You know that Jimin will be out like a light, and Nabi is the furthest room from yours. The only worry you have is Jeongguk beneath you - but so what? Nothing he hasn't heard before.

Still, you only dare turn the vibrator on to the lowest mode.

Wearing just your panties, Jeongguk's shirt that you'd stolen now discarded on the floor, you run the toy over your clothed cunt. Let the sensation overcome any other physical manifestation of your feelings.

It hums ever so quietly, a hushed moan trapped in your throat as you work your hips up into the vibration. Other-wordly in how it makes you feel, there's no point trying to keep dignified.

Ridding yourself of your panties, you lie on your back, legs spread. Tease your entrance with the head of the cock-shaped dildo. Sharply inhale as you press against your hole - but you're not ready, yet.

The feeling isn't enough.

You need thoughts too.

Thoughts of him. Of his body. Of the way he smiles whenever he sees you like this. How he'd tower over you. Line himself up. Press kisses to your lips. Down your throat. On your chest. How he'd take your nipples in his mouth, and suck them for hours if he could. How he'd tell you he's still an ass guy, even if sucking on your tits gets him so hard he could cum in 5 seconds flat whenever he does it.

Your dildo now sinks into your cunt with little resistance, the thoughts of Jeongguk seemingly enough to get you ready.

There's a slight burn. Friction. Evidence that you're not totally there yet. The alcohol has definitely affected it. Funny, how it never affects it when you're with Jeongguk. Have fucked him countless times after a few drinks with no issues.

No reason to have them now. The only difference is him.

It frustrates you.

You don't need a man. You don't .

Groaning, you rid yourself of your toy. Flick the switch to make sure it's off. Toss it down beside you and let it land with a thud on the mattress. Stare up at the ceiling and curse.

Reaching over for your phone, you're about to google methods of getting to sleep when you're both horny and unable to get yourself off, when a message pings through.

You wince before you even read it - and when you do read it? Well, you think you'd quite like to simply die.

JK: Round two?

Admittedly, it's better receiving it from him than it would from Jimin - but it's still mortifying to know that he could hear it.

You must still be drunk. It's the only thing that justifies such reckless abandon for your grace.

And it's also the excuse you'll use for the fact you send him back a message that simply says: My door is open.

Not even a minute later, Jeongguk says nothing as he enters your room. He's in his underwear and a shirt, but as soon as he shuts the door, he grabs the material by the nape of his neck, and rids himself of it. Is just in his Calvins, now. Just how you like him.

It's not like you greet him either, a blanket pulled up to cover your dignity, but you're both aware there's a heaviness to the air between you. Something unspoken. Something that will remain unsaid, because you're both scared to lose the weight of your own feelings.

Instead, he just grips the back of the chair by the vanity unit and turns it around. Sits. Is arrogant in how he looks at you, just like he was that night you got far too acquainted with his pull-up bar and favourite tie.

In his hand is something you can't quite make out.

Something about his gaze, and how it holds your own, makes it hard for you to speak. You fear you'll say the wrong thing. Fear he'll look away. Turns out, just as he suspects, you do have new fears - and they all pertain to him, or moreso a lack of him.

You play it safe. Nod towards his hand. Whisper, "Watcha got?"

"You said we shouldn't fuck," he reminds you with an arrogant smirk. Knows that this will drive you fuckin' insane. "Thought I should come prepared."

It's only when he holds it up that you realise he's holding a fucking fleshlight . Clear. Silicone.

"Holy shit," you breathe out. Have never actually seen one in the flesh - no pun intended - let alone see a man bold enough to use one in front of you.

"Remember how we used to watch each other get off?" he asks, unashamed - or just drunk. Doesn't wait for a reply. Just says, "Let's do that."

The way he's so convicted in his wants and desires - how he knows the parameters of your arrangement, yet bends the rules to fit his fucking whims - will never fail to amaze you. He's determined to get you coming undone, and that in and of itself is so unbelievably hot.

His body is hard to make out from the low lighting, but the ridges of his toned chest have you salivating. There's a sheen to his fingers - lube, you assume for the toy - and it spreads over his abdomen as he softly traces his fingertips over his body. Lightly touches himself. His small, hard nipples. Rasps a little.

Arousal, for him, isn't just simply his cock getting hard. He likes to engage his senses. S'why he likes fucking you so much. You're a treat for all five of 'em.

You're too far away to touch. To taste. To smell - and oh god, that's the one that gets him the most. Just wants to bury the tip of his prettily pointed nose in your hair, down the valley of your breasts, in your cunt. Pheremones are a wonderful thing, and the effect they have on Jeongguk can only be likened to a Class A substance. Pupils dilated, body and mind disconnected, he needs the high you give.

For now, he settles on sight and sound. Smirks when you gasp at the sight of what he's doing.

Eyes fixated on him, you watch on as Jeongguk grips the fleshlight and pushes it down ever so gently. He barely penetrates it. Just the tip. Grunts a little. Pulls it back up, so that the crown of his cock is kissing the entrance.

God, how you wish it was you. Want to feel that first intrusion of his cock inside you. How big he is; how well he always stretches you out. So intensely focused on him, you don't even really realise how you're toying with your chest.

Despite the shrouded darkness of the room, enough light is funnelling in through the curtains for you to clearly see his movements; his expressions.

Jaw slack, Jeongguk doesn't give a fuck about looking dignified. He knows there's no point. Doesn't want to pretend like you don't arouse him beyond the point of sane thoughts.

He thinks the same could be said for you.

"C'mon, B," he begs quietly. "Get yourself off for me."

His breathy moan as he pushes further into the toy only encourages you to do the same. Matching his desperately soft moans, you sink your rabbit inside yourself, and find any earlier resistance is gone. You don't need a man, but fuck . Jeon Jeongguk is an exception to the rule.

Filling yourself, it's nothing like the sensation that comes with Jeongguk - the warmth of his skin, the scent of his aftershave, the weight of his body on top of yours - but it is unlike anything else you've ever known as he looks across to you.

There's a smirk breaking on his lustful expression, sinful satisfaction that has you moaning as you penetrate yourself with the toy that he insisted you bring. Not much introspection is given to how you're pleasuring yourself; too focused on the way he's pleasuring himself.

