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devildom-moss · 7 months

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Headcanons with the 7 demons on NNN, in nut november :D, do they participate? What do they do for NNN?

Thanks for the request anon! I felt like I had to do this one since we're at the beginning of November. I hope this is to your liking. I did make it so that part of the temptation of NNN was MC, hopefully you don't mind. Woo. First request complete:

The demon brothers participating in No Nut November headcanons

(NSFW)

Word Count: +2,900

Lucifer

Failure: Likely (+65%)

Ranking: middle of the pack failure if he doesn’t commit to success

Lucifer would participate in it to stroke his own pride, but he’d rather not be asked about it or have to admit that he’s participating.

He’s conflicted over participating in a stupid trend and showcasing his ability to exert self-control.

Ultimately, he’ll quietly participate for an ego boost. If he hears about others – especially Diavolo or Solomon – participating, he’ll be more vocal about joining in. I could see The Fantastic Three group chat (Lucifer, Diavolo, and Barbatos) bringing it up and Diavolo roping the other two to join him because “It’s such an interesting human tradition.”

If Lucifer hears that Solomon plans to participate, he’s definitely going to do it because he can’t be bested by some human.

If MC tempts him, though, he’s screwed. Depending on how far MC wants to push him and if he’s announced his participation, he might wait it out and tease them back all month long – constantly denying MC any sex until December hits. This will require him to basically throw himself into his work. He’ll even abstain from drinking most of the month because he gets so needy when he’s drunk, and he’s not willing to risk it.

If MC isn’t around, as long as they aren’t constantly sending him flirty texts, nudes, videos, or audios, he’d probably be fine. (Although Diavolo might also tease him just a little – a bit of “Oh Lucifer, you look so tense. Can I help?” with his hand on Lucifer’s thigh under the table.)

Or, more likely in my opinion, Lucifer’s going to give in and let MC have their way with him. When MC is concerned, this man is horny on main. He’d probably end up calling MC a “naughty human” for tempting him.

He’ll act like he’s annoyed that MC made him give in, telling them “You have this coming” (which he would also tell them if he decided to tease them all month instead), but honestly, he’s just overjoyed that they couldn’t resist him for a whole month.

If he fails and he’s asked about it, he’ll either skip around the question or he’ll blame his loss on “a certain little human who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.” (If he has to lose, he’s at least going to make everyone jealous in the process.)

He would probably participate with some regularity. He thinks of it as an intriguing ritual.

Mammon

Failure: Imminent (100%)

Ranking: Beginning of the pack (anywhere from 1st to 3rd to fail)

Mammon likes to brag that “the Great Mammon could totally go a whole month. It’s not like it’s gamblin’ or nothin’.” In his mind, he’s got this in the bag.

In fact, he does not.

Mammon could easily get through about half the month if he tried – assuming MC leaves him alone and isn’t constantly flirting with him. If MC tries to tease him, though, he’s got anywhere between 1 hour to three days of restraint in him. That part depends on how easy it is for him to run away and hide from MC.

He’s the type to try the cold shower cliché. He will also hide out in Levi’s room and game with him a lot – few things kill a mood like being around his otaku little brother.

Unfortunately, his spending habits can get worse when he’s trying to distract himself, so he’ll probably end up strung from the ceiling at some point.

However, if MC keeps tempting him, he’ll convince himself that it’s fine to fool around a little. Then, the greed will take over. Once he has MC in his grasp, he won’t be able to hold back – not after all that teasing they put him through. He’ll crave more. More pleasure. More of their touch. “After all tha shit ya pulled? I’mma need a lot more outta ya.”

There is no regret for failing on his part, and if anyone asks, his comeback is, “At least I’m gettin’ laid.”

If MC teases him but they’re too far away (across the Devildom or in the human world), he can hold out a bit longer, but after a week of teasing, he’ll take matters into his own hands (literally). Since MC was nice enough to get him all riled up, he’ll send them a video of him touching himself. He’ll even add a cute little message: “ya made me tap out early. Take responsibility next time I see ya, yeah?”

He will lie about having done that if anyone asks, though.

Mammon would probably participate in it again, but maybe not every year.

Leviathan

Failure: Imminent (100%)

Ranking: Beginning of the pack (1st or 2nd)

He gets so flustered if anyone so much as asks him about it. He’ll be all ums and uhs and blushing cheeks. (I just imagine Asmo asking him: “Hey, Levi, you want to participate in No Nut November, too? You don’t get much action, so it’ll probably be easy for you, right?” “I-I uhm. Uh. Wh-why would I um. . .” “Great. You’ll join, then?”)

He doesn’t have anything to prove, but he’ll go along with participating – mostly because he doesn’t want anyone making fun of him for not even trying. (Unless it’s MC or Diavolo, who can ridicule him as much as they’d like.)

Levi will play action video games to distract from the urges. Honestly, if he so much as sees MC or a picture of them, he won’t even last a day without the urge to touch himself.

He can’t watch any anime with fanservice in it or play more risqué otome games. He’ll still log in and get his daily bonuses and do whatever else he really has to do, but that’s it. His imagination wanders too much, and he won’t be able to resist thinking perverted thoughts.

The more he tries to resist, the worse it gets for him. I imagine he’s usually quick to just masturbate when he gets urges, so he doesn’t have much experience holding back. Levi will try to curl up in his tub and just sleep it off.

Unfortunately, Levi will get so desperate that in a half-asleep state, he’ll slip into his demon form and start to rub himself with his own tail. Once he realizes he’s already started to touch himself, he figures that counts as an accidental loss, so he might as well keep going. Levi will end up fucking himself with his own tail in a needy, sleepy attempt to relieve himself. Even worse for Levi, only a few days of November had passed. (I could also see him losing as early as day 2)

If MC tries to touch him, he won’t resist – although he would be incredibly pleased to have MC tease and edge him for a while. In that case, he would probably last a bit longer (up to a week) because he wants to be the perfect babygirl for MC. But inevitably, he’d either touch himself while half-asleep (and lose), or MC would touch him a bit too much and he’d cum prematurely (and lose).

He’ll probably participate once and then never try again. He's just bad at holding back and edging, but any attempt to do so would turn him into such an adorable, submissive, moaning mess that I think it’s perfectly fine.

Satan

Failure: Unlikely (<20%)

Ranking: End of the pack (probably 2nd to last)

Satan thinks the idea of holding back and resisting is fun, but he also feels like he’s proving himself – especially if it becomes a thing that everyone sort of commits to trying. (I can imagine Satan and Solomon competing and whoever caves first pays for MC and the winner to go on a cat café date).

He’s come a long way with controlling his anger, so controlling lust isn’t that much of a big deal. It makes him feel sort of proud. However, it is annoying to lose one of his stress-relief outlets.

This man would probably test himself by pulling out the good (albeit a little deranged, unhinged) erotica and reading it all month. Satan would probably read some of it aloud for MC, too. He likes being able to tease them and get them riled up, but he pulls back before either he or MC are ready to get too hot.

He would kiss MC on the cheek more often throughout the month in place of kissing their lips. He can handle a few chaste kisses on the lips, but Satan spends a while testing the waters to see how much physical intimacy he can tolerate. In the first half of the month, Satan doesn’t trust himself to make out with MC without wanting more. By the end of the month, he can probably get into some heavy petting without worry.

He commits to finishing – or, well, not “finishing” – that month, so very little is going to get him to quit. Even if MC is desperate and can’t hold out or doesn’t participate themselves, Satan will just offer to give them head until they feel better. He’ll use toys on them or something, but he really wants to stick with it on his end.

If MC really wants him that badly (especially if they get so needy that they cry or threaten to ask someone else to take care of them), he’ll cave so quickly.

If he does succeed, he’ll plan a romantic date with MC sometime in early December (or plan a video/audio call). He’ll be slow and sweet about it, indulging in every touch before devolving into need and desperation. MC will have to clear their schedule for the following morning. After all, Satan has a lot of time to make up for.

Satan will participate every once in a while, especially if Solomon does it, too. It’s sort of like prolonged foreplay to him (and I feel like this man adores foreplay).

Asmodeus

Failure: Unlikely (<15%)

Ranking: End of the pack (probably 3rd to last)

Asmo participates in it – in a way. Honestly, he just uses it as an excuse to do a month-long edging session. He gets a kick out of seeing how close he can get without cumming. So, he’s not a “no nut” purist or anything – what can you expect from the avatar of lust?

Asmo will try dozens of different forms of stimulation throughout the month – on his own, with MC, and potentially with others if MC is open to it *coughcoughSolomonThirteen*. I won’t get too into all of it, but pillow humping, hidden vibrators in public, and nipple play are definitely involved multiple times.

He loves experimenting and enjoying the pleasure regardless of whether he cums. If MC is participating, Asmo will have even more fun. He’ll flirt and tease them all month. The number of nudes, videos, and audios he would send to MC is excessive. (He would send the most delicious audios. Mm.) If MC doesn’t participate, he’s still up to fool around.

Unfortunately, he is a bit more distracted throughout the month. At some points – sometimes days at a time – he’ll be walking around in a cloud of lust.

Like Satan, Asmo will offer head and use toys on MC, but he’ll go a few steps further. MC can use him however they please, so long as they stop before he’s pushed over the edge (but he does have a risk of failure here). If they want to just put him in a chastity belt or use a numbing cream on him, that works too.

Asmo will likely succeed in not cumming for the whole month. He’ll invite MC over for a little fun the night of November 30th, edging all the way up to midnight before he finally gets to cum after the clock strikes 12. I could see him having MC do a countdown for him like it’s New Year’s Eve (except instead of a ball dropping, two of them release. And instead of fireworks and confetti, there are moans and cum everywhere. Sorry.)

Side note: How adorable would it be to lie to Asmo that night and start the countdown early so he cums a few minutes or seconds before midnight? Then you could tease him and tell him he loses. He’d pout so much, maybe playfully slap his hand on your chest or shoulder, and then just kiss you and tell you to do it again. After all, you owed him his first orgasm in December. You better follow through.)

Asmo would probably participate almost every year – if not every year. He enjoys it.

Beelzebub

Failure: Unlikely (<25%)

Ranking: End of the pack (Probably last if he succeeds)

Beel does pretty well, even without edging. Honestly, edging probably won’t come to mind unless MC brings it up with him. If he does try it, he finds it quite pleasant, although not that useful for quenching his desires.

Although Beel doesn’t show signs of being particularly needy or desperate, he does exercise and eat more than usual to distract himself when he feels a bit hot and bothered. Beel will especially crave sweet or spicy foods to numb his desires.

As long as MC doesn’t try to tempt him too much (and by too much I mean as far as grinding on him for a half hour or dropping to their knees and begging to suck him off or rubbing him through his pants for longer than a few minutes), he’ll be perfectly fine.

If it’s clear that MC wants sex, he’ll do what Satan and Asmo would and just give them oral, use his hands, or use toys on them – but he would prefer oral. He’s happy to please MC for as long as they’d like (although MC is definitely at risk of being overstimulated because if Beel is trying to hold himself back, he’s at least going to indulge in pleasing MC). If MC is participating, and they just want Beel to edge them, they’re out of luck. He probably will not stop in time. And if he does, he’ll pout and look up at MC with such sad eyes, I don’t know how they would be able to deny him. Who could put no nut November over Beel? What kind of monster would do that?

The only way he’s failing is if MC does some kind of foodplay-esque teasing (the classical ice pop sucking, licking something sticky off of Beel’s fingers, etc.). Even then, he might be able to hold back and stick to just focusing on MC’s pleasure.

However, if MC doesn’t want him to hold back anymore, he’ll stop participating. Beel’s not that committed to succeeding (unless he makes a bet that involves food). It’s not a big deal as long as you’re both happy.

If he succeeds, he won’t have any plans to orgasm in December, so he might get through most or all of December without it, too. At that point, it’ll be a bit of a habit to not touch himself or MC, so he might just forget. Once he does finally get off, he’ll unravel a bit and crave more (hopefully it wasn’t intended to be a quicky, because he’ll turn it into an all-nighter).

Beel probably won’t participate often (unless one of his sports teams makes it a tradition or something). It doesn’t do much for him, although he does enjoy watching MC get needy and a bit desperate for him when he participates and denies them a bit. (He just wants MC to want him and use him whenever they please.)

Belphegor

Failure: Imminent (100%)

Ranking: Beginning of the pack (anywhere from 1st to 3rd to fail)

It doesn’t count if you cum in your sleep, right? If Belphie tries to participate, which he’d only do if someone else dared him to (peer pressure), the attempt to restrain himself would result in intense wet dreams. A few nights into November, Belphie would find himself grinding against his pillows or MC in his sleep. He’s a lucid dreamer, so he would lean into the most depraved thoughts.

Unfortunately, he hates dealing with the mess that comes (cums) from his little loophole.

Belphegor would probably try to nap whenever he gets the urge to touch himself or MC.

Honestly, he’s willing to give up at the drop of a hat. He doesn’t care. He’s put minimal effort into this. He’s a tired demon, and there’s no reason he should deprive himself of a waking pleasure for a dumb trend.

If MC starts purposely teasing him, Belphie will just quit and ask MC to take care of the tightness in his pants that they caused.

Even under normal circumstances, Belphie isn’t the biggest fan of being edged. He’ll be super whiny about it – especially if he held out for a week or so. (“I need it now. Touch me, please. . . Ah! You feel so good. I missed this so bad, MC.”) Once he gives up and finally gets to have sex with MC, he’s a squirming, desperate little mess.

“I held out for so long. You should praise me more. I’ve been so needy.” He’d whine, rocking his hips to meet MC’s and letting out soft, little whimpers. If they try to tell him that he failed to make it the whole month and doesn’t deserve praise for so little effort, he’ll just pout, still humping against them sleepily, and retort, “but I tried.” (He will say this even if he only made it three or four days.)

He did try. MC should be proud of him and just keep fucking him until he’s a sleepy, content puddle beneath them. He’ll make it up to them by being an adorable body pillow/cuddle buddy.

He’ll try it once and never again. He’s going to get his dopamine (and other happy chemicals) in whatever form they come (cum) in.

A/N: Don't forget that the poll for November's fic ends at the end of November 7th PST and requests end at the end of November 5th PST

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screamingcrows · 2 days

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Afternoon tea - Dr. Ratio x gn!reader

This was requested by @yinyuedijun as part of the initiative by @/ficsforgaza Thank you for donating and requesting from me; If anyone else wants to support the effort, here are links to their page with directions and a masterlist of writers participating.

Tags: soft, fluff, implied friends to maybe lovers, mildly suggestive, acts of service as a love language Note: istg feed this to an ai, asmr thing, lore.fm or the like and I will have Ixodes scapularis at your heels Minors, ageless, and blank blogs will be blocked

"Come again?" Ratio had an abundance of patience when it came to you, but even so, it was difficult to keep disbelief from making his words a little more clipped than usual.

Without hesitation, the book in his hand was closed and found a home atop the worn coffee table, his body twisting to glance at you in the kitchen. Surely, he had misheard you. There was no way you would-

"A codpiece, Veritas. Have you ever considered getting or even making one?"

The way heat flooded to his face made the wish to hide under a familiar alabaster head resurface, an urge not often felt in your company. It was frustrating really, somehow you always made him loose his footing, and what on earth could have compelled you to ask such a ridiculous question?

Wearing the piece around you would be too great a shame to not see clearly how the light warmed whenever it touched your smile, how gracefully you moved around the table with a tray of freshly baked scones, the crinkles around your eyes when you laughed. Always your eyes, attentive and light, ensnaring him whenever he sought answers from you, and he would let them without hesitation. That was a truth.

If perfection existed, it had to be contained within you.

"Well, have you? They have been very fashionable is what I've heard. I'm sure you could cause an uproar if you made one out of that mineral you like so much," amusement was clear from your tone, and as always your words were most likely carefully picked.

"Alabaster was simply fitting, I would hardly call it my favorite. You should know better than thinking me rash enough to act on your whims, I have no intention of causing any uproar at the University unrelated to my teaching material," a scoff left his lips before he continued, "and don't think I missed your little 'have been'."

He enjoyed these peaceful afternoons, as peaceful as any room could be with you present at least, but it was not unwelcome. What had started as a simple apology on your end, having ruined one of his books by accident, had quickly turned into a weekly occurrence when it became clear how much you both enjoyed what you'd taken to calling 'tea parties'.

Your company was refreshing, carefree but wise, and utterly without restraint when it curiosity took hold, the routine of your little gatherings were pleasant while still allowing ample room for variety in topic of conversation. Lately you'd begun requesting taking turns reading aloud to the other, which he had no problem indulging. A small chuckle slipped past his lips, carefully concealed as clearing his throat.

Upon lifting the delicate porcelain to his lips, it was impossible not to notice how your were grinning at him from across the table, already curled up and comfortable as usual. There was no reason not to inquire, the beaming look in your eyes having already summoned butterflies inside his body. It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore how pleasant your company was, especially on days such as today where he'd showed up unprompted after work, yearning more for your voice than he did a long bath.

Or perhaps, inviting you home to bathe with him would've been the optimal course of action?

Oh that wasn't good. He shifted uncomfortably, one leg crossing over the other when blood gathered in an inconvenient place. That ridiculous garment you'd suggested would have been a blessing in his current predicament.

"You're clearly enjoying yourself, did I not notice you brewing us a new tea?" He set his cup down, eyeing it with skepticism as he awaited whatever had you looking so giddy, the sight of your lips stretching in a smile enough to have his heart struggling to break free.

How he wished he could've cursed out loud then and there, how he had been foolish enough to go months without being able to identify exactly what the budding feeling in his chest was, was far beyond him at present moment.

"I fixed your book. It's not perfect, but I did my best, and bookbinding was a lot harder than expected, so it took a while… Sorry," there was such pride in your eyes that he could practically feel his heart about to burst.

With a slightly shaky hand, the lightheadedness from his arousal only intensified by the sheer disbelief as he accepted the leatherbound book. By no means had it been valuable before, holding neither monetary nor sentimental value, but as Ratio set it inconspicuously in his lap, he couldn't help but trace his fingers along the now slightly uneven spine, knowing there was only one thing he could ever treasure more than this.

#dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x you #gn reader #dr ratio #veritas ratio x reader #cw codpiece #cw suggestive #fluff #soft #crow with a pen #hsr x reader

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too-much-tma-stuff · 24 days

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Love Me, Control Me (18+)

Pairing: Jason Todd/Danny Fenton

This is an NSFW aside to my Hyena!Danny AU part 1 of which can be found Here

This one shot contains: BDSM, restraints, choking, blindfolds, and various sex acts. This has also been posted on AO3 Here if you prefer that

----------

Jason knew that his job was important, and he enjoyed it, less in the things he Had to do, but the results were so rewarding. He saw them in everyone around him, how much happier and safer they all were. He wasn't changing the law, he wasn't eliminating crime, but he was making a Real difference in Real people's lives. It was good, and it was meaningful, but it meant getting his hands Very dirty. Sometimes he enjoyed that too, he felt a great deal of satisfaction in putting a monster out of everyone else's misery, but sometimes it wasn't like that.

Sometimes he didn't get there in time. Sometimes he found out that some of the dealers were still cutting their supply with dangerous additives Right under his nose and he had to purge. He had to put everyone else's worries at ease, patch the whole in the supply for the people who Needed the drugs, and deal with the outrage about his rules again. He had made them clear and they were reasonable but there were always going to be those greedy SOBs who had the misplaced confidence to believe rules didn't apply to them.

All that to say it had been a very long day and he'd ended up staying late in his office. Who knew criminal organizations still had paperwork. Not legal stuff of course but he needed to keep track of everything and make sure the people who needed to know what was going on did.

Danny had brought him dinner and they had eaten Chinese takeout in his office but then Danny had gone home. Jason didn't blame him, he usually stayed until Jason left for the day as well but Jason couldn't Always expect Danny to stay. A part of him really hoped that Danny had plans, he really didn't seem to have any friends or bonds with anyone besides Jason, he should have other friends.

Jason practically dragged himself out of the office about an hour after Danny did, he was exhausted and disheartened, but he had done what needed to be done.

He went back to one of his nicer safe houses he'd started to consider home and let himself in through the window with a sigh, disabling his traps and taking off his helmet, running his hands back through his flattened hair. He froze when he heard a noise from his bedroom, his eyes scanning his apartment for any signs of disturbance... there weren't any, and all his traps were still engaged. That was a very good sign it was Danny waiting for him in his room, he hadn't quite figured out How Danny got in, and at this point Jason suspected Danny was refusing to tell him because he thought it was funny.

Jason was cautious as he approached his room, just because he was pretty sure it was Danny was no reason to let his guard down after all, that would just be foolish. He nudged the door open with his foot and his jaw dropped when he saw Danny stretched out on his bed dressed in, to be frankly honest, almost nothing. He was wearing a pair of lace panties, and a green and black corset that cinched his already slim waist in even more. But the absolute pièce de résistance was the black collar buckled around Danny's neck and the leash currently wrapped casually around Danny's own wrist to keep it out of the way.

He noticed Danny was watching him with half lidded eyes and a slight smirk and closed his mouth with a slight click, swallowing dryly. Danny sat up gracefully, crossing one long leg over the other and smiling at Jason. "Welcome home Boss," Danny purred invitingly. "You had a very long day didn't you,let me help you unwind." He held the leash out to Jason in an open palm, offering it to him, along with all the control and dominance that it implied.

Jason stepped forward and took the leash from Danny's hand, wrapping it around his wrist and used it to pull Danny up to his feet. He followed gracefully without hesitation and pressed against Jason as he pulled Danny's head back and kissed him, deep and slow. The hand not holding the leash finding it's way to Danny's ass as he started to purr, pressing him even closer, Danny let out a soft moan as he pressed their hips together.

"You're so good to me Cub," Jason murmured as he sat down on the edge of the bed, yanking Danny down to his knees in front of him.

"Of course," Danny said, resting his hands on Jason's thighs and nuzzling against his crotch, blue eyes fixed on him from under dark lashes. "How do you want me tonight?"

Jason grinned and pulled the cuffs from his belt, he was still in his costume after all, including the utility belt. He spun them around one finger and Danny's gaze was drawn by the motion and he ginned as well. "In front or behind?" He asked without hesitation.

"Behind," Jason requested. Danny nodded and stood, turning his back to Jason and held his hands behind them for Jason to put the cuffs on him, trapping them behind his back, though Jason was completely sure if Danny needed to he could get out of them, he'd done it before.

With his wrists cuffed Danny turned back towards Jason, letting out a startled yip as he was yanked back to his knees, unable to catch himself he landed hard, letting out a little whimper. When he looked up at Jason Danny's pupils were blown wide with arousal and he nosed along Jason's thigh, nuzzling against his crotch with a needy little whine that went straight to Jason's dick which had been hard since the moment he saw Danny's outfit.

"You want a taste Baby," Jason purred and Danny whined again giving Jason a pleading pout. He talked very little when he was like this. Jason chuckled softly and used the leash to pull Danny back slightly, holding him away as Jason slowly unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped his pants with one hand. Danny's eyes followed his motions intently, straining just slightly against the collar as Jason hooked his thump into his pants and boxers and pushed them down. He let out a relieved breath when his dick sprung free from the confines of his clothes, grinning wolfishly at the way Danny licked his lips, eyeing Jason's cock.

"I love how eager you are~" Jason praised, still holding Danny away, teasing him with what he so clearly wanted. It had taken Jason a little experimentation to figure out that, while Danny was alright with just about any rough treatment, and enjoyed being manhandled and choked, he had no tolerance for being insulted. He liked being praised, complimented, and called pet names and right now with the way Danny was half strangling himself with the collar Jason was sure he was enjoying himself.

"Alright Darling, go ahead," Jason chuckled breathlessly, as if he wasn't Just as eager for this as Danny is not more. He relaxed his grip on the collar and Danny collapsed forward a bit before catching himself, shuffling his position and lifting himself up more on his knees so he could kitten lick along the underside of Jason's dick making him moan. When Danny reached the top he swirled his tongue around the tip of Jason's dick before taking it into his mouth.

He moaned so softly Jason could barely hear it under his own sound of pleasure. He let the head of Jason's dick rest heavy on his tongue for a moment as he breathed through his nose, his eyes closed his brows pinched in an adorable expression of concentration. He started to purr as he slid down, taking Jason deeper into his throat as it started to vibrate around the shaft of Jason's cock.

"Holy shit Babe!" Jason exclaimed breathlessly, tangling one hand into Danny's hair. "I swear you're better then any sex toy!"

Danny laughed and Jason felt his thighs tense and a shiver run down his spine. Danny closed his lips around Jason firmly and started to suck, bobbing his head up and down eagerly, his sharp little fangs scraped ever so slightly sending a little thrill through Jason along with the almost overwhelming pleasure. He didn't try to hold back though, one orgasm wouldn't be enough for him, this was just to take the edge off so he could lavish Danny with the attention he deserved and fuck him slow.

Jason came with a loud moan, arching his back and grabbing the sheets rather then Danny's hair. Danny choked slightly as cum rushed down his throat before he could swallow. Swallowing quickly and pulling back just enough to collect Jason's cum on his tongue.

When Jason was done Danny pulled back, looking up at Jason with mischief in his expression despite his slightly glassy eyes. He opened his mouth and let his tongue loll out, and Jason's breath caught in his throat as he watched his cum drip down from Danny's tongue over his bare chest. Danny closed his mouth and swallowed the last of it before giving Jason a cheeky little smile that drove Jason absolutely Insane!

He yanked Danny up using the leash, hearing him gasp as Jason practically tossed him down on the bed, hungry eyes raking over Danny's body, watching his filthy chest heave as he squirmed. His dick was hard, peaking up above the edge of Danny's panties and he rubbed his thighs together absently, whimpering as he sought some stimulation or relief with his arms pinned under him. Jason leaned over Danny, hands on either side of his head and kissed him deeply, tasting his own seed on Danny's tongue as he kissed back with a happy little sigh.

"How do you feel about a blindfold tonight Moonlight?" Jason asked, caressing Danny's jaw lightly.

"Yes," Danny agreed softly, his voice rough and breathy with arousal.

Jason smiled down at him and kissed him once more before getting up off the bed to pull out their bin of toys. Mostly collected by Danny if Jason is honest, he never had much use for such things before Danny and he doesn't quite have the time or sexual creativity Danny does. While he's up Jason takes the chance to strip off most of his clothes, his armour, belt, shoes, jacket, shirt, and undershirt all left on the floor by the bed though he decides to keep his pants on for now without bothering to button them again. Once he was comfortable Jason popped open the bin and grabbed a black silk blindfold from it, wasting no time in placing it over Danny's eyes, who lifted his head obediently making it easy for Jason to tie it behind his head.

"Such a good boy," Jason murmured, running his thumbs along Danny's cheeks just bellow the blindfold affectionately.

Danny looked sinfully good at the moment, his lips and cheeks were flushed with arousal, his lips slightly swollen and spit slick. His nipples were hard and poking through the fabric of the corset where it was thin, managing to cover the scars Danny was self conscious off while truly hiding nothing. His skin was pale, showing his blush beautifully, his body hair was light, more white then black but the occasional patches of black hair only added more interest to Danny's already captivating loveliness.

Jason hooked his thumbs into Danny's panties and pulled them down slowly, once they were down Danny pressed his legs together, playing at being shy. Bound and blindfolded he looked it, demure and vulnerable, it made Jason want to eat him up~ He grabbed Danny's hips and rolled him over, yanking him up to his knees, startling a muffled yelp out of Danny as his face was forced into the bedding. Jason wrapped the leash around his wrist to free up his hands and grabbed Danny's ass, spreading his cheeks so he had a good view of Danny's hole, pink and twitching as Danny whimpered and tried valiantly not to squirm.

"You're so cute Danny," Jason praised before leaning in and running his tongue over Danny's perineum to his hole, pushing his tongue inside pulling a high little moan from Danny. His hands clenched and relaxed in turns, tugging against the cuffs without intention or feeling as he whimpered. Jason chuckled and lapped at Danny's insides, tongue fucking him without shame as Danny's thighs trembled and his breathing hitched.

