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docholligay · 2 months

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Choose Your Own Adventure February 2024

Hello hello! Okay, so, at the end of this is the poll results, as I will reveal every time the answer is revealed in the text. It was pretty decisive on some points and less so on others! The write in I'll put a few of the options I considered, but when the one I went with came in, I chose it because it GAVE ME A ROUGH IDEA OF A CONFLICT AND AN ENDING, BLESS. Uhhh....thank you all so much for helping me out with this, I know it's not my greatest work but I am getting back to the groove of writing at all again, and for your patience in that, I thank you.

“I don’t know what you want me to do about a broken belt.”

Haruka’s hair dripped thick drops of water onto the front of a black leather jacket that had not yet seen a scratch or wrinkle. She had admired the bright chrome of the zipper, the snaps of the lapel, and even with rapidly accumulating water damage, all of these things were still true. What was even truer, however, was that it was an ineffective rainjacket at best.

“I want you to do nothing. I prefer you stop pretending there is any value is standing here, and admit you have no way of fixing it. Not to hem and haw over an opened hood, offering a new thought every five minutes.”

The moon glinted off the carve of Fareeha’s features, the jet of her hair blending into the high collar of her lined field jacket, the rain rolling off it as if it were nothing. The glow illuminated her dark eyes just enough to give Haruka the full scope of her judgment.

Haruka smacked the edge of the van, which Fareeha noted with only the twitch of her eyes, and rolled her shoulders back, standing inches from Fareeha, her hand raised in a point.

“Listen, if you think you’re so smart, you fix it, okay? I’m a fucking mechanic--”

“Who allowed her pride to have us sit for two hours in the dark. To kill the battery.” Fareeha’s hands remained firmly in her pockets.

No matter how straight Haruka held herself, Fareeha looked right into her eyes. She never looked away, and the more she looked, the more Haruka was aware of her own weediness, the way Fareeha was solid as the brick wall Lena had jumped over half an hour ago, and Haruka was mostly filled out by her jacket.

Worse, she was right.

Haruka looked at Fareeha, jutting out her chin, daring her to throw a punch, realizing not only would she not, she was completely unconcerned about Haruka’s doing so. She was so sure she wouldn’t even need to be ready. Haruka’s face began to burn, even in the cold of the rain, and she felt her hand begin to close.

“Hey! Ruka, this looks like a great party.”

Haruka looked away first, and bit the inside of her cheek as Mina swanned up next to her, twirling a Dva brand hot pink umbrella over her shoulder. Haruka shrugged carelessly, dragging a pack of cigarettes outside the inside of her jacket, an easy snap of her lighter and a quick shelter from the rain revealing sweet relief. Pleased enough with breaking up the near international incident, Mina pulled out a flask, the hood thumping shut behind them as they took a few steps to the middle of the road.

Cards shuffle, and are dealt, and hands are made of them. There was no difference in poker or in groups. A king is powerful, but only in the right situation. A two of spades may make a straight while a king does nothing but gum up the works. This was a bad hand full of good cards, and Mina had the feeling that the two of them were the royalty breaking up the straight.

Haruka took a deep drag of her cigarette, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back, blowing the smoke up into the arch of the umbrella. Mina watched it circle and dissipate as the door to the van opened and shut, Fareeha’s voice low and cool inside.

“I knew it was the belt.”

“I know.” Mina passed her the flask, and gave the umbrella a little twirl, sending the drops spraying into the night.

Haruka took a drink, and swallowed without noticing what it was or whether it was any good. It was peach vodka, by way of Mina dissolving a bag of peach rings into a bottle of Nikolai. It was not good.

“I was just trying to--” a puff of the cigarette, “--and she’s so--I mean, God. Why even try, you know, when she’s..” Haruka gestured with a wave of her hand into the darkness.

“So intimidating?” Mina looked up. There were no stars tonight. Just the moon, and even she was coquettishly veiling and unveiling herself in the clouds.

“I am NOT intimidated by her, Mina. Not at all. She’s just fuckin--”

“Right, right.” She took back the flask, “She’s kinda hot though.”

“I guess,” A frantic drag, a wave of the hand, “If you’re into that.”

“Tall, dark, and muscular, yeah, who the hell wants that? Penetrating eyes, a chisled jaw, shoulders like fucking Atlas, I mean, what a niche marke--”

“I get it! MInako!” Haruka threw down her cigarette and crushed it into the road.

Mina, only pawing at Haruka the half-hearted way of cats with old toys, was looking across to the wall Lena had jumped in lieu of watching Haruka and Fareeha butt heads and bleat at each other. There was something about it she could not quite reach. It shouldn’t have been anything. It was a simple grey stone, the mortar between it old and crumpling in places, but the wall still seemed plenty stable, that old build of patience and labor holding steady even as the rain chipped at it. She could see the rise of the house’s roof over the top of it, the widow’s walk peeking out. There was nothing in the dark, just the dim outline of the balustrade against the sky.

But she turned her back to it, anyway. So it couldn’t see her.

“You’re right,” she cast a big smile at Haruka, “I do think Lena’s hotter, now that you mention it.”

“I didn’t say that!”

---

The knock tried to echo, but was put down by the rain, as Lena attempted to huddle under the eave.

There was no answer, but she hardly expected there to be. It would be the rare sort of house, on a night like tonight, that didn’t have any kind of light at all, no smoke billowing out from the chimneys, not so much as a lightbulb above the door to let people know you were home. Because no one was home, and hadn’t been for a long time. She didn’t even remember seeing this place on the map, before their cell phones went dark.

The storm has downed a tower, Fareeha had said without concern. She sounded convincing, and the whole of the van had nodded along, but Lena wasn’t sure cell phones worked that way. In fact, she was pretty sure they didn’t, but Fareeha had this snippy little way of asking her what she’d studied in university whenever she knew Lena was right.

And at least one of them realized they had to provide a united front.

Lena had known this grand tour was a bad idea from the time it was first suggested. There was something to be said for having to glad-hand with the rich and well-connected, and Lena was happy to do that at parties and benefits. There was nothing too terrible about telling a story that was amusing, or daring, or harrowing, while sitting in a nice suit and drinking champagne. She’d had worse assignments.

Babysitting was another thing entirely. Fareeha had said allowing a ride along would show the efficiency, professionalism, and discipline of Overwatch. That it would convince the Kaiohs in a small way of the importance of their money, and in a much larger way, the importance of their backroom political power.

Fareeha would never call herself an idealist, and would shake her head at the accusation, but only an idealist would think efficiency, professionalism, and discipline were things people like the Kaiohs cared about. What they wanted, Lena considered saying, was to have an elite fighting force in their sphere of influence. What they also wanted, Lena nearly added, was for the Talon problem to go away and for no one ever to mention their involvement in the early funding of a certain Dr. O’Deorain. What they wanted above all else, Lena would have finished with, was yet another little phone call to be easily made by their ‘people’.

Lena was cheerful and brightsided, sure, but Fareeha was the idealist, and that was the truth whether she liked it or not. She wanted to say.

But she hadn’t, what she had said was, ‘It would ‘elp if we were any of those things, wouldn’t it?’, flashed Fareeha a smile, and agreed to play tour guide.

Now, here she was, sopping wet in front of a chipped and carved wooden door, steadily rapping even though she knew there was no one inside. There was no one inside, unless they were using a single dim candle like a quaking heiress in a romance novel, but there was something about the place that felt palpably alive to Lena, all the same. It was almost as if the greyish tan of the house was a skin, and she could see the heartbeat, slow but steady, just below the surface. Like someone sleeping.

She shook her head, looked down at the ground, and then popped up just as quickly, giving a quick shrug and a laugh.

“Not that cracked, not yet.”

But there was the sense that there was something there, and when you removed the spookiness of the house and rain and the moonlight, it was only that there must be someone around. She gave a quick jog to the side of the house. A colonnade graced the side of it, sticking out of the house like a broken bone, incongruous with the firm boxed edged of the place. Lena tucked herself under the shelter of it and peered in the window. The pale light revealed a few chairs, a table, halfheartedly covered by muslin. A chandelier dripped from the ceiling like a spiderweb festooned with evening dew.

A woman in a gilt frame stared back into Lena’s eyes.

A blast of cold air slipped under her jacket, under her sweater, under her shirt, despite all the tightness and tucks, and Lena shuddered, her body snapping to full attention. She bit the inside of her mouth and counted the lilac bushes at the edge of the garden. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. She rubbed the back of her neck and pulled a cough drop out of her jacket pocket, the tart lemon and cool menthol coating her mouth. It was nothing. Just the wind.

The rain was coming straight down, though, wasn’t it? She hadn’t noticed it being windy as she’d scampered across the green. And she was a pilot, she was always looking at the--it was nothing. She wasn’t a meterologist or anything, anyhow. It’s just a house, An empty house.

Well, just because there was no one inside didn’t mean she couldn’t get inside.

Whatever Fareeha might say about it.

___

“Correct. I should apologize. It was my error in allowing her to take the time, and to believe in her expertise.”

Fareeha was folding clothes into a military duffel bag, choosing from a rumpled canvas affair with a peeling Harvard logo and a half-attached pocket. Each item she chose was examined, wrangled into a neat square, and shoved into a tightly assigned section with firm hands, punctuating her thoughts.

“There could be other ways to be saying that.” Angela touched her on the shoulder. “She is young. She meant well, I think.”

Angela took her long blonde hair down and looped it up again, clipping the hair claw over it securely. Her pink and grey sweater hung off the edge of her shoulder absentmindedly as she peered into the night.

“Should Lena be taking so long?”

Fareeha took a toothbrush out the canvas bag and placed it in a black zipper pouch. “Angela, If I had any fear about Tracer, it would be that she had abandoned us to drink in some,” She made a final assessment of the duffel bag and zipped it shut with authority, “pub miles from the house or road. I would not waste your time, or mine, worrying.”

Angela nodded silently, and crossed her arms over her chest, her slate eyes a touch greyer for the exchange, listening to the rain. Fareeha sat for only a handful of seconds, staring at the duffel bag, and then turned her head to Angela.

“That was not meant for you. You did not deserve it. I am wet, I am cold, I am annoyed with Tracer. I will snap at her, instead.”

“No,” Angela shook her head and moved closer to Fareeha, “She was going for help. Be angry with the van,” she kissed her cheek, “Fareeli.”

Fareeha looked to the corner of the van, as if daring the woman sitting there rto say anything about the nickname, kiss, argument, or indeed the van, house, or country they were sitting in. The corner offered nothing but a scribble on a piece of paper. Fareeha gave a short exhale of breath that was as much as she allowed a sigh, and looked out the window again at their two charges drinking out of a flask under one of Hana’s promotional umbrellas.