Knees closing together, toes digging into the sheets, your hand is trapped between your thighs. It's a more natural state of being, you find. Gets your walls a little tighter. Feels better, even if it doesn't look as good. Whining a little as you build a pace, you're so wet that you can hear the way you're fucking yourself - and so can Jeongguk.

The lewd sounds of his cock fucking into the toy he's using slow a little. His laboured breaths become controlled. He's easing off the gas - not hitting the break, but definitely doing something.

"Since when have you been shy?" He teases you a little breathlessly. Holds the fleshlight to the base of his cock. Fills it. Keeps himself warm, laboured grunts catching in his throat as he stops himself from reaching the point of release. "Wider, baby," he pleads. "Nice and wide for me."

Pulling your knees apart, you display yourself like a fuckin' exhibition, and Jeongguk knows that you've art for him, indefinitely. Nights at galleries are pale in comparison to the way you put yourself on display for him.

How could he ever appreciate a painting unless it's the same pretty colours of your needy cunt? If the brush strokes don't match the hair that falls over your eyes as your lips part, soft moans escaping them? Music, too, for that matter is ruined for him. You sound better than anything he's ever heard on the radio.

"There you go," he husks as he begins to work the fleshlight up his shaft again. Watches you with no intent of ever looking away. He's fixed to you like glue. "That's it. Fuck. Yeah. That's it."

But you won't be content until he really is stuck to you like glue. Want him so close it's impossible to tell when he ends and you begin; impossible to comprehend how you ever could part.

He's not the only one with demands. Desires. You want him just as much as he wants you.

"Come closer," you say quietly.

"Yeah?" he teases. "Say please, baby."

"Fuck you."

He laughs, now. Finds something about your insatiable need to have him near, and your inability to play nicely at times, just so endearing.

"Cute," he smirks. Knows it'll probably irritate you. Patronises a little more, 'cause he's vying for you to have a reason to shut him up. Thinks maybe you'll choose kisses as a way to shush him. Hopes you will. "Needy, aren't you? Pretty, needy baby."

"Shut up," you laugh, the smile on your lips a product of his compliments, even if he is being a little bitch. Holding your hand out, you encourage him to join you on the bed. Give him what he wants, 'cause you know it'll give you what you want. " Please ."

You don't take your eyes off him as he stands, cock still snug in the toy that he'd really rather swap with your hands. Makes him a little shy.

"Stop looking at me, perv," Jeongguk says in a childish way that really doesn't fit the profile of a man like him - built like a god - as he's pleasuring himself for you for your satisfaction.

"Why?" you ask, pleased and purry now that the ball is in your court. "A little shy, there?"

"Fuck you," he smirks, coming to sit between your legs.

Your illicit thoughts of Jeongguk are always so much tamer than he actually is. You never know what's actually gonna come out of his mouth, and it makes fucking him so much more fun to indulge in.

It's not like he means to be vulgar. His brain is just too distracted by how fucking good this shit feels. His lips get loose and so does the concept of dignity. Has him mumbling all kinds of shit.

"God, I'll fuckin' die if you don't let me fuck you," he whines, one of his hands stroking up your thigh while the other wanks the toy up and down his thick cock. He's slow in his movements, wrist flicking gently, not wanting to himself up too much. Wants you to get there first.

Shaking your head, you knead one of your tits for his viewing pleasure as you continue to fuck yourself with the toy he insisted you bring.

"Told me to bring this for a reason, Gguk," you remind him. "No fucking."

"But you're so fucking wet," he moans. Wants to touch you. Know he can't.

You nod - then decide to cut him a little slack. Reach for the hand of his on your thigh. Bring it to the base of the rabbit, and let him take the reins.

"Fuck," he curses, as he pushes it up into you. Holds it in place. Flicks the switch that makes the little rabbit ears vibrate. Angles it just right so that they're fluttering against your swollen clit, the pleasure incomparable to anything else.

"Oh, shit," you whine as your body begins to writhe.

"You like this so much, don't you?" He confirms, and is pleased when you whine and nod your head. He pulls the toy back slightly, but angles it so that ears stay pressed against you before he fills you again. The lewd sound of it filling you is enough to drive anyone insane, he thinks.

"Pretty cunt," he says fondly, then leans forward a little. Gathers spit in his mouth, then slowly lets it drip onto your pussy. He knows you well. Has it landing just north of your clit. Grinds the ears up a little, and spreads it across your already messy pussy. "Pretty girl."

Gently fucking the dildo into you, Jeongguk can't help but feel a little jealous. He wants to know how you feel. How warm you are. How tight you'll get when you cum.

Instead, all he can do is watch as pleasure takes hold. You whine his name - "Yeah, baby?" - and push your head back into the pillows. Toes pointing, your legs begin to shake, and Jeongguk knows better than to change anything about what he's doing. Keeps the speed. Lets the ears flick against the clit that he so badly wants in his mouth.

"That's it," he keens. "All over this cock. Cum all over it."

Oh, how you wish it was his instead.

Because even though you do come, it doesn't satisfy you fully. Not how his cock does. Still amazing - but Jeongguk has ruined you. Is the only thing capable of making you cum how you deserve to cum. His cock, his mouth, his hands - doesn't matter what. Just matters that it's him.

Tapping his wrist as you shake a little, you tell him you're good. In all honesty, all you want now is to make him feel good.

Shutting off the vibrations, Jeongguk keeps you plugged. Is scared that you'll both let your stupid desires get the better of you, otherwise.

You're thinking the exact same thing - so reach down for his fleshlight. Want him to feel as good as you he made you feel.

Holding it flush against the mound of your pussy, you'll give him the next best thing to fucking you. A little simulation, almost. Basically the exact same.

Except it's not, 'cause Jeongguk is far too aware of the fact that he doesn't get the luxury of your cunt.

"Fuck it," you instruct him. "Fuck it like you fuck me."

There's something erotic about the way Jeongguk lines himself up with it at your request. Zero hesitation. Wanks himself, once, twice. Presses his tip against the tight entrance, and looks at you as he pushes into it. Grunts. Fills it. Begins to thrust a little. Picks a rhythm. Finds the position is perfect for letting his balls slap against your swollen clit, and is obsessed with the way you whine for him.