Jason didn't stop until Danny's hole was puffy and pink, and slick with Jason's spit. He didn't even give Danny a chance to whine at being left empty before he was pushing two fingers into the smaller man's body making him moan louder. Jason knew Danny was drooling on the sheets as he fucked Danny open with his fingers, scissoring and massaging his insides until he was soft and yielding. It didn't take long, Danny was practised and trusting with no lingering tension to fight against Jason.

"Such a good boy, you take it so well for me," Jason praised breathlessly and Danny gave a happy little trilling noise and a sigh. "You look so beautiful, and you make the sweetest sounds, just for me," Jason murmured, leaning down to press a kiss against Danny's shoulder.

"Just for you, Boss," Danny sighed, vague and spacy. Jason had no doubt there wasn't a thought in that pretty little head right now.

"I know baby, so loyal for me hm?" Jason asked as he pulled his fingers out, gently pushing Danny over, rolling him back onto his back.

"Of course, love you," Danny murmured with a gentle smile on his face, his eyes probably closed behind the blindfold.

Jason's heart throbbed, warm and almost painful in his chest as he leaned down to brush his lips against Danny's without making it truly a kiss. "I love you too," he said like a promise before pulling back and digging through their bin of toys again, pulling out Danny's cockring.

Danny let out a small whine and squirmed a little when it was slid over his shaft and secured around the base. "You want to make me happy don't you Cub? You can't do that is you cum before me," Jason reminded gently and Danny subsided with a sigh. "That's right baby, I've got you," Jason crooned, gripping Danny's waist with his broad, callused hand and encouraging Danny to lift his hips. Danny allowed himself to be directed, lifting his hips obediently with an eager little sound.

"Please, want you," Danny whimpered desperately.

"Be patient Moonlight," Jason crooned, as though he wasn't just as eager to get inside Danny! But he did want to take just a moment to enjoy the view, truly savour how fucking lucky he is to have this man in his life and in his bed. There's no way in hell Jason deserves it, but he'd not going to question it and risk losing the absolute light of his life.

He pushed down his pants enough to free his dick again and grabbed Danny's thighs, pushing his knees up towards his chest as he rutted again Danny's ass. Danny was reduced to little whines and moans, pleading with out a doubt but with a tongue too clumsy to properly form words. Since Danny's tongue was useless anyway Jason slid two fingers into Danny's mouth, toying with his tongue and letting him suck on them to both distract him from, and add too, Jason's teasing.

He thrust in suddenly and Danny gasped, arched and cried out at the intrusion and then the pleasure as Jason sunk deep into Danny's ass, the cry tapering into a long moan once Jason's dick was fully seated inside him. His ass tensed slightly around Jason's member as if trying to pull him in deeper.

"That's right Love, always so hungry for it," Jason chuckled as he pulled out half way and pushed back in making Danny moan again. Jason withdrew his fingers before beginning to fuck Danny properly so he wouldn't accidentally bite.

"You... Too?" Danny asked between gasps.

"Of course pet, I always want you too," Jason promised and was rewarded by the dopiest, most delighted smile on Danny's face.

Jason chuckled and wrapped one hand around Danny's throat, pressing his thumb into Danny's windpipe just enough to make him wheeze. Danny wasn't getting quite as much air as he needed with how roughly he was being fucked, dizzy and lightheaded, and unable to see he couldn't think about anything besides the pleasure his Lover was giving him. Danny lost himself in the trust and of it, pleasure running frantic little laps around his head and up and down his body.

It wasn't long before his dick was a pretty pink above the ring preventing him from cumming and Danny's whines were taking on an almost pained quality of denied release. Jason chuckled breathlessly and did not slow down. "When I cum you will," Jason promised and Danny nodded with a little wheezing gasp, arching into Jason's hand on his throat, grounding and holding him.

Jason held himself back a bit longer, enjoying Danny's obedience and discomfort, before the coil of pleasure in his own gut got to be too much to ignore. He scrabbled to release the cock-ring, his ears ringing with Danny's cry of pleasure as he came, arching up off the bed and clamping down on Jason's dick.

Jason cursed and moaned breathlessly as he came as well, spilling deep inside Danny before they both collapsed to the bed. Overstimulated and still connected, wrapped up in one another as they struggled to catch their breath. Jason lingered there for a while, occasionally stealing small kisses from Danny, until he felt the other man's hands in his hair and realized Danny must have slid out of the cuffs. To confirm Danny leaned over and dropped the cuffs over the edge of the bed with a soft clatter before slipping off the blindfold and wrapping his arms back around Jason.

"Do you feel better Sunshine?" Danny asked softly, his voice still just slightly rough.

"So much better," Jason promised with a little smile, propping himself up to kiss Danny's lips deep and long. "Is that the corset Harley gave you?"

"Yep," Danny confirmed, laughing. "One of them."

"One of them?!" Jason practically squeaked and Danny gave him a sharp and teasing smile.

"I'm sure you'll be seeing the other ones soon~"

#Hyena!Danny #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc x dp #jason todd #dead on main #fanfiction

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jungkookschin · 1 year

Text

to restrain is to love (to err is to love part 2)

synopsis: yea, it was totally your fault for pouncing on your ex husband and shoving your tongue down his throat at your kids' super mario birthday party. (totally romantic!) but after establishing boundaries? despite feeling nauseous, jungkook has to show great deal of self restraint when he finds out that his ex wife is going on a date. word count: 13k

pairing: dilf!jk /ex husband!jk / ceo!jk x afab reader

warnings: mentions of divorce, death, and cheating

to err is to love masterlist

"So, you want me to pretend like it didn't happen?"

Your ex-husband finally arrives home- his disheveled nature indicative of an exhausting day at work probably filled with tedious meetings and unexciting paperwork. He looks like he got the soul sucked right out of his body. His tie is loose around his neck, his hair is swept back sloppily, dark circles prominent, and there's a very obvious annoyed grimace hazed on his handsome face.

It’s not like you enjoy contributing to his stress, but right now you have to draw the red line and establish boundaries. You hate the way your heart flutters at his mere presence- even when stressed out of his mind. You rip your eyes away from him so the notion departs from your mind; acknowledging your thoughts means accepting- or even embracing your feelings for him, and that’s just something you can’t do.

After practically pouncing on him and salaciously shoving your tongue into his mouth after your children's Super Mario birthday party, you abruptly jolted from your sleep with regret plaguing your system. Instinctively your fingers come up to alleviate the aching pain in your temples whilst you recall how sinful it felt to have his lips against yours. The butterflies threatening to erupt in your stomach irk you, and you despise yourself for craving him like you are right now.

Even when he’s blinking at you incredulously like you’ve cut him deeply- you can’t help but be soft for him.

“Yes,” you enunciate sternly; the dramatic roll of your eyes effectively masks how you truly feel, and it makes his heart ache painfully. “It was entirely inappropriate, and I apologize for that- let’s just pretend it never happened.” You mumble pointedly before redirecting your focus back to the soapy bubbly plastic Hello-Kitty dishes piled in the sink.

You brace yourself for a response as hostile as the words you just spewed out.

Perhaps he perceived the way your body visibly tense because instead of a sarcastic response, he acts opposite of what you’re expected. You hear the soft thud of his briefcase echoing through the room and as a gentle sigh falls from his lips.

He makes calm strides toward you, placing a hand on top of yours; the soapy bubbles on your hands rub onto his- it even gets on the cuffs of his shirt, but it goes unnoticed by him. He just wants to help out. His other hand takes hold of the sponge as his body softly nudges you to the side. He begins to maneuver the sponge against the dishes, not gracing you with a single word.

Heart aching in your chest, you let out a concerned sigh. "Jungkook, you don't have to do that, it's alright-"

"I'm sorry for coming home late tonight,” His soft words are spoken in a hushed tone, as if he’s trying to bring you down from how panicked and aggressive you were previously behaving. "Thank you for making the kids dinner and cleaning up."

"It's my job to do that-"

"I know. But you work so hard. I just want to let you know how grateful I am." His words encapsulate the tenderness that has been stagnantly stinging his heart- and it sends an explosion of emotions to your stomach. He’s got this hold on you, and you find it unfathomable that he can reillumine the dull flame idly sitting in your heart.

"Are you mad at me?" you squeak out, fingers brushing a stray strand behind your ear. He releases a soft chuckle, putting the last dish in the drying rack, turning and leaning back against the kitchen counter. He shakes his head to sweep the hair out of his face.

“Not mad, just a little sad,” the casual shrug of his shoulders enkindles a bubble of confusion in your heart.

Your mouth dries up. You haven’t a clue of how to respond-especially when the situation isn’t combative in the slightest. You suppose that you adapted entirely to toxicity and hostility that you’ve become emotionally dysfunctional. You hesitate, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” is all you’re able to muster up.

He smiles bitterly to himself, his sharp jawline flexing as he looks away from you and at the ceiling. For a split second, you detect a hint of pain on his face, but he masks that by playfully pinching your cheek before swinging his hand back down- further adding to your confusion. “Don’t be sorry- you can’t change how you feel. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Oh.

The response he gave you was exactly what your brain was looking for, but for some reason your heart is left completely dissatisfied.

He suddenly begins undoing the buttons on his shirt, letting his chest finally breathe after being trapped in the confines of a tight suit all day. This wasn’t unusual for him to do. Jungkook often paraded around the house shirtless. After all, this is his home, and he is entitled to comfort and privacy. Besides, it’s not like you’ve never seen it before.

Biting your lip, you swat his hands away and begin undoing the buttons for him. Though the action intrinsically seems questionable, you’ve basically been his little wifey when the two of you decided to cohabitate again (for the children). You wash his clothes, make him breakfast, tie his tie for him- the more you think about it the more dysfunctional this relationship is. No words were needed- this isn’t intended to be sexual or seductive in the slightest- your love language has always been acts of service and this is how you’ll express your appreciation.

He raises his brows at you. His eyes haze over you like he’s checking you out, but he’s really scrutinizing you and peering right past your facade. And perhaps he’s simultaneously checking you out. He can’t help himself- your smaller frame is adorned in one of his white oversized tees, making you look so soft and wifey. At the same time, he finds it somewhat ridiculous that you’re telling him you don’t want him while you have his damn shirt over your body.

Once you get to the bottom of the shirt, you pout slightly and look up at him. Your eyes are met with dark eyes that peer into your very soul. Black eyes scan over you, pupils are dilated completely, questioning authenticity of your rejection towards him.

At the same time, he gazes at you with so much desire that it hurts.

“Please tell me how you really feel,” he whispers.

You break eye contact, snapping the strings of attraction that were pulling you together. “Just don’t want to ruin everything again.” you quietly murmur

He brings his calloused palms to rub his face. He already knows. He sees right through you. He’s known you so long he’s confident he’s familiarized himself with everything about you- knows how your mind processes information, knows the meaning behind all your gestures.

What haunts him the most is that he knows he fucked up his own marriage. As the man of the family, he was supposed to hold everything down, and it’s been eating him up that he placed that burden on you. “I know,” he responds, “It’s my fault- I know I fucked everything up beyond repair. I don’t blame you for feeling that way. The divorce was really hard.”

It’s the first time he’s ever explicitly said the d word. He places his arms behind his head, his biceps bulging through his shirt, and you rip your eyes away. This is not the time to be thirsting over him.

“I wasn’t the best either- so don’t say that. The divorce was hard for you too so let’s not think about that,” you mumble, staring at the photo of your children stuck onto the fridge with a “#1 MOM” magnet. The cute photo of the twins holding up peace signs stabilizes you. They are what keeps you going.

He sighs. “But I know you gave it your all to save us- and I didn’t. I know that if I put in more effort, we would have made it. I was entitled and arrogant,” he bites his lip like he’s trying to find the right words, “Please let make it up to you.”

His analysis of the situation is somewhat accurate. Though the rockiest part of your marriage was mostly because of carelessness and hostility from both sides- Jungkook was the one who ultimately expelled you from his heart while you desperately towards clung onto hope.

“There’s nothing to be made up- we can’t do this again. Our kids would be heartbroken if mommy and daddy got back together…. just to break up again,” you send him a faux smile with the intention of comforting him, as if your fucking divorce didn’t absolutely crush you. Jungkook’s resolve begins to crack at your mannerisms. He sees right through you, knows when you’re faking shit.

“Is that how you really feel?”

A deafening silence washes over the situation. You won’t grace him with a response. No one would ever be able to pry the words out of you.

He speaks up. “I respect that Y/N, but if you ever change your mind, I’ll always be here.”

Your brows furrow deeply at this words, and Jungkook winces at the haze of mortification that appears on your pretty face. What did he mean by that? Is he implying that he’s going to stay single forever if you don’t want to be with him? That it’s you or nothing? What an impulsive and ridiculous statement. As much as you care for him, he can’t just be saying shit like that to you

You purse your lips. “I have a date next weekend-”

“What?” The harshness and rapidity of his response doesn’t faze you. During college he was especially possessive over you, his possessive nature never fading even after the divorce. You were still the mother of his children so the sense of protection he felt for you was practically implanted into his system.

“I have a date next weekend, so don’t say stuff like that. Don’t give up on love because we didn’t work out. We didn’t work out for a reason- we can both be better for who we were truly meant for,” you rub his bicep diplomatically, your lips curling up into a polite smile.

Brushing your hand away, he responds with a look that teeters on the brink of mortification and disgust. “Who’s taking you on a date?” He’s doing that thing where he presses his tongue against his cheek- like you’ve just horribly offended him, and you simply frown.

“Don’t worry about that- if it goes well then I’ll tell you more, but it’s just a first date,” Growing slightly irritated, you tut because he’s really doing too much at this point. “I’m only telling you because I don’t want you to give up meeting other people.”

After tensing up he closes his eyes and sighs steadily, expelling the negative energy that accumulated in his chest. “Okay fine- go on a date. Not my business anyways,” he mumbles lowly, and this pit of guilt expatiates in your chest.

Before he walks off, your hand automatically latches onto his wrist. “Hey, can we talk about this? I hate it when we fight and I don’t want to upset you,” you plead, gnawing on your bottom lip in concern.

Jungkook softens, regaining rationality before his shoulders relax. “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s not your fault. You’re allowed to move on if you want to,” he reasons, attempting to give you a smile.

Suddenly, the realization washes over you that Jeon Jungkook looks utterly exanimated. He’s paler than usual and he just looks so spiritless and dull. It saddens you deeply and your purse your lips. You hope it’s from work and not because of you. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“It’s okay Y/N. Not your fault. We separated years ago- don’t worry about it,”

Desisting, your lips utter no response.

“Well Y/N, ‘m getting tired so gonna go to bed.” His voice stiffly trails off before he speaks again. “Can I get a hug?”

You don’t even realize how pouty your lips become when you lean into his embrace, hugging him from the side.

Gosh. Is this what we’ve come to?

A side hug?

You and this man used to be madly in love, unable to keep your hands off of each other- so passionate and so intense. It’s genuinely crazy that's left.

A side hug.

–

When you stepped into work that morning, asking a man on a date was the last thing on your list. In fact, the notion never existed because you making the first move? Disgusting. Totally defeminizing.

"Ew, is this what people like?" Your coworker Soyeon peeks over your shoulder, scrutinizing the monitor. She grimaces while she makes an ugh sound with her lips, eliciting a lighthearted giggle from you.

You currently work for a luxury cosmetics brand called Belle Meraviglie, as lead of the analytics team at the Korea headquarters. Basically, you’re in charge of data mining, transforming survey results into applicable suggestions for product development. There’s a lot of math and statistics involved, which occasionally makes you question why you’re in this field because you can’t do math for shit.

Though your job sounds tedious, the average workday is filled with jovial playfulness thanks to your coworkers.

Right now, you're inspecting the results of a recent survey about optimal lip shades for each season. Surprisingly, this ugly ass peach shade popped up as the number one result for fall, which you (and Soyeon) are not fucking with. With one tap of the keyboard, the results are modified into a line graph, and you swivel your office chair around 180 degrees, facing Soyeon.

"Hey, if it brings us in more money then it's good to me," you joke, eliciting a playful eye roll from your friend.

“Of course, it’s all about the money for you…”

A lightbulb seemingly appears on top of her head, and she really starts to regurgitate her thoughts. "I really want a chocolate croissant right now," she expresses aloud, very unsubtly you may add, so you quickly become suspicious, narrowing your eyes at her. Giving you her classic puppy dog eyes, you give her a knowing look before relenting.

"Fine."

Perks of working for a luxury brand is that there's a Starbucks cafe on the second floor of the office. You have to admit that the chocolate croissants are to die for, hence why you're willing to walk all the way to the elevator and to the cafe to buy Soyeon one.

Unsurprisingly, the line at the cafe is pretty long, wrapping around the corner of the interior of the building. Chocolate croissants are delicious, and you love the way the buttery dough melts in your mouth, so you're more than willing to wait it out. Your arms are linked with Soyeon's so you won't be separated amongst the crowd of buzzing employees rushing to get their coffee or snacks.

Looking around, you really conceptualize the diversity of your workplace. People of all ages and colors flock around the lobby; you're noticing that there are a lot more young people around, probably college interns.

Amongst your scrutiny of the people walking in and out, you gracelessly walk straight into a brick wall of a man, even despite Soyeon's efforts of driving you away from bumping into people.

The man turns around and you begin hastily apologizing. Soyeon follows your lead. "I'm sorry!" you urgently express, but when you straighten your body, you realize that the brick wall is a familiar face.

"Y/N?"

"Seokjin?" you mimic his confused tone, the two of you blink at each other before you both burst out into laughter at your clumsy antics.

You give him a warm one-armed embrace, delicately brushing Soyeon off to the side. (uncannily similar to when you used to force your friends to follow your tracks, so you’d muster up the courage to talk to your middle school crush)

But in reality, this situation couldn’t be any more different.

Seokjin is actually head of the marketing department- so a manager like you. During monthly meetings, you go out of your way to ensure the seat beside you is vacant for Seokjin. Coughing excessively into your arm to ward off everyone else, but then when Seokjin walks in, you’re magically healed!

When you were abysmally stumbling through the divorce with your ex-husband, Seokjin was a saving grace. Being a divorced father of two kids himself, he empathized with you whole heartedly, heroically taking responsibility for your work while you took the time to mentally recuperate.

"How have you been?" he exclaims, beaming at you. Seokjin is always bubbly and radiant at work, something you found comfort in whenever you interacted with him.

"I've been really good! We actually got the report back on the survey for the new lip product..." you trail off, "The shade the stakeholders chose is really ugly," you whisper, making Seokjin lightheartedly chuckle.

"Well," he begins. "If it brings us money then that's all that matters!"

You dramatically gasp before playfully smacking him on the chest. "That's what I said too!" You join him in his contagious laughter; it's just so easy to get along with him.

After the laughter dies down, Seokjin wipes a fake tear from his eye. "So, how're the twins?" he inquires, and you beam at him.

"They're awesome. How are your boys?"

Seokjin has two boys, who are a lot older than your kids. His oldest Seokmin is 14 and his youngest Seokjoon should be 12 or 13 by now. Seokjin shoots you a comically petrified look before shaking his head and exhaling deeply.

"Seokmin is in high school," he dramatically enunciates, as if it's the scariest thing in the world. It really is, though. You're horror stricken but thrilled for your kids to get to that stage, but you'll handle it when the time comes. "He actually brought home a girl the other day- it scared the shit out of me and his brother," he jokes, making you smile at his silliness.

"Awe, don't say that," you coo, "So was she his girlfriend?" you inquire, to which Seokjin shakes his head.

"They're in the 'talking' stage, so not dating but they kind of are," Seokjin explains, before feigning faux shock to dramaticize the situation. "What the hell does that even mean? I told him that if he likes her he should just ask her out, but he said that no one does that and it'd make him look weird," he elaborates while he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, which just makes you laugh.

"I've never heard of that before. Maybe we're getting too old," you kiss your teeth, making a yikes sound.

Seokjin shakes his head. "Us? Old? Never that. My boys still can't beat me in a sparring match, so I'd say I'm young as ever."

This catches your attention, and you perk up a bit. "I forgot that your kids do Taekwondo!" you exclaim. "Did Seokjoong finally get his blackbelt?"

"He actually did last month! Hey- the offer still stands. If little Haru wants to start Taekwondo, I can get my boys to take him to class. He'll be in good hands," Seokjin suggests with a casual shrug.

You get soft at the thought of Haru in a Taekwondo uniform, kicking boards and doing flips, so you start to pout. "Thank you, Seokjin. I'll talk to Haru's father about it."

Seokjin purses his lips and nods. He hesitates momentarily, gnawing on his lip, appearing as if he is contemplating whether or not he should verbalize his thoughts. He's always been careful not to overstep boundaries. "If you ever want to talk about anything, I've been in your place and I get it. You can always text or call," he offers.

You blissfully sigh, nodding your head while you give him a knowing smile. "Thank you Seokjin, I might just have to take you up on your offer," your voice sounding shriveled and exhausted.

"Well, I have to get back to work now. I'll see you guys later," he looks around and finally notices Soyeon, shooting his hand out while he introduces himself. "Seokjin, by the way."

She shakes his hand weakly, being well aware and slightly intimidated by her superior. "Soyeon. It's nice to meet you," she smiles at him and he returns the smile before making his way back to his office.

You and Soyeon waddle back into the office and settle down at your desks, chocolate croissants in both of your hands. Soyeon shoots you a conspicuous look. "That was... odd," she states, and the expression you give her can only be described as quizzical.

"What was?" you ask, taking a bite out of your croissant. "The barista?"

"No no, your interaction with Seokjin," she insists, rolling her office chair over to yours so that no eavesdroppers would catch heed to the conversation.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you guys fucking?!” she whisper shouts, her facial expressions screaming urgency and incrimination. She’s staring at you as if she just caught you in the act, but you respond with a mortifying glare.

You clasp your palm over her mouth. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

You feel the sensation of her tongue licking your hand, and you jerk your hand away.

“I have never seen you act like that before,” she points out while she gives you a snobby look, eyeing you up and down.

You roll your eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you bark back, particularly unamused.

“Like a high schooler talking to their crush?!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you hiss, petrified that your interaction with him could be perceived that way.

“Bitch, don’t try me! You were fucking giggling; I have never seen you do that,” she crosses her arms at you and gives you another accusatory look.

“Oh wow now I can’t smile? Or be happy?” you muse, forcing Soyeon to deepen her scowl while she looks at you particularly unimpressed.

“Well, there is literally vacant dick for you right in front of you, but if you want to ignore it then there’s nothing I can do about it," she continues.

One of your palms comes up to smack your own face. “Someone’s gonna report us to HR,” you grumble, making Soyeon bite back laughter.

“Are you just gonna stay single for the rest of your life?” she then asserts, and the question has you melting into a puddle of realization. The only person you’ve seriously dated is- well, your ex-husband. Since you had your kids so young you’ve centered your entire life around your kids and work, the thought of another man has never even crossed your man.

After the divorce you came to peace with the idea that love just wasn’t for you, but you suppose that doesn't have to necessarily be the case, so you begin to welcome some of Soyeon's crazy ideas.

“I don’t know,” you meekly respond, “Right now I’m solely focused on my kids, so I haven’t thought about it.”

“Well their father has women constantly flocking around him, so you have every right to as well,” she insists.

“Okay but it’s not like he reciprocates their feelings-”

Soyeon raises a brow at you and you acquiesce. “Yea,” you agree, shrugging. "But it's not going to be Seokjin- he doesn't like me like that."

"Dude. He didn't even notice I was there until he was walking away," Soyeon deadpans at you and you laugh, deliberately not saying anything because you don't want to admit that she has a point.

"Plus," she muses, "I can make the case that Seokjin is the hottest guy in this entire building," she chimes in a sing song voice.

You respond with a mirthless look. She knows damn well that there is no competition about 'hottest guy in the building' because all the men here are either super old, or college interns.

"There isn't that much competition."

"So you agree?" she teases, and her inquiry sucks you in to a whirlpool of quandary.

Out of all the men at work, Seokjin is the most attractive here- now that you think about it, he is pretty cute. Probably on the more attractive side of all the men you've seen in your life. Maybe you should try to ignite a flame between you and Seokjin. Thanks to the sensation of adrenaline rushing through your veins, you become quite impulsive and bold.

"Shall I try to seduce him?"

"Yes!" Soyeon squeals. "Please! I'm tired of seeing you depressed all the time. Please get back into the game," she pleads.

You suppose that Soyeon must possess some supernatural hypnotic ability, because you find yourself doing something atypical to your normal behavior.

Knocking on the door of Seokjin’s private office, you take a measly step once you hear “Come in!” bounce on the walls.

“Y/N!” he greets happily, directing his attention from his giant computer monitor to a cumbersome you, fidgeting awkwardly in place. “What’s up? Do you have the report for the monthly meeting?” he asks, gracing you with his typical Seokjin smile.

“Oh- um- sorry, I actually don’t,” you say, clenching your teeth from the anxiety rushing through your veins. “I actually came to ask you- well I actually wanted to ask-“

Seokjin pays no heed to your stuttering or the way you wriggle around in his office, just clasps his palms together while he gazes at you fondly.

“Do you maybe want to get dinner with me? Next weekend?”

His face immediately falls and you wince, instantaneously regretting even stepping inside his office. On Seokjin’s end, his expression actually reflects pleasant surprise, but you don’t know that.

A moment passes where the two of you blink at each other before his hands grasp a stack of papers, straightening the stack against the table.

He clears his throat.

“Like a date?”

Your cheeks blush crimson and you shyly avert your eyes downward, tucking a stray piece of strand behind your ear. At this point, there’s no going back now. Your impulsivity has gotten the best of you. You look up, gnawing on the plump of your bottom lip. “Yea,” you release. “Like a date.”

The shy smile that spreads on Seokjin’s face mirrors the goofy smile on yours. Anyone viewing this situation from the third person would assume you've never spoken to a man before; your cherry red cheeks indicative as much.

His eyes finally meet yours, and you can’t help but think that he looks cool. Seokjin tends to emanate approachability. He’s the cool boss- the guy every employee can confide in.

Not now though. You’ve penetrated a barrier no one else in the office has and unlocked the cool and suave Seokjin.

His large hand combs through his hair, revealing a peek of his forehead. He looks so handsome and quite honestly it’s making you giddy. “Yea Y/N, I would love to.”

“Oh- um- that’s great!” you say before you shrivel up in embarrassment. “Just text me and we can arrange a time,” you squeak out before shyly waving and taking a step back towards the door. He raises his eyebrows amusedly before waving back at you, and you return the wave that he returned to your wave, shutting the door ever so slightly.

“Ah shit. She’s cute.”

You wake from bed with a splitting headache. The preceding day just happened to me the most eventful day for your love life since your wedding. Last night, your talk with Jungkook had all sorts of emotions and colors bursting and bubbling in your chest. However, no matter how drawn you are to him, no matter how weird you feel about him, it’s over, and you had to firmly establish those boundaries.

Any lingering resentment toward Jungkook proceeding the divorce had long vanished- for the sake of your children and for the sake of your inner peace. Honestly, you were fed up with how salty and miserable you always were. You realized it was unproductive was to dwell on the aches and failures of your marriage; you found it in your heart to genuinely forgive him just like how he forgave you.

After that, your co-parenting relationship flourished, but now it seems like everything is coming full circle again. He explicitly told you that he wants you.

But you can’t let it happen. It didn’t work out before, and it won’t work out if you try again.

Life has blessed you with another capable, intelligent, and handsome man, and you can’t let yourself blow it because of your complicated feelings for your ex-husband. You like Seokjin. Seokjin is handsome, you click with him, and he makes you feel safe and comfortable.

Your time spent with Seokjin is reminiscential of a dulcet hot spring. You find comfort in the way your skin absorbs his warm steam emanating from the water. You find comfort in the way he makes you feel normal and validated, the way he accepts you as yourself. Your relationship that had been a cordial friendship for so long has the potential to blossom into so much more.

Jungkook on the other hand, is a tsunami whose waves violently crash down on the little control you have over your rationality. When you were a teenager, he washed into your otherwise peaceful world and aroused this sense of infatuation in your being, evoking your reckless behavior.