“You are right, of course.” she pressed her lips together tightly. “I will apologize, because I have almost no choice. Never mind that even on the subject of my apology to her, there will be some sort of balking argument.”

Angela was about to repeat her belief that Haruka was young, and Haruka meant well, and Overwatch cast such a long shadow, so maybe Haruka herself wasn’t even sure how she felt about it, and that was understandable, but if Fareeha could only be so very charming, as Angela knew she could be…but the corner beat her to it.

“Let her help you with something.”

Fareeha’s head snapped to the corner, her eyes focused with all the keenness of a bird of prey.

The corner continued.

��You make her feel undermined, because she’s constantly looking for reasons to feel undermined. Everything makes her feel slighted, like someone just isn't the next sentence, which is, ‘you're worthless.’ There’s a short list of things she thinks she’s good at, and this whole thing has taken away fixing cars and being tall. Let her think you need her help. It’ll smooth it. I think. I guess.”

Fareeha glanced to Angela, who only shrugged. She

“That is ridiculous. Barking at me like a dog will not improve her worth”

“See, you don't want to say--I didn’t say it wasn’t. Yes, it is. She’ll grow out of it eventually, promise. It’s a long trip there, and it’s not without it’s trials, but--I mean, actually. Well. I think. If I know Haruka like I think I do. But I haven’t been surprised by her so far, seeing her. Here. In person. Which is a thing that can happen. Like you, and Ang--Doctor Zeigler. I haven’t been surprised, I feel like I know the players on the chess board pretty fuckin well right now.” She laughed, but it was more of a braying, nervous pause as she scratched behind her ear.

“Because of your research.” Angela added with a smile and a comforting nod.

“Yeah, that.”

Fareeha put her hand on the door handle, but turned to the woman before she exited. “What was your name, again?”

“Doc.”

Where, praytell, are we? <--- This is a poll link!

POLL RESULTS

#doc's choose your own adventure

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gyuzoh · 15 days

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“풀어 POUR UP” KIM MINGYU—°

summary: bartender kim mingyu, who you have the undeniable hots for— denies your advances due to your promiscuous reputation as seoul’s newest and upcoming hottest female dj.

therefore you make it a mission to prove your god-sculpted eye candy, wrong.

playlist: pour up (dean), you know (jay park, okasian), 2nd thots (jay park), freak like me (camo), btbt (b.i)

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, smoking/vaping, drugs and sex.

prologue.

there you stand, the headphones wrapped around your neck were connected to the dj deck as you play one top track after another through the speakers of the nightclub. the flashing of lights making the crowd look like a velocity edit from tiktok as they sway their hips side to side, drunk off the liquor they paid way too much for.

men were by your side, sticking to you like super glue while you played, trying to catch your attention. that only made your ego grow a bit more. you’re not one to lie. you knew you were good looking, and you loved to flaunt it.

however, these men were not your type. they smelled of body odour and their breaths tainted with the stench of alcohol made you hurl inwardly.

you had about 10 minutes left of your set, and by god you wished it would go by quicker. the hot bartender you set your eyes on an hour and a half earlier in the night had caught your attention. the dark brown hair and his high nose bridge that had a beauty spot adorning the tip of it, that man was sculpted by god himself and you wanted a taste of him, so damn bad.

jungkook, a fellow dj and a close friend of yours stands beside you as he pulls out his own usb full of his own playlists. he starts mixing in his own tracks to start his own set as you finish yours, and you pack up your equipment all the while ignoring the ugly men trying to hand you shots of vodka or tequila.

making a bee line to the bar, you whip the long strands of your dark brown hair over your shoulder and fix up your mini dress, making sure to flaunt the beauty spot that adorned the area just below your left clavicle.

as you stand at the bar, you radar the bar for the tall man you were aching for, seeing him finish up with serving the drunken girls swooning over him—too. he walks towards you and asks what you wanted to drink. alize lemonade, you respond and he nods in acknowledgement, picking up the glass bottle of the blue liquor and pouring it oh so sexily into the glass.

there was no way in hell you thought you’d find the action of pouring attractive, yet here you were like a kpop fanatic gawking over his muscles as he made you a drink.

“ten dollars,” he says passing you the drink. you pull out the free drink card you had been gifted by the night clubs manager and held it out for the godly man to retrieve. he reaches his hand out to grab the card, and you place it in his, letting your fingers graze his for a second longer than needed to.

as you do that, you take a look at his name tag that sat on his chest. mingyu.

“hey mingyu,” you say loud enough for him to hear you over the music. he looks up from your touching hands and tilts his head in question to you calling out his name. “can i get your instagram if i tip you?”

it was a bold move, and by god you were begging to just hide in a hole in fear of rejection, though you were never once rejected.

mingyu eyed you up and down, his eyes gazing a second longer on your beauty spot. with a smirk on his face, he revealed the canines he had, his tan skin was glowing in the dimly lit room. he opens his mouth to respond to your question with his own, but before he could even mutter a ‘why should i?’, his blonde co worker calls him over and cuts him off.

inwardly rolling your eyes, you glance towards the high pitched voice of your cockblocker. somi, is what her name tag read.

it’s okay, you still have a few hours before the club closed, and you weren’t in any rush to go home. sharing a glare towards the blonde girls way, you grab your drink and down it, roughly slamming down the glass on the bar before turning and making your way back to the dj booth, ready to initiate plan b.

wait out the next three hours of the night.

mingyu turns towards somi, raising an eyebrow at the sudden call of his name. the blonde girl smiles sweetly at the six foot something boy, showing off her perfect pearly whites.

“nothin’, just thought i’d save you from the hassle of rejecting her,” she says. mingyu raises his brow.

“why would i reject her?” he asks, curiousity evident in his deep voice.

somi shrugs, wiping her hands down on the rag that hung below the house liquor. “she’s pretty well known for toying with a lot of boys, especially those younger than her.”

the blonde girl leans forward to collect the glass you had slammed before strutting away, and placed it in the sink gently. “i’m quite surprised she’s decided to go for an older guy like you.”

“why surprised, have you seen me?” mingyu responds with a smirk on his face. he knew he was hot, he’s reminded every few minutes by the desperate girls who frequent the bar just to throw seductive looks his way in prayers for just one chance. you being one of them.

“i’ve seen all of you, gyu” she answers, a smirk on her face, replicating his own.

you stand outside in the cool breeze, your face flushed from the liquor you had downed. the cigarette in your fingers being thrown to the floor as you step on it. the air was cool but not cold to the point you had to wear three jackets to avoid hypothermia.

you’d decided to wait out the last three hours of the night in hopes you catch mingyu on the way out without being cockblocked.

the club has closed and you stay outside as the crowd dissipates and everyone takes their ubers to their designated homes and hotels.

you hear somi laughing as she exits the club with another man, waving him goodbye. she stands besides you and gives you a small smile which you find incredibly irritating, not a symptom from the alcohol.

you were planning to just ignore her, but she sparks up a conversation with you. “you know, you shouldn’t bother with mingyu.”

you look up from your phone in your hand, blowing out the last of the smoke you had hiding in your mouth. cocking your head to the side, you reply.

“and why shouldn’t i?” you were becoming warm, unsure if it was the alcohol or the anger from this girl telling you what you should or shouldn’t do.

“well for one, he’s not into-“ somi gives you a look up and down, disgust evident on her face, “-whores.”

you gasp, how dare she.

“and two, he’s with me.” you roll your eyes, the liquor you had drank was making it easier for the taller female to rile you up.

you take a step closer towards her, lifting your arm ready to make contact with her cheek, but a larger hand stops yours and pulls you back.

your back is leaned up against a broad chest, and you look up to see who it is.

barely anyone knew you had a brother other than a few close friends. lee heeseung. not only that, but he was incredibly clingy and overprotective of his only older sister.

“who are you to talk to her like that?”

heeseung wraps his arm around your shoulder as he pulled you closer to him, throwing a scowl at somi who had utterly disrespected you.

heeseungs friends walk up behind him and ask if you’re okay, handing you their jackets and assessing the situation. you question why they were here and they respond saying they had just come from dinner and spent the rest of the night out at karaoke, now on their way home.

the door to the night club opens up and mingyu walks out, taking notice of somi and what he assumes to be the dj and her minions picking on his coworker. he takes a stand behind somi, wrapping her with his own jacket, which makes you roll your eyes.

somi smirks at your reaction, before opening her mouth again. “your boy toys?”

wonyoung, one of heeseungs close friends who was stood beside you, walked forward. having heard enough of the conversation that had taken place seconds earlier, she extends her palm, landing a straight hit on the older girls face.

“don’t talk to our older sister like that,” your eyes widen at your brothers girl friend’s feistiness and cover your lips, stifling a laugh.

“wonyoung, it’s fine.” you say, pulling her back to you and your brothers group of friends.

somi looks up to you with a shocked expression, before turning to mingyu and sobbing. you eye him as he babies her and pulls her away, sending a glare your way.

“take your boy toys and their little girlfriends home.” mingyu says.

you scoff in response before turning the other way with your younger brother and his friends, making your way back home. it’s been a long night. a long night of no progress with your eye candy for you.

#kim mingyu #seventeen #jeon wonwoo #enhypen #heeseung #mingyu #wonwoo

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separatist-apologist · 1 year

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I'll Never Go, I Just Want To Be Invited

Summary: When the Archeron patriarch decides to sell his middle daughter's first night to the highest bidder, Lucien Vanserra vows to get her out of that devil's bargain through any means necessary.

For @sjmromanceweek day 4: Favorite Trope (Forced Marriage)

Read on AO3

Follow Archeron.

Lucien had come to regret those two words, delivered to him by his brother a week before. Archeron was a loser, pathetic and sniveling as he meandered about, wasting his money before robbing Peter to pay Paul. Archeron’s debts were numerous and Lucien had heard a rumor he intended to use his daughters to pay them.

Eris had no shortage of brothels, though he typically didn’t prefer well-born ladies walking his halls. They were too stiff, too nervous and worst of all, too mild-mannered. Or, so Eris said, anyway. Lucien stayed away from whores in favor of the drinking and gambling halls. If he was going to waste his money, he’d prefer to see some return.

He was curious, though. Archeron was back out in the gloom, wearing his finest clothes and telling a rather fine story about how beautiful one of his daughters was. She would solve his problems—Lucien could see that gleam in Archeron’s eye.