With you holding his toy in place, his hands are free - so they snake around your thighs and pull you closer with every thrust of his hips, as if he really is fucking you.

"Is it good?"

"Yeah. It's fuckin' good," he nods, leaning forward, resting an elbow on either side of your head as he continues to pump into the toy. "You're better, but it's good."

There's a simplicity to the way Jeongguk describes how he feels. It's straightforward. Honest.

"Pretend it's me," you encourage. "Is it tight? Wet?"

He nods. Practically filled the thing with lube before he ventured up to your room.

"Real fuckin' tight. You're wetter, though. I miss that. Fuck . Just once, baby. Once ," he begs, forgetting the fact that he very much knows fucking you is a bad idea. Presses wet, insatiable kisses to the underside of your jaw. Can barely string his words together. "Let me - fuck - feel you. Please ."

Funny, how his fear of rejection doesn't seem to exist when he's a few strokes away from an orgasm.

Or maybe it just doesn't exist around you. Either or. At the moment, they're one and the same.

Shaking your head, you pull him in for a soft meeting of your lips, his tongue sinking into your mouth, because he needs to be inside you in at least some capacity if he can't have your pussy. Hips thrashing in a bid to chase his high, Jeongguk knows you're not gonna give him what he wants. Knows that this is the closest he'll get.

Plausible deniability when your friends - or moreso just Jimin - ask, did you fuck?

Well, no, you'll be able to say, without lying. We didn't.

But as your body is moved in tandem with the timing of his thrusts, Jeongguk's grunts vibrate into your mouth as his body begins to tense, you know that you can't really describe this as anything other than fucking.

"Cum," you tell him - and then realise you still want it to be you he cums over. Cums for. Cums because of.

But Jeongguk takes that permission and runs with it before you can make any further bad decisions. Whimpers as he lets the walls that have been keeping him restrained come crashing down. His teeth find your neck as he grunts against your skin; his breath hot, the cum he's unloading in the silicone fuck toy even more so.

"That's it," you encourage, legs wrapping around his stuttering hips. "Fill that cunt for me, baby. Fill it up like it's mine."

He nods, his laboured breaths lost in your hair as he buries his head into the crook of your neck, as the final few spurts of his desire pump into the toy. The weight of his body is heavy on top of you, rising and falling with every contraction of his lungs.

Stroking his hair, you press a kiss to the top of his hair, and let out a soft giggle. It's too soon for post-nut clarity, and yet Jeongguk already doesn't wanna look you in the eyes after nutting in a fucking fleshlight.

Figuring as much, you make sure to praise him in the same way he usually does for you. "So hot, Gguk. So good. So cute ."

He smiles, now. Laughs a little, body spent. Grumbles into your neck. "Fuck off, B."

"What?" you tease, knowing that he's embarrassed. He needn't be. It's just a sex toy. He's the one who brought it along with him - surely he didn't think you'd have enough willpower to resist him over the weekend? Surely he had been anticipating this? "It's yours . We both know you've fucked it, like, a hundred times."

"Fuck offffff," he moans again, rolling off of you, the fleshlight slipping somewhere between you both now that no one is keeping it held in place. "That never happened."

Turning onto your front, you scoff. Reach down the bed to find the offending object. You want it for a reason - mainly 'cause you've never seen them up close, and are curious about how much it actually looks like a pussy, but also 'cause you have an idea that will make Jeongguk equal parts needy and disgusted, which honestly is what you're aiming for. You like it when he's conflicted over his desire. Makes his self-denial and subsequent weaknesses so much hotter.

"Put it down," he whines, as you bring it to the pillows. His forearm is covering his eyes, a pretty smile on his darling lips, piercing catching in the jetty lights that are intruding on your privacy.

You don't do what he tells you to do. Instead, you rest on your elbows, tits cushioning your body as you inspect it a little.

"Huh," you hum in surprise. Admittedly, it's not too far off. The silicone tube is clear, with ridges and grooves in the central canal for his pleasure, but the entrance is particularly inspired. Despite the clarity of the material, the shape isn't too far off from your own, especially when it's all pretty and puffy and aroused for him. There's a sheen to it; evidence of Jeongguk's lube, as a trail of his white cum leaks from the entrance.

Glancing over to him, you find his eyes on you. A little further up in the bed, he's looking down, and yet you're in the position of power. Whatever you do will only serve to make him want you more.

He doesn't tell you to put it down again. Just waits, breathlessly, to see what you'll do. Already has an idea. Knows what he wants to see, but won't ask for it 'cause it feels almost too vulgar.

But you know him well. Knows what gets him off. Know that even despite the fact he's just finished, there are ways to get him hard again - and as your tongue slowly flicks against the desecrated entrance, you know that this is one of them.

"Fuck," he husks quietly, not even meaning to do so. Lets one of his hands reach over to squeeze at the flesh of your ass as you get a little deeper with your exploration. Lick into it. Collect his cum on your tongue.

It's been a while since you've eaten pussy, too busy with Jeongguk to seek anyone else out, but it's like riding a bike. You never forget - and truth be told, you're not really doing anything that requires too much thought. You're putting on a show. Eating his cum, 'cause he deserves it.

His grip on your ass is hard, as he grunts, "You're fucking filth, b. So dirty ."

You giggle, pleased with the effect it's having on him - but then he's pulling you across to straddle his lap, toy discarded on your side of the bed as man handles you into position on top of his body.

Jeongguk pulls you in for a meeting of lips, teeth, tongue; all-consuming. Doesn't care to be neat. Doesn't care to be sweet. Wants to taste himself on your tongue - and when he does? Oh, he's celestial .

He moans. Curses. Accepts it when you hold his jaw, and encourage him to open his mouth. Nods as your lips purse. Lets his tongue flatten. Whines as you spit his cum onto his tongue - then decides you've had enough time in the driver's seat. Sinks his tongue back into your mouth; swaps his cum with you until it sort of just becomes obsolete.

He's not gonna fuck you, but he does get you positioned on top of his cock, pussy spread over his thick length as he ruts up against you. One hand on your hips, the other clasps your hands behind your back. Looks you dead in the eye as you whine for him.

Husks, "You're only in control when I let you be in control."