Holding his hand in a skintight bikini while he coaxed you into sneaking into one of his father’s hotel pools. Standing arms open outside your house waiting to catch you while you jumped from your window- my goodness you even had twins with this man!

Had you been a little younger, you would have chosen the exhilaration of infatuation over the sensibility of comfort. Now that you are a mother, you have the lives of two other people to consider. You ought to prioritize the viability of any potential relationship over anything else.

With the plethora of thoughts banging against the interior of your brain, you fail to notice your son crawling into the bed.

“Hi mom,” It’s like the he popped out of nowhere, kneeling on the comforter in front of you.

“Oh, hi baby,” you respond, pulling him into your arms and into your lap.

“Dad said you’re going on a date, is that true?” he innocently inquires, large doe eyes blinking at you dumbfoundedly.

You kiss your teeth. No way he told your kids that. “He told you?”

“He said that you’re going on a date next weekend, so Heeseung and Jake might have to come babysit,“ your son innocently explains, casually playing with the strands of your hair.

You soften impossibly when he places the strand of hair above his lip, puckering his lips to use it as a fake mustache. You giggle and press a soft kiss to his forehead. He quickly wipes the saliva off with the back off his hand with the fiercest glare he can conjure.

You simply giggle in response. “Are you mad at mommy for going on a date?”

Haru shrugs. “Not really, but sometimes I wish you and dad were still together,” The casualness of his response halts the gears in your heart, and your heart drops. Sometimes you feel like you’ve failed as a mother for not being able to keep your family completely intact. Coparenting is sufficient, but you’ve always had insecurities about not giving them the full family experience.

Haru fails to notice and continues talking. “But I’m still happy you and dad are best friends. Who are you going on a date with anyway?”

You’re glad it doesn’t seem to bother him and you boop his nose with your pointer finger. “Do you remember Seokmin? The older boy who taught you how to break a board at mommy’s work picnic?”

His eyes instantly sparkle at that, and he eagerly nods his head like a golden retriever pup.

“Well, mommy asked his dad out on a date.”

“So does that mean if it goes well I can play with Seokmin more?” His fixation on Seokjin’s son leads you to realize that he probably doesn’t even care about your romantic life- Roblox and hanging out with older cool kids are all he needs to make his little heart happy.

“If your dad’s okay with that, then of course you can.”

On cue, Jungkook busts into the room, daughter on his hip and granola bar in the other hand. Your daughter’s such a little princess, always loving being carried in her father’s arms even though she’s been walking for years.

Wearing an oversized black tee and gray sweat shorts, Jungkook raises a brow at you. “Oh, so you’re making the first move now?”

You ignore him, grabbing your son’s chubby cheeks before peppering sloppy and dramatic mwahs all over his face. Jungkook’s eyes subtly role at your unbecoming habit of using your kids as a mechanism of brushing him off.

“Haru, Hina, you can have iPad time for thirty minutes- mommy and daddy need to talk,” Jungkook voices sternly, and you shoot him a dumbfounded look, locking your arms around your son.

“Why? I want my babies here,” you complain, and Jungkook sends you a look so sinisterly serious that you zip your lips.

Once the kids scatter from the room, he settles on top of your comforter. He collects his thoughts before he speaks. “So?” he sends you an accusatory look and you mime his expression.

“So?”

“Since when did you start making the first move?”

“Oh my fucking- that’s what you wanted to ask me?”

He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at you. “Why are you being so secretive?”

You roll your eyes. He’s acting like a child right now. You push off the comforters to walk away until his hand latches onto your wrist. “Sit down,” he breathes out lowly and you frustratedly yank your arm away from him, but acquiesce nonetheless.

“So who’s the guy? I think I deserve to know if he’s met my kids,” Jungkook inquires a bit bitterly and you purse your lips into a thin line to express your distaste.

You relent because the man has a point. You can’t bring your kids around your work colleagues and not supply the details when requested. “Just someone from work, the kids met him at a work picnic a long time ago and Haru really liked his son.”

He projects his next question at you with lightning speed. “How old’s his kid?”

“Probably like 14 or 15 right now, and he has another that’s like 12-”

“The fuck? Are you looking for a sugar daddy?”

Your ears must have deceived you because you can’t comprehend the audacity of this man, and you can’t help but gawk at his shamelessness.

“Is he rich or something? I just have no fucking clue why you would ask some old dude out on a date. You know I’ll buy you whatever you want-”

Now you’re irritated. Scoffing, you scoot away to distance yourself from him because you can’t stand being in his presence.

“I know you’re not talking. He was around the same age we were when we had the twins,” you reason. As logically as that statement was, it has an inverse effect, fanning the flames of his irrationality.

“So this guy’s just looking to hookup,” he seethes, leaving you dumbfounded because Jungkook honestly had no right to be spewing this bullshit. What did he mean by that? Is that what Jungkook was looking to do? Hook up? The thought of him with another woman leaves you sick.

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief at his hypocrisy. There was no reasoning with him at this point. You know how he gets when he’s all riled up; the best thing to do is to disengage. “You don’t know how insulting you’re being,” you release shakily.

“And you don’t know how bad you’re hurting me,” he bites back.

Saying nothing, you get up and walk steadily towards the door, closing it ever so gently.

“Whatever. Do what you want.”

When you return home from work, you spot Haru dozing off on the couch, head resting on the arm of the sofa, already tucked under his Paw Patrol blanket. Hina’s resting her head on her father’s abdomen, her soft snoring mirroring her twin brother’s. Jungkook’s plopped down on the sofa, eyebrows furrowed vexedly while he glares at Sanrio Cartoon playing on the screen. What did Hello Kitty ever do to him? But as angry as he may be, he’s stroking his daughter’s hair with the utmost gentleness.

The sound of your footsteps makes Jungkook whip his head in your direction. He gently lifts his daughter up from his body and lays her on the couch, draping another vacant blanket over her small body.

With soft steps, he mouths the words “We need to talk” while pointing up at the second story. Sighing, you relent and follow his lead up the stairs and into his bedroom.

The door closes softly, and he faces you. You lock gazes, refusing to look away so he knows that you won’t be tolerating any bullshit this time. After a brief moment of just staring at each other, he exhales sharply. “I’m sorry.”

You owlishly blink at him and he continues. “I acted like an asshole, and I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. After you walked out of the room, I felt so disappointed with myself- like I was still the same guy I was when we got divorced- I’m just so sorry and you didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that,” his words are flowing out and when he finishes, he nervously anticipates your response.

Emotions swelling in your chest. You nearly look pained and Jungkook is scared that he may have hurt you even more. Instead, you tip toe to wrap your arms around his neck. Jungkook melts into your embrace immediately, arms around your waist while he holds you close to his body.

“I accept your apology,” you whisper into his neck, releasing your embrace. “I was thinking about it today, and I was kinda-sorta thinking that you might have thought that I was trying to replace you or something, so I was going to apologize first,” you explain hesitantly, and Jungkook’s lips churn into a slight smile.

“I didn’t think that,” his hands are still on your waist and he’s peering lovingly at you. “You wouldn’t do that to me, but it did make me feel a little... threatened,” he explains.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like that. You’ll always be the father of my kids and my best friend,” you reply with a smile, and he releases a lighthearted laugh.

“But really, I said a lot of things I didn’t mean. I’m sorry for that… and I-I just wanted to let you know that I’ve never thought about hooking up with anybody. That’s not what I meant when I said what I said” he reasons nervously.

You shrug. “It’s not like it matters anyways. You’re free to do what you want. Just keep your kids in mind if you decide to be... Impetuous.”

Your reaction disappoints Jungkook, his shoulders slumping and all he can do is let out a forlorn sigh. “You really like this guy?” He suddenly asks, his tattooed hand brushing defeatedly through his hair.

The question is unexpected, and it somewhat surprises you. You waver, tapping your pointer on your chin while you conjure an appropriate response. “I don’t know. That’s why we’re going on a date.”

He kisses his teeth. “Is he a good guy?”

You hum and step back, plopping on the bed. “Yea,” you bite your lips. “He is,” you conclude while nodding your head.

“He treats you nicely?” Jungkook adds, carefully speculating your gesticulations.

You smile to yourself. Jungkook furrows his eyebrows at that. “He always takes care of me at work. He’s really been a great help. I mean that.”

Jungkook scrutinizes you intensely, and when he perceives the genuineness behind your words he nods bitterly. “Okay,” he sighs. “If you think he can make you happy then I’m happy too,” he offers you a faux smile, and you avert your eyes so you aren’t confronted with the sad twinkle in his pupils.

You know for a fact Haru gets his athleticism from his father, because you don’ t have a single athletic bone in your body. Jungkook has always been eager to enroll his kids into sports. When they were three he suggested putting them into swim classes, but the idea was actually vetoed by his mother, who insisted that three was way too early.

Personally, you were indifferent- it’s not like sports were going to make or break your kids’ future. Of course, being active would be beneficial, but they also didn’t have to start that early. Anyways, you can imagine Jungkook’s enthusiasm when his son asked him if he could start playing soccer.

Now, going to Haru’s Saturday soccer games are encrypted in your family’s weekend routine.

Saturday morning routines have become familiar. You dress Hina up in one of her prettiest summer dresses before drowning her in sunscreen. One of Jungkook’s friends helps Haru get ready while Jungkook loads the lawn chairs and ice coolers into the Mercedes. Sometimes it’s Taehyung or Jimin. When it’s Namjoon, his wife and daughter tag along- the presence of his cute little girl always being a sweet treat. However, today it’s just the four of you.

Lathering your daughter in sunscreen, you place her mini sunglasses on her face while Jungkook gazes at his girls with awe.

“Really girls? We’re only going to be outside for like two hours, do you really need to do all that?” Jungkook coos, and you roll your eyes.

“Tell your father he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Daddy, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hina sasses her father, and Jungkook scoffs before scooping his daughter up and tossing her up into the air. He catches her and throws her up again, her squeals and giggles filling the morning air.

Haru steps out of the door, clad in his soccer uniform, cleats laced up, and socks rolled properly. Putting Hina down, he approaches his son.

“You ready to score a goal today?” Jungkook asks his son, kneeling down to his height.

Haru jumps in excitement. “Duh! And you promise you’ll buy me and Hina ice cream if I score a goal?” Haru questions, and his dad immediately agrees.

“Of course. I’ll get the two of you whatever you want, doesn’t have to be ice cream.”

Haru shrugs. Suddenly Jungkook’s awards don’t seem as appealing to him. “You can just ask Squidy for whatever she wants- I don’t really care.”

Your son’s gotten to that age where he loves acting tough and chivalrous, taking care of his twin sister and being the little man of the family. He’s even adopted the name Squidy for Hina, which makes you and Jungkook eye each other humorously at the cute nickname.

“Did you hear that Squidy? You have to cheer for me so dad can get us something, okay?”

Your son’s valiant effort of being sweet fails, because Hina sasses her brother like she does with her dad. “Whatever, if I see cute boys then I’m going to cheer for them-”

“Whoa whoa,” Jungkook intervenes, immediately deciding that conversation is over. He scoops his daughter up and places her in her car seat before shutting the door. He looks at you with urgency in his eyes and you laugh.

“She’s boy crazy just like her mom, huh?” Jungkook teases, and you roll your eyes before slapping his bicep.

Upon arriving at the field, you absorb the Saturday morning atmosphere. The crisp blue sky, the nostalgic scent of grass that fills your nose, your children prancing around the parking lot, and your ex-husband who carries the ice cooler on his shoulder as if it’s nothing. Your family walks ahead of you, but you stay in place simply observing them.

A few seconds later, Jungkook whips his head around, searching for you when he doesn’t sense your presence. Feet planted into the cement, he looks at you with concern. “What are you doing? We don’t want to get separated,” he calls out.

Suddenly, it strikes you that you hold an irreplaceable place in this family. You created your two babies; you gave them life. Two beautiful kids, a handsome father, and then there was just you. Sometimes you felt so average you had no clue what you did to deserve this. You can’t believe this is your reality and your heart soars.

You jog up and catch up to him, slowing down when you’re secure by his side. He laughs, admiring how cute you are. “So ditzy, Y/N.”

You shrug. “Was just thinking that I’m lucky to have you guys.”

Jungkook’s eyes gaze at you, the softest expression on his face. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t know- jus guess I was feeling a little overwhelmed seeing you guys all cute and domestic like this. I’m really happy I have you as my family,” you smile at him, your fingers wandering towards his to give his palm a gentle squeeze.

Jungkook melts at the action, gingerly bringing your knuckles to his lips to place a delicate kiss on the top of your hand. “I’m happy I have you as my family too.”

Family. The word settles heavily in his system.

Along with his two kids, you were one of his most precious treasures. He cherishes you deeply, would drop everything in hand if you’d simply ask. If family was all he could do, then just looking at you like this would suffice. He loves you, is okay with loving you only as the mother of his children if he couldn’t love you as his wife.

Loves you so he wants you to be happy; needs to let you spread your wings and find your own happiness. Exhaling a shaky breath, he drops your hand and places his vacant arm around your shoulder. “Let’s go, yea?��

On the sideline of the field, you and a few other moms on the team congregate around each other and start making small talk.

All the moms are significantly older than you, but they still welcome you and treat you as one of their own. They invite you to group brunch dates, playdates, and sometimes drop off home-cooked meals at your door. The group chat always shares resources with each other, like old toys or community events at the park.

After laughing at some cheesy joke, you say your goodbyes and walk back to Jungkook and Hina.

When you return, Jungkook smirks a little at you. “That was cute,” he comments.

“What was?” you question innocently

“You’re a cute little soccer mom now,” he grins at you and you laugh.

“Well, I am, I guess.”

“You have a cute little soccer mom group. That’s so fucking cute, Y/N.”

Jungkook sets up the umbrella for you, planting it into the ground while you relax on the lawn chair. Your daughter’s on your lap, and you’re both calmly observing the soccer game, matching sunglasses on as well.

“Do my princesses need anything else?” Jungkook inquires sarcastically. You giggle, pressing your hand to his cheek while your thumb smoothes over the coarse skin of his cheek.

He removes your hand from his cheek and shoots you a playful glare.

“Mommy! Haru’s going to score a goal!” The declaration of your daughter has you and Jungkook whipping your head towards the goal post, and sure enough, Haru is pelting the ball into the goal post.

You and Jungkook immediately shoot up, cheering and celebrating. Jungkook grabs your daughter and throws her into the air before catching her. Out of pure ecstasy, Jungkook grabs you by the waist and squeezes you, holding you up whilst he embraces you tightly.

“Hey! What about me?” You hear Hina’s voice and Jungkook chuckles, putting you down and enveloping his daughter into his arms.

This is what happiness must be.

Having to act like this doesn’t bother him is requiring a great deal of self-restraint.

You stand in front of your bathroom mirror, carefully twirling your hair around the barrel of your curling iron. Your bangs are in a roller that sits on the top of your head, and you’re humming along to the music that echoes from your phone speaker.

Once you’re satisfied with your hair, you move to the makeup. You apply rosy blush on the high points of your cheeks before your shirtless ex-husband enters and leans against the doorway. Hands shoved into the pockets of his gray sweat shorts, he observes your meticulous self care routine.

You see him through the mirror, and you have to stop yourself from taking a second look. Thighs are on display, abs are on display, muscles are on display, him just being there is short circuiting your brain.

“You look good,” he casually inserts, leaning against the door and crossing his arms.

“Oh, um thanks,” you respond, unable to conjure an appropriate response.

He stands there, scrutinizing you through the mirror. His eyes narrow at you every time you bring the makeup to your face, It’s killing him. He’s really trying to be mature to hold things down at home while you’re out, but you look so beautiful without makeup- and he doesn’t get why you’re trying to make yourself prettier and for another man at that.

His lips twitch into a bitter smile.

“He’s a lucky guy, if you’re doing this all for him.”

You don’t say anything but this immense pit of guilt swells in your stomach. You set your brush down and inhale deeply, while Jungkook strolls to your closet and starters going through your dresses hung on the clothing rack.

“Which one are you planning on wearing?”

“Huh?” you swivel around to his direction and shake your head. “I’m wearing a blouse and dress pants; I already laid it out on the bed.”

“You wore a dress on our first date,” he adds.

“That’s when I was young and wanted to seduce men with my sex appeal.”

“Well it worked,” Jungkook licks his lips, recalling the tight red dress you wore on your first date back in college. My goodness were you a sight to see, all dressed up for him- so gorgeous it made him dizzy. You were so shy- could barely look him in the eye, and it spurred Jungkook on with the desire to corrupt you.

“And look where we are now,” you conclude coldly, pulling Jungkook from his little euphoric fantasy. At that, he frowns. You didn’t really have to say that. You did a great job of stripping all and any sense of hope from him.

Jungkook opens his mouth to retort. “Doesn’t have to be like that. I can take you and the kids out instead if you cancel.”

Before you can reply, you both become distracted by the alarming sounds of his two kids screaming at each other. He closes his eyes and releases a sharp exhale, giving you one last look before going down the stairs to take care of his children.

A few minutes later, you join them down the stairs, red blouse and beige dress pants adorned on your figure. Quite frankly, you almost look like you’re going to a work meeting, but just with a tad more style. You pick up some of your kids’ toys and throw it into the basket and join Jungkook at the dining table with your kids.

“Mom, if the date goes well can I play more with Seokmin?” Haru asks.

You direct your attention to Jungkook, who simply sighs. “I’ll have to meet his father first, okay?”

And on cue, the doorbell rings. You shoot up, and Jungkook peers at you like your enthusiasm is thoroughly messing with his brain.

You scurry over to the front door, opening it to see your Prince Charming waiting for you. There stands Seokjin, looking as classy and handsome as ever. You suppose he’s opted for something casual as opposed to his usual suit and tie at work- the black button up and jeans indicative of that. His hair slick back very prince like, his glorious forehead showing. A beautiful bouquet of flowers is in his hand. “Hey Y/N,”

“You didn’t have to bring me flowers,” you pout before accepting the bouquet and tiptoeing to hug him.

He waves the notion away. “I always tell my son to bring flowers on the first date, so I have to live up to my word or he’ll call his dad a hypocrite.”

Haru runs up to him and Seokjin squats to his level before giving your son a high five. “Where’s Seokmin?” Haru asks and you swat the back of his head.

“Haru, say hi to Mr. Seokjin first. That’s rude," you berate.

He blows out an annoyed sigh and juts out his hand. “Hi Mr. Seokjin. Thank you for taking my mommy out on a date. She’s very lonely and single." This kid does a great job at making you roll your eyes.

Seokjin laughs and shakes your kid’s hand. “Seokmin’s at home taking care of his little brother, Haru,” He explains while he views your ex-husband from his peripheral, who is approaching with your daughter on his hip “And I’m not so sure that’s true, she doesn’t seem to be very lonely.”

He stands up and shakes Jungkook’s hands with a firm grasp.

“Nice to meet you. Jungkook.” Jungkook says, his voice distinguished with the husky tone he only uses as a work meetings.

“Seokjin. Nice to meet you too,” Seokjin responds, also with his work voice. Jungkook puts up Hina’s little hand for Seokjin to shake and Seokjin shakes her tiny little hand. “Hi Hina,”

“Hi Mr. Seokjin, please take care of my mommy tonight,” Hina says sweetly, and you melt.

“Of course, Hina. She’s in good hands with me, and he offers your daughter a comforting smile.

You turn quickly and place your flowers into a vacant vase, kneeling down to your kids’ level. Ruffling their hair, you place a kiss on each of their cheeks. “Okay kiddies, mommy’s going to get going now, okay?”

Both of your children give you a hug. “Bye mom!” your kids chime before rushing back to their iPads.

Rising to your usual height, the discomfort of the situation washes over you. You’re becoming extremely uncomfortable, standing in between your ex-husband and your date. Wiping the sweat off your palms onto the front of your pants, you tuck a strand of hair behind your hair. “See you Jungkook. Call me if something happens,” you say after clearing your throat.

He looks at you blankly, with no particular look in his eyes, the ambiguousness of his expression eats at your skin. “Okay. Have fun.”

At this point, Jungkook should have walked away, but he stands firm simply staring at you. You fidget uncomfortably in place before scurrying over to the door and opening it.

Before you can step out, Jungkook places a hand on Seokjin’s shoulder and clears his throat. When Seokjin turns to face him, Jungkook stares blankly at the older man before sticking his hand out.

“Hey, thanks for taking care of my wife at work. Really appreciate it man- ex-wife, I mean.”

Seokjin narrows his eyes at the man at the odd remark. Seokjin’s eyes scan over Jungkook’s frame, detecting his apprehension. Jungkook doesn’t look away from the guy, blankly staring at him until a response is given.

Seokjin grips Jungkook’s hand very firmly. “Of course.”

And though the interaction seems very amicable, you don’t miss the way both of the men’s knuckles nearly turn white.

What was supposed to be a cute and romantic first date turned into you and Seokjin urgently speeding down the freeway.

It started when Seokjin excused himself to check his phone and his face immediately dropped.

“What’s wrong?”

“My son says he’s at a party, and that the party got busted because kids were drinking,” Seokjin explains disjointedly, appearing and sounding very stressed. He brushes a hand through his hair and you can’t help but pout.

“Oh my gosh, where do these high school kids even get alcohol from?” You step closer to him, peering over his shoulder to read the text. One of your hand rubs his biceps comfortingly because sure enough, the text reads

“dad, please don’t kill me but im at a party and the guy that was driving us started drinking and im scared.”

His son Seokmin sends his location, and when you take heed of the zip code, you gasp. “He’s two hours away? How’d he even get there?”

Seokjin releases a dejected groan, jaw clenching at his son’s disobedience. Now he has to go clean up after his son’s shit. Great.

Sighing, he places a hand on his hip. “I’m sorry Y/N, I’m going to have to get him. Do you think we can reschedule for another time?” He looks at you with guilt painted all over his face and you quickly shake your head at the notion.

“Don’t apologize for that, please. Let me go with you and you can take the HOV lane to get their faster,” you suggest, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders.

“You don’t have to do that. Your kids will miss you.”

“They’ll survive without me. You’re always there for me, so please accept my offer.”

Seokjin purses his lips then acquiesce. Nodding, he smiles at you. “Thank you so much. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“This is you making it up to me,” you giggle, “It’ll be fun. I can tell you about all the office drama.”

Seokjin’s a very conscientious driver. His pupils fixate on the road, his foot ever so slightly presses on the brakes so you don’t jerk forward like you do with Soyeon. It doesn’t surprise you- carefully observing traffic laws is very characteristic of Seokjin and contributes to his lovely demeanor.

The car ride is long, but conversations with Seokjin make time hasten.

“What?” Seokjin muses, hand banging on the driver’s wheel. “Jaehyung and Jungmin had an affair?”

You eagerly nod your head. “Yes they did! You can imagine my discomfort when I walked in on them in. In the printing room, at that! I gave them an ultimatum to fess up or I’d tell their partners,” you elaborate.

“Huh,” Seokjin thinks aloud. “I thought it was coincidental that they were getting a divorce at the same time... But that’s a really great thing you did, Y/N. You know my ex-wife cheated on me too.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the confession. “ I’m sorry. Some people can be so horrible.”

“It’s okay,” Seokjin dismisses the thought, laughing it off. “She’s dead now so it doesn’t matter.”

At that bomb drop, your actions falter. “Oh my gosh, Seokjin. I had no idea she passed away. I’m so sorry.”

Once again Seokjin laughs it off. “It’s alright Y/N. I use humor to cope so it doesn’t bother me as much. I do feel horrible for my boys, though. It’s a lot to deal with but I’m trying my best as a single dad,” a reluctant sigh leaves his lips, and your heart immediately drops.

“You can talk about it, if you want,” you offer, “we do have a lot of time.”

Seokjin makes a pshh sound of reluctance with his lips. “I mean, I don’t want to trauma dump on you, but if you want to hear the tea then I can spill.”

You giggle at his usage of the word tea. Why is he using the lingo of a teenage girl? He takes your laughing as a yes and continues to speak while he drives.

“Well, she cheated on me about five years ago with one of her work colleagues, and subsequently we got divorced,” he explains with a shrug, “I don’t regret it. I mean, I was heartbroken- I couldn’t even stand being in her vicinity.”

“I would have done the same. That’s completely on her, not you.” you expressively claim, becoming fixated on his words.

“That’s what I thought too, but then the kids had to do the whole one week with me, one week with her things, and I wondered if I should have just sucked it up to keep the family together,” he explains, looking as forlorn as ever.

The notion pains you; you understand where he’s coming from. Sometimes you don’t know if you can handle being in your ex-partner’s vicinity, especially considering the pain this partner may have inflicted. Nonetheless, handling the situation with emotional suppression and maturity is the only option for the sake of your children.

“Somehow the kids found out what she did, and it didn’t sit well with them,” he continues, eyebrows furrowing at the painful memory.

You have your own opinion on the matter, but it isn’t about you right now. Of course it didn’t sit well with them. You’ve been in that exact situation- the memory of your father with some woman is still vivid and it makes you nauseous to this day. Betraying your mother meant betraying you and your siblings. The pain and guilt you felt for your mother was indescribable. You were never able to forgive him for that.

“From then on, there was always a degree of resentment between her and the kids- and it never really got resolved. So, when she passed away, I’m sure my boys had a lot of regrets,” he finishes, sighing deeply.

“You’re really a superhero dad, Seokjin. You’re doing everything as best as you can for your boys, and I really admire that,” you insert, and you mean it.

“I’m trying, but I’m not so sure if I can replace the nourishment their mother gave- but I also suppose that she ruined it for herself too,” Seokjin sighs, fingers gripping the wheel even tighter.

“Um, you know, if your boys ever need some mother-es que feminine figure in their life, I would love to fill those shoes,” you offer timidly. “Haru really likes your sons, so I can always help out, or invite you guys over for dinner.”

“You know Y/N, I really appreciate that, and would love to take you up on your offer, but I wouldn’t want to cause strain on your family dynamic,” he expresses honestly.

For some reasons, his words elicit a very intense feeling of shame that echoes throughout your system. “I’m so sorry,” you enunciate. “You must have been uncomfortable… at my house,” you speculate accurately.

Seemingly hitting the nail on the spot, he sheepishly laughs. “Not uncomfortable,” he clarifies matter a factly, “He couldn’t have made me uncomfortable,” Seokjin jokes, “But, shit, I don’t know.” He brakes softly at the upcoming red light and leans his head against the window.

Rendering you speechless, you shrink into your seat in embarrassment.

Noticing your timid demeanor, Seokjin straightens in his seat. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” he perks up, “Y/N, don’t be like that. You can talk to me about it. You can trust me; you know I’d never judge you.”

You gnaw on your bottom lip, the vulnerability of the situation making you want to shrivel up. But honestly you had no right, the man just opened up about his cheating dead wife.

You shake your head, looking down so he wouldn’t notice the tears accumulating on your waterline. “No, no, it’s not that- I just I feel so awful, going on a date with you when things with my ex are so complicated.”

Seokjin sends you a look of awe before sputtering out a laugh of disbelief. “Y/N, don’t feel bad about that. I mean- we technically haven’t even gone on a first date yet so this” he motions towards you and himself. “Hasn’t gone anywhere yet.”

You sniffle, wiping your waterline with the sleeve of your blouse. “I know, but I want to be your friend. I-I don’t want this be weird,” you explain between hiccups.

Seokjin amusingly sighs at the blubbering mess coming out of your mouth. “Y/N... you are the last thing on this Earth I find weird,” he trails off. “I mean, I am a little disappointed but it’s good we got this out of the way,” he admits. “Do you want to talk about it, though? How do you think you feel about him?” he asks.

Leaning against the window, you ponder what to say. “I’m not sure how I feel about him. I was hoping that we would get along since I like you,” you mumble softly. “But my ex-husband stays in contact, it's like he has some sort of hold over me.”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow as he processes this information. “What do you mean by persistent?”

Taking a deep breath, you try to push away the feeling of unease in your stomach. “He said some outrageous stuff, saying he'll always be around if I want him back," you explain. "I mean, can you believe that? He's the one who served me papers."

The older man lets out a low whistle. “But Y/N, ou are still quite young. Not to minimize divorce, but being impulsive and immature can cloud one’s judgement sometimes," Seokjin points out.