Elain. A rather innocuous name for a supposed beauty. Still, Archeron had captured the attention of every man he’d spoken to that day. They were going to meet in a gentlemen’s club where he would bring Elain for their inspection, and a bidding war over the girl would commence. Lucien memorized the day and time, though he hadn’t been invited.

He was hardly the first. He’d dressed in his finest clothes, long hair tied off his face as he stepped into the hallowed hall. A haze of smoke hung heavy against the papered green and gold walls and though Lucien had come early, the room was already packed. Everyone wanted to see this woman Archeron promised.

Lucien settled in a chair at the far end of the room, crossing his ankle over his knee. He was offered a glass of whiskey which he accepted, holding the crystal lightly in his fingers. Women were forbidden from places like this, and if Archeron felt comfortable bringing his daughter, he very much doubted she was worth all the trouble. It was far more likely she was a wayward, impossible girl he couldn’t force into marriage with the local beggars and hoped a room of drunk, horny men were desperate enough to take him at his word.

Lucien was bored. He vowed, once this little show went down, he’d return to Eris, explain Archeron’s scheme for paying his debts, and go back to his regular life. Eris would hardly find Archeron’s actions favorable, given his own wife had been sold to him under similar circumstances.

He was on his second drink by the time Archeron stepped into the room. He brought with him not some ugly, thoroughly used woman far past an acceptable, marriageable age.

He brought an angle. Trembling, her thick, golden brown curls tied off a beautiful face in a pretty yellow ribbon. Her dress had very obviously been chosen with care, a lovely amethyst that betrayed Elain very much as a lady.

It was clear she’d been crying. Wide, brown eyes were rimmed red and swollen. Her bottom lip was bright red from been bitten over and over, and at her side, Elain’s fingers were curled to fists.

The whole room was drinking her in, just as he was. Elain was a woman, and yet young enough she could have completed a season and found herself a suitable, appropriate husband. Multiple suitors, even—half the men in the room might have filled her dance card, might have called on her and courted her until they secured her approval and ultimately married her. Someone with a face like Elain’s certainly deserved that small courtesy.

“Did I lie?” Archeron asked, slicing through Lucien’s thoughts. “My daughter Elain is just turned twenty two.”

Lucien, still seated in his chair, kept his gaze on Elain. He wasn’t the only one, certainly, though he was the only one looking at her face and not her body. He’d seen enough. He wanted her to look over at him, willed her to turn her pretty face and find him at the back of the room.

“What, exactly, are you promising?” someone’s voice called. Elain’s eyes closed for a moment, as if she needed a moment to compose herself. Lucien wondered if she’d start screaming and hoped she didn’t.

Every animal in the room would like it far too much.

“That depends,” her father replied. Lucien gripped the edge of the chair he sat in to keep himself from flying out of it. He was only supposed to observe. Elain’s eyes flew open, silently pleading with her father not to do this.

“Why don’t you wait in the hall, Elain?”

It seemed Archeron was going to take pity on his daughter. Elain looked as if she might argue, might beg before she looked around her. He held her attention for only a moment before she turned on her heel, skirt flouncing to all but run out of the room. There were more than a few chuckles and a couple soft wolf whistles as she went.

Elain slammed the door loudly. She was a dutiful daughter—Lucien wondered if she hadn’t offered to help and this was how she’d been repaid.

“How much?” That was Graysen Nolan asking, brown eyes burning with desire.

“For a first night?” her father replied, as though he were negotiating over a particularly fast horse.

“How about a week?” Graysen asked, earning more than a few laughs. “Seems like she’ll need more than a night.”

Lucien was going to kill every man in that room. He stood and Archeron paled, realizing there was a Vanserra hiding in the room. No one else paid Lucien any mind as he made his way through the crowd, uninterested in listening to the bidding war that was about to break out.

They could pay Archeron as much money as they wanted for Elain.

He was going to kill Archeron.

And Elain belonged to him.

ELAIN:

Elain paced just outside, ignoring the men that filtered out as their offers were deemed too paltry, too low. She couldn’t stop trembling, which necessitated the walking.

This is all a dream, she told herself. You’ll wake up in bed, excited to finally start a proper season.

But it wasn’t a dream and she knew it. When she’d gone to him, slipping into his office after her sisters had fallen asleep, Elain had only wanted to help. She’d told him, eyes shining and hands twisting nervously in front of her night dress, that she could help secure an advantageous match. One that might settle his debts with the Vanserras.

And this was what had come of that offer. Not a reputable, respectable marriage.

But whored out, her virginity offered up to the highest bidder. There had been no thought as to what would happen to Elain afterward. Nesta had screamed and raged and Feyre begged and pleaded, but there was no dissuading her father.

Elain half hoped whoever won the night with her killed her when it was over.

She’d never be able to show her face in polite society again. Word would spread—men loved to gossip. They’d tell their friends, bragging about what they did and how they’d ruined her. Their wives would learn and would shun her. And then what? What stopped her father from whoring her out again? For making it a whole business, offering up Nesta and Feyre, too?

Elain had seen the Vanserra brother in the crowd, watching with what she hoped was disgust. He’d pushed out into the street mere moments after she had, walking into the crowded streets without a second look back. Part of her thought she might have better luck running to Eris and hoping he didn’t approve. After all, it was the Vanserra’s her father owed money too. Perhaps money was money, and so long as Eris was paid back, it didn’t matter how he got it.

It kept her in place, making her way back and forth in front of the stone steps. It felt like days, years, before her father finally returned. His pockets seemed heavy and his eyes bright. Elain nearly burst into tears at the sight of his pleasure.

“Who?” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her body. Would she be made to leave with him that very second?

“Graysen Nolan,” her father replied, obviously pleased. “He’ll collect you tomorrow evening. Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. You said you wanted to help daddy, right? This is helping. Imagine if the Vanserra’s killed me, hm? Who would take care of you and your sisters?”

Elain blinked, and blinked again. Was this taking care of them? Feyre stole food from the market more often than Elain could count and Nesta haggled viciously over the prices of everything in order to keep them in clothes, in shoes.

Was this the part she was required to play? Elain had always been exempt from the cruelty of their life. She’d managed their father, had smoothed out his worst impulses and kept him present when she sometimes thought he wished he wasn’t around.

Elain nodded, her eyes drifting from her father’s pleading eyes to the other side of the square. Standing on the sidewalk in a buttoned up green jacket and a pair of well-tailored white pants, was one of the Vanserra’s. The same from the room—the only man who likely hadn’t placed a bid on her maidenhead. She recognized that vibrant auburn hair, tied back to reveal a face that was somehow both cruel and beautiful.

Crueler, she decided as she held his gaze. Russet eyes cut through the haze, wholly focused on her. Was he angry? Elain couldn’t tell—there was nothing on his face at all. His hand flexed at his side, head cocked and Elain decided to soften her own expression.

Help me.

She screamed it silently, hoping he saw what she was trying to communicate. Forgive his debts. End this, free me.

He didn’t understand. A half smile graced his features, forcing Elain to look back at her father. The Vanserra thought it was funny.

Elain forced herself not to despair. Not when her father pulled out the money Graysen had already paid and ordered her home, declaring she needed to rest. She needed to scream. Elain plodded home, well aware that even if she had convinced the Vanserra’s to forgive her father, Graysen would expect a return on the money he’d advanced. Her father would be spending it even as she made her way down the walk, headed toward the once magnificent estate her family had lived in for generations.

Even if his debts were forgiven, Elain would still be offered up.

It was a depressing, miserable thought that took Elain out of the main city center for the twisting, cracked walkway that led to her crumbling home. Not paying attention, too lost in what Graysen might feel emboldened to do since he’d paid for her, Elain didn’t notice the uneven concrete.

She tripped, and should have fallen face first into the ground. It happened so quickly Elain didn’t have time to throw out her hands.

Her body met something warm—something soft.

“Careful, now,” a masculine voice murmured against the shell of her ear. Elain shivered, twisting in the arms of the Vanserra who’d been mocking her across the street. He righted her and took a step back as if he were a gentleman.

The trio of scars streaked over one of his eyes very much betrayed that this man was no gentleman. Elain almost laughed. He was a criminal, no better than her at that moment given she was little more than a whore. Before, he wouldn’t have dared to speak to her.

“Were you outbid?” she asked, raising her chin haughtily.

A sly smile graced his handsome features. “No.”

She scoffed. “You lost.”

“I left before a price was ever announced,” he replied, confirming her own suspicion.

“Because you lacked the funds,” she shot back. His smile widened.

“I’m starting to think you’re disappointed I didn’t try and purchase you.”

He was right—she did sound upset. What was she doing? Here was a Vanserra, and she was taunting him when she ought to be pleading with him. Elain took a step toward him.

“Your brother could end this.”

“I doubt it,” Vanserra replied darkly. “Your father has already spent the coins you earned in his head. Who won?”

“Graysen Nolan,” she said miserably. He would have been a good choice for a husband, given how young and handsome he was. Instead, Graysen would have the privilege of ruining her and one day picking a respectable wife.

Vanserra yielded a step, brushing his fingers beneath her jaw. “Have you resigned yourself to this?”

Elain shrugged. “If your brother won’t…” she was going to cry. Elain took a gulping breath of air and forced herself to look into those russet eyes. “I said I wanted to help.”

His fingers tightened on her chin, thumb sweeping over her lips. “I think there are more interesting things awaiting you than the life of a whore.”

Elain should have pulled back. “You do?”

Of course he did—he meant to put her in one of his brothels, her mind screamed. Elain shook her head, yanking her face from his grasp. Vanserra didn’t stop her, didn’t respond when she turned on her heel and flounced off. She wasn’t so low yet. He merely chuckled, calling after her, “I’ll see you around princess!”

Elain merely waved him off, not bothering to turn around. He wanted to make fun of her—fine. She didn’t need to stick around for it. Elain needed to figure out what she’d do next. Her reputation was destroyed, her future lost to her. It was almost a freeing thought. She still wanted all the things her mother had once promised to her.

Elain wanted to be a wife. A mother. Someone in charge of a home. Her father had robbed her of that in favor of enriching himself, of solving his problems simply and without any risk to himself.

Elain was grateful her sisters were around when she arrived home. She could picture Nesta’s rage and Feyre’s schemes. What she needed was to rely on herself and her own silence—at least for now. If she was going to escape tomorrow, it would be outside of her sisters.

Though, as Elain slipped into bed, exhausted and sad, she couldn’t quite see how. She hadn’t bothered to light a fire in the once lovely, marble mantle, She’d just shoved the white and pink floral bedding back far enough for her to lay beneath and then, on an afterthought, kicked it all off to undress herself down to her shift. Elain ripped strands of her hair from that stupid ribbon she’d tied, thinking if she looked sweet, the men would take pity on her.