And then to prove his point, he gets you grinding against him until the point of another climax. Gets your body shaking as your pussy rubs over the top of his cock, without it ever penetrating you. The sensation is euphoric; skin on skin, just how you like it.

"That's it," he praises as your orgasm washes over you. Holds you as you come down a little breathlessly. Teases. "So cute. You love to cum for me, don't you, B?"

It's your turn to tell him to fuck off, now.

Rolling off him, both toys fall from your side of the bed and onto the floor with a soft thud. Neither of you cares for the noise. Jimin is out like a light, and Nabi is too far away to have really heard anything.

Breathlessly, you both look up at the ceiling. Jeongguk swears he can see stars - but it might just be the hangover that's already kicking in.

As he holds his hand out, you laugh. Give him a high five. "Nice work."

But you both agree that it never happened. Snuggle up, and adamantly stand by the fact you never fucked. That technicality is still true. You also didn't both become all weak and needy for each other in the most pathetic of ways - or so you tell yourselves.

"We're super drunk," Jeongguk mumbles into your hair, as if you aren't both totally sober after that. Hugs you close to him, your back pressed to his chest. Doesn't even consider return to his room. He's home, now. Would make no sense to leave. "Won't even remember it in the morning."

And the way that you behave together come sunlight, without a care in the world, laughing and joking, both together and at each other's expense, it would seem like things are totally normal.

You're able to separate who you are after dark and the people you are during the sunlight hours. Can look at him, without feeling the need to jump his bones (although when you see him cooking breakfast, your eyes do linger for a little too long on the veins in his arms as he flicks the pan).

None of your friends are aware of your illicit affairs; how Jeongguk worships your body like a devout follower of a religion only he knows.

None of them... and also all of them.

They all see the way he looks at you first when he makes a joke to check that you're laughing. They're all aware of the way you ask him what he's gonna be wearing that morning when deciding what you're also gonna wear. Small, inconsequential encounters that are exclusive between the pair of you, never to be shared with anyone else.

Well, almost no one.

"Is it just me, or did you-" Nabi begins, eyes on the pair of you as she neatens up the sitting room with Jimin, but is almost instantly interrupted.

"Yep."

"Last ni-"

"Yep."

"They-"

"Yep."

Turning up her nose, she shudders a little. "Gross."

"Yep," Jimin nods. Thought he'd escaped ever hearing you and Jeongguk at it, but woke up needing water in the night. Ended up needing a punch to the face five minutes later when he realised the squeak of the floorboards wasn't from him walking around, but from your bedroom instead. Heard things in the minutes that followed that'll his nightmares forever .

"Are they, like... a thing?" she tries to clarify, but Jimin knows no more than anyone else.

"No one knows. Don't even think they know."

Which is true.

But you're currently looking at Jeongguk's big brown Bambi eyes while he explains the rules of boxing to you out on the front lawn. He wraps up your hands to 'train' you, and you giggle as he jokes with you about how you'll be a champ in no time, a stupidly love-drunk smile on your lips.

Quite unexpectedly - though not really at all, when you think about it - you realise you know .

You know, you know, you know.

How you feel; how much you really do like him; how you want things to be.

You just know.

Simply, and completely; Jeongguk can never be just a friend. Not now. Not anymore.

And it terrifies you.

[lopposting]

On the freckles + Geppetto (Spoilers below)

Geppetto saying "it looks like you inherited his personality instead of his memories" is very very suspicious, and he says "personality" with such disdain - if you were a father who loved their child, wouldn't you want them to retain their core persona of who they were, than remember exactly everything from your past? I don't know, is it just me, or doesn't it feel like it's more important? I know memories make us who we are, but it still really came across as a deliberate piece of dialogue to word

Geppetto didn't want Carlo back, he specifically wants an obedient version of him, the rotting/preserved corpse body puppet is to show that Carlo was long gone. Remember that one of the most important decisions in the game is granting Sophia "her peace", which is her having the choice to end her own life. And then the nameless puppet is revealed, and it's as if Carlo is being kept alive against his own will (like as Simon does with Sophia). no wonder carlo didn't like him, the really disturbing thing is that nameless puppet still defies Geppetto in the end which suggests that it/(he??) is still somewhat conscious?? .. wat.

Another Character design I've noticed... and this is me making BIG leaps, by the way, I don't mean to make any statement on korean culture as a whole, but skin has a lot of symbolic meaning, and importance, in korean society. I know every country has stuff like this, but it seems really significant here considering this is a korean studio, ill try to get into why

P has very noticeable freckles on his skin, I can even say that they're hard to ignore (especially his right cheek), they're even visible in promotional material. and the irony is that he possesses these "flaws" and is more human-like despite being "artificial", he also has visible pores!! something completely natural, human, that stringent societal norms might deem as "imperfect"

Freckles can be seen as "imperfections" in korean culture (I mean I can only guess, and I suppose this negative perception is a little the same in the west as well?), they have this term called "glass skin" which is what is deemed as the "ideal": zero blemishes, really even tone, and often lighter in tone is seen as "beautiful", and there's a lot of pressure to be that way. It's a really pervasive idea that I don't think I am in the position to really talk about, and I don't mean to demean the culture, it's not like this is exclusive to korea/asia, I'm just mentioning it to explain this in the context of the game

And then "Carlo" doesn't have ANY of these things. He has "PERFECT" skin, those freckles are just gone. I feel like this isn't just a mistake. it kind of gets a message across about Geppetto's real intentions in reviving him. I mean, it's possible that maybe it's more of a siblings situation, and Carlo simply just didn't have freckles? but if you think about it from a storytelling perspective, remember that Geppetto refers to him as "mischievous", an odd translation maybe, but everything else suggests that the real Carlo was actually deeply defiant of his father while he was alive, again I think it sends a message about Giuseppe re-creating his son but without the things he saw as "flaws" in his son that he didn't like

yeah... loving this game more and more by the day

[billiedeansbitch]

Alrighty then i have another request for larissa, she and the reader are just fuck buddies or something of the sort, they are having sex one night and larissa says “u’re such a fucking whore” or something degrading and r just says “i love you” back and then you continue how you think it would unfold hehe

Have a good one!

𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

(𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

a/n: i feel like this isn't my best work but here it is. anyway it contains smut, degrading, mommy kink if u squint a little, spitting kink...and of course, some fluff.

warning/s: NSFW.

It was Outreach Day. The day. It was what everyone in the whole Nevermore Academy was waiting for; students and faculties alike. It was the buzzing topic for days. And you knew Larissa—Principal Weems, was equally as enthusiastic about it, too. 

As for the students, participation was obligatory, unless they had a valid reason not to partake in any activities, and to those whose reasons were granted reasonable by the headmistress herself, got to stay behind which now led to your task for the day, and that was to supervise these students, make sure they weren’t faking any sudden illness or inflicting trouble to others.

Larissa wasn’t expecting you to volunteer but you did. Understanding, the woman merely sighed in defeat, nodding her head as she did so before moving on. 

After the meeting, she came by your desk to express her disappointment and confess that she had planned a quick excursion to the weathervane with you, but she had no intention of changing your mind. Your heart leaped with joy at that. Like a date, you wondered if that was what she meant. But then as if she had heard your thoughts she quickly added, “Friendly,” somewhere in the middle of her sentence, making you feel foolish for still holding out hope that the situation with the principal of Nevermore would change.

You gave her a sad, little smile and suggested she could bring Miss Thornhill if she so wished for friendly company, but she declined and told you she only wanted you. It confused you.

It wasn’t the first time she exhibited these confusing signs. Little miss strictly-no-endearment had been generous with pet names lately, calling you dear, honey, sugar, sweetheart, all the sweet things she could think of with a smile on her lips. You were sure she had noticed the way your breath would stop, and your cheeks go pink whenever she would carelessly call you things, but everytime it happened, she wouldn’t dare say a word and just go on. 

It all stemmed back to the first night when she didn’t try to come up with an excuse to dodge your request for her to stay the night and sleep in your bed with you breaching one of the rules—her rules. Even yet, you were still unsure about your relationship with her and you clung to the faint hope that if you prayed fervently enough, she may suddenly change her mind about everything. 

You made the decision to take a walk around the school in the afternoon, immediately following your meal, to see how everyone was doing.

After ensuring that everyone was acting fairly behaved with no underlying malice, you turn toward the path of your office to finish some paperwork. You were, however, abruptly stopped in your tracks by the audible tittle-tattle of pupils. The noise grew louder by the second until the very hall you were standing in was flooded by the Nevermore students. 

In the corner of your eyes you saw her, striding toward the direction of her office, until she was gone from your line of sight and her office door slammed close, echoing and spooking everyone in the hallway including you. 

Something was wrong. Larissa Weems was evidently fuming. Who the fuck dare screwed the Outreach Day? 

Funny enough, Wednesday Addams went in after Larissa, sporting a scowl and a cold glare. So, Wednesday was the culprit. You could only shake your head in disbelief at how the young pupil was able to religiously piss the woman off everyday. 

You resumed walking, passing her office on your way. You tried to at least think much less of it��much less of her as you work, try to be as productive as you intended, but your brain refused to think and focus on anything else that didn’t revolve around her, it only wanted her.

With a sigh, you stopped grading the papers and just sat there, letting your mind float around her. It was a little later in the afternoon when you decided to succumb to these thoughts.

You smoothened the creases of your pants, adjusted your blouse and fixed your overall appearance. You grabbed a random folder from your desk, just something to hold onto, and marched to the Principal’s office.

You came to halt directly in front of her door, at which point you held your fist in midair while still debating whether it would be better to leave her alone to handle it or to go throw yourself in her way and be the destruction she so sorely needed at the time.

Sheriff Galpin and the Principal had just completed discussing the situation inside the office. He rose from his seat, tipped his head and made to leave. He opened the door to find you right there, clutching the folder close to your chest. Too late to turn back now.

His presence didn’t matter, you stepped aside, he didn’t say anything and walked away, his boots thudding the floor. 

You found her blue eyes staring at you, “May I come in, Principal?” The formalities were for anyone who might be listening closely. She summoned you in and you closed the door. 

You allowed your shoulders to fall and your posture to relax in the seclusion of her office. You knew well how every interaction with the Sheriff left her blood boiling, quickly you asked her if she was okay with genuine concern lacing your voice.

It was a mistake, you thought, as soon as the biting response reached your ears, “Do I look okay?” you hated how it made you flinch.

“No...”

She saw it, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was just… I’m exhausted.”

“And furious…” It earned you a glare but it took only a second before her gaze softened. 

You crossed the room, dropping the folder on her desk, which the woman didn’t bother to ask what it was about already knowing it was a random prop you grabbed from your desk in case you needed an alibi for being in her office. 

“I had high hopes for this year’s outreach day.” she said, her voice no longer angry, but your heart clenched at how disheartened she sounded.

“I know.” you answered from behind her, placing your hands over her upper arms and soothingly running them up and down, “I know, baby.”

Then you started removing her coat jacket, her breath picking up. “Breathe, darling. Slower, please.” you cooed, placing a soft peck on her nape. 

Larissa felt how hot and moist your lips were.

From that point on, you were assessing everything as you went and attempting to elicit a response from her—anything that would suggest whether you should keep going or stop.

“Mhmm, that’s it. Good girl.” you rewarded her with another kiss just right behind her left ear.

“Can I pull the pins out?” you asked, and she nodded. 

“Let’s make you feel good, yes?” You massaged her scalp, and then her shoulders before you inquired about the zipper of her dress.

When she allowed you again, you pressed another fond, sweet kiss behind the right ear. “Thank you.” you murmured, it earned a sensual sound from her.

“Just relax.” Once the sleeves went down her arms and exposed a pale expanse of her skin artfully speckled with freckles, your lips began to press softly over her nape, down her spine and then you pause just to drink in the sight of her back.

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now but you have such a sexy back, you know.” A bona fide chuckle escaped her lips, “So toned and lean. You said you don’t work out.” 

“I really don’t.”

“Turn around for me.” She stepped out of her dress, only in her underwear, and spun around. The clouds of storm in her eyes were no longer present. She looked so much calmer now.  

“So gorgeous.” You breathed, and kissed both of her eyelids. Kissed her cheeks. Kissed the blades of her shoulders. 