You don't respond; Seokjin has made a good point, but the divorce was so difficult that you would hate to attribute it to impulsivity.

“Do you think his feelings are genuine?” Seokjin presses on carefully.

“I-I don't know," you answer hesitantly.

"Would you like them to be genuine?" He follows up with another question that shakes you to your core. If Jungkook was truly serious about wanting to marry you again, would that make you happy?

After a few moments of contemplation, you quietly whisper: “Yes, I guess so."

Seokjin gives a half-smile and states matter-of-factly: “And there we go.”

You allow yourself to process the realization before it slams into you like a ton of bricks.

“Oh my gosh I still love him,” and then you place your face into your cupped hands, sobbing at the impact of the intense realization that has been taken over.

Seokjin is dumbfounded, hasn’t a clue what to do with this crying lady in his passenger seat. The way you’re crying and hiccupping into your sleeves while trying to express how you feel is somewhat adorable; he can’t do anything except extend a hang to pat you on the back.

“34, 35, 36, 37- daddy, I’m getting tired of counting. Can I get off now?”

“No baby, keep counting- just til we get to 100,” Jungkook’s replies, appearing a bit out of breath and lethargic. He pushes his body up and down against the rug with both hands, as if he was really out of breath. But really, he had an inner fire that he needed to put out or else he'd go mad.

Making his seven-year-old kid sit on his back while he does push-ups? That is so Jungkook of him.

“You’re a lunatic,” Namjoon calls out nonchalantly from his comfortable position on the couch. Namjoon’s wife went out for her friends for the first time since giving birth, leaving their baby girl alone with him.

The conversation in the group chat went something like this.

jungkook: wyd everyone

taehyung: ?? i told you i was in dubai for a meeting

hobi: he doesn’t listen when u speak, always in his own little world

hobi: I’m at a dinner with my girlfriend’s parents 👀

jimin: OMG!! Does that mean…? YOUre asking them if u can propose to their daughter?!?

hobi: yes

namjoon: COngrats Hobi!1!!1

namjoon: im just sitting on myass at home. The wife went out for girls’ night so i’m here alone

jungkook: congrats hobi, have a long marriage. don't be like me🤣

jungkook: wanna come over namjoon? My kids’ mother is out

hobi: lol they were both abandoned by their baby mommies

“‘m not,” Jungkook replies, aggressively continuing his push-ups until his daughter claws onto the back of his shirt and jumps off her father’s back.

“Uncle Namjoon, can you sit on his back? I’m getting tired,” Hina complains before plopping next to Namjoon and stroking the hair of his little girl.

“I can do it!” Haru appears from across the room, his tiny legs sprinting to practically cannon ball onto his dad’s back, and just like that Haru has K.O’d his father for the first time, leaving Jungkook’s (practically lifeless) body on the carpet.

Namjoon stifles a laugh. “What’s wrong with your dad, Hina?” he ponders aloud scooping some applesauce into a plastic spoon to put into his daughter’s mouth.

“Do you want me to feed Lauren?” Hina asks, and Namjoon nods, handing Hina the spoon so she can spoon-feed Lauren the applesauce.

“Well, daddy’s just sad because mommy went on a date. He’s still in love with mommy but mommy doesn’t love him,” Hina explains, the bold declaration leaving Namjoon astonished.

“How do you know so much, Hina?” Namjoon asks.

“I just do,” Hina shrugs casually, leading Namjoon to question the health of this situation.

Namjoon scowls, redirecting his line of vision to Jungkook, whose body is still on the ground like a thud.

Namjoon stands up, his daughter attached to his body with a baby backpack. “Get up Kook,” He stands in front of Jungkook, offering his hand. Jungkook looks up and accepts the hand, getting on his feet.

“Follow me,” Namjoon commands and Jungkook really can’t do anything but listen to the older friend. Opening the door to the garage, Namjoon lets Jungkook step outside before standing in front of the door like a bodyguard.

“Wanna talk about it?” Namjoon asks, and the realization makes Jungkook laugh. His misery is so apparent his friend sees right through him.

“The kids told you Y/N went on a date?” Jungkook guesses. “I have half the mind to call her back and say Haru broke his leg or something,” he trails off.

Namjoon looks at Jungkook mortified at his borderline toxic behavior. “You know you divorced her, right?”

“Yes, I fucking know that,” he seethes, “that’s why I just have to suck this up and deal with it.”

Namjoon places his palms over his daughter’ ears at Jungkook’s unbecoming language, glaring at Jungkook.

“Sorry,” Jungkook whispers, regaining his composure.

“It’s fine,” Namjoon adds. “But are you serious about still having feelings for Y/N? You seemed pretty sure about the divorce.” The comment makes Jungkook want to shrivel up and jump into a hole. He’s tarnished your reputation as a couple, and even his friends are questioning the validity of his emotions.

Why would you ever believe him?

“I am,” Jungkook declares. “Y/N.. she’s the only woman I’ve ever loved. I was never able to move on.”

Namjoon softens at Jungkook’s declaration, chewing at the inside of his mouth in contemplation. “Well, I don’t have my two cents to give,” he mumbles, “you already know you have to suck it up.”

He pats Jungkook on the back gingerly, and Namjoon’s analysis that there is no hope sucks the life out of Jungkook.

“Now let’s go back in and play with your kids. They’ll always make you happy."

Seokjin pulls up at the McDonalds, Seokmin coming out with a noticeable sheen of shame on his face. Seokjin unlocks the car and leans back into the welcoming fabric of his seat, releasing a sigh of relief when his son gets in the car.

Seokmin looks a lot older than you last remember- well that’s quite literally how the process of aging works, but now he exceeds your height, and has a larger and broader build than he did before. The resemblance between the kid and his father is astounding- Seokmin is practically a mini-Seokjin.

Turning to the backseat, Seokjin sends his son a tight-lipped smile and firmly squeezes his son’s hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yea I’m alright- was just a little scared,” his son responds, before directing his attention towards you. “I’m really sorry you had to come all the way here, and that I interrupted your date.”

You immediately shake your head and dismiss his apology with a wave. “Not at all, your dad and I had a lot of fun on the way here,” you insist, sending Seokmin a motherly smile.

Seokjin looks at you very amused before he glances at the uncomfortable sheen on his son’s face. “It’s not a date anymore, Seokmin- Dad wasn’t charismatic enough to win Y/N over,” Seokjin sighs jokingly.

Seokmin stifles his laughter, leaning back into the seat. “Oh no, what did my dad do to you?” he jokingly asks, making Seokjin roll his eyes at the comment.

“No, that’s not it all,” you thoroughly insist. “You know, your dad is very handsome, and very popular in the office, but I, I guess we’re just not romantically compatible,” you explain, and Seokjin laughs.

“Surprisingly I believe that. You wouldn’t believe all the crazy things girls at school say about him,” Seokmin shudders, recalling a particular incident that shall not be discussed!

You take a peek at Seokjin, who looks so effortlessly and naturally handsome, especially when he’s laughing at his son’s words. “Yup,” you agree, “I can definitely see that.”

The clock reads 2:13 AM when Seokjin pulls into the driveway of your home.

“Gosh Y/N, it’s so late. I’m sorry you had to come with us,” Seokjin sends you an apologetic look.

You dismiss the idea with a wave of your hand. “I haven’t had that much fun in a really long time, I feel like I’m back in college going to parties again.”

“But you stayed in the car the whole time,” Seokjin inserts, eliciting a sputtering laugh from his son. Shooting him a look of playful annoyance you smile at Seokmin. “Please try not to worry your dad anymore,” you lecture pointedly.

Seokmin sends you a lopsided grin, as if he can’t take you seriously considering your naturally playful nature. “Yes ma’am, and I really hope you’ll consider giving my dad another chance," he jokes, making his dad slap the back of the kid's head.

You send him a motherly smile before stepping out of the car. “Be good to your dad, and Seokjin, be good to your son. And hey, please consider playing with my son once in a while” you say, bidding your goodbyes.

Unlocking the door and stepping inside, you’re immediately met with Jungkook anxiously pacing around the living room. At your appearance, he pauses and looks at you if he’s verifying if you’re actually real. You stare at with him with mirroring emotion, just so thankful that he’s here, so thankful that he’s waiting for you, and so thankful that he still loves you.

You drop your purse and run into his arms, melting into the warm and comforting heat of his body. Though heavily confused, he welcomes your embrace with equal fervor.

With him right in front of you, your resolve crumbles. Your knees get so weak that you feel like you’re going to collapse. Jungkook immediately recognizes it and holds you up.

“Whoa whoa, Y/N, what’s wrong? What happened? Did he do something?”

You shake your head, leaning into him and letting him hold you while he strokes your hair. “Didn’t even go on the date- his kid called him and asked him to come get him cause a party got busted or something. We drove like four hours.”

Jungkook's shoulders relax, feels like a huge burden has been lifted from his shoulders. Thank God it wasn't for any other reason. He would have lost his mind. “You should have texted me back. You worried me.”

At that you check your phone, not even realizing that he texted you.

y/n: sorry jungkook, you can tuck the kids in and go to sleep- won’t be back until later in the night.

jungkook: ?

jungkook: what happened?

You crimson. “Sorry- I-I didn’t see it,”

Jungkook nods his head slowly and understandingly. “That’s okay. So, when’s the next date?”

Instead of responding, you melt back into embrace and rub your face onto his chest, latching into him like a koala bear.

“Y/N,” he laughs, “Look at me.”

You look up at him, and with the familiar sight of him peering down at you with concern on his face, you become emotional. You make that silly face you always make when you’re about to cry. You squint your eyes and morph your facial features oddly to hold back the tears, but Jungkook recognizes it, nonetheless.

“Baby… what happened?”

You shake your head again, pressing your cheek against Jungkook’s chest. You can’t live like this anymore. You have to let him know. “There isn’t a second date. Jungkook, I-I’m sorry. I hate pretending like my feelings don’t exist., I want to be with you again. I want our family to be whole again,”

Jungkook looks slightly speechless at your heartfelt confession. He hasn’t a clue of what to say, so he just hugs you tightly against him, gently stroking your hair with a tattooed hand.

Of course, his heart is soaring at the notion, but this is all happening with such rapidity that he can’t process your words. “Sleep with me tonight?”

“Okay- I will, just- are you mad at me?” you ask in anticipation, wincing at what he might say.

He softens at how tender you’re being. “Y/N, I’m tired. Can we go to bed and talk more?”

You grudgingly nod, so emotionally overstimulates and exhausted you don't want to think. You let him lead you to his bedroom before you head to his closet and change out of your suffocating clothing into one of Jungkook's oversized t-shirts.

Crawling into bed with him, you use his arm as a pillow and snuggle into his chest. Despite the smears of makeup on his shirt, Jungkook doesn't seem to mind. “Did something happen today?” he asks softly.

In between hiccups, you reply. “Seokjin’s a really nice guy and it was wrong of me to ask him out when I still have feelings for you. I- I don’t know…I just want to stay single forever."

Your confession shakes Jungkook up a little. It's not like he didn't know you still felt something, but hearing it explicitly is a different story. Jungkook sighs. “I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” he insists. “But Y/N, I don’t think I can handle you welcoming another man into your life.”

“Okay, if you don’t want me to, then I won’t," you simply say, your voice calm.

“Then,” Jungkook starts slowly. “Do you want to give us another try?”

“I think I'd like that,” you stammer, as you sink into his comforting embrace.

Jungkook pulls you in close and kisses your forehead lightly. “Let's take some time to think about it, and then let me know how you feel tomorrow morning.”

You nod, snuggling closer to him, finally feeling like home again. You drift off to sleep with his arms still around you tight, both of your hearts beating as one unit now that it’s just the two of you together again.

#bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenario #bts scenarios #jk fanfic #bts jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #btsfanfic #bts jungkook fluff #bts jungkook scenarios #jeongguk scenarios #jeongguk fluff

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precious-little-scoundrel · 6 days

Text

Even my Friends just Love Her

|| Dear John Series 💌

Warnings: 18+ sexual and thematic material, not a lot in this chapter but some brief voyeurism and mention of naughty photographs, letters and imagined sex acts

Coauthored: honestly bless my baby Bri who I begged to beta read this when I was stumped three quarters of the way to completion and she went above and beyond and gave the ending of this segment so much life, pretty phrasing and a beating heart. It was a total joy to work on this with you, darling, thanks for your lovely idea that spawned this whole series in the first place.💋 so many thanks to Christi and Ashley who endured my screams about Spangles and writers block

April-May 1945

Her tenth night in Paris found Marge Spencer hard at work earning her keep as a trusted member of The Lana Tierney’s retinue.

She didn’t mind the labor, it had paid for a boat ride and a plane over the pond and the prettiest shared suite in the Ritz, with a view of the iconic skyline and more macaroons than Marge knew what to do with. An American girl of average means, moderate schooling and a vast imagination, Marge felt like pinching herself that her view consisted of the Eiffel Tower; instead, she applied herself more earnestly to her occupation and diligently set about petting the soft white fur fringing Spangles’ little pink nose.

That was the extent of Marge’s job description, pet Spangles, feed Spangles, brush Spangles, wash Spangles, walk Spangles, carry Spangles; anytime Julie Jean couldn't tend to Spangles herself, Marge was at the ready.

Spangles, you see, was a white bunny rabbit of the masculine sex given to Julie on her latest War Bond tour by a Marine gunner and nothing short of death could part the two. He had a blue velvet collar, a fetching little name tag hanging from it and a very active set of whiskers.

“Spangles was my dearest friend before you.” Julie had told Marge when she first introduced them and Marge had done her best to not crumple at that unwittingly dismal revelation.

There had been a lot of those. Julie Jean, as Miss Lana insisted Marge call her, was a unicorn of sorts. Very magical, very shiny, very fragile, dubiously real even to herself. For someone so universally adored she was the loneliest creature Marge had ever encountered, before meeting her she had assumed that waifish little fairies like Julie didn’t exist outside of rather maudlin novels. That felt like a very cruel denial of a very real predicament in retrospect. Julie's happiness was unbounded, universally ignited and childlike in its exuberance, her sadness was without a bit of restraint beyond some brittle and fleeting acting capabilities of keeping it together until she got to the powder room.

During their brief friendship, Marge had already spent a great deal of time hugging the starlet and patting her milk white shoulders in powder rooms. Anyone else indulging in such frequent fits might have caused Marge to give them a little shove and advice to ‘chin up’, but Julie did “chin up” so thoroughly and profitably in between -more than anyone Marge had ever known- that Marge felt rather unentitled to that specific sermon. When Julie was up, she was really up and so was everyone within a mile radius of her. And when she was down -only the single person with her or Spangles knew it. And Marge figured that was a pretty decent way to live; as were three room suites at the Ritz and more flowers on flat spots than a funeral home.

What was missing was someone specific to channel it all into. But that, Marge knew, was why they were in Paris: so that Julie Jean could pour out what she had to offer to an entire crowd of furloughed GI’s or else the recently liberated POWs still waiting for transit and looking altogether too thin and too shocked by their first female sighting in over a year. Julie managed them all beautifully, standing under hot afternoon suns and chilly evening spring breezes like a champ, in spindly heels and fetching chiffon straps, collecting flowers and kisses and horror stories with unfading aplomb.

Tagging behind her each day, cradling Spangles and the overflow of flowers not even Herb could manage, Marge grew tired just by observing. You had to have some kind of heart to keep doing what Julie did day after day. Wake up looking forward to it. You had to have an awfully large receptacle to receive what she had to give, too.

A revolving crowd of hundreds of GIs -or Bucky Egan.

Tagging behind, ever watchful for threatening Hollywood acquaintances or freshly liberated boyfriends in the crowd, Marge had no luck so far. She went to each show, mingled in each press of the crowd before and after, scanning, always scanning for blue eyes and golden hair and the sweetest face she’d ever known.

Gale. There was no reason to think he’d be here, but it had been ages since their last letters, only word had been that they’d been moved and that was from some other pilot in the same gargantuan holding place. As the flurry of a world war wrapping up took hold of bedraggled Europe, no one knew where anyone was. Unless you were a world famous starlet residing at the Ritz in a very promoted continental tour -then folks knew how to find you and serenade you under your hotel window.

Communication lagged terribly and it was a roll of the dice whether your next bit of news would be the most tragic or joyful you’d ever received. Whether you’d hold the person you missed or the telegram regarding them first.

So Marge scanned the crowds and tried her best to receive the overflow of flowers -and the occasional kiss- from the men around her with half the grace Julie showed each. It was really all very flattering, very exciting, and while back home in America there was felt the buzz of approaching victory, nowhere exuded it in such frantic merriment of expectation like Paris.

“Everything’s better in Paris.” Julie had told Marge on the way over, dreamy and giddy herself that her plan had worked, that they were headed over to the same land mass as their men, and that Marge was with her, “Even the best things in the world get magnified in Paris. That’s why everyone doubts it’s real. But it is Marge! It is!”

So far, even sitting on the carpeted floor of the suite, staring out the balcony after ten nights spent here, and petting Spangles wet fur for a living, Marge had to agree it felt more than a little magical.

“Laaaa!” Julie’s exclamation interrupted her reverie, silver belled voice matching the atmosphere to perfection, “Wasn’t that a bop?”

She’d been soaking in that tub for two hours, tap turning and on and off to add more hot water and Marge thought her poor, no doubt sore, feet deserved every second of the extravagance. Plus the room now smelled of bath salts that Marge was pretty sure were the very distilled essence of seduction. And that complimented her view of the Parisian skyline, too.

“Always is with you at the mic.” Marge swore, meaning it, too. Nine shows in ten days and even though she had ulterior motives for attending Lana’s shows -scanning, always scanning- Marge was astounded by the variety and interest the entertainment retained after repeated tastings.

“Yeah? Really? Honest?” Julie sat herself cross legged on the fluffy duvet at the foot of their shared, king sized bed, and chewed her lip like it was her first performance ever. There had been another suite with another bed, and after the second night when Julie heard Marge crying her little heart out over Gale, the consolation had been made. Julie was eager for sleepovers. Never had them before, she swore.

Now these chats happened each night.

“Honest.” Marge got up from seat on the floor and came over to the bed, setting Spangles between them, “You gotta know that? Like those screams and yells were all hoo haa. Trust me, Julie, it was electric. You were electric. Again.”

They sat and pet Spangles in silence for a few moments before Julie spoke up again, soft and sweet as she watched Marge’s dimple deepen, “You’ve made this trip so much better than any other I’ve taken, you know that, Margie? Paris is how it should be with you.” she proclaimed triumphantly, “Lovely and pretty and makes me feel like I can float.”

“You can in my book.” Marge drawled, chucking under Julie’s chin, the girl looked half too young without the makeup and Marge felt it was easier to be friends like that.

Just two girls and a bunny in Paris.

“What do you think they’re doing right now?” Julie whispered.

They spent most of their sleepovers talking about them -the boys. Speculating happy little comforts for them and spinning happy little ever-after’s for themselves when this all wrapped up.

“Hopefully cuddling for warmth.” Marge’s grin grew sly, the mental picture too amusing even if it was bittersweet.

A small commotion in the hall outside sent both girls into high alert suddenly, Spangles’ whiskers twitching in solidarity for their anticipation. This had been happening most nights, too.

“Is it them do you think?” Julie gleefully whispered, untangling her legs and tiptoeing to the door with Marge begrudgingly protesting but following nonetheless.

Julie was generous with the peephole and Marge had given up pretending to be above the jovial pastime of people watching -especially when their swanky floor at the Ritz meant they had the most shocking sort of neighbors. Ingrid Bergman for one, and as of the last six days; accompanied by a man who was not her husband.

“He’s dark.” Marge reported, finally getting a better look at the man in question as the illicit lovers grappled in a kiss and fumbled longer than usual at their key.

“Lemme!” Julie shoved at Marge’s giggling frame and tiptoed to line her eye up, “Ooooh, lord! Marge, Marge I think that’s Capa!”

Marge made a disgusted little face. “Frank Capra? ‘Why We Fight’ Capra? Isn’t he old?”

“No, no.” Julie swatted at her without tearing her eye from her spying view, “Robert Capa -life magazine. War Photographer, Hungarian, very dangerous profession.”

“Being hungarian?” Marge snorted, “Or stealing wives?”

“Oh hush they’re so in love.” Julie whined, rapt attention until the door of the opposite suite banged shut with a decisive crash. “They’re so in love.” she moaned, letting her forehead thud against the door, allowing herself to dramatically slide down the length of the door to the plush carpet.

“He’s very hairy.” Marge was amusedly unimpressed.

“I don’t want him for meeeee!” Julie whined and Marge sensed another little fir coming on and cast a furtive glance at the macarons and tissues across the room on the side table. “It just reminds one of being in love.”

“Well, don’t fret, that’ll be you and John Egan in no time, clawing wallpaper and ruining respectable people’s evenings.”

Julie looked up at her unimpressed and Marge could have recited from memory the next fussy little cry: “He’ll probably hate me.”

Marge sighed and knowing this was going to be a little bit of a moment, sat down beside her, back to the door, matching pajamas a cool silk rub against each other as she hugged the poor girl. “No he won’t.” She insisted, “He’ll think you’re a silly little goose for crying so much over him and he’ll think you’re smart as anything for all the money you’ve raised -and the good you’ve done. He’s an ambitious man, he’s not one to knock a good idea. I bet he’s proud as anything. If he knows about acorn -he’s proud. You can count on it.”

They did this every evening, too.

Julie had never known a lovelier creature more convinced they were unlovable. It helped that the comforting sentiments she dished out like tranquilizers were firmly true; in fact, if anything, Marge was a little braced for the shock of Julie being quite happily eaten alive by the most voracious man she’d ever had the fortune to meet.

“I might as well jump into the Seine if not.” Julie commented casually.

“Yeah, well,” Marge tempered with a squeeze, “maybe don’t come on to him with that one.”

After some time of more innocuous conversation, a commotion startled them, the triple rap of knuckles on the door behind their backs -Herb’s special little knock. They shared a spooked look. Marge, quite settled in her protector mode, rose first. She gave the peephole a cursory little look to make certain before sliding the lock and cracking the door open as wide as was respectable in silk pajamas.

“Herb?”

“Miss Spencer, Miss Julie,” he gave a nod, something odd in his bearing, a simmering thing near to nervous excitement that jarred with his sober expression, “sorry to bother, but there’s been a development in the lobby -I, ya see, I’ve been turnin’ all the young bucks away after you go up, as you asked but -there’s one down there now-“

“Does he need a room?” Julie inquired anxiously, she’d put up about ten refugee families in various little suites and over a couple dozen servicemen, “That silly concierge not letting you put it on my tab?”

“No miss, this one’s not lookin’ for a room.” Herb’s keen eyes skittered to Marge, an almost cautionary expression on his face, “He says he recently escaped a camp and by the look of him I’d belive it. He’s asking for -for Miss. Spencer, Miss.”

“What?” Marge was not one to be cautioned against hope, “Herb! What did he say? Where is -what’s he look like? What did he say his name-“

“Gale.” Herb let it drop gently. “Said his name was Gale Cleven, and that Miss Turner didn’t know him but her Bunny Friend did. That he saw Miss Spencer’s face in the papers when he got in this evening, he’s meant to be flown out tomorrow.”

“Julie’s Bunny Friend!” Marge repeated with a hysterical little cry, watery smile gone megawatt, “Julie!! Julie it’s gotta be him!”

“Well, well should we-“ Julie patted her pajamaed self down in a bewildered state of companion joy, “-should we go down? Should he- Herb!” too flustered she begged for some direction.

“Up here, I’d think miss.” he advised, “If he’s not the one, there’s no scene made, I can keep him in the hallway while Miss Spencer’s makes use of the peephole -as she is so fond of doing ages after I knock.”

Marge gave him a wry face which he returned in kind.

“Herb, is he -alone?” Julie asked suddenly, voice quite small and Marge could have knocked herself over the head with the ice bucket for being so very callous.

“Yes? Is there a dark haired, tall, big, loud-“

“-American major with him named John?” Herb supplied, ever astute and dampening in the extreme, “No, he’s alone. Or that is, besides the army man who drove him in.”

“Right.” Julie wiped her sweating palms on her thighs, sitting heavily on the bed but doing her damndest to maintain a bright smile. “Don’t leave poor Major Cleven down there any longer, Herb! Bring him up! I’ll wring for room service.”

“He -he may not be-“ Herb cautioned once more but Julie was adamant, already dialing:

“No, no more buts, it’ll be him. And he’ll have news of John. Go! Go go go!”

Marge gave Herb a pitying shrug of solidarity but the minute he was out in the hall she gave all pretense of calm, turning in a giddy spin that spooked poor Spangled and took out an already precarious floral arrangement. “Should I dress? Should I-“ Marge patted herself down now, but Julie, having primly placed her order and tipped it with a sugar coated thanks came over to her, and merely began to take Marge’s blond strands out of their rag curlers.

“No, you should have your hair undone.” the actress proclaimed, “And your top button, too.”

“Julie!“ Marge gasped, somehow it all felt so very likely, with him possibly downstairs, maybe in the elevator now, all their naughty little girls chats suddenly leaving the realm of hypothetical at the likelihood of Gale actually seeing that extra sliver of skin in mere moments.

“Marge.” Julie gave it back to her, fingers insistent on the silk, “It’s up to you to welcome him home.” she preached with girlish simplicity, “And as you’re not home yourself, you must make do, bring home with you.”

“How?” Marge stressed.

“There is nothing more domestic than a lady in a carefully crafted state of repose.”

“There’s not?”

“No, there’s not. ‘Me? Just rolled outta bed to welcome ya honey!’ See?” Julie parroted her alter ego with a little shimmy that sent her own curves jiggling beneath the shiny fabric in such a blatant way that even Marge had to admit she had a point. “Besides,” she added with practicality that sounded very much parroted from Marge herself, “we don’t have time and there’s nothing sexy or welcoming about a woman struggling into her house dress.”

“Ohhh shooo!” Marge began to hit at her when another knock sounded.

“Oh god.” Julie vocalized for her, squeezing Marge’s hand encouragingly, “It’ll be him.” she rallied.

“Yes.” Marge set her chin firmly and having plucked up her bravery, strode to the door purposefully. Somehow it felt like a doubt unworthy of their love for her to use the peephole, so without even a moment's delay in turning the handle, Marge flung wide the suite door and stared back at the two men outside in the hall.

He was pale as spector, those dear and onetime soft features nearly gaunt from deprivation, a criss-cross of purpling scars cutting across parchment skin; but the eyes were the same, sunken and dulled as they were, the same soul stared back at her and the thread between them held firm.

“Marge?” that voice was just as deep and thrilling and homey as she remembered, it had melted her belly and filled her with devotion from his first greeting in Texas. She had not stood a chance, not then and not now.

She was throwing her silk clad self against his filthy overcoat before she could fully comprehend anything else beyond it being him -it was him.

“Gale, Gale, Gale it’s you!” Marge panted in his embrace, the heavy feeling of his hand cradling her head a long imagined thing that winded her in reality.

Julie stood back mildly stunned. She fiddled with her own turban, having forgotten to see to her own appearance. If watching Capra and Bergman hurt so good this- this was bone deep beauty that hurt like a hundred little cuts soothed by a warm bath. Major Cleven was muttering about dirt and redefining what missing her meant into something eternal and something else comparing Marge to angels.

Julie and Herb exchanged the communicative glance of well satisfied colleagues over the lovebirds’ shoulders. If she looked hard she thought she could see commiseration in his face, too. It was intolerable, and she turned her back on the scene and fumbled on the bureau for her cigarette case. The latch was being pesky, it made a clatter as she tried to wrestle it open on the tortoiseshell table top. She’d dropped the thing one too many times, and now the latch was busted just so that it was a bore to get it open.

“Miss Turner.” her real name spoken by a man made her jump, all the more so as he was so close behind her, suddenly deep into the suite as Julie had let too many moments go in her fight with the case.