Face buried in a satin pillowcase, Elain screamed until her throat was raw. Screamed until she heard Nesta knocking on the other end, until she heard Feyre’s tentative voice. Elain was grateful she’d locked the door to keep them out. Elain screamed until she had nothing left to cry.

Only then did Elain sleep.

She woke to a soft breeze and something warm against her cheek. Had she left the window open? Elain brushed at whatever touched her.

“Careful,” a familiar voice whispered. Elain started, sitting so quickly she smashed her forehead against Vanserra’s. He was propped just beside her, head resting on his elbow.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, too surprised to be afraid.

But Elain knew exactly what he’d come to do. He hadn’t placed a bet, nor had he tried to free her father from the burden his brother had placed upon him. Vanserra had merely followed her home and had Elain not been so distraught, she might have recognized what he was thinking.

She started to scoot away but he was too quick, his arm clasping around her waist to drag her back to him. Gentle fingers brushed against her cheek and his long hair tickled the exposed column of her throat.

He didn’t respond. His amusement shone even in the dark, prompting her to try again. “What’s your name?”

“Lucien.”

Lucien.

“That’s a nice name,” she murmured, letting him map out her face with gentle fingers.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he replied, lowering his face until they were mere inches apart.

“Don’t do this,” she breathed, shifting beneath his hold.

“They all want your first night,” Lucien told her, pushing himself up until he was straddling her body. “I want a little more.”

His thighs, still clad in those elegant white pants, squeezed gently around her ribs.

“What do you want?”

A wolfish smile spread over his handsome features. “How about a bet, princess?”

“That’s the sort of thing that got me into this mess,” she breathed, pressing her palms against the tops of his legs. Lucien braced most of his weight on his knees, using little force to keep her pinned to the bed. That didn’t mean Elain wanted to tempt him into more.

“The stakes are far less dire than the ones your father is currently entangled in. I’ll wager you an hour of your time. If I can’t find some way to please you within that hour, I’ll slip right back out and you’ll never see me again.”

Elain’s heart thudded in her throat. She wasn’t certain she wanted that. “And if you can?”

The look on his face told Elain he was confident he would find himself on the winning end of his bet. Lucien dragged a finger over her jaw, lifting her chin to hold her gaze.

“If I do please you, you have to indulge my reasons for climbing up here at dawn, given I’ll have freed you of Graysen Nolan.”

“I’m free either way—”

“Oh, no, pretty princess. One hour to please you. I won’t take your virginity unless you ask me to,” Lucien said with relish. Elain knew her inexperience worked against her, because surely it was the same?

He swung off her, his boots thudding on the wood floors. Elain waited for someone to come rushing up the stairs just as she realized that she didn’t need to agree to this bargain with the devil.

She could just scream.

Lucien seemed to realize her plan at the exact same moment because his finger pressed against his lips, eyes flashing a warning. “I wouldn’t risk it, were I you.”

“Someone would come—”

“I’ve come,” he interrupted, deftly undoing the buttons of his jacket. “You want to be rescued? I’m here.”

“This is hardly a rescue. You’re merely taking what Graysen has already paid for in order to satisfy your absurd, male ego!” she snapped.

He smiled, and oh, she wished he hadn’t. He was so absurdly handsome it caused her heart to take off in a gallop.

“You belong to me,” Lucien said simply, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of a fraying, cream colored chair. Elain sat up as Lucien rolled the sleeves of his white shirt to his elbow, trying to make sense of him.

“I belong to no one,” she whispered in response. He looked over, securing his long hair with a leather strap at his wrist.

“We’ll see,” he said, eyes cutting to the clock. “Do we have a deal?”

“I could scream,” she countered. Lucien was still staring at that glass clock on her dresser.

“Tick, tock,” he whispered, tapping his bare wrist. Elain licked her bottom lip. He’d promised not to take her virginity—what could he possibly do that would please her in the span of an hour?

She’d heard the servants talk, and from what she’d gathered, men barely managed it with penetration. She expected he meant to kiss her until she was breathless and dizzy which was how most men got beneath a ladies skirts.

She could hold out for an hour.

She bet he tasted terrible. Like tobacco and whatever food he’d been chewing. He’d been to hurried, too rough and all she had to do was keep her wits about her.

“Fine,” she agreed. “One hour.”

Lucien smiled. “No screaming.”

She nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

He nodded at her. “Take off your shift.”

All her certainly slipped away. “What?”

“Take off your shift,” he repeated softly, tugging the strings of his own shirt. Was he going to get naked, too?

“You said–”

“Just you, princess,” he said with a gentleness that felt wholly at odds with what was happening. “I’m only taking off my shirt.”

“Why do I have to…” she fingered the hem of her shift nervously. No one had ever seen her naked. Was she really about to let a criminal look at her?

Did it even matter?

“Come, now, princess,” he chided, eyes cutting back to the clock. Was he nervous, too? Or just concerned she was wasting time? That, she decided, wasn’t a terrible idea. Elain could drag this out, negotiating until he was irritated and unable to do anything but frustrate her.

“That wasn’t part of our agreement,” Elain reminded him, sitting up on her knees petulantly. “If you want to see me naked, I think you should make another deal.”

Lucien prowled forward. “Oh? And what do you want, sweetheart?”

“I want you to free my father of the debt he owes your brother.”

Lucien’s mouth fell open. “You know if I could do that, he’d merely owe Eris the same amount the next month, right? And it certainly won’t keep you from Graysen.”

Elain teased the shift, sliding it up her legs. Lucien stilled, his eyes widening. “What would it take to get both?”

“Both?”

Elain inched just a little higher. “Forgive my fathers debt and make Graysen go away.”

Lucien’s eyes snapped to her face. “Are you asking me to kill Nolan—”

“No! Just…make it so this never happened.”

A sly smile told Elain whatever he thought she was asking for would come back to haunt her. “All that, just to see you naked?”

She bit her bottom lip. “Yes?”

“Anytime I like?” he pressed. “In exchange for, what, Elain? Keeping your father from my brother's sword? So you can be someone's wife?”

She swallowed. “Anytime before I’m married.”

“Done,” he agreed.

“You aren’t allowed to interfere,” she added, pointing a finger in his direction. Lucien held up both hands. “Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She yanked the shift up over her head before she could think better of it. This was what she’d wanted—what she’d hoped for. A way out of the predicament she’d found herself in, all in exchange for an hour of her life. One hour in which he took nothing from her she wasn’t prepared to give, and nothing she couldn’t readily get back.

Lucien didn’t seem to breathe as he took her in, eyes raking over her body like hot coal. Elain kept herself still, too bold for what was happening. It wasn’t real—it didn’t count. That put her enough at ease to ask, “Well?”

“I—fuck, princess,” he breathed. Lucien reached for his own shirt, tossing it to the floor casually before coming to her. Elain had never seen a man without his shirt on before and was just as taken aback as Lucien was, though for vastly different reasons.

If he was trying to please her, she thought the removal of his clothes was a good way to start. He was nice to look at. All sculpted, golden brown muscle carved against his frame. Elain was tempted to reach out and touch the planes of his stomach, to trace the lines flowing into his pants and see where, exactly, they led.

“Lean back,” Lucien murmured, coming to sit at the edge of the bed. He was still looking her up and down, his fingers curled to fists as though he needed some distraction to keep himself from touching her.

Elain did as he said, making herself comfortable among a sea of pillows. Lucien remained at her side, his expression impossible to read.

“Show me how you usually find pleasure.”

A soft, strangled laugh escaped her. “I…”

Lucien looked up at the ceiling and swallowed. “Of course not. This is not how I thought this would go.”

“You broke into my bedroom,” Elain snapped, embarrassed as she laid before him utterly naked. “What were you imagining?”

He twisted to look at her, heat blazing in his eyes. “I imagined you pinned beneath me, panting and begging for more.”

Oh. “Don’t count on it.”

Lucien looked toward the clock. “There’s time yet.”

Forty five minutes, if Elain had counted right. She’d managed to waste fifteen minutes of his time and wondered if she could waste fifteen more.

“Well, I think–” Lucien’s mouth covered her own, silencing her with a kiss. Her first true kiss, given the last time she’d been kissed, Elain had been eight and the boy had ended up flat on his back when Nesta saw him. She’d often wondered what it might be like.

Sweet, she decided. His lips were soft and Lucien smelled good, like cinnamon and warm sunlight. He wasn’t hurried, despite the time he’d lost. His fingers ghosted the bottom of her jaw, tilting her face toward him until Elain shifted so he could have better access. So she could press her palm flat against his bare chest and touch the warmth of his skin, the hard muscles shifting beneath her touch.

He wasn’t unaffected. Lucien made a low sound in the back of his throat, which excited her. Elain understood, all at once, what Lucien meant when he said he was allowed an hour to please her. Hearing him moan pleased her—made her warm and wet between her legs. Elain wanted to rub herself against him to alleviate the ache that had begun to thrum in her blood

Lucien’s tongue traced the seam of her mouth, drawing a soft gasp from Elain. He pressed his advantage, deepening the kiss until her fingers were somehow tangled in the hair he’d tied back She knew, in the back of her mind, she ought to be afraid. That Lucien was a man who knew what he was doing and knew how to do it well.

Elain had been wrong about how he’d taste, too. Sweet, spicy—like he’d been drinking liquor before he’d come over and it lingered in the back of his throat. Lucien made another of those soft, appreciative noises when her own tongue joined him, curious what he would be like. Lucien’s softness shifted, edged with his own desire. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip and when Elain gasped, Lucien groaned again, sliding the hand on her face down to her neck.

“Okay,” he panted, swallowing hard. “Okay.”

She waited for him to expand on that thought, but it was clear he was saying it to himself.

“Maybe,” she tried, her heart hammering in her ears, “you should have bargained for your own pleasure.”

“I’m betting my patience will pay off,” he said instead, fingers skimming her collarbone. “Let’s focus on you, Elain. You have thirty minutes left.”

She knew he saw the way she rubbed her thighs together. The ache was building into the sweetest pressure. Thirty minutes. That was nothing. That was half as long as a church sermon and

Elain survived those every Sunday.

Lucien dipped his head, grazing his teeth just behind her ear. Elain couldn’t help the way her body arched, or how her fingers curled in his hair.

“I was going to use my fingers,” Lucien whispered, sliding further down her body. He wasn’t over her, but next to her and Elain would have done anything to feel the weight of his body pressed against her. She wanted to be skin to skin, to drag her nails down his back. “But now…”

His breath was hot against her naked breasts.