Larissa cupped your cheeks, “Have I told you how beautiful you are today?” You chuckled, recalling the times she did in the hallway in the early morning,  in her office when she asked for you before she left, the time where she brushed past you to greet another Professor and still managed to whisper, “You look so pretty, my dear.”

“You did. A lot of times in fact.” 

A smile grew on her lips, “That’s better.” 

“So how do you propose we end this night?” She said, eyeing your chest, and playing with the top button of your blouse, easily undoing one. 

“With a bottle of red for your temper, and some good fucking to relieve your stress. How’s that sound?”  

“Like a miracle. Now, let me help undress you.” 

Larissa took pleasure in admiring how your clothes fit you, how the material feels under her palms before she gets rid of each item. She took her time undoing every button, unclacing every lace, slowly pulling the zipper down. She loved taking her time unravelling you like a gift on a Christmas morning. 

“No. You stay there and watch.” you pushed her to one of the armchairs in front of her desk, telling her to sit, but instead, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you to her private quarters, surprising you.

You giggled after her, blushing at how eager she seemed for you, then she hushed you with her mouth, pressed you on the door when it finally closed and whispered, “Fuck the wine, let’s get straight to fucking.” you agreed while laughing as her lips ghosted your neck, you put both hands on her shoulder, pushing her a bit, “If you want to fuck me, take me to your bed at least.” 

You didn’t have to tell her twice. In one swift move, you were thrown on the bed, her hands quickly relieving your body from the clothes you wore. One by one she undid the buttons, so gentle and careful, and folded them neatly till you were left in your tiny, laced underwear that left nothing to the woman’s imagination. 

You admire the patience she harboured despite how lustful her eyes seemed to appear, how she bit and licked her lips as she unclasped your bra, and the straps fell from your arms, until you were bare from everything.

Your heart thundered in your chest once she touched you with the gentle familiarity of her hands as if you were too fragile if handled any differently. She took in the softness of your skin, smoothing her thumbs across and pressing her fingertips a little too firmly without bringing you any sort of discomfort. Her eyes were dark, yes–lustful and eager, but she was touching you with a particular fondness that differed from when she touched you many times before—that you were certain of. 

Her eyes briefly met yours, but you weren't sure why, and then her lips moved slightly open as if she were getting ready to say something. However, the words in her throat turned into a deep sigh, and her face softened. You wanted to know what was going on in her head.

Before you could ask, though, her lips slammed into yours. Suddenly, you were consumed by the ferocity of the kiss and utterly melted into her, everything in your head finally dissipating into nothingness. You could only think of taking it all. Take everything she was giving you.

–

“Yeah? You like that? Of course you do, look at you, so eager for me.” She said as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your legs were spread and she was inside your cunt, pounding you rough with her fingers. 

“You like that I fuck you so much don’t you? So much that you couldn’t breathe and all you could do is moan like the fucking slut you are.” You made a shaky, barely discernible sound as you tried to respond but it came out as a moan instead. Take it you, slut. What do you want, baby? Mommy’s fingers? Yeah? All of them? Spread them wider so mommy could fuck you more. All of these were making you wetter and needier.

“Fuck.” Came out of you and your back arched, “God, you’re such a fucking whore. So fucking pathetic.” you felt her add another digit, stretching your cunt like she promised you she would and it felt so great, you cried to her as you buried your face on her neck.

“Please, please, please. Let me come, please.” you begged.

But she merely laughed and withdrew from your grasp, steadying herself above you, and wrapped her hand around your throat as you squirmed beneath her. 

“Open your mouth, slut.” she spit in your mouth, “Good girl. Now, swallow.” and you dutifully swallowed it down without breaking eye contact with the blonde.

It all felt too good to be just another one of those nights, one of your little sex escapades in the Principal’s bedroom. Honestly, it all felt nothing of that sort anymore. So maybe, just maybe if you close your eyes and say the words that rested on the tip of your tongue for too long it could change everything.

Were you this desperate that you were willing to take the risk of potential rejection? Yes. Because you could no longer look her in the eyes and act like you weren’t so in love with her, like all of this was nothing to you.

So you closed your eyes, and breathed the words to her lips as you captured them “I love you.” 

Silence followed. You swallowed hard. It felt harder to breathe

She didn’t say it back. She never opened her mouth to say anything or attempted to pull away. You didn’t know if that was a good sign. She kept kissing you and you kept reciprocating, accepting her tongue and sucking her lips. It went on until you were too tired on her bed and sleep was the next best thing. You didn’t bother repeating your words, didn’t bother asking if she heard you or not, you just slept there curled up on the other side of her bed.

Larissa watched the rise and fall motion as you slept, her fingers aching to touch a part of you. You were so close yet so unreachable, the space in between felt like a punishment but who was punishing her but herself.

Unable to keep herself apart from you any longer, she adjusted herself closer, hesitated when you stirred, and then moved closer still until her front was flushed against your backside and her nose was buried in your hair, smelling your scent. 

“Words are not enough for some things I feel about you.” She whispered while stroking your back in shapeless lines and kissing the back of your head from time to time. If she couldn’t kiss your lips, she would gladly settle on any part of you and kiss it no less. 

“But I love you, too, you know?” her voice wavered, and you resisted the impulse to turn around and cradle her face and tell her that you could wait however long it would take because you understood if she wasn't ready yet but you weren’t meant to hear this you suppose. 

When you felt her hand encircling your waist and her breath brushing against the back of your neck, you wanted nothing more than to turn around. 

She was not naive as you thought, she had already noted the significant shift in your breathing that suggested you were in fact awake now and added, "I’m sorry I couldn’t say it back right away." 

Squeezing her hand was the least thing you could do to tell her you understood her.

Lariss didn’t know what else to do except to call your name, her voice was low, the softest it had been all day. You turn around, meeting the pools of blue eyes looking at you with so much warmth, her smile so lovingly enticing. 

“I love you.” She confessed once more in a shuddering, small voice, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She still looked so beautiful. 

You kissed the tears away before they could fall, kissed her cheeks, too, as they looked too inviting not to, then placed kisses down her neck, all intimate and pure before you put one final kiss on her lips. 