Julie braced herself on the bureau and turned round to give Major Cleven his deserved smile. He really was as beautiful and ethereal as Marge talked of, recognizing in him some matching features to her own made her want to giggle in embarrassed disbelief at Egan’s obvious preferences. But her quips and greetings died on her tongue at his intense stare, a pink flush making it into his sallow cheeks the longer he looked at her and she recalled how he had seen her picture. But still he held her gaze and behind him Marge looked encouragingly expectant, and as if he could feel his girl’s prodding, he rallied.

“Miss Turner I-“ Gale Cleven looked at a loss for a brief moment, “-for everything! Thank you, for everything.”

“Why, whatever for? I-“ Julie’s batting little laugh was smothered by a sudden and engulfing hug of her own, and while she’d endured and repaid many a hug from soldiers and men alike, this one was different. “Oh Major Cleven, it’s alright, it’s a joy really.” She patted at his back and tried to grin back at Marge’s watery eyed happiness. Herb had gratefully closed the door behind the bedraggled major.

“You saved his life, ya know?” Cleven had pulled away suddenly, very emphatic hands on her shoulders and Julie caught a glimpse of something fatherly like she’d only imagined. “You’re what kept him going.”

“Did he-“ Julie felt her voice grow thin, in aggravation she about stomped her foot in his embrace, “-did he hear? I tried to send messages after-“

“He heard, ‘em.” Gale’s little nod shook her, too.

“He did?” Some chipped and unsettled hope was suddenly falling right into place in her heart, cemented and sure, “He did. But, he’s not with you?” she couldn’t help the little beg.

Cleven’s face fell and so did his hands. Marge approached them, feeling a presentiment. “What happened?”

“We planned to make a run for it together.” Cleven sounded guilty as hell, “Had to be that night. Two went over the wall just fine and I was following and he was behind and they spotted us.” If Julie could have found it in herself to hate him, the wretched look he flashed her would have compelled forgiveness on the spot, “He told me to go -and I did. And I heard shots after and I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Stunned, not at all expecting something of that nature, Julie clung to her furniture a little harder and tried to lean on that newly fastened hope in her heart. They had been connected all this time, she had felt it and now Gale had confirmed it and, she may be insane for it but- “It’s alright, we don’t know, which means we don’t know anything bad either.”

“Yes!” Marge’s voice was a little overly emphatic for the quiet moment, “That’s true! Nothing bad.”

“I know he’d take care of himself,” Gale offered, “-he has been. Just for you. Only thing keeping him on the straight and narrow.”

“Then I think,” Julie dared, feeling her cheeks growing hot and wet, this night being altogether too much to pretend at something close to sanity when with dear friends, “I think we’d know, don’t you? Me and you, we'd

know if he wasn't ... here anymore."

Gale looked at her like she was crazy but at the same time, understanding unfurled behind his eyes, as if he wasn’t used to relying on feelings like this, but it didn’t mean he didn’t know they were real.

Julie meant it, and believing it made some loathsome part of himself calm under the comfort of it. “Yeah,” he muttered, “I think we would.”

“Now!” Julie clapped her hands, Lana’s mask coming to smooth her face and brighten her smile, it wasn’t fair to Gale or to Marge to make this a somber evening, late as it was -this was Paris! The Ritz! If a celebration couldn’t be had and comforts procured, where could they be? “What we do have on our hands -is you! And you look as if you could use a burger and coke and a bath! And I’ve got all of them here, don’t argue, don’t you dare, Marge deserves to see you fed and moderately clean, don’t you think?”

Put that way, as a service to someone else, Gale Cleven only had weak thanks and pale rebuttals about needing to be at the newly rebuilt airport outside the city to get back to Thorpe Abbots tomorrow. He was still enthralled to military time, he hadn’t counted on this, not at all, but it didn’t change things-

“I’ve got a valet, Major, he could get you to Siberia tomorrow if you needed. Now hush, I’ve rung for food. Where are they? Herb! Herb!”

“It’s best to just go with it.” Marge teased him as he catatonically watched the starlet boss about the waiters and her valet, bewildered and bamboozled at the sudden luxury. The sudden proximity of his girl, too.

Suddenly there was nothing else on his mind but one thing, “You said yes.” he reminded in the middle of the chaos swirling around them.

“Yeah,” Marge’s dimples popped, “yeah I did.”

“You still of that mind?” he nudged closer, noses brushing and he was aware that he was filthy, but she was magnetic and willing.

“You’d have to drop off the earth to get out of this one, Major Cleven.”

Gale refused to sit on anything while Julie and Marge fed him from a sumptuous buffet off the cart. He swore he was too dirty to even stand in such a nice place like this but he was also shaky, pale and in dire need of food and with two little blondes plying him with the first bits of American cuisine he’d had in years, he wavered and stayed. His insistence on going to his original billet grew weaker with each passing moment as Marge smiled at him and fed him fries. By the time Herb had been sent down to inform Major Cleven’s jeep driver that his passenger was lost to welcoming arms, Gale had quite forgotten much of anything beyond the feel of a full stomach and the promise of a bath.

For a long time he sat in the cold porcelain shell and ran the water over himself, such a terrible amount of filth and grim didn’t deserve a bath, it would turn even his hardened stomach to sit in the juices of a year and a half’s captivity. So after being shooed by Julie Jean into her intolerably bright and ornate en-suite bathroom, complete with a star’s assortment of toiletries and the bunny’s monogrammed food and water bowls, Gale gingerly let his ratty clothes fall to the marble floor and stepped into the tub.

Over the roar of the faucet he was unaware of the tittering whispers at the door -still slightly ajar and unlatched as Julie Jean was nothing if not a little wicked. And concerned.

“People drown in bathtubs where I come from all the time!” She refuted Marge’s scandalized objections.

“Yes, because they’re pickled with booze!”

“After what he’s been through he’s in about as good of shape.”

Marge knew that statement wasn’t false exactly but her hand still fluttered over her belly in nervousness at the impropriety. “Alright.” she went with it, breathlessly anxious and a little flustered at the blurry something beyond that chink in the hinge.

“Aren’t you going to peak?” Julie unfolded the rest of her play with an alarming smirk. “Come on, he’s going to marry you, how many times will you see him in his natural state at the ritz?”

It wasn’t fair to put it like that, to remind Marge she was living on borrowed fairytale time. It was a deep seated fear she had shared with Julie once as they had the covers tucked up to their chin’s and their hearts out on their pillow cases -that she woke sometimes with a feeling of terrifying urgency and nothing but regrets for a laundry list of bypassed chances she had not taken. Upon waking further and regaining some sanity, she couldn’t for the life of her recall what these fateful omissions that startled her so badly had even been. But times like these, when she went to be good but then was asked if that really was worth her time, such urgency crept back, nagging. “Go on then.” Julie slipped aside, her battle won as Marge surrendered and delicately placed her cheek against the door frame, an eye to the crack.

She had spent many nights imagining the whole of Gale, a beautiful back she had only seen beneath drab olive, the nipped waist and the lanky legs that sent his trousers on a mile long spill of fabric. Her breath hitched at the pale expanse now before her, each proportion how she lovingly recalled but this time without obstruction or disguise, a strange dichotomy: the youthful taper and swell of his backside jarring with stark ribs and a mottle of ugly bruises and festered creases. She didn’t know if her gasp came from desire or commiseration, jerking her face back from the sliver of light as Gale turned his head sharply, as if feeling her observation even as the water had hid her inadvertent noise. Either uncaring or convinced he was mistaken, she watched as Gale stepped into his tub and promptly sank his head beneath the splash.

Julie watched Marge as she watched Gale and she wondered if this is what it was like in fairytales when the gates of the kingdom are thrown open, everything wanted and wished for is there. The protagonists never know what to do with a dream come true, do you eat it? Fondle, crush, preserve it in a glass case? Such a cruel kindness, dreams that come true; Marge’s twitching fingers and gasping lips suggested a torture going on inside her, heavy lidded love and belly hot want.

Julie swore to herself then, she’d feel it too. Soon, she’d be watching the man who owned the jacket as he showed her himself, just as he’d written his heart out for her eyes alone, one day soon he’d be naked and hers and she could watch him and do what people do with dreams.

Perhaps feeling vindictive for being ignored, or perhaps merely thirsty, Spangles suddenly made a series of determined little hops across the suite floor, threaded the blockade of the girls’ feet with ease and, perhaps seeing his chance, nudged open the crack of the bathroom door only to bounce along the marble floor in a cacophonous clatter of little paws that even Gale could hear over the faucet’s roar. Like a slippery fish, he skidded to his side along the bottom of the wide tub, a pink, bath-warmed hand clutching at the edge and hauling his sopping head above the lip to observe his long eared visitor -and the guilty little audience of girls in their night clothes at the threshold.

The look he leveled Marge made Julie’s toes tingle and second guess how chaste these two’s reportedly tame trysts pre-war had really been. “We merely wanted to make sure you didn’t-“ Marge clasped and unclasped her hands, “-drown.” it was a deflated little excuse by the time she got it out.

Spangles had begun to sneeze, ever sensitive to steam and Yardley’s lavender soap, his poor little legs skidding apart further and further on the damp floor. Gale bit his lip from laughing at the cute little creature’s plight.

“Oh laa!” Julie gave up all pretense and entered to save him -the bunny, that is- causing Gale to flail a little harder as if there was a deeper level to the bottom of his tub where he could take refuge. “Add in the bubbles, Major,” Julie always had a remedy, “it’ll hide everything nicely. Don’t ruin poor Marge’s first evening with you by being a prude, she misses you. It’s been years, you know.”

They spent much of that evening in the following way, Gale in his topped off tub, Marge with a mostly useless cloth beside him on the ledge, and Julie primly sat with Spangles in her lap on the closed toilet seat.

“Bucky’s confirmed as best man.” He told Marge, sheepish grin breaking out until both girls laughed at the thought of the boys indulging in their own wedding planning.

He tells them about the radio he built, about the first time they heard her broadcasts, of the photo she’d sent which Bucky and him divided in half each keeping their girl in their pocket,

about Brady and the liturgy of devotion he made up for Egan to recite to Julie’s printed picture on the combine wall. The particulars were left out, Gale being a gentleman to the last, but Julie glowed and wept under the obtuse assurance anyway.

“I trust you kept him warm.” Julie demands, “Seeing as how it’s your fault he didn’t take his jacket.”

Gale tells her of Egan’s presumptuous bunk sharing, how strange things were happening every day and that grew to be commonplace. At her inquiring look he only blushes and stares down at the water, the bruise on his throat blooming under the flush, and for once Julie thinks she knows Gale Cleven better than his Marge.

“I’ve gotta be on that flight tomorrow early!” Gale had just enough energy left to fret even as he was led in a fluffy terry cloth robe to the sofa and made to lay down on fluffed pillows under a velvet duvet.

“Don’t worry about it major, I’ve got everything sorted. We’re coming with you.” Julie insisted, without having even discussed it with anyone as it didn’t require it -of course they’d be going to England with him! And no, she had nothing sorted but as soon as she had Gale deposited on the sofa with Marge’s hands entwined with his from her place on the floor, Julie Jean sent for Herb and summarily entrusted him with sorting it.

“Before seven thirty am tomorrow, please.”

Alone in bed, as Marge had made a poor showing of joining her only to go “check on his breathing” and predictably not returned, Julie lay awake and thought of John. Fat, hot tears rolled out the corner of her eyes and into her ears, tickling her, making a miserable spot on her pillow. Whispering prayers with her eyes on the skyline, she begged him to stay alive for her. “We’re so close, sweet man. We are so close and I love you too much.”

By next morning Herb did indeed have things sorted. Or close to it. There was a small hitch. “Mr. Huston is confused by your change of plans.” Herb informed her as he oversaw the bellman with the last of the trunks. He had ensured Major Cleven’s threadbare uniform had been cleaned and pressed in the night, and when Gale appeared out the en-suite bathroom this morning he looked a modicum closer to how Marge recalled him shipping out.

“What doesn’t he understand?” Julie asked, feeling cross and dreadful suddenly.

“He asked to hear it from you. Room 608.”

“Well I, I suppose I should run by it and then we can be on our way.” Julie decided with brave sprightliness, fixing the little net on her hat to cover more than just her eyes.

“We’ll go with you.” Marge decided with forceful kindness; her pull on his arm was all the command Gale needed not to protest.

“Who’s Huston?” he asked as the elevator whirled them one floor higher.

“My business partner in the broadcast.” Julie replied, “And the man paying for this excursion. I suppose he’d like to make certain I’ve not gone looney.”

Mr. Huston’s cuban valet opened the door and behind him, despite the fresh morning hour, was a scene out of one of Gatsby’s parties. Multiple women in little clothing and a significant amount of discarded booze littered the place, and Huston, smoking a cigarette and flicking through the paper, did not even bother to leave his perch against the headboard. Julie suddenly felt as if she were seeing the scene through newcomers eyes and her face burned to be associated with it.

“Jack.” She greeted, knowing that despite how he had moved on for the most part, he would have teased her maliciously for trying to distance herself in front of her friends.

“Baby.” He flopped down his newspaper, “What’re you doing in here wearin’ tweeds? You know how I hate tweed, does nothing for your assets. God take off that jacket and pour a drink -who’re your friends?”

Julie clutched the donned sheepskin even tighter and could almost sense Gale Cleven shifting from one foot to the other, a loose stance of being on guard. “This is Major Cleven of the mighty eighth, and you know my dear friend Marge -she’s is his fiancé.”

“Ah, a fellow airman!” Jack perked up, rising off the bed with his full chest on display under a gaping embroidered robe and approached Cleven with a smug sense of equality. He stuck out his hand and Gale made him wait five whole seconds before he returned the grip, tightly. “Pleasure, Major.”

“Do I know your squadron?” He drawled.

“Oh, I’m an observer mostly. But I’ve seen some combat.” Jack didn’t have a group, those wings on his uniform meant about as much as Lana’s broach collection in regard to brave service.

It was like Gale could smell the costume party off him, and Lana admired him immensely for that. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Pacific theater mainly”

Gale was smiling sympathetically and it was the most unsettling thing Marge had ever seen, and it satisfied something deep inside her that had loathed Huston since she first met him in the lobby ten days ago, his hand encroaching down her back and his language towards Lana so territorially possessive it gave the impression of her friend being a collectors item instead of flesh and blood.”Heard it was real windy on those atolls.” Gale remarked.

Huston’s smile wavered but only in confusion, no shard of doubt finding its way into his mind that it was derision curling Gale’s lip. “So- London?”

“East Anglia, actually.” Julie dared, “Major Cleven is in need of a ride” that wasn’t exactly true but “and I thought it would mean a great deal to give him a lift.” After a lengthy pause where Jack just stared at her with a smokescreen between them from his cigarette she added, “Great press, too.”

“You soft hearted little dolt.” Jack barked a laugh and it made Julie jump like all his rash emotions did, he pinched her cheek and tickled her ribs right beneath the swell of herbrassier as he went around her to his desk. “Ok, ok, you can have it. I’ll swing by to collect it and maybe get some footage for the documentary. What’s your group?” he asked Cleven.

“100th.”

“Oh, hell, I’ll definitely be swinging by.” Huston whistled, mind already ablaze with prospective press. “And you,” he pointed at Julie with his checkbook poised like a loaded gun, “better find something to do over there besides playing chauffeuring cupid, something that’ll make your mother think you aren’t going off script.” Julie gave him a frantic nod as victory was in sight and he went on, “But I’ll definitely be swinging by, I’ll pick you up, we’ll go back home out of London. Say, first week of May.”

Julie had no capacity to argue with her benefactor and meekly accepted his proffered momentary advance. She could only pray that John Egan would be in East Anglia by then, and she’d know something of her future: whether ‘home’ would depend on men such a Huston and their fickle lust or a steady ever after with an honest man like John.

“Thanks Jack I-I-I won’t forget t-this.” she managed, before they all dashed out the suite, Cleven having to be pulled from measuring up his seedy benefactor, and down to the taxi stand -England bound.

————————————————

Harry Crosby was taking sharp turns down the long runway at a pace and tempo Rosie Rosenthal did not find suitable but they made it alright, just as the anomaly of a jet came to a full stop on the runway, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the utilitarian bombers stacked alongside on the hardstands. When the radio tower had gotten buzzed for landing instructions from a foreign craft everyone had gone a little bizerk with speculation, but the pilot himself put them out of their suspense when he told Kidd that his cargo included The Lana Tierney and a Major Gale Cleven.

Harry had raced Rosie down the stairs to the nearest jeep and had begun to accelerate before his friend even fully landed in shotgun. Now they were just in time to see the hatch opened and the lanky and familiar figure of Gale Cleven drop to the tarmac in a graceful crouch.

“Harry!” He greeted as he straightened, his voice robust even if his constitution appeared battered by captivity, “They still got you at this dump?”

“Fresh outta the stalag Major,” Harry gave him grief back, “and getting dropped off on base in a private plane with Lana Tierney?”

“Yeah,” Rosie added, “What kinda war you been runnin’ anyway?”

Gale laughed off their backslapping greetings before suddenly recollecting, “Oh, right I forget. Ladies?” and turned back to offer his arms for Marge to take and he swung her gently to the ground.

“Boys, this is Marge.”

“Of course it is.” Harry admired with a hand outstretched to shake hers before he peered up into the plane, not being disappointed when he caught sight of a pair of ever so delicate ankles. “Holy mackerel, it is Bucky’s girl.” he blurted loudly as Lana’s angelic face peered back at him, as pristine and fuckable as her photographs but the delectable whole of her was swathed in Egan’s goddamn sheepskin.

“Aren’t you pretty.” Julie Jean admired Crosby right back, liking him immensely already for the fact he recognized her as Bucky’s girl. “Are you also strong?”

“I- I mean, sorta, not as much as-“ Harry stammered before realizing her meaning and so stretched out his arms to be of use, “allow me, Miss Tierney.” he helped her to the ground with a swing that was perhaps the most graceful of his life, gods be good. She was holding a little white bunny and Harry was instantly charmed.

“Thank you.” she kissed his flaming cheek.

“Who’s this?” Harry pet back the floppy ears, if only to have something to do besides gawk, he knew he needed to not gawk at Johnny Egan’s girl in Johnny Egan’s coat even if the girl in the coat was about as mouthwateringly perfect as—

“This,” Julie proclaimed with all the pride of a mother, “is Spangles.”

“You guys weren’t joking when you said Major Egan was pen pals with Lana Tierney?” Rosenthal shot Cleven a bewildered look.

“No, we weren’t.” Gale agreed.

“We should get you situated again.” Crosby rallied after Lana had sent Major Rosenthal siren red from a cheek kiss of his own, Harry was still vibrating under Lana’s assessing looks and the fond weight of her hand in the crook of his elbow, “We did not expect the company of ladies but I’m sure something could be sorted and uh, well, uh, we’ve got your billet, Major and we’ve got your footlocker. Bucky wouldn't let us ship it back to your folks. He kept saying ‘I expect him back.’ Heh, yeah he said his buddy was just MIA is all. Yeah.” Crosby trailed off before asking in a watery voice, “He not make it with you in the breakout? He ok?”

Julie watched Gale’s face go wretched again, truth dangling off his tongue too close to a damnable thing and she gently cut in for him, “He’s alive.” was all she supplied. “When have you ever known Major Egan or Major Cleven to leave behind their boys without either one of them?”

Harry’s eyes glittered dangerously close to tears before he gave a curt nod that so poorly disguised his emotion Julie immediately felt a kinship to him, “Probably just laggin’ behind, primpin’ his mustache for ya. He’ll be here in no time when he catches wind of our esteemed visitor.” Harry had also gone a little drunk under the influence of Julie’s perfume and Rosenthal had to admit it made him a little charming even if the balance could tip into cringeworthy at any moment.

“Oooh a Jeep ride.” instead Julie bounced Spangles gleefully in anticipation of utilizing the boy's regular mode of conveyance, taking a seat between Rosenthal and Crosby, the gearshift between her legs much to Harry’s driving distraction so that- “Gale and Marge can canoodle in peace” in the backseat.

Harry took the scenic route to Cleven’s old barracks, perhaps to give Gale and Marge more time, to brush Julie’s knee more often in shifting down or out of genuine desire to show her each storied handstand and Nissen hut. Probably a mixture of all three knowing Crosby. But the end result was Julie pink cheeked and wide eyed as a child, soaking in every bit of lore about the man she loved and never recalled, a hanky dabbing at errant tears now and again and Spangles being happily allowed to roam between her lap and Rosenthal’s.

Near the end of their little tour they stopped at one hard stand where Major Cleven seemed close to beside himself in joy to reunite with one of the mechanics, there were two children lagging about as well, civilians and Gale was very eager for them to meet his Marge. Not wishing to be aloof, Julie alighted as well and extended her hand to each of the ground crew, learning of their contributions and their marital status. There was a giggly stir amongst the group when suddenly a bouncing ball of fur attacked Gale from the back, bouncing on hind legs and nipping joyfully, it would appear the loving assailant was an overgrown husky.

“Meatball.” Gale sounded about as fond as he had when he first saw Marge and it made the girls titter behind their gloved hands.

Meatball, having exhausted his greeting of his old friend, turned to inspect the other newcomers, licking at Marge’s outstretched hand before turning with great interest to Julie. She was also inclined to stretch out her hand to him and give the pretty baby a good ear scratch when a sudden perk in the husky's face warned of a different interest: Spangles. If Gale had not noticed at the same time, there might have been a rather gruesome outcome but between Julie’s careful pivot with her precious rabbit and Gale’s strong restraint on Meatball’s collar, both pets lived to be reconciled another day.

“Guess we’re gonna have to train him not to think of Spangles as dinner.” Rosie laughed.

Their final stop was at Buck’s old hut, average in every way from the outside as the next cylindrical skinned hut, muddy path outside that the boys kindly spared the ladies by carrying them to the threshold, even if they protested they weren’t scared of a mired heel. Julie walked up and down the rows of beds, feeling the chilly air inside the metal shelter, footlocker names catching her eye as she scanned them. Somewhere behind her Gale was opening his footlocker, sounds of Marge’s pleased murmurs over finding her picture there reaching Julie from the end of the row. They deserved a minute to themselves and Julie had a specific thing she was searching for.

“Lookin’ for something in particular?” Crosby’s kind voice was very near her.

Julie turned and gave the mild mannered major a soft smile, shrugging her shoulders and her bunny before admitting her sentimentality, “I was trying to find John’s bunk. Felt like I might- know it somehow. But I’ve come up at a loss.”

“Oh he wasn’t in here.” Harry informed her, he always seemed beyond eager to talk about Egan and it warmed her, “He was with the 418th, you know, so he bunked with his boys. When he bunked at all.” He added as an afterthought and Julie’s mind went to all the letters she’d gotten from John dated with a slash between entries, as he wasn’t sure which date to sign as he began most of them at night and finished them at dawn. “Though he hung out here plenty to be with Buck and the other way around.” Harry added.

“Do you, do you think-“ Julie began, feeling shy despite how moderate she knew her request was.

“Wanna see his bunk?” Harry lept at her unspoken desire, “We kept his footlocker, too. We were all too scared to open it after he’d threatened us about your property in it.” Crosby’s creasing cheeks were flaming pink and Julie wanted to pinch them, then he went on, “And for the same reason we hated to send it to his mother. I mean, who knows what was in there, I mean, you’d know what but, I’m not saying there’s anything bad I just, we just-“

“Major Crosby, Harry, I’d love to see it.” Julie took his arm and he swallowed his tongue to shush himself, “Have you got the key?”

“I know a man with the keys.” Harry demurred his own influence yet his smile was sly.

“Major Crosby,” she murmured again as they slipped away from Gale and Marge’s preoccupied chat on his bunk and back out into a misting afternoon, the jeep left for them by a considerate Rosenthal, “I want it known I like you very much.”

Another metal hut. Nothing remarkable from the rest, but to Julie, stepping inside with Crosby at discrete hovering distance, it felt as hallowed as a cathedral. He stood here, he slapped this doorframe, knocked his fool head on that beam, paced a hell of a furrow between these bunks. Crosby had been generous with the anecdotes on the way over, and Julie had allowed herself to pester him, he liked it she could tell, and so she knew that Major Egan spent little time in here anyway, except to occasionally sleep, to dress and to read her letters.

Three of the most intimate activities she could conjure up, one’s she’d laid in her own room and imagined him doing. Basic, human, unpretentious necessities, she imagined John at them all the time until she felt like she’d truly played voyeur: the straightening of a tie, the scratching of an itch, the bleary coming to with a face down in the pillow.

He did those things here. Crosby was scraping a hefty metal thing from under one of the nondescript beds, and with a catch in her breath Julie realized it was his footlocker. “We couldn’t bear to stow it away, all the rookies who slept here after him had to deal with it. This was Major Egan’s bunk, they were just passing through.”

All the rookies. All of them. That meant many had slept here and then, truly passed through, passed on, a fiery death and mud hard landing. Sometimes she felt like the only girl in the world who’d lost something, and then she got told of rookies passing through his bunk and she thought of their mama’s who’d never allow their rooms to become the “spare.” Those rooms would always be theirs, even if they never came back. Just like John’s bunk.

But he was coming back. He had to.

“I-I imagine you’d like a moment to go through it.” Crosby had turned the key but left it dangling there, lid ponderously shut, Egan’s threats of evisceration and testicular imbibement still hanging loudly in the air for Harry, as if not a week had gone by since the last threat. No one looks into Major Egan’s footlocker.

“Yes, I would.” Julie whispered.

“Think you can manage the lid?” Harry hoped she’d not ask him to open it for her, that was too close to losing his balls for comfort. Jean needed them.

“I think I can.” Her voice was weak and her hands a little shaky but she wanted it, and what she wanted she always managed to find strength for. “I’d like to spend a little time in his bunk. Just -just to think of him.” she found herself saying, forgetting to blush under Crosby’s understanding gaze.

“Of course.” he didn’t bat an eye. “I-I could, I could take Spangles for you.”

A laugh bubbled out, “Why, you think I’ll need both hands?” Julie teased.

“Major Egan always did.” Crosby teased right back and Julie never would have suspected so puppyish a man could wear so lewd a look, it made her heart flip flop pleasantly.

“Shh, you’re awful!” She swatted at him with a beaming smile that she knew did the opposite of discourage him. “Take care of him, and get him somewhere warm.” she charged him with her pet, handing over the dear bunny.

“The officer’s club is two huts down.” Harry told her, “Turn right and it’s the second hut, you can’t miss it. Silver Wings. You’ll need to warm up too and that’s where we’ll be.”

“Alright.” she muttered and watched him leave before the slam of the door confirmed her as alone in vast space. It was chillingly sterile and looming as she turned to his footlocker in desperate need of something less monotonous and impersonal.

The lid was heavy and it had his name printed nearly on it. She kissed the C that stood for Clarence -what kind of middle name was that for a young buck anyways? It made her choke on her laugh before she bruised her fingertips by forcing the metal open. It was well stocked, all various sorts of items one might find in any man’s footlocker, soap that she had already become intimate with the scent of from the fleece of his jacket, a baseball, ever so many playing cards, razors, photographs of what she assumed were his family, a brown parcel that screamed of his mother so she left it untouched and books. A lot of books.

Guys and Dolls by Runyon was on top. He’d said that he was reading it in one of his last letters. She put it on the bunk. And then took out another book, and another, admiring the breadth of his taste, the way knowledge was balanced with humor in the collection, just like him. At the bottom of them she found an odd little wrapped thing in silk that her heart whispered was the thing it was secretly pacing its beats for.

His scarf came undone under her cold fingers and from its little makeshift bundle her envelopes poured out. Not a single one unaccounted for. She scooped them up and sat on the bed, allowing them to fan out, testimony and evidence of how much she cared, confession and declarations inside that could damn her a thousand lifetimes over.

-I love you.

That was the only line missing in them. Oh how she hoped he knew it. One envelope was an oddity. Blank, not from her, conspicuously fresh and unbattered by the postal system. She opened it and with a zap of arousal spied her photographs inside. She took them with her as she carefully laid back on the pillow. Sheets had been changed, pillows no doubt swapped, it wasn’t his bunk in more than metal and history but she laid there and held up the black and white prints and imagined him doing the same. The way her figure silhouetted against the hut’s curving ceiling, the patter of rain on the metal roof, the dismal gray light filtering through.