“Now what?” she asked, unsure whose breathless voice that belonged to.

“Now I need to taste,” he said, his tongue tracing a circle around her peaked nipple. Elain shifted again, eyes rolling up into her head. “Should be no problem for you, right?”

Elain’s fingers fisted in the sheets. She didn’t know what he meant, only that she would fall apart if he stopped. She could ride this all the way to the edge, just past the hour and then take whatever she needed from him without owing him a damn thing.

She’d given enough, besides. Was she not naked before him? Kissing him in her own bed, when that sort of contact was forbidden for unmarried women? Elain didn’t care when his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh. Her spine arched and pleasure pooled between her legs, drawing more slick heat. Elain could feel his soft tongue teasing against her most sensitive places somehow, as if the nerves in her body were all connected.

Lucien groaned, his hand making its way down, down, down, until he was between her legs. Elain was surprised to find herself spreading herself wider for him rather than clamping her knees together. His mouth felt so good, sucking and teasing and she could still taste him on her tongue.

She had to admit she wanted this. Wanted to know what he might do, what could exist between two people. Lucien, despite breaking into her bedroom, was taking an incredible amount of care. As if making her feel good was the only thing that interested him, his only reason for being.

Lucien’s finger rubbed between slick folds, earning a moan that was so loud she was certain her sisters would hear.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered, pulling back to look at her. Lucien, she realized, seemed wrecked. Wild and somehow ruined, as if she’d done something he hadn’t accounted for—hadn’t expected. “Are you always this wet for me, princess?”

“I—” She meant to tell him she never thought of him because she didn’t know who he was, but Lucien’s fingers drew a lazy circle around her clit and Elain could only whine, arching her hips into his hand for more, more, more.

Lucien didn’t wait for her to figure out what she wanted to say. His mouth was back on her neglected nipple, his fingers teasing her softly, with just barely enough pressure to alleviate the ache. Elain was trying to get him to touch harder, to speed up, but Lucien was infuriating. Still, she rolled her hips into his hand.

Lucien pulled back again with a gasp, trailing kisses down her stomach. She watched his turn his head, the muscles of his bare back bunching with tension. He was looking at the clock—was he worried for time?

“Fifteen minutes,” he breathed, spreading her legs wider. “Just fifteen more minutes, princess.”

“Easy,” she liked, because the sight of his face so close to her cunt was unraveling her. Lucien’s fingers were spreading her wide open, as if he wanted to memorize this moment.

“Holy gods, Elain,” he murmured, dropping his head to her thigh. His whole body jerked, hips pressing into the mattress. Elain raked her fingers through his hair, pulling the remnants from that useless strap. She wanted to watch it cascade over his muscular shoulders like a molten waterfall, wanted to pull and yank until he was just as needy and desperate as she was.

Lucien kissed her skin and then licked up the center of her. He had to put a hand on her stomach to keep her on the bed before hooking her knees over his shoulders so he could have her the way he wanted.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, pressing her palm to her mouth. Elain, who up until that point, had felt nothing but a needy ache, was suddenly burning. Lucien knew it, too. His eyes were on her face, watching her every expression to gauge how she felt.

His tongue traced up and down her cunt, mapping her out without touching her the way she wanted. Elain writhed, shifting her body to try and put him where she needed him. Lucien merely chuckled. “In a rush? We still have time.”

Though, Lucien did use the flat of his tongue to rub her clit. Elain moaned into her hand, using her free one to pull at his hair.

“Take what you need, princess,” Lucien grunted into her body, his tongue still far too polite. “Use me.”

Elain rolled her hips into his face, grinding against him until she wasn’t convinced he could breathe. Lucien groaned, his tongue working her in time with her own desperate movement. When he pleased her, Elain yanked at his hair and moaned as loud as she dared and when he backed off, Elain went utterly still. She’d discovered Lucien couldn’t abide by the lack of movement, by the silence.

She was building into something desperate and bright and hot. Every inch of her was alive, strung together by some ancient light demanding she give in, that she take everything he was offering and whatever else she could get. Elain was flame, was so excited she’d forgotten what was at stake.

Or maybe she just didn’t care because Lucien had suddenly sped up, was working her with enough pressure and touch that Elain was unraveling.

“Lucien,” she panted, begging for a release. “Lucien, please.”

“One minute,” he whispered, sucking her clit between soft lips. Elain should have stopped him right there, but his lips and his tongue and then that press of his finger just against the opening of her body was too much. Pleasure all collided in her chest and Elain bowed off the bed, fracturing into a million brilliant shards of glass. Lucien didn’t stop, kept licking and sucking as he slid his finger into her body and began working her with that, too.

Elain didn’t want him to. She’d forgotten what they were doing or why he was there. She reacted to that first thrust with a soft whine, convulsing in waves. She was too sensitive and still unsatisfied. She needed more—needed him.

“Lucien,” she whispered into the dark, tugging at his hair. What was she asking him for? Only then did Lucien look up, his mouth gleaming with arousal. He pounced, finally pressing himself against her for a messy, desperate kiss. Elain wrapped her legs around his hips, hands sliding down his chest for the clasps on his pants.

“Elain,” he warned, and oh, she loved how he said her name. “You’re five minutes past the hour.”

“I don’t care,” she replied, undoing them with one hand. Lucien groaned, kissing her again and again, his tongue still coated in her arousal. She was delighted by the taste of her own body, by the sweetness, the musky way it mingled with his own scent until she was delirious and desperate.

Lucien groaned against her throat when she reached into his pants and cupped him in her palm. Elain gasped, looking between their bodies, but she couldn’t see. Couldn’t the long, thick length of him though she desperately wanted to. Elain pumped once and Lucien exhaled a near whimpering pant. That was enough.

They weren’t done.

“Lay back,” she said, her voice too small to be truly authoritative and still Lucien did exactly as she commanded. Elain was so nervous, kneeling beside him on her own bed, unsure what she was supposed to do.

He knew it. Lucien pulled his own pants off his body, freeing himself from the last remnants of his clothing. His cock sprang free, bobbing against a thin trail of auburn hair just beneath his navel. Elain reached for it as Lucien’s hands slid beneath her ass, perching her just against his thighs.

“The sight of you,” he breathed, fingers rubbing circles over the dips in her hips. “Fuck, Elain, it makes me…”

She pumped his cock and Lucien arched, eyes rolling upward in his head. This man was dangerous, had climbed into her bedroom window after speaking to her only once. Maybe it was naive to think he wouldn’t hurt her—but Elain knew he wouldn’t.

She pumped again, rocking her hips in time. A ragged breath escaped him, his fingers digging into the cheeks of her ass, spreading and pushing her together over and over. He was inching her up his body until his cock was flat against him and he was rocking her still slick cunt over the skin of his erection. Lucien panted, and though he’d said otherwise, she realized it was him writhing and begging beneath her.

The blunt head of his cock pressed into her opening, teasing as Elain became more frantic. She was building up again, grinding against him. Lucien didn’t stop her, his hands guiding her—to use him, just as he’d asked her to before.

“That’s it,” he breathed. Elains hands were planted against the broad plains of his chest, nails digging viciously into his skin. “Come for me, princess. Make a mess of me.”

Elain couldn’t stop. Lucien flipped her to her back the second release slammed into her, swallowing the sounds to keep her from waking the house.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he whispered against her ear, and Elain, still pulled tight from that second orgasm, could only nod.

Lucien slid himself an inch into her body, groaning when he realized how tightly her body was clenched—desperate, she realized, for something to hold on to. There was pain, though it was slight and mostly from the stretch of accommodating him. Lucien went slow, pushing himself inch by inch for what felt like forever. His hand shook from the effort while a bead of sweat slipped from his forehead.

Only when he was fully seated within her did Lucien relax. Elain squeezed tight, strangely light despite this invasion. They were sharing breath, sharing a body.

“More,” she whispered.

He smiled, kissing her. Lucien pulled himself back out, the loss unforgivable. Elain arched in an attempt to invite him back in, but it wasn’t necessary. Lucien thrust and they both moaned. This—this is what she’d wanted. What had been missing.

“Elain,” he breathed, his teeth grazing her earlobe.

She’d failed—and now she owed him something at dawn. Whatever it was, Elain didn’t care. This was hers, something she’d taken for herself because she wanted it and not because someone was making her do it.

Elain dragged her nails down his back, delighting in how he moaned softly, how his mouth found hers for a kiss that didn’t seem to end.

She’d promised him access to her naked body until she was married—right then, as Elain was cresting back up, she thought she’d made a rather good bargain.

“I didn’t tell you,” Lucien breathed as Elain ran her fingers up and down his spine. “I didn’t tell you what I came here for.”

“You came for this,” she panted, not caring about his reasons. Elain was so close, was practically there. Lucien, too, if the erratic pace he was losing himself in was anything to go by. He’d been close from the start and Elain was dying to see him lose his composure.

“I came for you,” he replied before pressing a sucking kiss at the base of her throat. Elain came again—release barreling into her with more force than she’d expected. She clamped around him tight, drawing his own orgasm out of him whether he was ready to go or not.

Lucien came inside her, pushing himself as deep as he could get. Elain held him against her, her heart pounding against his chest. There was nothing but the sound of their shared breath and the silence of the world around them.

Elain felt light.

She felt free.

Lucien was still buried inside her. “I’ll pay for this,” he whispered, kissing her cheek.

“What do you mean?”

He didn’t withdraw, though he did rise up on his elbows to look at her. “I came tonight for you.”

She smiled. “Yes, you’ve said this. You had me. Are you not pleased?”

He looked between their joined bodies, and the undeniable proof of what had happened between them. “I never intended to leave without you, Elain.”

Elain looked up at him. “What makes you think I’d go anywhere with you?”

Something hard settled against his lovely features. He’d hoped she’d say something else—something different.

“My cock is buried in your cunt, for one,” he replied, flexing so she could feel him. Elain knew she ought to shove him off her. She didn’t.

“What did you expect, Lucien?”

“That you’d let me fuck you,” he murmured, which was a fair assumption she supposed. “And afterward, you’d realize the future you want is with me.”

“I want to be…married…” Elain trailed off, looking up at him. “Lucien. Lucien.”

He kissed her, soft and slow. “That’s exactly right,” he murmured, cupping her face as the reality of what he wanted settled against her. She felt a cascade of things—horror, fear…relief. If she married him, she spared her whole family from her ruined reputation. Graysen would have no claim on her.