The affection you offered made her heart swell in her chest. Each kiss felt like an offering, like the flowers you put in her hair during that one afternoon when you came back from the woods with wild flowers in hand and told her she would look so beautiful with those in her hair.

You smiled at her, lips pressed and stretched so smoothly that she couldn’t resist not kissing you. A chuckle left your lips when she pressed hers, and pinched at your waist. “I shouldn’t be swayed by charms but how could I deny myself such pleasure of kissing you?” She said after the kiss, eyes lingering on your lips,

Just then you realized how much you were so truly, madly in love with her. Your heart had always felt so full around her like they would explode any time and then just stop because beating too fast was so exhausting and there wasn’t enough room for this overwhelming sensation. 

That night, you didn’t know how you ended up sleeping, all you could remember was her warmth, her softness, her voice and her lips pressed so perfectly on your own, while she kept repeating, I love you. 

[clangenrising]

Month 14 - Newleaf

“Thank you all for coming,” Goldenstar said to the assembled warriors of RisingClan. “This should be quick.” Everyone had gathered at sunhigh to talk while the kits were sleeping. Even Sagetooth and Oddstripe were in attendance. The only cat missing was Songdust, whose absence hung heavy over the group like an ill omen.

Yarrowshade shrugged and said, “We’re happy to be here, Goldie.” She smiled and he grinned in return. It was good to see her smiling again. Beside her, Scorchplume’s tail was twined with hers, a development he had noticed a few days ago but said nothing about yet. Neither of them seemed to want to bring it up either so he left it alone.

“We all want to see the end of this war,” said Pantherhaze and the rest of the group concurred. Yarrowshade in particular couldn’t wait to pay the rogues back for all the grief they had caused him. His claws ached to sink into their fur. His skin itched for the satisfaction of a well-deserved wound.

“I’ve been discussing strategies with Scorchplume,” Goldenstar said, “and she thinks there’s a way we could manage to take Razor out of play, which would be huge.” 

“Yes,” Scorchplume said, less excited than Goldenstar was. “It’s risky though.”

“Risky is what we do,” Floodpaw purred proudly. Oddstripe clucked with worry. 

“Right,” said Goldenstar. “A risk with big pay off is way better than continuing to sit and wait. Go ahead.” 

“Alright,” sighed Scorch. Yarrowshade watched her shift uncomfortably and added another smack to the list of punishments he owed Razor. “When Smokyrose came to the city, they were discussing a peace agreement. Until Ghost arrived, it looked like he was going to arrange a one on one meeting with Goldenstar that he would use to ambush her and take out your leader.” 

A few cats shifted bitterly at the mention of Smokyrose. 

“The plan is to arrange that meeting,” Goldenstar said with a fiery conviction in her voice, “and then ambush him back.” 

“But it’s extremely dangerous,” Scorch cautioned. “Goldenstar will have to be basically alone with Razor for at least a few moments. If there are any mistakes, Goldenstar could die.” 

“I could lose a life,” Goldenstar admitted, “but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. As long as the rest of you come in to corner him, we should succeed.” Scorch chewed her lip, tail rippling irritably, and Yarrowshade realized that she still didn’t believe in Goldenstar’s nine lives. 

“I think it sounds like a solid course of action,” Sagetooth said. “I’ll consult StarClan but I think we should plan on going through with it.” 

“We should ask the other Clans too,” said Pantherhaze. “We only won the last battle because of their help. We could use it again.” 

“Yeah, we don’t know how many cats Razor will bring with him,” said Sparrowpaw. “Best to be prepared.”

“I agree,” Goldenstar said, “and I’m sure something this important will get Flightstar and Snowstar to agree to it. Scorchplume believes that Razor thinks I’m the Clans’ only leader, so I’ll also be the one meeting him and taking on all the risk.” Scorch shifted again.

“Just don’t take any unnecessary risks,” Oddstripe said. “I don’t want to have more of you injured than is necessary.” Sagetooth twitched her ear. 

“We’ll train in defensive combat strategies and cooperative fighting in preparation,” said Russetfrond, looking more like himself than he had over the last couple days. Yarrowshade had enjoyed how miserable Mystique’s pregnancy had made him at first but by now he was just glad that the deputy had stopped moping. It was unsettling - too unlike him.

“Good idea,” Goldenstar nodded. “Russetfrond and I will come up with a more decisive battle plan and share it with you all during training. Are there any other questions?” 

“What are we going to do about Songdust?” Floodpaw asked impatiently. Barleypaw nodded. Sparrowpaw looked at the ground. Pantherhaze and Ospreymask leaned forward for the answer.

Goldenstar shifted. “That’s a little more complicated…” 

“I know a cat or two who might be able to help,” Scorch said, “but there’s not much we can do without going into the city which we can’t really do with Razor in power like this.” 

“StarClan will protect her if they can,” Sagetooth said. “Defeating Razor is the first step. Then we can think about rescuing Songdust.” No one seemed satisfied with that answer, but Scorch was right. There wasn’t really anything they could do. 

After a moment or two of silence, Goldenstar said, “Alright then. Meeting adjourned. Everyone focus on preparing for the battle. May StarClan guide us.”

“May StarClan guide us,” said Sagetooth, Oddstripe, Barleypaw, and Pantherhaze’s staggered voices. The cats began to disperse. Yarrowshade picked himself up and moved to talk with Scorch and Goldenstar. 

“Hey, you guys wanna go train or something?” he asked. Goldenstar looked to Scorchplume.

“You two can go,” Scorch said. “I’m not going to go anywhere near Razor.” 

“Still, it can’t hurt to get some practice in, right?” Yarrowshade asked. She looked at him and he swore he could hear her thoughts, how irritating she found him, how much she hated him for ‘choosing Nightfrost.’

“Fine,” she said shortly. 

“Great,” Goldenstar laughed a little and Scorch shot her a subtle glare. “Or what if we scout out places for the meeting instead? That’s something you could help with.” 

“I suppose,” Scorchplume hummed, seeming more inclined to that idea. Yarrowshade couldn’t help but feel like she just liked Goldenstar’s ideas better than his. He swallowed tightly and tried not to look disappointed. 

“Sounds good to me,” he said brightly. “Let’s go.” 