The fact he’d found inspiration to write her such stirring things from so blank a place suggested what kind of mind he had and she had ached, ached for him to not be restrained to suggesting only, but to doing, acting on every wickedly wonderful impulse his pen had confided. The throb grew so badly she wept, clutching and creasing the photographs to her breasts -they were so worn from his constant tracing and kissing and sticky with his smearing that a few more bends would be of no consequence. She pressed them to her face, wondering if she could smell his appreciation off the lewder ones. She could not, if she were being honest, but she felt her nose smudge against something tacky and imagined swallowing.

At the Silver Wings, Harry was trying to recollect if he’d ever been so popular. Maybe when he returned from Breman, they’d all slapped his back and joked about his charting them into a tree and they’d all meant it so admiringly he’d finally felt like he belonged a bit. But that was mostly Ev’s day, as it should have been. And then he’d been promoted, and he’d sent all his friends off into hell, and now days no one but the bartender and Rosie cared for him here as much as he’d have liked.

He should have brought a white rabbit with him sooner.

“The hell did you get that from?” Ev asked him, more intrigued than shocked at this point in the war, little bunny rabbits were a mild apparation.

“This is Spangles Egan.” Crosby informed him, being obtuse just to prove he could be funny when he wanted.

“Egan?” Jack barked from beside the bar, “Who’s naming their pets after Bucky?”

Harry grinned, “Well see, it’s his girl’s rabbit. Which makes it sorta their rabbit. Which means it’s an Egan.”

Ev didn’t look impressed but Jack just looked ever more concerned.

“Lana Tierney is on base and this belongs to her.” Harry finally fessed up although his original explanation still stood as true in his mind.

A repetition of her name and “Acorn? the Acorn?” rose up in the club, a battle between acorns and their varied associations rising up between the old timers, who recalled movie night with John Egan, and the youngsters, who’d spent their recent nights with an ear pinned to her broadcasts.

“Yeah, the ACORN.” Harry confirmed as both stood.

By the time Julie Jean had wiped her cheeks of tears and carefully folded her letters into her coat pocket for safe keeping, snapped the lid of his dear locker and set her sights for the outdoors, she had her face back in place: by the time she entered the Silver Wings, she was everything those service boys had ever dreamed of.

Platinum and cherry lipped and ever so thrilled to see and hug each and every one, Lana Tierney was well and truly in the house and those who knew it whispered amongst themselves about “Bucky’s girl.”

Upon meeting Jack Kidd he received a smattering of kisses on his face as she thanked him endlessly for sending her his jacket.

His laconic, “Glad it made it, ma’am.” was perhaps a little thicker than usual.

The newer arrivals couldn’t share any stories they personally had with Major Egan but they were more than happy to share stories told to them regarding the leader. Like how he paid off that one farmer after Meatball slaughtered his chicken. Or how he let a man from the village throw a dart at the apple above his head. From then on it continued and Lana delighted in hearing stories of her man told over and over again, of the impact he carried with these brave men and the life he brought to the crew. She sat in the middle of all of them as they regaled her with tale after tale, and she only wished he was there to tell the story from his perspective. She was sure he would have the most vibrant commentary.

“… told me he’ll buy me a jacket just like his,” one of the boys was telling Lana when Gale and Marge entered the Silver Wings. They were both flushed and her lipstick was on the collar of his jacket. “Major Cleven!” The soldier stood to attention at the sight of his superior being back.

Gale patted him on the shoulder, “At ease, soldier. And don’t go buying another ugly jacket like his. One on base is enough.”

“Major Egan said it’s about how one wears it.”

“I’m sure he did,” Gale returned, looking over how it currently cocooned Lana’s form. He took in the sight of her surrounded by over a handful of young boys and men, all eyes gawking at her and vying for her attention. Even Ev Blakely was seated beside her with his chin propped on his fist. He looked close to a lovesick idiot. “Now I’m sure you boys don’t want me telling Bucky you were all over his woman while he’s away. I trust you are being polite and proper and nothing else.”

Once again Lana beamed at being labeled as Bucky’s woman or Bucky’s girl. She had never felt so damn proud than in those moments; not even the achievements of Lana Tierney compared. If it was up to her she would gladly belong to Bucky Egan for the rest of her life.

But she also couldn’t shake the feeling of how wrong it felt to be there without him. He was supposed to be the one showing her the base. He would have loved to invite her to his bunk. He would take her to his favorite pub and introduce her as his girl to all the people in his life and having to do any of those greetings and events without him was only managing to further break her heart. Bucky would be so proud to show her around; she wouldn’t take that chance from him. As much as possible, she’d save that for him or not have it at all.

“Rosenthal says he knows a family who can put you and Marge up in the countryside,” Gale informed her. “They’re real big fans of you, he says. It only takes about twenty minutes to get there and back so you ladies can come down to base any time or, uh - I could go visit up there, as well.”

His cheeks tinted pink at his last admission, like anyone would bat an eye at Gale Cleven taking a day’s leave to visit his girl after everything he had recently endured. Julie Jean had half a mind to lock Gale and Marge in a room and let them have at each other, all propriety and waiting for marriage be damned. She didn’t begrudge their beliefs one bit, she saw the passion the two carried for one another and although she had never been in her Johnny’s presence, she knew all the longing and desire and love she had for him would have her undressing and bowing before him in seconds. She would gladly kneel before her man and knowing John Egan would just as happily do the same, settled any feelings of womanly resentment or weakness. Gale and Marge’s pent up passion made one wonder at the fire and electricity that would erupt their wedding night. Julie felt hot under the sheepskin collar simply thinking about it.

“I’m sure Marge would love having you come, sir,” she cajoled, patting the fist he rested on the table between them. Gale didn’t seem all too amused by her sentiments as he narrowed his eyes at her. “Oh, hush! I mean coming to visit. Get your mind outta the gutter, Buck Cleven!”

Gale sent her a look that said he didn’t believe a word out her lying little rosebud of a mouth. She was all mischievous passion under the dusting of make-up.

“Uh huh. I’m going to have my hands full with you and Bucky,” he states with a head nod, like he’s already resigning himself to the fact. There’s a comment on the tip of Julie Jean’s tongue - something about how happy Bucky would be to fill Buck’s hands and how she’s sure he’d enjoy watching Buck touch Julie - but she bites it back. She means no disrespect towards Marge and her loyalty is only to Johnny. She’s also no idiot and the love the boys carry for one another knows no bounds or familiarity, yet, if they wanted to choose to be blind and ignore it, who was she to step in on what they had going on?

Her eyes settled on the bruise on his neck once more and Gale seemed to feel her looking, tucking his neck further into the collar of his coat. Julie Jean bit back a smile. She didin’t want Bucky’s best friend to think of her as mean.

“John Egan is my best friend,” Gale started suddenly, and for a moment Julie Jean wondered if this is where he professes his love for the man or if he was going to interrogate her on behalf of his best friend’s best interests. Turned out to be the latter. “He’s got a real big heart, Bucky. Wears it on his sleeve and gives and gives and never expects anything different than what you give him back in return.” Gale had pondered that a lot over the years. How Bucky was always so openly affectionate and loud in his love and trust in their friendship and how Buck never managed to give that back to him until the end during the train ride. Curt was like that too and Buck wonders if that’s why the two men clicked so easily and never shied away from any of the jokes or weird looks. “If you aren’t here to stay, Miss Turner -” and by stay they were both aware he meant for forever. “- then maybe you shouldn’t be here when John gets back.”

Julie Jean clocked Marge at the center of the club, preoccupied under the arm of Douglass as he no doubt regaled her with stories of their brave Majors, and for Buck to stay away from Marge -she wondered how long he had been planning to say this. Waiting for a moment of privacy to lay it out on the table and not upset Marge while doing so, because this was between them.

“I don’t feel comfortable sharing my feelings with you when Bucky himself hasn’t had the chance to hear them,” she admited, tears burning the back of her eyes again. She took in a deep breath. “He had to have known though, right? Be honest with me, you know him better than anyone and he loves you the most and you him. Do you think he knew, Buck?”

Once again Gale wondered what on earth John must have written in his letters for this woman to understand and suspect the deep nature of their relationship so completely. It was just like him - a stone in Gale’s shoe even when he wasn’t aware.

There was a hope in her glistening eyes that Gale was aware can be crushed by him. He’d never felt so much like father than he did now.

He had no interest in hurting this sweet woman who embraced John and Gale and Marge exactly for who they are. This selfless woman who he was so thankful brought Marge to Paris. A gorgeous woman who kept John mildly sane in the camp when there was no hope - an, admittedly, tempting woman as Buck recalled the photo he picked up from the floor all those years ago. His thumb pressed against her black and white nipples -it had a flush setting in and he had to avert his gaze.

“He knew, Julie. He knows.” Truth of the matter is, Gale knew John was aware. John, who was self deprecating and going crazy stuck in the camp, with not enough sky or land to keep him occupied but who woke up every day and tried to stay alive and out of trouble because of a pinky swear he had made to the woman sitting across from Gale currently. John was frightened and he fought against believing it at his darkest times but Gale remembers times when John would stand too close to the fence and guards would point their guns, images of John getting pushed and provoked but one thing always brought him back from that point of no return. Julie Jean Turner. If John didn’t believe he had love to return, he wouldn’t have bothered.

Julie released a breath neither realized she’d been holding waiting for his response.

“What about your fiancé?” Buck asked.

“What about him?” Julie returned. “In my line of work, Major Cleven, a fiancee is the only guarantee against a husband. One ya don’t want. I can tell you this, there’s one man in my future, there’s only been one man since the one letter I got on the 18th, years ago. One sweet man who calls me acorn and tells me he adores me and asks me for naughty pictures in exchange for him staying alive.”

“And you’re okay with that? With him asking?”

“He doesn’t need to ask. I’d do it anyway. But he loves me so he still asks.” Sitting across from his best friend, she’m was near glowing in the love Johnny had for her. Gale wouldn’t give her the time of day if it wasn’t real.

“I’m glad we had this chat,” Julie slowly eased back into being Lana Tierney before Gale’s very eyes, a charming smile on her face with white teeth glinting behind her red stained lips, looking every bit the movie star like when he’d seen her on film or in magazines. She looked different than in the photos she sent Bucky. In those she always looked younger, vulnerable, needy even. “Now that I've got your approval I can breathe easier, Major.” She teased him and he managed a bashful smirk.

“He’s got two protective sisters and a momma who turns his world,” Buck warned in jest and that was how Marge found them at the table. Julie warm and beaming at the thought of hearing about his family and getting to meet them one day. Bucky hadn’t been shy to tell her his mom was his best friend before Buck came along and she was the only one able to keep him out of trouble.

—“Not scared of no Colonel’s or SS officer’s - they haven’t met my momma he wrote in a letter one time. She’s a one woman army.”

Julie took the conversation she had with Buck and held on to hope even when time continued passing and no word of Bucky reached them. She kept the promise she made to herself - she refused to spend any more time on base or at the officer’s club or at any spots Bucky wrote about in his letters to her, because she wanted to wait for him. Instead she spent time with the boys when they visited her and Marge at the swanky estate with the kind English family. In order to appease her mother she booked performances at local bars where they are more than happy to accommodate her and the hordes of army boys that followed her around.

The first week of May arrived and Julie found herself white knuckling her mic in anticipation of Huston showing up any minute and whisking her off. She was not sure if she was sadder about being torn away from her vigil as she was terrified of being stuck back in an enclosed plane cabin with that man for over a day. Marge too, began to fret a little on the second day of the month when Gale told her he was going to be flying mercy missions to Holland. He was too happy about and too assuring about its safety for her to question him, but it was hardly assuring with a war still on.

But Marge knew better than to show that, so she went to Thorpe to wave him off and watched him at his craft while Julie went further north to help co-host a charity event for servicemen’s families. The joy had gone out of it, worse than Paris, she used to be decent at distracting herself with the task at hand but as her days flitted by as uncaring and ephemeral as dreams, the end of the first week of May came in sight, and nothing could keep her mind off John Egan and the heartbreaking notion of not meeting him. Not even the supreme pleasure of dueting with Vera Lynn. All that honored pleasure made her think of was how much her John would have enjoyed listening to it.

Huston came on the sixth. He also left on the sixth. And he didn’t loiter at Thorpe to interview anyone. There were bigger fish to fry out near the Solomon Islands, according to him, and he was off to film it and at his side was an intrepid little secretary he’d met in Paris and thoroughly vetted in between his sheets.

Julie wondered if he’d entirely forgotten her own existence, an unlikely thing, seeing as how she was the entire reason his plane was in East Anglia, but as she was removed at a distance from Thorpe and he had a new adventure and a new lover, perhaps it was a happy case of out of sight out of mind. She breathed easier the minute she heard that he was off in a roar over to another hemisphere.

And right after, or later that evening to be precise, interrupting a charming dinner of rationed butter and plentiful pheasant, was a phone call from mother. The gig was up, in as many words, Huston had lost interest, the fiancée had only gained more and that of the suspicious sort, and mother wanted to know what on earth there was in bombed out England for Julie to find time and payment for. Julie had to list a growing set of fabricated engagements for her mother to even countenance another day spent there, working her name-dropping way up from canteens to a dazzling venue in London which gained her a hem-hawing allowance of three more days.

All the while keeping her sane and functional was one singular thought : John Egan coming home. It was terribly cruel and unfair of the world to have him be within her fingertips, to finally allow her to land in Europe, and then to take him so far away again. Sending his best friend back and leaving him behind felt like the punchline to the joke that was so obviously her heart.

Take that, the universe was saying, you still don’t get to have him, spoiled girl. In her lowest of times, right before she went on stage or nights that she spent having everyone around her praise her she wondered if fame was the price for her man. She didn’t want it either way; she wanted him always.

“Take it all away,” she prayed one night, once her tears had dried and her pillow was soaked and the smell of him on his jacket had wafted, “I only want him. I only need him.”

Meanwhile mother chided, “Have them send me the details on the honorariums, you’ve lost your head over there girl, just like I knew you would, I warned you, remember how I warned you? You’ve lost your head and you’ve grown very lax about these things. Make them send it to me before you even put your foot out for them to applaud, if it’s not top notch we aren’t doing it. And afterwards, you’re coming home and we’re getting this wedding settled. I’ve already got the dressmaker holding a nice dove gray-“

It all blended together in the end, her own lies and her mother’s requirements and in abashed desperation she had managed to plead and finagle Herb to actually book her into “something swanky in London, anything Herb, I just need it to be legitimate to stave her off!”

It was cruel torture to say goodbye to everyone at Thorpe, Julie took her sweet time with it and permitted herself to get a little sniffly about it. This prompted a flurry of produced tissues and solicitous hugs and assurances of Major Egan’s love. It made her sorely tempted to curl into a ball of sheepskin and hide in a footlocker in this nice place till doomsday -let the world try and find her if they dared.

“Send me word!” she charged Gale and Croz, gripping jacket sleeves for extra emphasis, “If he gets back -I’ll still be in London until late tomorrow. Send a telegram, call, whatever you must. Even if you just hear of him, you must tell me, you must! I’ll -I’ll change everything for him. If he comes, I’ll leave it all and come back. Tell him that.”

On the way to the airport Julie Jean only had their promises to do so reverberating in her head and Spangles on her lap to keep her warm. Croz’s eyes had been sadder than she’d ever seen them, sadder still then when he had asked Gale why Major Egan hadn’t followed him back home. And Buck - oh, sweet, virtuous Buck Cleven who had pulled her into his arms tightly and whispered promises of Bucky’s love and intents for their future in her ear. He had spent the entire week thanking Julie for making it possible that Marge stay with him longer with no worry for money or anything back home but in the moments where they had said goodbye, the last words he had left her with were only of Bucky.

Leaving Marge was no easy feat either. The girls had wobbled in their heels and held onto one another tightly and cried and laughed whilst feeling so ridiculous because they were aware the friendship they had formed was for life. Julie wasn’t sad to leave Marge - the only sad part of leaving was losing another piece of John - most of her sadness stemmed from having to be thrusted back to the land of selfish vultures with no care for her after being around the loveliest humans she had ever met. Everyone had been sure to level Spangles with kisses and cuddles and assuring him they would tell his father stories of the joy he brought to base.

“I’ll be sure to give him a stern talking to for getting back so late!” Marge had insisted, clutching at the jacket she had never seen Julie without. “That Bucky Egan - it was bad enough when he changed my Gale’s name. I’m not the pen-pal type, that’s what he told me the night he shipped out. He had no idea you were right around the corner, Julie Jean.”

Her heart beat with the hope that she would never make it to the airport but now here she was. Julie Jean had convinced herself there’d be something happening that would stop her reaching their destination. The driver wouldn’t arrive. Her mother would call to inform of a high paying job. The sky would fall. Bucky would run in front of their vehicle and announce he was back. Anything. But no, none of that happened. The traffic was light and the drive was quick and every step she was taking was a step further away from the future she wanted. Away from her Johnny.

Julie Jean would have to marry Vincent. None of her future children, if they allowed her any, would be safe. Her mother would never relent. The studios would never stop demanding. With each passing thought her vision began to blur and the breaths she was taking came out quicker. On her own accord, she felt herself reach for Herb’s arm in order to maintain her stance. Paparazzi were snapping photos and journalists were yelling and a few regular folks had came out to speak with her - everyone unaware she was losing the love of her life and any chance of happiness.

Bucky had promised her babies. Bucky had promised her safety. “I’d marry you first chance I got,” he had written one letter when she teased possibly visiting Europe. They had been hopeless fools in love and the world wouldn’t relent to them it seemed. She was never going to get any of that.

“We’re almost there,” Herb reassured with a sympathetic pat to the hand gripping his suit, opening the door to allow her entry. “The cameras will know you were poorly from the change in weather and tired from the shows.”

Inside the airport she didn’t feel any better but at least there were no people there to yell in her face. Herb had led her inside a private room and had been sure to lock the door behind him and now he was allowing her silence and her grievance for what might have been. She clutched the jacket tighter around herself where she had curled up on a reclining chair, Spangles asleep on the open spot beside her. This would be all she ever had. And even maybe this they would take away. After all, they had taken away her letters.

The only way they will get this off me is if they pry it off my cold, dead body.

There was a knock on the door and whispers following it. “If it’s the press I’m not pretty enough to be looked at, Herb.” She said. Her make up was running and her hair was disheveled and hiding inside the thick coat of the jacket certainly wasn’t helping the heat in her face but Julie Jean didn’t care.

She was allowed to be heartbroken. John had always told her he would take all her moods, even when she wasn’t behaving like the Hollywood starlet her mom conditioned her to be.

Herb answered the door then, but only a crack so that he was able to see the person on the other side but allow no one to look inside. He excused her, saying the traveling and working hadn’t left her feeling her best but offering her apologies to England. Whoever was on the other side of the door was clearly disconcerted. Star-struck, possibly at getting so close. Their words were breathy and they were stuttering. Julie Jean could faintly make out them saying they adored her but actually - and everything else couldn’t be discerned. Whatever it was, it held Herb’s attention long enough that the door remained open a couple more seconds before he thanked the person and turned to Julie Jean.

“Well,” the tone in his voice, amusement for the first time all evening, had Julie Jean turning in her seat. Taking her face out of his jacket for the first time. There was a paper held in his hand, brown with an approval stamp from the army and the English postal service. “This certainly changes things.”

Julie Jean quickly stood to her feet, approaching Herb with her hands outstretched so she would reach the mail even before she was next to him. She startled poor Spangles who had been deep in sleep, causing him to hop to the floor. Herb wasn’t a cruel man, not to Julie Jean he wasn’t - he extended his own arm so it was within her grasp even faster.

Julie Jean [stop] hope this finds you well and in Europe [stop] Major John Egan is back [stop] Has returned to Thorpe Abbots [stop]

Sincerely,

Major Harry Crosby

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#mota fanfic #masters of the air #mota #john egan #mota spoilers #mota imagine #john egan fanfiction #john egan x oc #john egan imagine #john egan smut #John Egan fanfic #bucky egan fanfiction #bucky egan #marge spencer #gale cleven #austin butler fanfiction #callum turner fanfiction #dear john

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caraphernellie · 1 year

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truly, madly, deeply // a.a.

librarian fem reader x abby anderson !! 🍂📚

an: im starting my training soon!! im gonna be a librarian :D

info: reader overthinks a LOT and is shy, they flirt through sapphic literature ☺️ classic loser lesbian yearning, reader is very lonely, this is kind of very self indulgent i cant lie to you,, im worried i made abby a little ooc but i think it does seem quite like her so IDKKKKKK

there was nothing you loved more than your job. you were so passionate about it - you loved books so dearly. you loved reading, spreading knowledge, and helping others.

being a librarian was the perfect job. it was a quiet environment and it combined many of the things you loved. it didn’t matter whether you were working behind the scenes cataloguing books, or if you were at the front desk working circulation, or if you were simply shelving books into their correct spaces - you loved it. it was stress free, and the conversations you got to have with customers were pleasant and made you excited.

one particularly chilly and rainy autumn morning, you were working circulation when a very pretty stranger walked up to you. you’d not seen her before, but you knew she must be a regular given the way she immediately placed down both the book and her library card gently before you.

you smiled sweetly at her, trying not to tremble as you picked up her book to scan. she was so pretty you seemed to be getting nervous.

she was all muscle and height, but she didn’t act that way. she was so gentle to you.

eyeing the cover of the book as you turned it over to scan, you spoke up. “i’ve not read this one yet. it’s on my reading list though.”

it was a sapphic novel, and you knew you had to say something - it was the perfect way to try and hint that you liked girls. it was not always obvious to people so you had to take any chance you had.

she laughed politely as you scanned her card, and you took note of her name. abigail anderson.

“it’s been on my list for a while, too,” she admitted, scratching her neck. you almost fell apart over her voice alone - you didn’t know if it was her voice in general, or the way she tried to speak lowly as to not disturb other patrons in the library.

you nodded and passed back her book and card. “they’re all yours until next week. i guess you’ll have to tell me what you thought of the book. an honest review might motivate me to move it up on my list.”

she looked you up and down once more, taking the book from your hands.

“i guess i will, then.”

and with what happened next, you felt your eyes practically turn into love hearts. it was so small, but said so much.

she put the book into a fucking book pouch.

most people wouldn’t think twice about it- but people who take care of their books are huge, huge green flags.

especially when you work a job where you see hundreds of people shove a book into their bag or even drop the book on the floor before even walking out of the building.

with rain gently spattering the windows of the library you glanced at her one last time for the day. if you had self restraint, that is.

“have a good day.”

“you too,” she replied, a pleasant smile on her face.

as she walked out of earshot, suddenly your coworker beside you broke down into quiet giggles.

“you should see how red you are!” they quietly laughed, pointing at your cheeks. “and what a great attempt at flirting that was!”

your face burned in embarrassment as you gasped. “shut up, ezra. she was… she was totally digging it, right?”

of course, for the entire week that pretty stranger had not left your mind. if anything, she consumed every little space in your mind. you were up pacing at two in the morning some nights, hoping it really was the start of something special, or if it was just another dumb, unrealistic dream your imagination had come up with.

some might say romanticising every part of your life is a blessing, or a beautiful quality to have. but to you, it was just something that came with being a bookworm, your mind filling with cliches and maladaptive thoughts over everything until you went insane.

it was exhausting.

ezra hadn’t forgot, either. they teased you everyday, letting you know that it was a day closer to when you would see abby again.

ezra also knew a bit more about abby than you did, as they worked the circulation desk more than you did on the days abby would come in, and they didn’t hesitate to tell you what would be very helpful information.

abigail, or abby, as she preferred, which ezra had told you, came in weekly to borrow and return primarily classics and sapphic lit.

she was perfect. probably the dreamiest human being ever. tall, buff, and she had good taste in literature.

today was the day! you’d been looking forward to this tuesday for the whole week, but you had this horrible feeling inside of you, too - what if it went wrong?

to ezra’s knowledge, abby was single, so you didn’t have to worry about that, but still - what if she didn’t even like you in general?

what if she didn’t show up at all?

and that was how you knew you were being delusional about this whole thing - you had one conversation that lasted a minute. and now you wondered if she even cared as much as you did, or if she had literally forgotten about you.

it felt like you were staring at the clock all day long, taking note of every time an hour passed.

she didn’t come.

at the end of the day, you tried not to look disappointed as you got ready to leave. you grabbed your umbrella, noticing the pouring rain.

you couldn’t help but feel like maybe you were overreacting, but the miserable rain said exactly how you felt on the inside.

you stepped over orange leaves soaked into the road as you walked to your car and thought about her again.

you just wanted your happily ever after already.

abby had no idea what had gotten into her - she really spent all of last night writing a spoiler-free review of some dumb romcom for the cute librarian. reading romcoms was typical for her, sure, but writing an in depth, spoiler free review? for the cute librarian?

unusual behaviour, for sure, but there was no way she would let whatever this was lead to a dead end. and as abby was walking towards the door of the library, crunching leaves in her path on a day that finally wasn’t raining, she realised she had forgotten something.

she mumbled a curse quietly to herself as she grabbed the paper she’d typed up and printed out, leaning against the wall and fishing through her bag for a pen.

she finally found one, scribbling down her name and number in what she hoped was legible handwriting, drawing a small heart next to it.

with a small nod at herself she finally mustered the courage to walk through the doors. she paused for a second in defeat, spotting the front desk with no sign of you there. fuck. how embarrassing, she mused.

she’d seen you shelving a few times in the past when she’d come, and admired you from a distance. she was praying to god that that was the case today.

she walked up to ezra, who she’d seen many times, to return the book. they gave her a knowing smile.

abby nervously returned the smile, turning back to walk upstairs. she held the paper so delicately in her hand, trying her best not to crease it, and fiddled with her braid in the other hand.

as she reached the top of the stairs, she was so relieved upon seeing your checkered brown blazer that she almost jumped in the air.

this was the hard part - getting the courage to speak to you. she almost didn’t want to disturb you while you were working, you just looked so cute in the dark lighting, searching through the classifications to find the right spot for every book you shelved.

until she noticed you struggle to lean up and push in a book on the highest shelf. that was her chance.

“hey, you need help?” she asked, walking over and leaning a little closed to you. she cringed a little at the way she sounded, so shaky and nervous for no reason - it’s not like you were going to laugh at her.

you jumped a little, looking at her, unable to stop a wide smile from crossing your face.

“if that’s okay- i just have some trouble with the high shelves sometimes…”

“of course, no big deal.” abby suddenly felt a bit more confident, taking the book from your hands gently. “where am i putting it?”

you pointed up high at a little gap you had created. “just up there, thank you-”

“hey, it’s no problem,” abby said as she shelved the book with ease, then leaned down to squeeze your shoulder. she liked the way you suddenly grew bashful over that. “i know i was supposed to come in yesterday- i needed an extra day to finish…”

“oh! that’s alright,” you laughed off, suddenly feeling a bit dumb. of course she needed an extra day to finish. why hadn’t you thought of that? “one extra day’s not bad. so how was the book?”

now abby didn’t exactly know what to say - she knew there was a chance she’d come across weird. she rehearsed this a million times and yet she strayed so far from the script she’d made in her head.

“uh- s-so i had like a lot of thoughts about it and- i mean, i don’t know, there was a lot to say. so i kinda wrote a- a review? no spoilers, don’t worry! i just-”

“no way!” you exclaimed, a wide smile on your face. you realised you were a little loud then, trying to calm down. “that’s really nice! thank you-”

“it’s no biggie,” abby mumbled shyly, handing you the written review and rubbing the back of her neck. she was close enough that she could smell your perfume - a warm, vanilla scent, almost like cookies.

she couldn’t help the small smirk that played at her lips when she noticed you stutter and pause when you saw her number at the bottom of the page.

“i- thank you- i’ll read it when i get home,” you said, a quiet giggle accompanying it. everything about you drove abby insane.

“you got any recommendations for what i should read this week?” abby asked.

#tlou2 fic #abby anderson #abby anderon x reader #abby x reader #fem reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby tlou #abby anderson x reader fluff #⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ fanfic

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written-in-flowers · 17 hours

Text

His Mistress: Demon!Jongho x Fem!Reader

Pairing: demon!Jongho x Fem!reader

Genre: smut, some angst/fluff

Word Count: 11k

Summary: YN takes to her new status as "Lady" very well. Yet, even as she edges closer to her former self, YN cannot help feeling the loneliness of the big keep. Only her servant, Jongho, could reassure her that even if she's in Hell, she isn't alone.