“In the morning,” he said, twisting to look at the open window. “You’ll leave with me and we’ll be wed before anyone can intervene. Eris will absolve your father of what he owes—and leave him be, so long as he does not rack up more debt—and Graysen will withdraw his claim to my wife.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“I’ll kill him,” Lucien said simply. “I could kill him for the insult, given I intend to tell everyone I have been courting you like a lady for months, and had secured your approval before your father ever offered you up. I…ah…I hope it preserves some of your reputation.”

Elain wanted to cry. “It won’t,” she whispered, though she wrapped her arms around his neck all the same. “You’re a criminal.”

“A criminal with money,” he reminded her. “With status. The Vanserra name is still worth something.”

“And if I say no?” Elain asked, just to know how far Lucien was willing to go.

He swallowed. “I’m still in your body, princess. You’re mine.”

All Lucien had to do was say he’d had her first. He could ruin her just as easily as her father had, could dig her grave so deeply Elain spent the rest of her life buried beneath the ground, unable to leave the house. Lucien was offering her an out and the life she’d wanted, was freeing her from the promises her father had made that day in the gentlemen's club.

“Okay,” she whispered, well aware she had no choice.

And still, Lucien smiled as if he were getting everything he ever wanted.

#can you believe it took me FOUR DAYS to get to elucien #who is she?#i know i said this would have two parts but hear me out #what if it didnt?#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #someone tell me my moodboard is funny #elain x lucien

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hollyhomburg · 2 years

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Before I Leave You (Pt. 33)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Tae’s first love will always be poetry, you and Jiminie are a close second. Jimin’s instincts are a force to be reckoned with.

Pairings: Omega! Reader, Omega! Jungkook, Omega! Seokjin, Alpha! Namjoon, Alpha! Hoseok, Alpha! Taehyung, Alpha! Jimin, Beta! Yoongi,

Tags: Consumption of alcohol, drunk kisses, Jimin but gets handsy with the m/c, sexual touching, flirting, drunk sexual content, posessive behavior, yandere! Jimin, Don’t like don’t read, Jimin also has like- one sip of alchohol while he is the designated driver, but they are at the bar for 3+ hours

W/c: 9.4k

A/n: Although i don’t think that what happens in the chapter is in any way un consensual- it definitely toes a line in what is considered modern consent theory. I don’t subscribe to the notion that one sip of alcohol takes away a persons agency- and the m/c is still very much verbally consenting to Jimin even though she has had a drink-and he hasn’t and Jimin is scent high so! She’s tipsy at best through the entirety of the chapter.

The Poem that is spoken before Tae’s poem is a snippet from Jasmine man’s poem ‘black girl, call home’ you should all follow her on twitter here! thank you to whatever anon recommended me her work!

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

The sun sets on your drive over, turning the rearview mirror every shade of yellow and red. The lights of the city twinkle in the distance and turn the sky a burning orange on the horizon. Jimin uses his horn liberally as he struggles to park but in the meantime, you transfer your few cards to the new wallet and put the wallet inside the bunny bag. Giving it a happy squeeze when everything is finally all in it’s place.

A group of people smokes outside the bar and If the smell draws Jimin at all he doesn’t show it, holding the door open for you and Tae. the interior of the bar is already crowded by the time you get in. You think you're doomed to the standing room by the bar but then you see it: right by the door, a booth with one side to the windows

Reserved for PARK; party of three.

Neither of your alphas addresses the many many heads that shoot in your direction when you walk in but then again Jimin and Tae are attractive, attractive enough to draw the stairs of many omegas who straighten up in their chairs, and no less than a dozen alphas who instantly widen their shoulders and their stance. Posturing without having to because Jimin and Tae are not a threat (yet) or a possible competitor.

You start to shrink back, but Tae's fingers rub soothing circles on the back of your hand and tug you to stand closer.

It's been so long since Tae has been Taehyung that her transformation is striking, even if you hate it; the way she so effortlessly puts on the disguise of masculinity, tilts her shoulders just so, lets that cold almost detached look in her eyes grow as she catches an alpha staring at you (she doesn’t blame them, but theres a reason she pulls you closer, her hand in yours a clear claim).

You can see the signs of the dysphoria and her discomfort; the way she constantly pulls at her collar, the curled nature to her shoulders, not to mention the bitter edge to her cinnamon scent. The way her stoicism is just a little too tense and practiced is another facet of Taehyung learned from Minnie.

Jimin does not need to playact to be masculine or intimidating, the way he walks leads to stares that follow him as he approaches a nearby bus girl and asks her a question, inaudible over the din, pointing at the only table unoccupied, checking in apparently.

The table reserved has a clear view of a small circular stage already set up on what is probably usually the bars dance floor, complete with a mic and spotlight. people packed around the tables and at the bar. It's a good thing Minnie thought to make a reservation (never-mind that the reservation cost him a pretty penny, that's a secret he'll take to the grave. What's another lie cast into the mix?)

Overlapping conversations and overlapping scents create something that could easily be sensory hell if Tae didn't pile into your side of the booth after you. You almost forgot that this is what it was supposed to be; a drunk poetry night. Even though the nature of poetry is calm and gentle it's still a Friday night in the city. More than one group is nursing worries and others celebrations.

You’re neither the most professionally dressed nor the most fanciful, girls with cute twee skirts and men in dusty suit jackets right next to older women clad in octogenarian chic accompanied by grungy and punky companions. A loud group of alphas at the front dressed more like a set of idols than poets make a good bunch of the noise (maybe they should stick to the sports bar across the street).

The room is a mess of smells and scents of scent blockers, enhancers, and those who want their scents to roam free undiluted or uncomplicated. You’re glad you don’t have to wade through the crowd and bump into people, it's already bothering your nose.

You set your new bunny purse on the table as Jimin takes off his jacket, and before anyone can say anything or Jimin can protest, Tae is already snagging a menu off the table that loudly proclaims their special of the evening is something called a ‘write drunk, edit sober.'

“I’ve got it, what do you want? Something sweet?" A glance says that you don't know what any of the names are let alone the true difference between tequila, rum, and vodka as a base. You look over the list and quickly get overwhelmed by the choice.

But Something sweet is manageable. A small nod and she's already dashing off into the crowd in the direction of the bar, a little extra energy in her step.

You almost want to laugh as you settle in across from Jimin, “he seems excited.” Somehow you know that Tae is going to pick out something you like- something that will probably become a new favorite. Tae has good intuition like that.

Jimin looks like he wants to follow Tae into the crowd but then sits back, leaning in to you from across the table close enough that you can feel the warmth of his shoulder. The closeness makes your skin itch a little, and both of your hands on the table tingle with the need to reach out to his.

“Watch, I bet he makes at least one friend on his way to the bar- look, that one there,” Jimin’s fingers are pudgy as he jabs on in Tae's direction, the other finding yours across the table, his small pinky hooking around yours.

It feels strange to refer to Tae as anything but 'she', but you know she wouldn’t want you to do it now in front of Minnie. and yet- there is the feeling of pinpricks spreading up the back of your neck. Your hands clasp, and you find yourself sinking into the velvet arms of Jimin's scent as he watches Tae worm his way up to the table.

You watch the way she smiles, that special small boxy way that makes her look so beautiful. Your heart aches watching her even across the room and you fidget with the urge to jump up and join her. Does Jimin feel the same way? Is this what it's like to love Tae? Could Jimin give you a how-to guide on how to handle it?

Jimin glances back at you when he realizes you never responded, but the soft smile he finds there is his smiles companion (if two smiles could have a soulmate, yours and his would match since they both come from your love for tae).

“I'm glad we did this, Tae seems really happy.”

“You make Tae really happy.” It’s a fact, not just an observation, and Jimin squeezes your hand as he says it. Jimin is always truthful about Tae though some would say that love is an inherent bias.

This isn't the first time you've been alone with Jimin in a room full of people, but it feels that way. Your scent fluffs over Jimin like a thick blanket as if in reply to his, like the second part of a poems rhyme. He saw you scenting the air in the car and to be honest saw the way it made your mind go all hazy and oblivious to the way he and tae were waiting for you to buckle yourself in. Not annoying but endearing and if Jimin was being honest, it was hard to hold himself back from having the same reaction.

Complimentary scents smell best to the complementary pair. Your scent profiles are both warm, yours’s baked gooeyness and Jimin’s vanilla. Jimin's not sure he's ever had a cake that didn't have at least a teaspoon of vanilla in it. He’s not sure he could think of a better scent combination; maybe Jinnie and Namjoon- coffee and cream.

Jimin wants to gush, take your bait and talk about his favorite obsession. The thing that is making both your scents smell this good.

Have you noticed how pretty he looks when he smiles? the cute way he speeds up when he talks about the books he’s reading? Have you noticed how he holds things when he gets all sleepy? How possessive he gets over what he hugs at night like the little alpha he is. Tell me all about how you love him, please, everything about Tae, even if I’ve heard it before I want to hear it again.

But there is only one secret hidden in your lips, red and painted on by his lover's hands.

Jimin is a little alpha compared to Tae, but if you’re comparing them in terms of instincts- then Tae’s tiny compared to Jimin, a spoonful to a bucket. You’ve seen more than one alpha look away from Jimin and his stare, he’s commanding in his aura. You've also seen more than one omega with their eyes drawn to him, eyelashes fluttering.

It doesn’t irk you like it might have if it was Yoongi they were looking at, but maybe that's only because he hasn't torn his eyes away from you or Tae since you walked in.

‘You make Tae happy.’

“Is that-” you’re a little worried about saying it, and Jimin’s hand tightens in yours. You can feel the callous on his pointer finger from where he must fire a gun, how many times has he fired it, 100? 1000? To get a callous in such a telling place seems to evidentiary.

“-Is that the only reason why you invited me out tonight? Why you wanted to keep this date even after-“ you trail off, unwilling to finish your sentence of ‘even after I made it so difficult for you.'

It has been a full month since he’d initially asked you on this date. More than enough time for each of you to get better ideas of who to spend your time with and for these plans to fall through the cracks. yet they hadn’t- yet, you both sit here. So much has changed since Jimin asked you on this date on Tae's behalf not only between you and Tae but between you and Hobi and Jin and Namjoon too.

Jimin wonders where you'll be next month.

For his credit Jimin is instantly apologetic at your assertion, his hand going ridged on yours. He's an awfully tactile alpha, though you don't know if his constant back and forth touches are a result of him trying to reassure himself that you're still there or that only the repetitive touches seem to sate his blasted instincts.

“No! No- that’s not it at all- please don’t think that’s the only reason, I just-”

One moment you’re sitting on one side of the booth alone and the next, Jimin is pushing himself over to your side. It puts his back to the door unfortunately but fuck it you’re more important than any imagined threat of may or may not walk through that door. Jimin's paranoia has always served him well- but maybe just this once he can let it go without catastrophic consequences.