They set out towards the southern border. The day was warm for the season, bright and sunny with a welcome breeze. Yarrowshade tilted his face to the sun and tried to enjoy the warmth of it. 

“How’ve you been, by the way?” asked Goldenstar.

He tilted his head in her direction. “Good, I guess.” Lonely. “I’ve missed hanging out with you two though.” 

“Same, honestly,” Goldenstar said, leaning into Scorchplume’s side. “I can’t wait for all this business to be over so things can go back to normal.” 

“Normal is extremely relative,” Scorch hummed. “I for one am sick of normal.”

“We’ll just have to make a new normal then,” Yarrowshade tried, offering her a smile. She raised her brows at him but said nothing. He tried not to frown. 

“Scorch,” Goldenstar said softly. “He’s trying. Be nice to him.” Yarrowshade blushed at being called out like that. Was he so obvious? Scorch scowled at Goldenstar but there was no malice in her gaze. 

“I’ll do what I please,” she huffed.

“I know,” purred Goldenstar, “but you guys used to be good friends right? I don’t see the point in holding onto a grudge when you could just get along again.”

“Look,” Yarrowshade cut in, fur prickling in discomfort, “if it helps; I’m sorry for whatever I did.”

“Whatever you did?” Scorch raised her brows even higher somehow. 

“Yes?” he winced. This felt like a trap. 

“What was that, exactly?” Scorch asked. Goldenstar was mouthing something but he was terrible at reading lips. 

“For…” Yarrowshade hesitated. He had to find the correct answer. “For not choosing you?” There was a moment of silence where Scorch sized him up and he and Goldenstar held their breath. 

Then Scorch said, “Apology accepted.” Both Yarrowshade and Goldenstar sighed in relief. Scorch flicked her ear in annoyance. 

But after that, things were alright. Yarrowshade brought up a funny story from hunting with Barleypaw the other day and the others laughed. Scorch poked fun at him with an easy smile rather than a cold, defensive one. Goldenstar wouldn’t stop purring. He still felt like he was walking on thin ice, but at least for now Scorch was finding him entertaining. That was all he wanted, really. 

Discussion moved on to talk about how Barleypaw and her littermates would be warriors in a moon or two. Goldenstar expressed being nervous about her first real warrior ceremony as leader and Scorch and Yarrowshade told her she had nothing to worry about. From there, they started talking about Slatekit and Fogkit and their upcoming ceremony. 

“I still don’t know who should mentor Fogkit,” said Goldenstar as they paused to examine the sightlines on one hill. “I think I have Slatekit settled but Fogkit doesn’t like Ospreymask anymore and I’m not sure who else could mentor her.” 

“She’s a pawful, isn’t she?” Yarrowshade chuckled. “Yesterday I caught her ‘crafting curses’ out of claw sheds and bird bones.” 

“Crafting curses?” Scorch said skeptically. 

“Yeah,” shrugged Yarrowshade. “I don’t know where she got the idea but she said she was trying to curse the rogues to death.” He shook his head. “I’m honestly glad I already have Barleypaw cause I don’t think I would want to try and untangle that whole mess.” 

“Yeah, that’s the thing,” Goldenstar said. “I would take her myself but I’ve already got Floodpaw.”

“You can’t just take every apprentice who seems like they’ll be a pawful,” Scorch huffed. 

“Is that a challenge?” Goldenstar teased and Scorch rolled her eyes. 

“Look, if it’s really such a predicament, just give her to me.” 

Yarrowshade and Goldenstar fell into stunned silence. 

“What?” Scorch bristled defensively. “Is that so outlandish?”

“No, no,” Goldenstar said quickly, a smile spreading across her face, “I just didn’t expect you to want an apprentice! I mean, it’s a pretty big commitment.” 

“Does that mean you’re staying?” Yarrowshade asked excitedly. 

Scorch swished her tail back and forth, puffing up like a ginger pigeon. “For now,” she said. “By the time I leave, Floodpaw will be a warrior and then Goldenstar can take over her training.” 

Yarrowshade cocked a brow, smirking. “I don’t buy it.” 

Goldenstar was grinning like an idiot. “Oh, Scorch!” she purred, butting her head into Scorchplume’s shoulder. “I love you so much!”

“That’s it!” Scorch said, putting both paws on Goldenstar’s face and shoving her away. “I’m actually leaving right now and throwing myself in the river.” 

“Wait, no!” wailed Goldenstar through laughter. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to use the forbidden word!” She threw herself at Scorch’s feet and clung to her like a needy kitten. Scorch huffed a laugh through her nose. 

“Please, your excellence,” she said, pretending to be scandalized, “you forget yourself.” Goldenstar laughed, chest thrumming with an uncontrollable purr. 

Yarrowshade swallowed thickly. Grief, unexpected and overwhelming, flooded his mind as he watched them joke and flirt. Neither of them seemed to notice and he was grateful for it. He carefully turned away and started down the far side of the hill, breathing slowly through his nose to try and stop himself from tearing up. 

Get it together, Yarrowshade, he thought to himself. This was such a stupid thing to cry over! He wasn’t going to let them see him like this. 

“Look,” Scorch said smugly, “your pathetic displays have scared off Yarrowshade.”

“Ah!” Goldenstar cried, still laughing, “Yarrowshade, wait! I’m sorry!”

He paused and let out one last breath before forcing the frown off of his face. “I think this hill is too exposed,” he said, glancing back at them. “Maybe we should try somewhere with trees?”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Goldenstar had gotten to her feet and was halfway to him, Scorch trailing behind. Both of them looked so happy it hurt to watch.

“Do you think Orangestar would let us hold the meeting on EarthClan territory?” he asked, looking away. He focused his eyes on the trees up ahead and tried to pretend that he was fine. 

“Maybe!” Goldenstar said. “I’ll bring it up at the Gathering.” 

“Hmm,” Scorch chewed her lip. “Could we take a look anyway or would that be inappropriate.” 

“I’m not sure,” Goldenstar said.

“Probably best to wait for permission,” Yarrowshade said. 

“Yeahhhh,” Goldenstar sighed. “Oh well. Why don’t we catch some lunch and head back?” 

“Sounds good to me,” said Scorch. 

“Yeah,” Yarrowshade turned back to them, smiling again even if it felt a little forced. “I’d love that.”