Tags: sub!jongho, switch!reader, mistress/servant synamic, 69-positions, bondage, restraints, monster fucking, demon fucking, light bdsm, rough oral, oral sex, edging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, thigh fucking, pet names, nipple play, dirty talk, tiny bit of squirting, exhibitionism(?), reader's first time as a femdom, emotional hurt/comfort, reader gets angsty at one point, childhood guilt, childhood trauma, mentions of abuse,

Previously on Pretty Pet > Next

***

“You remind me of a bear sometimes.”

On the ledge of your bathroom window, you watched Jongho prepare your morning bath. He wore his usual butler uniform with its tailored lines and shiny buttons. You couldn’t help seeing it while you looked at him. His square shoulders, his round cheeks and height gave him the presence of one. The fact he smelled like pinewood in fresh air strengthened the image.

“A bear?” he scoffed in a laugh. “What makes you say that?”

“Your size,” you thought out loud. “Your body and what’s in your pants.”

Even with his back turned to you, you knew he’d blushed. No matter how many times he’d seen you nude, been close enough and alone long enough, Jongho kept his distance. The moment in the bathroom was as far as he’d gone with you. Not that it bothered you. It felt nice knowing not everyone in the house desired you that way.

“Bears are meant to be scary,” he said, testing the water with his hand before deciding the temperature suitable. He looked over at you, brown hair hanging in his eyes, “Are you saying I’m scary?”

“To the wrong people, I’m sure you are.”

You walked to the tub, removing your thin chemise in the meantime, and stepped into the bubbly bathwater. Jongho appeared more than shocked when he woke up to the state of you and your bed. The peonies and vines you’d grown last night covered most of the bed; the moss parts acted like a blanket that trapped your body heat inside. The fact you'd gone to bed muddy bothered everyone but you. The dirt on your body felt more like a second skin than grime. You thought about staying that way until Jongho insisted you clean up.

Everything that happened yesterday came back in a blurry haze, staying in emotions and sensations than mental pictures. You thought you might have dreamed it all. You expected to wake up to Hongjoong’s kisses on your skin again, about to spend the day with San next. Your experience in the greenhouse felt akin to a religious experience. In the dirt and plants, an epiphany came. You aren't a slave. You are a goddess. A goddess of the trees. You'd dreaded waking up that morning in case it didn't really happen. However, you only woke to a stunned Jongho.

“I meant it in a kind way,” you inhaled the steaming scents coming from the water, “It’s comforting.” The water felt better than before. With it located near the windows, the sunlight energized you.

“How so?” Jongho took a gentle bath poof, and began washing you. He’d used the orange blossom oil this time. You soaked your lungs in the aroma, letting it wash over you along with the cloth.

“Sometimes…” you paused, unsure whether to be honest. “Sometimes, I feel alone here.”

“Alone? Psh, hardly, YN. You’re always around us and The Masters.”

“But even then, it can be lonely at times,” you said. “People around here usually talk to me just to end up sleeping with me. I’m not complaining, because it’s great, but…”

“It sucks when that’s all that happens?”

“Yeah,” you admitted in a groan. Lifting your other arm from the water, Jongho ran the wet cloth over your skin. “I wish they knew I was more than my body. They all talk as if we’re deeply in love, but they hardly know anything about me. They only know the bad things I’ve done, not anything else. If it wasn’t sexually related, they didn’t ask about it. Seonghwa might dig a bit deeper but that’s because he’s used to peeling back people’s layers.”

“Well,” Jongho let you sit up to wash your back, “That can change now. You’re not a slave anymore. You’re a Lady of Eden, and that’s not an empty title.”

“It’s not?”

“Psh, not at all. Lilith is a pretty important figure in Inferno,” he went from back to front, “She’s Prince Asmodeus’s sister, so naturally she is a princess. You’re one of her granddaughters, so you get the title of ‘Lady’.”

“Wow,” you soaked in the information, a giggle in your throat, “I’m a lady.”

“A beautiful one at that,” he said.

“Aw, Jongho,” you cooed, pinching his cheek.

He laughed softly. “You don’t have to go to breakfast, if you don’t want to. You can do whatever you want without their permission. You could even go outside the keep if you wished. You aren’t a slave anymore, Mistress. You’re a lady, and you will be treated like one.”

You rested your arm on the edge, head on top of it, and you grinned at him. “That means I can do whatever I want, right?”

“Absolutely. You don’t even have to go through with the schedules they’ve given you.”

“What a relief that’d be!” you blurted out to his laughter. “San has me do ‘housewife’ duties but not actually do them at the same time? It makes no sense. Cook also hates it when I go into the kitchen, but I have to on San’s days.”

“Don’t take that too personally,” he said. “Cook doesn’t like having anyone in the kitchen. He doesn’t even like the other cooks being there.”

“Hongjoong and Seonghwa don’t make it easy either,” you continued. “Seonghwa always wants to talk about things that happened in the past. His schedule feels like school, and Yeosang can be the worst.” Even with the last lesson going better than anticipated, you hated it nevertheless. “I can’t play music I like. I can’t read books I like. It only has to be the boring, classical stuff that nobody understands or cares about. Hongjoong just wants to fuck all the time. Literally, everything with him is sexual to one degree or another. I don’t normally complain about it, since it’s mind blowing, but it’d be nice if…if we just sat and talked. Itd be nice to know them and for them to really know me. It's stupid that it takes me being their equal to earn that, but it's a start.”

“It certainly is. The Masters have always respected you, Mistress. They only had good intentions with you.”

“I'm sure that was true but it never felt that way. Jongho,” you addressed him, “I spent my entire life living under someone else. I had to go by their rules and their standards. I only got power after I took it from them. For once, I felt important. I felt good. The only rules I lived by were my own. Then I came here, and became that nobody again. I ended up in this pretty cage to dance and bend over whenever they wanted. It's…”

“Restraining? Suffocating? Exhausting?”

“Yes,” you sighed, sinking back into the water. “I was somebody, Jongho.”

“I’ve heard,” he said, rubbing the loofa over your feet and toes. “A big hotshot businesswoman who conned people out of their money.”

“I wanted to be something more. I didn’t want to grow up to be my mother: getting pregnant right after college, working a minimum wage job and putting up with an abusive husband.” It turns out, you’d been completely wrong about that. “I wanted more from life. I saw she was a little nobody, and decided I’d be the opposite. I became friends with the popular kids at school; I dated the hottest boys, wore trendy clothes, and everyone knew me. When I graduated, I became a mail worker at a big corporate place. I managed to get a desk job after I paid a friend to falsify documents and degrees for me to use in resumes.”

“Then, you went on to become a stock broker.”

“In the worst way,” you said. Your previous life came back to you in the warm water and Jongho’s gentle touches. “I once got a girl fired so I could take her manager position. I made it look like she’d been stealing important documents from the big boss’s desk. He was paranoid that the competition was ‘stealing secrets’ from us. All I did was make it seem like she worked for them, and he fired her on the spot. I got the promotion, and earned more money.”

“What happened to her?”

“Have no idea,” you shrugged. A pang of guilt hit you thinking about it. “I assume she got a job elsewhere. It wasn’t like she couldn’t get one.”

“It was still a dirty move to pull.”

“But I pulled it.”

“So, the big boss just believed you? He didn’t investigate himself?”

“Yup,” you shut your eyes, enjoying his caresses on your body. “He said I was the only person he could trust.”

“Huh, that’s interesting.”

“Why?”

“You’d think somebody who is paranoid of everyone wouldn't blindly trust an office assistant.”

“I spent a lot of time around him. It's easy to manipulate people when you know what moves them. His happened to be his big ego and attention.”

Henry should have known better, in your opinion. Eventually, you ended up leaving the company after his wife found out about you both. It surprisingly worked in your favor since a friend of Henry’s took you on as his office manager. You don't feel good about it now, but at that moment it brought you on top of the world. The men who sought to control and own you became your puppets. They danced to your tune, all with the hope of gaining your love and affection. Some genuinely wanted a relationship, but you never went for them. You’s wanted to live without attachment back then, but as you thought to yourself, perhaps that wasn't so true anymore.

Jongho sunk his hand down to your thighs, which made you jump at first contact. He didn’t do it with the sexual caresses of your masters or Yeosang. Jongho remained precise and professional.

“You don’t like it?” you asked him, seeing his flustered cheeks.

“Like what?”

“Touching me there.”

“Oh, that…Um, I mean…Of course…”

“It’s okay if you don’t,” you said. “I know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“No, no, you are,” he stammered. “You are my cup of tea, for sure.”

You giggled. “That’s hard to believe when everyone’s gotten a sip but you.”

“I had my sip,” he said. “I sipped it right here.”

“You only watched.”

“So did Yunho.”

“Yes, but he’s hardly around me. You’ve had plenty of opportunities and haven’t given in.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No, just curious.”

“I suppose because I can control myself when the others can’t,” he shrugged. “You were the Master’s pet, not mine.”

You leaned against the edge of the tub, bringing yourself within inches of him. “But I’m not anymore,” you said, moving closer to him. “I’m sure I can take up as many pleasure slaves as I wish. Would you if I put a collar on you?”

He laughed shyly, “Is that even a question? Naturally.”

“At least you can control yourself,” you noted. “If any of the others were here, they’d bury their faces in my pussy.”

“I understand I have a job to do,” he said. “Things like that can be saved for another time.”

“You mean when there’s no schedule or hurry to get somewhere?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “If I want to do anything with you, I’d wait until there’s plenty of time. I don’t want to rush through it.”

You grinned, rolling on your side to face him. “You want to enjoy me the right way.”

“Yes. You deserve that.”

“I do?”

“You’re always being fucked in a hurry,” he said. “The other servants do it in between schedules or when the masters are already going at you. I like to go at my own pace.”

“How sweet,” you said. “It’s nice to know for future reference.”

He finished cleaning you up, and you stood from the water. Despite what he’d said, you saw the way Jongho’s eyes lingered on your naked body. You never got over their lust for you. You’d lived in the keep for three months, and you still caught them looking at you. You swore they watched you through the mysterious peepholes around the place. It boosted your mood whenever you managed to arouse one of them, even if momentarily. With your new status, you knew you could manipulate that. The charms you’d worked on weaker men seemed to work on full-blooded demons as well.

You couldn’t wait to see how well it works.

Leaving the bathroom, Jongho took you to the dressing room. Wooyoung already picked out the ‘San’ outfit of the day: a light green dress with its cinched waistline, frilly full skirt, and closely snug bodice. The pretty, elegant housewife that San adored. It disgusted you. Turning to Wooyoung, you put your hands on your hips and said:

“Yeah, I’m not wearing that.”

“What?” Wooyoung looked at you in disbelief. He turned to Jongho, “She’s kidding, right?”

“I’m the one talking, and no, I’m not kidding. I’m not June Cleaver. I’m not wearing this.”

“Master San-”

“-Can wear it if he likes it so much. I want something newer, something more modern, and doesn’t constrict me.” Visions of a former, fully-human YN sprung back to you in a series of fond memories: Going to dance clubs with friends on weekends; taking drives around town listening to music and smoking cigarettes. “I want to wear high-waisted pants and shorts again; ripped knees, lacy shirts and leg warmers. I want bright, funky colors and makeup styles. I want my teased hair or tight curls or whatever I’m into at the moment. I want the elegance of Princess Di and the sexiness of Madonna. I want to be cute and feminine like Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles.” You thought about it with longing, “I want to be me again.”

Wooyoung nodded, hand on his chin as he considered your request. “An 80’s babe, huh? I can make that work. I’ll need time though.”

“That’s fine,” you said. “I’m sick of being dressed up like a Barbie doll. I’m more than that.”

“Then what are you wearing today? Nothing?”

You looked around the dressing room. For once, you browsed the different outfits yourself. Seonghwa’s styles bordered between lolita dolls to elegant rich girls. Hongjoong like the hot goth girl with fishnets and lace. San, as you knew, liked full skirts and heels. No. None of that. You found a button down in Seonghwa’s section, white with a red polka dot design. With scissors from the nail kit, you cut it across, creating a loose crop top. You discovered a pair of distressed acid wash shorts in Hongjoong’s part, which you paired with a white belt with a crescent-moon buckle. Simple white sneakers remained hidden behind San’s shoe collection, which you tied on yourself.

“Accessorize,” you said next, grabbing oversized hoop earrings, multiple bangles and necklaces.

Excitement shoots through your nerves as you put yourself together. It reminded you of nights out with friends or trips to the mall.

“Oh my god, I remember doing stuff like this at the mall!” you sighed fondly, slipping on several bangles. “I’d go there every weekend with my friends and we’d shop around, try stuff on, get food at the food court, hang out and gossip. It was the best,” you beamed.

“Like a true 80’s teen.”

You turned around, and Wooyoung wore a bright, wide smile. Shaking his head, he had clasped hands over his mouth as he took you in. He let out a cheer, clapping as you twirled in front of him.

“Get in the chair, girl,” Wooyoung said, excited beyond belief. “Get in the chair. I know exactly what to do. Jongho, get my hair kit.”

You’d never seen the stylist so ecstatic before.

“I have been dying to experiment!” he confirmed, working gel through your hair. “I love a good lolita style or a punk rock look, but gosh it got so dull. Where’s the pizzazz? The flare? The fire? Everything looked so dated! If I had to make one more frilly dress, I was going to puke.”

By the time Wooyoung finished, you felt refreshed. Staring at yourself in the long mirror, you didn't feel like a slave anymore. You might as well be at Saks, trying on new clothes for your wardrobe after being at the salon. You twirled again, trying to see it from all angles before deciding you loved it.

“It's gorgeous!” you beamed, fixing your hair around your face. The old you. The one who didn't wear a collar or work in a brothel. Happiness swelled in your chest, burning your eyes with tears. “I love it so much! It's absolutely wicked!” you turned to Wooyoung, jumping and hugging him tightly. “You're the best!”

“Thank you, I know.”

“I need more,” you told him, still in his arms. “I need so much more. How soon can you have it done?”

“Next week,” Wooyoung said. “Any icon you want in particular?”

“Surprise me.”

“Done.”

He kissed both your cheeks, snapped his fingers for his assistants to pack up everything. Wooyoung made a box with his fingers, eyeing you through it like a photographer does to their subject.

“It's totally inspired,” Wooyoung said happily. “I'm going to make you an absolute icon. Everyone will be talking about it. Everyone, everyone, everyone!”

“That's exactly what I want.”

“Good. Come by my shop tomorrow. We can go over designs together.”

“Perfect!”

You saw the clothes people wore in the city. It spanned between medieval and contemporary, but mostly remained drab and dark. You didn't mind a bit of black from time to time, though not every day. Fluffing up your hair again, you left the dressing room and walked to breakfast. You knew you'd be late, and that Cook will grumble when you change your menu, but you didn’t care. A light, airy feeling came over you, making you feel positively giddy.

“Today is the start of something great, Jongho,” you smiled going down the stairs. “I can feel it!”

“Absolutely, Mistress. I'm glad to see it.”

When you walked into San's dining room, the butterflies in your stomach fluttered more. Sitting at his usual spot at the table, coffee and breakfast in front of him as he read a newspaper.

“Morning!” you said, strutting into the dining room with hopes that he'd notice you. The daisies in the centerpiece did. You didn’t know how, since they didn’t move, but they did.

“Morning, Darling,” he said, sipping his coffee and continuing to read. “You took quite a while. I thought I was going to have to go to your dressing room myself. Wooyoung being indecisive again?”

“Not really,” you stood in front of him, “He and I were collaborating on something new.”

“Oh? Like what?” When he finally put the paper down, his face dropped. San sat there taking you in for a minute or so before he spoke. “This is certainly a change.”

“A big one,” you grinned. “Do you like it?”

“Does my opinion matter?” he said, unable to look away from you.

“Of course it does,” you said, sitting down in front of him. Jongho poured your coffee and set out the cream and sugar for you. You began fixing it yourself, “I might not be your slave anymore, but I still care about you. I hope you’d feel the same?”

“Yes, you little fool,” he said with a slight head shake, smiling softly. “I'd never stop caring for you, Darling. I can still call you that, can I?”

“I quite like it, so yeah,” you beamed, getting a sip of coffee. Jongho served your breakfast, a spinach omelet with nothing else. “Yeah, I'm not eating this. I want pancakes and bacon.”

“But, um, the masters planned healthy meals for you, Mistress,” Jongho said timidly. “I’m not sure if Cook can go outside the plan.”

“Tell him that he can, and he will because I want crispy bacon and a stack of fluffy pancakes.”

Jongho glanced at San, and you knew what he was asking. Even with your new status, you needed permission.

“With some eggs, at least?” San suggested to you.

“Eggs are fine. Could you tell Cook I'd like pancakes, eggs and bacon, please?”

“Right away, Mistress.”

He took your plate back and left in a puff of smoke. San still grinned in amusement over his newspaper.

“Someone's changed overnight,” San noted, surprised by your new attitude. “You took to your new status easier than I thought you might.”

“It isn't much different to my previous life,” you shrugged, fixing your coffee on your own. “I just get called ‘Mistress’ instead of ‘Ma'am’.”

“What about the clothes upstairs?” he asked. “We paid a lot of money for those. I'd hate to see them get wasted.”

“I can still wear some of them,” you said. You took a sip of your coffee, and hummed at the sweetness. “I'll keep the ones I like. I'm tired of rotating the same outfits because you three wanted to dress me up like a doll. Everything in that closet is so old and lame. You wanted me to shine, but I was doing anything but that.”

“If you hated your dresses-”

“-I didn't hate them. They just weren't me.”

“Well, if you wanted something else, you could have asked me. I would've had Wooyoung make you new things.”

“I didn't know I could.”

“I'm not Seonghwa,” he said, going back to his coffee and newspaper. “I don't mind bending my own rules every so often. I told you I wanted you to be happy.”

“I thought you meant the type of happiness you approved of at the time.”

“No. I want you to be whatever type of happy you feel.” He then said, “Even if you prefer sleeping in a greenhouse now.”

“I didn't sleep there.”

“One of the maids said your bed is covered in flowers and moss.”

“That kind of happened on its own? I was thinking about my mother again and she loved peonies. I guess that extended to the vine I had on my arm.”

“That is one thing we hoped you'd at least want to do,” he said. “We don't know the extent of your powers yet. You need to learn how to control them the way other demons do. We can't have doors getting blown off whenever you throw a tantrum.”

“How would I do that?”

“With a mix of people.”

“Like?”

“Yeosang, Yunho, Mingi, Seonghwa, Hongjoong and myself,” he said, “To name a few. In a way, they are still those lessons you hated but now actually things you need. It won't be easy, but we'll be there to help you.” He noticed the wilting daisies, and said, “Let's do something now: tru making those healthy again.”

“They are pretty sad,” you frowned, looking at the flowers in their tiny vase. “The vase is too small for them and nobody’s changed the water.”

“You can make them grow. Give it a shot.”

You reached out to the lowest hanging one. Delicately, you touched one of its smooth petals, seeing where it began withering away. You smiled when gradually, the small bundle began filling with color again. Their stems turned their normal green, and the tiny buds along the stems bloomed right before your eyes.

“There…” you smiled at the flowers, “All better.”

“Plant manipulation,” San concluded. “That much is obvious. With a bit more training, we can find out what other abilities you have hidden inside you.”

“Does Yeosang have to be there?”

He chuckled, “Not all the time.”

Jongho brought your breakfast, and you groaned at the sight of it. “I always used to get pancakes after a night out,” you said, drizzling syrup on them. “Nothing's better than stuffing your face after getting plastered.”

San smiled as he watched you eat your breakfast. He took in your new look and attitude from afar. You're sure he'd hoped you'd keep wearing the dresses, but he knew you wouldn't. You'd broken free of your collar, and you'd never do what you didn't want to again.

“Before you go gallivanting around the city,” he said, finishing his coffee and breakfast, “You'll have to go to the registration office. You have a meeting with Jackson.”

“The department head guy?”

“That's him. He has paperwork you need to read through and sign.”

“Ugh, even in Hell you can't escape red tape.”

“It's an essential part to the system unfortunately,” he agreed.

“Do you have paperwork? I'm not even sure what it is you do there.”

“I work the battleground most days,” he said. “But, there are days where I commentate instead so yeah, there's paperwork sometimes. You know, reading off the list of challengers and fighters, knowing their stats and skills.”

“So, like sports?”

“Yeah. Everyone goes to the arena, so there’s also ticket sales, concessions, and other boring financial stuff too. It's the worst part of it.”

“Can I go sometime?”

“You're free to do as you like.”

“But I still want to ask. I'd be a dick if I showed up without you wanting me to be there.”

“Why would I not want you there? I'd love to have my Darling cheering me on from the stands.”

“I don't know,” you shrugged. “I had a boyfriend who hated it when I showed up to his football practices. He said he felt embarrassed because his teammates would talk about me.”

“Shitty boyfriend then.”

“Very. I dumped him a week later.”

San laughed, and you began discussing previous partners. Talking to him as normal couples do felt refreshing. The barrier between master and slave lifted and you became equals. Whether they liked it or not, they had to address you like a person.

“I am going to miss coming home to you,” he said as you walked with him to the apartment door. “I liked walking in to see you all dolled up and waiting for me. It felt nice.”

“I’ll still be here when you come back,” you told him. “It’s not like I’m going to completely throw out everything.” You wrapped your arms around his midsection, “I’ll always want to have dinner and spend time with you. That part doesn’t change.”

“Like I said, the schedules were Seonghwa’s dumb idea,” San assured. He kissed your forehead, “I didn’t mind you having freedom. Now, it seems I have no choice in it anymore.”

“Not entirely,” you kissed his lips, then said, “Have a good day.”

“I will now that I’ve gotten kisses from you.”

“Ugh, you’re so corny sometimes,” you laughed.

“You love it.”

You both said goodbye again, and you turned to Jongho who stood behind you. “San says I have a meeting with someone named Jackson?”

“You do,” Jongho nodded. “Yunho gave me the news in the kitchen. He’s expecting us soon. Unless, you’d rather not go?”

“It sounds important, so we should probably go,” you said. “I love a little city excursion. Go get Mingi and bring a car around. I’ll go grab a purse.”

“Will do, Mistress.”

He disappeared and you left the apartment. Purse options being quite limited, you chose one and transferred things from the last one. Determined to make the most of your day, you’d go to the boring meeting, then do something fun. You didn’t know what yet, but Jongho might have an idea or two.

****

Demon transportation varied depending on taste. Hongjoong liked the sleek luxury vehicles befitting a rich boy; Seonghwa’s white and gold carriages reminded him of his times in mortal world; San drove old fashion muscle cars and motorcycles. You remembered from times in the city that demons drove all kinds of cars and bikes. Taxis could be cars or horses and buggies. In the backseat of a fancy black car, you watched the multiverse of Inferno move past you. On paved roads, you saw the metropolis demons created for themselves. You learned fashion spanned centuries: you saw men dressed like Roman gladiators and women dressed in the height of Victorian style. One street vendor wore a jester’s costume and sold peppermint sticks and hard candies. A couple strolling the market district wore the Korean hanboks of kings and queens.

“I never realized how diverse this place was,” you said to Jongho. He sat beside you while Mingi drove down the street. Your bodyguard never refused a trip into the city. “People really just kept on living whatever life they lived upstairs.”

“It was a lot easier than adapting to a new society, I suppose,” Jongho shrugged. “Not many demons like admitting it, but when we started going up into the living world, we picked up a lot of human customs. Everything from fashion to music to sports and entertainment. We sort of absorbed it then regurgitated it back out.”

“Mingi mentioned that to me yesterday,” you said, staring out the window. “It’s messed up. Demons like looking down on humans, but they actually take so much from us. They hate us, but won’t admit how much they actually need us.”

“Us?”

“You know what I mean.”

“And not all demons hate humans,” he said. “I quite like them. They’re fun to mess with.”

“In what way?”

With a click of his fingers, the purse on your lap vanished before your eyes. Before you could protest, you saw it in Jongho’s hand. He gave you a mischievous smile, handing you the bag back, “You should’ve seen what I could do in the living world.”

“Huh?”

“Up in the living world, I used to possess people and cause general mischief,” he shrugged, “No big deal.”

“Sounds like a big deal,” you snorted. “What’s it like possessing someone?”

“It varies,” he said. “Some people made it incredibly easy while others put up a fight. You kind of have to linger around for a bit and do stuff. You know, like opening all the drawers in their house, making weird sounds, and the usual tricks. Professionals know to start with the soft stuff before pulling out the big guns.”

“You mean general ghost stuff to make them think it’s a poltergeist or a spirit and not a demon?”

“Precisely. It’s all in the mind games. Get them paranoid. Gaslight them and make them see stuff or question their own sanity little by little. Ooh, and if it’s a couple?! Double the pleasure, double the fun,” he laughed, delight in his soft eyes. “I used to like turning them on one another. The negative energy really opens up the gateway into possession. Then, when you finally got ‘em good and angry, then the fun begins for real.”

“Tell me more,” you insisted.

Jongho then divulged into various possession stories. He told you about the young man he took on a crime spree across South Korea. He mentioned the young couple he terrorized for months before they found a priest unafraid of demons. He delivered every story with the same delight a person does with fond memories. It felt good sitting next to him, listening and talking without sex being involved. You enjoyed a good fuck as much as anyone, but must it be every time?

“Did you ever possess anyone, Mingi?” you asked, resting your head on the partition window.

“Nah, not my thing,” he shook his head. “It feels like wearing someone’s old, dirty clothes. It’s gross to me.”

“Have you done it?”

“A few times. It’s sort of a right-of-passage thing for younger demons,” he answered. “It’s expected.”

“Oooh, can I possess people?” you asked, excited.

“Nope,” Jongho said from behind you. “You’re part-human, Mistress.”

“I have demon blood though.”

“Not enough for you to enter another person’s mind and corrupt their spirit,” he smiled at your excitement. “Besides, you don’t need to possess someone to get them to do what you want. You have your charms and your lips to do that.”

“My kisses just make people horny. That’s not that special.”

“I’m sure if you experimented, Mistress, you’d be able to do more than control a person’s genitals with those lips.”

“You think I can control people?” you asked, sitting back in your seat beside him. “Like, their minds?”

“Maybe. I’ve seen it done. We’d have to test it as we go.”

“And here we are,” Mingi interrupted, stopping the car outside an office building.

You might be back home on the way to work if it weren’t for the eternal smog covering the skies and the constant heat. The range of different demons also changed the scene considerably. On a sign outside, you saw the words “City of Inferno Official Headquarters” with a directory sign beside it. There, you glimpsed departments such as “Crossroad Appeals Office”, “Possession and Infestation”, and “Cambion Counseling and Aid”. Jongho didn’t lie. Demons truly modeled themselves after humans in every aspect of life.

Mingi opened your door for you and you stepped out. Putting on sunglasses from your purse, you gazed around the front area while Jongho discussed a wait time with Mingi. You always imagined Hell being a landscape of fire and brimstone, not a city with buildings and parking spaces. The revelation had been startling at first. When Jongho came back to you, he led you into the building.

“Just let me do the talking,” he told you as you entered. “Master Seonghwa submitted your initial paperwork already, but you do need to sign and confirm some things with Jackson.”

“What paperwork?”

“Nothing major,” he said, pressing an elevator button, “Just basic information to have on hand: family names, occupations, housing, offspring and all that. Since you went unregistered your entire life, you’ll have a few more questions than most people.”

It sounded dull, but you didn’t want the masters getting into trouble. They may have kept you like a pet, but they didn't ongoing mistreat or abuse you. At least, not in a way you didn't consent to. You entered the elevator, and Jongho pressed for the fourth floor. You rode in silence, nerves starting to pinch as the elevator climbed.

“Fourth Floor: Department of Cambion Relations, Cambion Counseling and Aid, and Cambion Registration,” a cool female voice said as the doors opened up onto the floor.