Maybe.

Jimin’s hands on your thighs are firm as he hoists you into his lap easily. You let out a little oof but even though you blush and look around but no one is watching the alpha quite literally manhandle you close to him. Then again, you aren't the only omega in the room sitting on someone's lap.

Jimin is not good with words when he's not talking to Tae (maybe that just means he's not good at words period). Jimin speaks with his body, says please stay and I'm sorry for more than you know, more than we can say here.

If I could, I'd go back and change everything. make sure that I never treated you so coldly at the beginning, that none of us did.

Jimin feels more guilt than is necessary over the pack's initial treatment of you, but who could have known that you'd end up meaning so much to them? That as your words grew, so would their love.

Jimin speaks with his body sometimes, and now, he’s holding you like just your words were enough to get him into a frenzied. He holds you so gently like just having you in his hands will damage you, Jimin knows from experience that breaking things can often feel like fixing them.

"Sorry! sorry, I just-" He pulls back just a hair, just enough to look into your eyes. You shift across his lap, the button of his pants digging into your outer thigh. “I can get a little intense sometimes. I don’t want to freak you out but I feel like I don’t have good control of my instincts around you.” he admits.

Have I ever? Is this ever going to get easier?

His fingers hook into the pleats of your skirt and he grimaces, blushing at how he just literally picked you up and got you close without thinking of if you wanted it- if you’d be comfortable by such a public display of affection.

He waits, waits to see if you’ll squirm out of his lap, if you’ll blush and restore yourself to your careful distance between your bodies from before. Jimin has no Business monopolizing your affection- especially when you where on Tae’s side of the booth, when it’s probably only Tae that you want to cuddle like this.

But then, your arms tighten around his shoulders, keeping him close when he starts to pull back. You steal yourself, begging to be brave just this once.

“Who told you,” You say, balancing on his knee, you have to pull yourself closer to keep from sliding off. And it puts your mouth close to his ear and his neck, your breath caressing his skin.

“-That I didn’t want you to be intense with me?"

You let yourself loosen up held in his arms, you know that even if you started to slide off his lap, he'd still catch you. He does when you start to loosen your hold. Jimin’s shirt is a bit tight and it shows off his arms, you can feel every inch of the muscle on them as they circle your back. He’s muscular but then again, it’s his job to look imposing and protective.

"What are you gonna do? Something stupid to let every other alpha here know I'm Namjoon’s? Or would you rather pretend for a night that I'm just yours and Tae’s?”

Jimin growls, the noise jumping out of his throat at just the suggestion, the picture you paint- if you just belong to just him and if it was his mark at your throat.

There are more than a few words you won't say to Jimin. His eyes flash dangerously and his adam's apple bobs with the strength of his swallow to keep the growl down. His voice rumbles and ripples in a way that you can feel in your bones.

He leans in close, nudging your nose with his, “You have no idea, what me intense looks like.” Jimin’s hand comes up tentatively to cup your face. You feel drunk on his scent, or maybe a little high, you know that he feels the same, that with every inhale his heart beats quicker.

“Humor me, might as well try it out, just for tonight, right?”

“Just for tonight,” Jimin echoes, utterly transfixed by you. You can’t say you don’t feel the same. It's such a nice feeling to feel coddled, to feel babied and taken care of. To trust that whatever your little heart desires, Jimin will give it to you.

You don't necessarily need it, but it’s been a long time since you’ve felt powerful- since you’ve felt capable. There is something about the way he looks at you that makes you feel both protectable and powerful, discerned and devoured. Something intoxicating in the way you can see him measuring the people behind you, poised to engage with threats real and imaginary.

Your eyes flutter up to look at what he’s looking at. At the bar, Tae chats with the bartender; maybe complimenting her on her hair (a short neon pink buzz cut) or something else. Tae has always been fast to make friends with the strange ones.

(Though tae has mastered her farce, that doesn't mean she's as dangerous as every other cis person. And it's the result of some in vain hope- that the strangers of the world and those that exist in pockets will one day accept her too.)

But then you see the small collection of drinks that Tae’s gotten, a beer and 3 different fruity drinks. A pair of the 'write drunk, edit sobers' that had so drawn her eyes, what looks to be just an ordinary (but rebranded) espresso martini.

You shoot off of Jimin's lap stumbling to your feet, and so does Jimin, whatever spell cast between you broken. “I should help Tae.” You’re darting off into the crowd before Jimin can tell you to stay put. But really would you have listened?

Before you can go more than a few paces you run straight into a wide and muscular chest. The alpha from the smell of him (ambery- thick and red-brown, if red could have a scent) isn’t much taller than Yoongi. His arm blocks your path, leaning across your path and onto a table. He sends you a grin that must give him more than a few numbers in spoils. He reminds you of a pirate- if pirates had silver hair a shade too purple from over toning.

“Judging from the look of that alpha you certainly have a thing for scary ones. I’ll let you know I’m twice as scary as he could ever be.” His grin would be charming if it weren’t for the way that his canines glimmer- a little too sharp for you to feel at ease.

You avert your eyes, taking a step back, “I can be scary enough on my own, thanks.”

You try to step around the stranger but he steps with you, blocking your path, “come on, at least let me buy you a drink.”

You don’t meet his eyes, but you try not to let him steamroll you. Tae is only 5 paces away with her back still turned, if she were to only turn around and see you she'd realize in a moment that you needed her help. Alphas never listen, well none of them do but your alphas; Jin has them remarkably well trained.

Which reminds you, you don't think you've seen a text from him in a minute, you were kind of looking forward to a ‘sorry I missed you text’ or maybe a cheekier ‘good luck on your date pup, give Minnie a good luck kiss from me too’ text. You didn't notice anything wrong with him this morning, anything that might cause you to worry.

Maybe work's just busy... maybe he's home already and he's wrapped up in Hobi and Namjoon's arms. Sleeping off the stress of work in preparation of tomorrow and oblivious to the notifications on his phone.

You try to copy a little bit of Jin's snark, or maybe it's your own that comes forward. You're proud to admit that your voice only barely shakes. “Geeze, a guy who claims to be dangerous asking to buy a girl a drink. I’ve never heard that one end poorly before.”

The alpha blanches. “Am I really that stereotypical?”

“Not yet but you’re toeing the line.”

“Hopefully you won't hold it against me, let me buy you that drink to apologize. My name's Jackson, by the way.”

“You could run face-first into the point and you'd still miss it.” you add, infusing the words with as much sarcasm as you can, “and I don’t think I need to know your name.”

You’re tired of this; you want to know nothing of this stranger. And luckily enough for you, a familiar arm encircles your waist before he has a chance to reply. You feel the tell-tale shift in your own body that says Minnie that speaks to safe harbors both familiar and old. Just like Jimin's instincts recognize you as his, so do yours recognize the safety of an alpha that will never willingly or willfully hurt you.

Jimin isn’t afraid to meet the eyes of this alpha. The way the smell of amber instantly dims in his presence makes you feel no small amount of satisfaction. Jimin's fingers dig into your ribs a tiny bit, but the contact is just firm enough for your fear to instantly fade. Jimin will handle him, you busy yourself by nuzzling into his shoulder.

Jimin is silent as he glares, unnervingly so.

“What, no comeback scary boy?” he throws in his direction, but it sounds limp even to you. You lean into Jimin’s arm thankfully. Your alpha snorts, jaw tensing like he's holding back another growl.

“I think we both know a failed proposition when we see it,” Jimin smirks, “my omega is fine with my company this evening, she certainly won't be needing any of yours.” Even though he must be a few inches shorter than the other alpha he still manages to take up more space.

My omega. The words bring a blush to your face, and when he looks down at you his eyes are cat-like in their intensity, it’s only then that he growls, showing his teeth a little too wide. “Do you need anything from him pup?”

You couldn’t look away from Jimin if you wanted to, “no alpha.”

If Jackson had a tail, it would be tucked between his legs as he goes to rejoin his boisterous bunch of alphas near the bar. Tae comes from the opposite side Just in time to avoid the unpleasantness. Oblivious to the near confrontation and narrowly avoiding dropping your drinks on the small tray, keeping her eyes fixed on the shaking glasses.

“Did I ever tell you that I was a waiter in college?”

Jimin takes the tray from her effortlessly, stopping what looks like a mimosa from tipping over. “I only lasted a week.” You bark a laugh and the lights overhead flicker announcing the start of the poetry performances, you’re quick to take your seats.

Tae describes each of the drinks and proposes you share them to get a better idea of what bar drinks taste like, a little taste test of the bar's best. You've been drunk before with Tae and you've tasted alcoholic drinks but you've never been to a bar, never clinked glasses with her and been offered sips chased with "try this one’s," and “this used to be my favorite until college.” Your little suprised noises are so cute they make Jimin's toes curl, watching the two of you like you're the real entertainment of the evening.

The scent of many people and alcohol bothers you less the more you sit here, though maybe that's just your proximity to Tae and Jimin. You shiver, and Jimin immediately notices, taking off his jacket and handing it over to you. You settle it over your legs, as much as you thought the long socks would be enough to keep you warm, this room is air-conditioned to high heaven.

The only ones that are the same on Tae's little tray are the dainty little espresso martinis; but a mimosa, a vodka cranberry, and something called a peach surprise also litter the tray. Jimin plucks a water with lemon from the center, two others for you and Tae there too.

You and Tae clink your glasses and Minnie sips his water, and then when you insist, he clinks his with yours too. After a little plying Jimin at least tries the espresso martini. His eyebrows raising as the taste runs over his tongue. You have to look down at your drink to keep yourself from watching too carefully as Jimin's tongue pokes between his lips licking the last little bit.

Are these drinks strong, or is it just the attention that has heat rising to your cheeks? He casts a regretful look at the glass and says next time he’ll have Namjoon or one of the others drive.

There is some sort of schedule a roster, or playbill of which poets might speak when. Once the Mc wrangles everyone into relative quiet they begin, although the quiet background noise of whispered conversations will remain for the duration of the performances.

The words start slowly like the beginnings of a melody overlapping. Some poems are shorter and only minutes long whereas other poets wax for what feels like hours. Your murmured conversations aren’t the only ones but you’re mostly quiet for Tae who turns her face up to the light and basks in the words eyes bright. Her breath timed with each of the poet's exhales so that the words might linger on her tongue, sometimes you watch her mouthing them- and realize that they must not all be original works.