Across the entire floor, you saw dozens of cubicles and desks. Demons worked on computers, typing up reports or answering phone calls. A few passed by you with folders or boxes with more papers inside. The hum of general chatter, printing machines, computers and keyboards reminded you once again of home. You breathed in the crisp air, letting it sink into you. Jongho brought you over to a reception desk near the doorway, where a female succubus sat working on her computer.

“Morning,” Jongho said, “We’re here to see Mr. Wang from Registration?”

“Room thirteen,” she said, without looking away from her screen.

“Thanks.”

Jongho led you alongside the office space, both your footsteps muffled by the carpeted floors. The atmosphere remained alive and buzzing. It brought back memories of the YN you left behind. Finding Room Thirteen, Jongho gave a soft knock before a voice spoke out.

“Come in.”

Jackson Wang appeared suave and chic in his emerald suit and trimmed, parted hair. You understood immediately why he and Seonghwa were friends. He'd finished typing on his keyboard when he saw Jongho in the doorway.

“Jongho, good morning! How are you?”

Jackson stood up to greet your handler. His office looked similar to many you'd seen before: clever unopened books on the shelves, fake plants in pristine pots, cluttered paperwork and leather furniture. All on top of a light blue carpet that muffled all sounds. Jackson and Jongho exchanged pleasantries while you looked around. Degrees and certificates came from universities in the living world; what sort of demon goes to a human college? You supposed college campuses might be full of “sin”. But, it sounded so unlike what demons claim to do.

“And this must be YN,” Jackson turned to you, and you shook hands. “Seonghwa told me all about you. Your story truly is unique. It's incredibly rare for a cambion to go unregistered in this day and age, especially with the new system.”

“I suppose my mother hoped I never ended up here,” you shrugged, eyeing the fake fern in the corner. You hated the fake ones. They had no life and carried that cheap plastic shine. “Seonghwa mentioned paperwork?”

“Yes,” Jackson gestured to the two armchairs, and went around to his desk chair. He began withdrawing a folder from a file drawer, “Nothing too complicated. It's mostly just documents saying you come into our world understanding our laws, and will abide by them at all times. There are a few consensus forms, since that helps us keep track of the cambion population.” He passed you a vanilla folder, “Seonghwa already went ahead and put himself down as your demon host, so the housing document is already filled out.”

“Demon host?”

“The demon you're living with until you find your own place to live or until you live with him permanently,” he said. “They're responsible for making sure you keep yourself in line, and learn our way of life down here. In normal cases, the host is usually the parent if they come back from the living world. But, in your case, it'd be Seonghwa, since he's the heir.”

The first form seems simple enough. It asked for age, date of birth, date of death, height and other useless facts. The second form listed the basic laws of Inferno, and that you understood and respected them. You didn’t see yourself committing any crimes, so you signed it. The third described what the form called “Acknowledgement of Inheritance and Social Status”.

“Inheritance?” you looked up to Jackson. “I inherit stuff?”

“Yes,” Jackson consulted his computer, typing in a few words before turning to you, “You’re a Lady of Eden so naturally that earns you a garden patch in Eden, should you want that. Since your mother is a daughter of Lilith, making you a first-generation granddaughter, you earn the title of Marchioness-”

“-Marchioness?!-”

“-Which affords you special nobility status, obviously,” he said finally.

“For example,” Jongho said, “Master Seonghwa, Hongjoong and San are Prince Asmodeus’s sons, so they’re technically Dukes over regular lords. They don’t like to flaunt their titles so much, but they have them on paper. Any children they should have would be a Marquess or Marchioness. I thought Yeosang would’ve covered the hierarchy system with you.”

“We were getting there.”

The news surprised you. You knew you’d be a person of some importance, but YN, Marchioness of Eden, sounded so official and regal.

“Your title, as it says there, changes if you ever married someone of a higher rank,” said Jackson. “Let’s say you end up marrying Seonghwa. You’d go from Marchioness to Duchess. Most demons don’t marry below their social class, but it does happen and that person goes a step down instead. Psh, it’s embarrassing in my opinion but true love conquers all I suppose.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it. With it hanging in the air, heat filled your cheeks at once. The question crossed your mind several times since learning about it. Wanting to protect you from Inferno seemed to be the only logical answer, but protect you from what? You guessed being a royal in Hell had more downsides to upsides. Your mother left her entire demon life behind her. She could have returned at any time, but chose the living world. Thinking back to the masters’ mother, you wondered if she’d originally planned on coming back home but never did. No, not Mama. She wasn't like that. Finishing up the next few documents, mostly “Visitation Confidentiality” and “Eternal Stay”, you handed the folder back to Jackson. He double checked all the forms before smiling up at you.

“Perfect,” he beamed. “I’ll send these to the certification and identification departments so you can get your identification card. It helps us keep track of the population, you see. It’ll take a few days, but with this information in the system, you’re free to visit Eden.”

“Visit Eden?”

“It’s customary for newcomers to visit their homelands, so to speak,” he placed one paper in a fax machine, punching the right number into it. “Lilith loves welcoming her children and grandchildren home. She’ll be delighted by you specifically, since you’re a first-generation grandchild.”

“What’s she like?” The thought of meeting such a high ranking demon made you anxious.

“Pleasant most of the time. Just don’t step on her hydrangeas. The Sisters of Eden will be expecting you, so I’d get it out of the way if I were you.”

“Would my mother be there?” you asked in a small voice, fear injecting itself into your veins. It made you sick. “I…I don’t know what happened to her before I died.”

You never bothered asking. Guilt stuck to your chest thinking of every time you screened her calls or pretended not to be home. You were so mean. If you had any regret, it’d be what you did to her. Would she forgive you? You pushed her away from your mind, and stood up.

“I guess we’re done here then?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he nodded, standing to shake your hand and Jongho’s, good to see you as always. Let’s get together when you’re not busy waiting on people. Though, to be honest,” he turned to look at you, “I wouldn’t mind waiting on her.”

Too blinded by guilt to really take in the compliment, you just nodded and smiled. You and Jongho left the office, and ended up in the elevator before you knew it. The last conversation you had with her came sliding back into your head.

‘Julie’s having a baby shower. You should come.”

“I hate Julie.”

“I know, but I’d…I’d like to see you, honey cake.”

She loved you so damn much. You resented her weakness, but it turned out you’d been wrong the entire time. That desperate need to fix things poked at you as you got back into the car. Yet, fear kept you planted. What if she did hate you? You’d never consider her capable of hate, but that’d been before the truth came out. You wouldn’t blame her. You’d hate yourself too if the roles were reversed.

“Mistress?” Jongho broke through your train of thought, trying to catch your glazed eyes. “Mistress?”

“Huh? Wha…Oh yeah, what’s…What’s up?”

“Where do you want to go next? The Quarter Cafe is open, and they serve the best beignets in the city.”

“I’m not hungry right now.”

“The Merchant’s District, then? They have fashion boutiques spanning across different centuries of clothing. I know this one dress maker who makes gorgeous 18th century gowns. She worked for Marie Antionette I heard. Master Seonghwa would enjoy it, for sure.”

“I’m…That’s not my thing.”

“Shopping is your ‘thing’ though.”

She wouldn’t hate you. Mama never hated anyone; not even annoying customers at the shop or that bitch Loraine who stole her peach cobbler recipe. But, you’d treated her so terribly. Your father died a few years before you, which left her alone. Safe, but alone. You like to think she came back home.

“Mistress, we can’t stay here all day.”

“Destination, please,” Mingi said, “That rent-a-cop keeps eyeing me.”

She sought out the comfort of home and her demon family. She’d be surrounded by her flowers and plants in an endless spring. Jackson suggested you go see your grandmother, which will be a different kind of anxiousness, but what if she’s there as well?

“Are there any gardening stores or florists in town?” you finally asked.

“A fair few,” he answered. “Why?”

“Take me to the best one. I want to see Octavius,” you told him, “And the rest. That greenhouse is in serious need of some serious TLC. Maybe the supply store will have whatever I need.”

“Perfect!”

Mingi drove you to a small hardware store that had a gardening station. The potted “starter plants” all cooed when you walked past them, though you’re sure only you heard them. You decided you’d buy them another time. You had plants who needed you at home. Toiling the earth and regrowing those neglected plants would force her from your mind. It’ll erase the questions and worries floating around in your head. Too much went on today for you to add her to the list. Buying the standard supplies, bags of fertilizers and fresh soil, you went back home determined to keep yourself occupied.

Anything to keep her away.

****

“I just died in your arms tonight. It must’ve been something you said. I just died in your arms tonight…”

They liked the music. You watched the yellow-mouths sway side to side to the song in separate pots as you refreshed their soil. A row of purple and pink hibiscuses sat on a shelf moving to the beat of Cutting Crew’s ‘Died in Your Arms’ above you. The small stereo you’d stolen from Hongjoong’s bedroom sat on a wooden table where Jongho placed snacks for you, but you didn’t have an appetite. Instead, you asked him to bring you a bucket of innards for Octavius’s offspring, who only ate meat.

“You guys are going to feel so good when I finish,” you said, adding a bit more soil to their box, then digging separate holes to transfer them. “Seonghwa should be ashamed of himself honestly. He created all of you, then left you to suffer here alone. You must be starving for attention.”

A low rumble came from nearby. You looked to see the purple and blue plant wiggling its stamen in the air. You smiled.

“I’ll get to you soon enough, Lucius. You just hang on. Everyone’s getting their turn.”

As you delicately placed the yellow-mouths back in their planter, you felt something shift behind you. “No, Jongho, I don’t need anything right now. Thank you.”

“It’s my job to stand nearby in case you need me, Mistress,” he said, coming up beside you.

You noticed he’d changed out of his butler uniform into a flannel shirt, boots, and denims. He looked different outside his uniform, which always looked so clean and proper. Here, he might’ve passed for a human were it not for his horns. You noticed he'd rolled his sleeves to his elbows, showing off his lean forearms. He picked up a bucket of loose soil and a spade, walking over to Lucius.

“You really don’t have to do that,” you told him, standing up from the planter and wiping off loose dirt from your knees. “I really don’t mind working here myself. It’s sort of therapeutic for me, especially after what’s been happening.”

“Mistress, you are my sole responsibility around here,” he said. He examined Lucius, taking in his withering curved petals that resembled a seat. “If I left you here alone, and something happened to you, The Masters would have my head.”

“It’s not like I’m their property anymore,” you told him. You saw Jongho starting to dig around Lucius, but you stopped him. “His soil is fine. He’s just thirsty. Samantha, watering can, please.”

One of Ocatvius’s offspring approached with a watering can. You tossed her a strip of raw meat from a bucket, and she slumped away. Once you began pouring around Lucius, the bulb glowed with life and squealed happily. It made you smile. These plants might be sentient creatures made for pleasure and pain, but they had the same needs as any other. Lucius, getting enough water, closed himself up and glowed dimly. He was good for a while.

“Like I said,” you continued, moving over to a shelf of various normal plants. “You don’t need to worry about them. I’m your mistress, and if I say you don’t have to be around, then you don’t have to be.”

You touched their faded, dry leaves and petals, feeling them clinging to life. You assessed the damage to be too much direct sunlight and no water. Pressing your hand to a nearby vine, you coaxed it to spread across the wide window. You grabbed the watering can and began pouring generous amounts in each pot. Their relief radiated off them as water seeped into their dry soil. You hated thinking how long they'd sat in the sunlight, left to die. You knew you could heal them with a simple touch, but working the plants yourself felt better. You also sensed they liked their sunlight and water given directly.

“And if I want to be?” he asked, grabbing a spray bottle to water the smaller, more delicate plants. “Would you still send me away?”

“Not really, I don’t think so. It's not like anyone around here actually talks to me,” you said. With the first shelf finished, you moved to the next one.

“I talk to you,” he said, mildly offended.

“Obviously I didn't mean you. I meant other people.”

“The others talk to you too. The Masters as well.”

“They talk about me,” you pointed out, “Not to me. They only do it when they’re horny.”

“Alright, yes that’s true at times,” he said, uncertain of how to continue now. He watched you begin repotting a dying orchid, and you knew he fished for something to say. “The Masters and the rest of us might enjoy sex with you, but that doesn’t mean it’s all we want. We are incubi after all. It’s in our nature, and it’s in yours too.” You saw him grin out of the corner of your eye, “You’ve gone after them a few times in the past. The lust isn’t entirely one sided.”

“I suppose not.”

“Since when have you cared about an emotional connection, anyways?”

“Never, but…” you held the soil bag in front of you, “But, it’d be nice if there was one.”

“And there is,” he insisted. “Master Hongjoong typically throws people out of his bed when he’s done with them, or leaves before they wake up. With you, he stays and you stay. He curls up and holds you as if he thinks you'll leave him. Master Seonghwa never lets anyone in his private library, but here he is, letting you have your lessons there. Master San, psh…” he scoffed, “You should’ve seen what he did to that one demon in the arena. He decapitated him after he said he was going to take you from him.”

“What? When was this?”

“It happened in the arena, supposedly. Some of the footmen go there on their off day to see the fights,” he said. “Occasionally, they’ll throw in demon challenger to sort of spice things up, you know? And this one big guy said he heard you’d become San’s pleasure slave. This is all just bravado a lot of the time, by the way,” he added quickly, “But what I heard through the grapevine was that he said he’d cut off San’s head then claim you as his prize. Well, according to one of the guys, San ended up chopping off his head instead.”

“He…He killed someone for me?”

“In a way,” he shrugged. “It was the night he came home with that really bad cut on his torso.”

You recalled that night as you stuck the orchid back in a brand new pot. San not being home on time was your first clue something might’ve gone wrong. Not wanting to make a huge deal out of it, you prepared dinner like normal and waited. And waited. And waited. It was nine o’clock by the time he came through the door with Yunho in tow. He’d taken off his shirt and jacket, so you saw the thick bandages wrapped around his lean torso. The spot of black blood broke the confusion right away. You remembered everything suddenly being about San and his injury. The roast you’d “made” no longer mattered. You’d gone with Yunho into the bedroom, where the butler went to work redressing San’s messy bandages. It’d been ghastly. Ripped, thick and deep, you worried Yunho might not be able to stitch it properly, but he managed expertly.

‘Don’t worry, Darling. I’ll be alright by tomorrow.’

Which he was. San’s demon blood helped him recover overnight. The shredded skin appeared to be knitting itself back together little by little, and no longer needed bandages. He never told you about the fight or what happened. He said it wasn’t important because he won. A soft smile went across your face thinking of how he spent that entire week at home with you. There’d been cuddling, kissing, talking, and soft, passionate sex. You felt entirely one with him in that moment.

“Just because it’s never said out loud doesn’t mean it’s not there, Mistress,” said Jongho. His body heat transferred to you as he stood behind you. Goosebumps went down your arms and up your neck when he touches your lower back. Middle knuckle tracing up your spine, he dragged it lazily up and down as he spoke. “I know I’d do anything you asked of me.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “In the short time I’ve known you, I’ve come to realize how special you are. You’re bold, confident, ambitious and clever. You aren't afraid to be yourself,” he said, “And you don't stand down when someone insults you. Yeosang insults everyone, and they'd take it because of who he is. But, not you. You fought a grandson of Satan, Prince of Wrath, and while you didn't win, you still did it.”

“We ended up fucking then too.”

“It's in your nature, like I said.”

You turned around to face him. Close up, you found Jongho more fascinating. His eyes, dark brown, had the typical red ring around the iris. They carried the same gentleness he showed whenever he saw you. Jongho quickly became the only person you really talked to anymore. Anything you told him stayed between the both of you. He became your friend, your assistant and confidant. Pushing a piece of his hair from his face, you took in his handsomeness. The Masters and the other servants had the conventional attractiveness of demons: lean bodies, sharp jawlines, sultry eyes and smirking lips. He had one of his own. Like a bear, he came across as cute and soft. You knew if you took off his clothes, you'd find him just as fit as the others. Hands sliding up to his shoulders, you felt the muscles rise and fall in a deep breath. In his shirt, you could feel his muscles much easier than in his uniform. Reaching his shoulders, you gave them a tender squeeze.

“Does that mean it's in your nature too?” you asked, sultry and flirty.

“At times,” he answered. He wrapped his arms around your waist, hands on your lower back. The touch warmed your body considerably. “I believe all demons, regardless of classification or status, carry lust inside them. I know,” he kept one hand behind you as the other slowly reached up your body, “That I've had trouble resisting my own instincts lately.”

“How could that be, Jongho?” you asked, gasping softly when he cupped your breast. He kneaded it gently, thumb brushing where your nipple might be. “You're always so strong.”

“You weaken me, Mistress,” he breathed, eyes focused on the tit in his hand. The touch brought back the tingling sensation. “Being around you constantly challenges my resolve. I get to bathe you. I see you naked regularly. I get to see you be fucked relentlessly by my masters. All the blood in my veins rushes to my dick when I watch you in peepholes. I stand there behind that one painting, leaking all over my hand. I kept wishing it was your pussy instead. You drive me insane, and I suffer through it constantly.”

“These hands, you mean?” You covered both his hands with yours. He moaned, feeling your hands guide him over your breasts. “The ones right here?”

“Yes, Mistress.” He gently pushed you against the shelf, trapping you between him and the plants.

“How often?”

“Too often.”

“What do you like seeing the most, hm?” you flicked his lips, letting his taste the intoxicating saliva on it. “Me getting fucked from behind? On my back? On my side? Riding their dicks? Which one?”

“I like watching them tongue your pussy,” he said, trembling from the hard nipples pushing into his hands. “Your pussy is…”

“Pretty?”

“Yes, especially when soaking wet. I just want to eat it all day, even if my jaw gets locked up. I love seeing you wriggle around when they do it. You always look so needy and begging for more. You claw the sheets,” he shuddered at the mental image, “And arch into their face.’

“I just love it so much,” you said, putting one of his fingers in your mouth. He looked up to watch you suck the digit softly. “I love it most when they finger me while they do it.” You moved even closer, toying your tits with one hand while you sucked another finger, “Or when I'm giving one of them a blowjob. You know how much I love sucking dick, particularly big, long, thick demon dick.” You finally touched the tent forming in his pants, smiling when he whimpered. Lifting his head by the chin, you made eye contact as he said, “And I’d love to suck yours.”

“Mi-M-Mistress?”

“I remember all your little whimpering and moaning when you jerked off in front of me,” you told him, feeling him through the denim. “It looked so tasty, I drooled from looking at it. I want to be the one making you whimper like that. Could you do it for me again?”

“Ye-yes,” he nodded hurriedly. “For as long as my Lady wishes.”

“Then let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” you said, lips centimeters from his before they touched.

Jongho involuntarily squeezed both your breasts as you locked lips. Lips caressing each other softly, you started unbuttoning his shirt before you appeared in your bedroom. Once the expanse of smooth, warm tawny skin became exposed, your hands smoothed right over it. Nipples already hard, you rubbed them with the sides of your thumbs. Jongho gave a short huff as the touch sparked his aroused further. You both only broke away only to remove your shirts, coming back together so your skin touched skin. Kissing him, you kept him close as you kissed. You noticed a certain type of hunger taking over the longer your tongues explored each other. The lascivious toxin in your spit mixed with his, and you knew the effect it’d have on him. He seemed to get harder, hungrier and needier. The kiss appeared to weaken Jongho, who let you slide off his jeans and underwear together. His cock free of its confines, your mouth drooled seeing the throbbing muscle. Having him fully nude, you guided him over to your bed. Lust filled his dark eyes, and he looked nowhere except at you.

Climbing on top of him, your center grinded your clothed sex to his bare crotch. You placed his hands over his head towards the board where your vines wrapped themselves around his wrists. Jongho did not pull against the restraint. If anything, it caused him to push up against you. Kissing down his neck, you left small bites and hickeys that marked his tender flesh before you reached one nipple. Jongho whimpered loudest as you licked around one nipple, so you did the same to the other. Your teasing strengthened the feeling between your legs as well. You didn’t mind being the submissive one, but the change felt nice. Jongho sounded so sweet whining underneath you, eyes closing as he relished in the pleasure you created. Leaving his nipples, you pecked down his front to the tip laying on his lower stomach.

One thin vine slid over to where you knelt, and you saw the yellow-green creeper wrap around the base of his dick and balls. The natural cockring brought on new sensations that Jongho bucked into for friction. You ran your hands up and down his thighs, kissing the inner areas to leave more small marks on them. Having you so close yet so far from his dick made it twitch on his stomach. You kissed right up to the underside of his hilt. Jongho sighed when your tongue only slid between the bottom and halfway to the shaft repeatedly. His fists clenched in his restraint, not fighting it even if his body craved more. Each time you licked upwards, you drew closer to the thick, leaking tip. It was when you cupped his balls that Jongho grew louder.

“Mistress,” he breathed, eyes closed, “Please…”

“Hm?” You started swishing your tongue over the backside of the tip.

“Please…suck on it…Please…”

“We’ll get there soon,” you promised between licks.

Swirling your tongue over the most sensitive part, you began lightly stroking him. Squeezing it gently, you moved your tongue from back to front, sliding over the slit on top to taste a bead of precum. Then, you continued only sucking the very tip while you moved your hand up and down. Jongho kept watching you through heavy lidded eyes, lips parted in every moan and whimper as you teased him. Every lick across his head had him quivering. Watching him slowly unravel before you became amusing. Using your spit to coat him, you watched your hand gradually work him. The muscle pulsed in your grasp, somehow getting harder than before. You spat on it again to see it shine in the sunlight, before taking the whole head in your mouth.

This rush of relief had Jongho writhing into the soft blankets and moss. You couldn’t get over the feeling of him dripping on your tongue. The salty drops smeared over your tongue and cheeks, and you swallowed each one. As you went further down, you tasted the smooth skin and felt each vein cross over your lips. The vines restricting his length kept him from cumming while you reached the end of his cock at last. Inside your throat, Jongho let out an uncontrollable series of moans. You let him hear you gag on him, constricting your airway each time and creating more drool to wet him with. You let him push into your face once you buried him in your throat, unable to stop himself with your hand on his balls.

“You really are so well behaved,” you croaked, spitting on his dick before licking it back up, “Letting your mistress do whatever she likes with your lovely cock. I can stay down here forever,” you sucked him further, throating him once more to hear him moan. It was when you moved hand and mouth together that he began quivering. “Mmm,” you licked up the string of precum coming down the sides, “Does my little toy want to cum?”

“Yes,” he moaned, “Yes, I do, Mistress.”

“Are you going to?”

“Only i-i-if you wish.”

“Hm, I don’t think so just yet,” you said, “I’m not done playing.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

You maneuvered yourself to face him in reverse, your sex inches from his face and continued sucking him slowly. Tiny bouts of relief came once his hot tongue slid around your aching clit. His thick cock muffled any moans it brought out, which gave a vibrating sensation Jongho loved. Unable to touch you, Jongho could only trace the folds around your pussy before sucking that hard numb. You wiggled your hips over his face, soaked pussy smearing over mouth, chin and cheeks as you did it. The light brushes drove you crazy, needing him to make you cum. You moaned loudest when he captured your clit in his mouth again and quickly swirled his tongue around it. His tongue teased out the orgasm sitting inside you little by little, not focusing on anything else than your tingling nub. Sensing your enjoyment, Jongho continued the same speed and pattern until you finally came. Even as you trembled and shook, your muscles constricting, Jongho kept going.

“Such a good…good boy,” you cried out, not stopping him as he attacked your sensitive sex. “Keep going like that,” you spat and continued jerking at him, “Make me cum again. Make your mistress cum again.”

This time, his tongue slid deep into your sex. You bounced and rocked against the appendage wriggling inside you. Jongho’s mouth had you seeing stars as he tongue fucked you.

“Don’t stop licking, Jongho,” you said, enjoying the overstimulation his tongue made, “Don’t stop.”

Jongho whimpered into your center as you sensed his orgasm approaching. You quickened the pace with your hand, counting down the seconds in your head. His toes curled inwards and his thighs shook as it came closer and closer to the edge. Right when you sensed him there, you pulled away. A muffled ‘Mistress’ came from behind you and you cackled.

“I told you I wanted to play with it,” you said innocently, sliding off him to let him breathe and come down from the edge. Kissing his wet lips, you licked up whatever juices escaped him before sliding your tongue into his mouth. “It’s so much fun.”

Laying on top of him between his legs, you squeezed his dick with your thighs. His thick shaft brushed across your drenched sex in steady, measured thrusts that drove you wild. Fingers rolling his nipples, you smiled as he haphazardly rocked his hips into you. Jongho’s heavy breaths came out with whimpering moans. You never thought you’d see your bear so frantic for a release. It brought a sense of pride to see him like a putty in your hands. You became used to submitting to your partners, since you enjoyed that more, but this felt good. For once, you are in control.

Feeling him shivering once more, you forced yourself to spread your legs apart. Jongho cried, thrashing from the slight pain of being edged once again. When he started coming back down, you lightly grinded against him. Your pussy aching to have him inside, you knew dominants didn’t particularly give into their own desires. They took pleasure from withholding from their submissive. Yet, you craved to have him deep inside you. Everytime he brushes over your entrance, you feel tempted to ride him.

‘Then ride him, Mistress.’

Octavius. His deep, raspy voice sounded in your head like your own thoughts. You glanced up to the peonies around your bed. Your carnivorous, licentious friend had eyes and ears anywhere flowers grew. You wondered if you could do the same.

The vines around Jongho’s wrists slid away, and your servant immediately grabbed your hips to angle you properly. You didn’t stop him as he filled you completely. Hands on either side of him, you steadily moved up and down on him. His cock throbbed against your walls, passing over ridges and bumps within you. Once you started, you did not want to stop. Jongho knew this, and began meeting you in the middle. He only ever came an inch or two out of you every time, and the tip pushing your g-spot made you see stars. Knowing your plant-friends watched nearby made you eager to keep going. Some of them, you knew, needed more than water and sunlight.

“Mistress,” Jongho breathed, wrapping his arms around you to keep you in place, “You feel so good. Please, don’t stop,” he began pushing into you harder and faster, “Don’t make me stop. I want to make you cum. I want to please you.”

“Is that so?” you asked, whirling your hips to move him around inside you. “You wish to please me?”

“Yes,” he whimpered. “Let me make you cum again.”

“Then go ahead,” you whispered in his ear, trying your best not to completely lose it on top of him.

Jongho flipped you onto your back right away. Putting your legs on his shoulders, your servant pumped his cock into you at a deep angle. The perfect angle, if you were honest. Balls smacking your ass, hands palming your tits and nipples, he brought you in for another kiss as he fucked you. Soon enough, your third orgasm crawled towards your center again. It became more sensitive in every thrust. His touches on your nipples, his lips and tongue on your mouth, you broke away when it finally hit you. Something wet squirted onto his balls as he kept going; you could feel that taut feeling erupting again in every cry. You thought you might go insane from his cock. The mere feeling of it stretching and filling you elongated your climax. By the time you finished, Jongho had pinned you down.

“Mistress,” he breathed, “Mistress, Mistress….Can I cum now? Please, please,” he pleaded through gritted teeth, whining as your pussy gripped him.

“Yes,” you replied, rubbing your clit to produce another orgasm. You knew your plants wanted more of it. They needed as much as they could get. “I want you to cum on me. Cum all over me, now.”

Jongho withdrew from you and violently jerked his wet dick. A couple of pumps later, Jongho’s hot cum shot over your stomach and breasts. You watched his entire body clench and shake as he came, his eyes squeezing shut and mouth open. When the last few drops fell onto your sex, you pulled him closer to kiss him again. You wanted him to stay hard just a bit longer. On your mossy bed, you rolled onto your stomach and grinded into his dick. Apparently, your butler wasn’t fazed by how he hadn’t grown soft. He didn’t question or object. He almost seemed incapable of comprehending what was happening. Perhaps your kisses can be dangerous to a person’s sanity.

You giggled as Jongho plunged back into you.

***

A/N: Talk about some big changes in this house. Is YN truly loved or simply lusted over and coveted? That remains to be seen. At least she's got her big bear <3 please like and reblog <3

#pirateeznet #ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez smut #choi jongho #jongho x reader #jongho x you #jongho ateez #ateez jongho #jongho smut

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