Each performance takes you closer and closer to the end of the night, and the open mic section of the evening, do you notice her fidgeting increasing? Her nervousness rising? Or are you too busy being in love with her to notice.

Tae never imagined a single sheet of paper could feel so heavy in her pocket, but she catches herself reaching in and checking to make sure it’s still there more than once.

You and Minnie are not quite in love with words the same way Tae is, but seeing her like this is almost enough to make you declare it outright. You share more than one besotted glance when Tae shakes with particular excitement, animated during the ones she likes and a little teary-eyed during the particularly romantic ones.

The table is wide, but not wide enough that you can’t feel Jimin’s thigh between yours. Or that you can’t lean across it to speak softly into his ear, the table digging into your stomach as you go. “I understand, I understand why you’d do anything for Tae.” Jimin turns to you, and you watch his eyes soften.

The drinks are good, you like the fruity ones but you savor them slowly, worried about not knowing your tolerance. After the third performance Jimin catches you shivering again and he beckons you over and Tae gets up so that you can switch sides.

He doesn’t let you return to sitting by yourself again instead pulling you into his lap again so that you can lean against his chest. His arms smoothing up and down your sides to warm you up, inadvertently rubbing his scent glands on his wrists into the fabric too. Something tells you that it’s his instincts and the threat of so many strange alphas that are making him act so possessive.

It's a little easier to talk to Minnie quietly since Tae's substantially distracted by the woman on the stand as she speaks, her diction practiced and each line of the words she speaks measured in sweet breaths like you can taste the love she has for this person on the air.

“And I know you did not give me permission to, but I already started asking god about you. I told him, if he doesn’t mind, I’d like to make it to heaven before you do.”

Maybe the drinks are strong and that's why you melt into his arms. He makes a noise in his throat, a tiny little growl, and holds you tighter. Scenting along your shoulder. Even though you already smell a lot like him and Tae, a good scenting would do you good although the act might be a little too intimate for a public setting.

30 years ago the act of scenting in public was considered outright public indecency the same way kissing and holding hands was 50 years ago, but it's considered on par with making out in public these days.

If Jimin were drunk, he'd already have scented you and would have dragged you into it in front of that alpha just to prove a point. See it's my scent that she wears, mine that she likes to nest with, mine mine mine.

Your nose pokes the junction between his jaw and his ear, and Jimin almost wants to sigh in relief. "Your instincts acting up again Minnie?" You tease shyly.

His hands smooth up and down your skirts, skimming close to the hem but not quite touching there just yet. It's not an unwelcome touch, and he does it almost without thinking, mindlessly stimming with you.

"Maybe, we've got an audience of our own pup." It only takes a second for you to find the source of his angst. The alpha from before (what was his name?) turns away when you catch him watching across the bar. Your cheeks are warm but Jimin doesn't stop his touching, you don't have to look to know that he's giving the alpha the stare down. That Jimin's piercing glare has found its next victim.

But then the next moment, his hands are receding from your body like a pretty piece of sea glass abandoned by the tide. A small whine rises in your throat, and Jimin freezes. He gulps at his water and when he goes to put his hand back on the table you grab it, feeling bold, and return it to its rightful place on your thigh.

"I thought we agreed not to hold back tonight." Is what you want to say, but instead you blurt-

"I'm wearing lingerie." Jimin snorts his water, "-for you and Tae."

Jimin holds his face in two hands, but even that doesn't keep his pink cheeks from poking through. Melting forward onto the table and taking a swig of your mimosa for strength.

It even draws Tae's attention, pulling her away from the poetry to reach for Jimin's hand across the table. "You okay?" Tae whisper yells, eyeing both of your expressions with mute curiosity. But she looks a little hazy; her espresso martini is already drained. She hasn't picked up on your flirting at all or maybe it's so expected that she doesn't find it surprising.

"Fine- I'm fine" Jimin chokes, and Tae goes back to watching when Jimin stops coughing.

You think you're done- already starting to slide off Jimin's lap but then his hands go firm and rough on your hips, keeping you where you are. Every eye in the bar is on the woman who performs- everyone but yours, Minnie’s, and the other alpha.

"Just for us pup?" Jimin's lips brush against your ear when he leans forward. "If we were alone, I'd ask to see, but as it is I'd rather just feel you." His teeth dig into your earlobe, nipping and making you gasp. your scent fluffs even thicker and more intoxicating if that's even possible. Jimin is a glutton when it comes to you and your hips falling open at just the suggestion equally as indulgent in the fantasy.

That need not be fantasy. From this angle, very few people can see what Jimin's doing under the table let alone that they're under your skirt. Really- it's just the other pitiful pathetic alpha that watches, and Jimin would be lying if he didn't feel the near rabid with the need to prove to you that it’s a good think you’re his.

"Can I pup?" Jimin’s thumb is pressing hard into the top of your thigh, you wonder if he’d leave bruises when he fucked you. If he’d like claiming marks like that.

You're so keyed up it's unbelievable, you haven't wanted someone this much in a long time, maybe since Yoongi. Jimin is very very good at letting you know where the edges of your control lie. He grabs your wrist when you reach back for him. Placing it in his hair, back arched, head tipped along his shoulder both of you drowning in shadows, private if only for the darkness of the bar and the light from the street spilling through the window. Headlights that pass illuminating your bodies.

“Tug when you want me to stop, when i go too far.”

"Please Minnie-Please just-"

Your needy whines would be loud if you didn't bite them back as Jimin's hand creep up and up, slowly increasing the combing of his hands. Going further and further with each pass, letting your skin sing with each increasingly bold touch.

Jimin leans closer as the woman on the stand continues to speak. The words washing over you like the wanting. You are not drunk, not too drunk to feel uncomfortable with the way he touches you, just an inch over the line of proper and maybe entirely improper with the tiny broken whines that spill from your lips.

Fuck- maybe he actually is high on your scent.

“To run your bathwater, to make you a plate,"

Jimin's palms rest on your hip bones hidden by your skirt, just a touch closer, and then back down. You watch the other alpha gulp, and you wish you could watch Jimin’s face instead.

"To turn the tv to your favorite channel,"

Jimin's hand brushes just for a second, the tips of his fingers pressing between your thighs, over the silkly softness of your lace, just in the centre, a bold touch and one that wreches a gasp from your chest. you jump at the contact-

"And make you believe you left it that way.”

-And back up right into Jimin's hardness, poking at your backside, thick and hot and hard. Slick spills, tickling at your core and making you tingle with wanting. The scent of it is thick and intoxicating into the air, so heavenly and honey-like that Jimin growls, unbitten.

If he touched you again, his hand would come away damp.

your hand goes ridged in his hair without you realizing it- making a loud whine spill from your lips as his hands retract, even though he’d told you he’d stop when you pulled, you still wanted it. Wanted more.

Luckily, the sound of your whines and growls are perfectly timed as the bar erupts with applause and Tae gives it a standing ovation, but by the time she turns back you and Minnie are sipping at your drinks.

You and Jimin match, pink cheeks and pink up to his brow. Does it feel forbidden for Jimin to touch you right under Tae's nose? Have they talked about it? Does Jimin know the way you've been touched by Tae or will that be another delightful discovery? Your chest heaves and though you lift the glass to your lips you don't take a sip.

Jimin finishes his water and starts his second one. “Give me a taste of your peachy thing” Jimin takes one swallow, makes a face, and gives it back to you.

“No? You don’t like it?” You’re kind of offended- you really like it. Maybe Jin would learn how to make it if you asked him. Jin seems like the kind of person to like mixed drinks, you’d like to get drunk with him one day.

Jimin shakes his head, hair fluffing in front of his eyes a little bit, finally looking the tiniest bit ruffled. “It's not to my taste.”

“What is to your tastes then Jimin?”

Tae's eyes roll to the ceiling, god you're gonna be in trouble if you keep talking to Minnie like that, but Tae's soulmate giggles, a little uninhibited, the cute noise that more often than not has Jimin falling out of chairs, the particular lilt to it the same one he gets when he's feeling a little scent high...

Tae's eyes narrow.

The answer is simple, “you.” Your giggle is from the charm of his company than the alcohol. You sip at your drinks slowly. His gaze darts away his smile satisfied. “Only If it’s on the table of course.”

Jokingly, you get up, planting your ass on the table for a second and making the glasses and their liquids tinkle, before you return to his arms with a quiet oof, laughing and tucking your face into his neck. Tae likes the joke, her little huffing laugh that makes both you and Minnie feel like you've won something and Jimin nuzzles closer into your neck. Scenting you ever so slightly again just for good measure.

Tae watches you, swirling the champagne around in her glass to better mix it with the orange juice at the bottom. "What's your favorite?" she asks, exhaling her humor and letting contentment build. You two are so cute, tae almost has a mind to cross the table and join you.

Minnie’s looking so so so scent high too, and Tae reminds herself to be watchful. Getting scent high is more common in pack alphas and alphas like Jimin. It’s not anything too too worrisome- it’s not like being actually high- but still. Getting scent high makes alphas like Jimin say “how high” when omegas like you ask them to jump.

You hum, unaware of the power you hold with your cheek pressed to Jimin's neck. "I think I like the fruity ones, maybe the mimosa if it had more orange."

Jimin almost wants to growl at you displeasure, anything that would leave his omega displeased worth his agression. He should have scented you fully before you left home. Enough that this stupid alpha wouldn't worm his way under Jimin's skin, wouldn't make him itch to take you over the table. To have you dripping of him and not just for him. only a scent mark like that would Leave no question to any alpha that might smell you that you belong to him.

Would you like it? The way your hips part as you settle back down and the next poem begins makes him think that you would. You sit splayed like you're leaving room for Jimin’s hands on you.

A fresh burst of air from the door opening clears Jimin’s head, and for the rest of the performances, his hands remain separated from their home between your thighs.

After the music performance and a few more poems, the night is starting to drag on and as much as you like sitting in this booth with Tae and Jimin, the sugar and the vodka are starting to turn your stomach. Yoongi made you eat something earlier but you still get progressively dizzier and more animated, a cuddled bundle pressed to Jimin’s side.

You're a bit of a clingy drunk leaning into him with your legs sat perpendicular across his lap. (Mot that Jimin would call you drunk quite yet). You're more just a tipsy cuddle bunny) but not an inch of Jimin minds; not when he can run his hands up and down your waist as much as he wants with you pliant in his lap. Sneakily rubbing his scent gland against you again and again until his skin feels a little raw.

You might also not be drunk because Tae has been doing the lion's share of drinking for you, the espresso martini the champagne, and the beer all gone by the time the music performance starts. Jimin doesn't have the heart to tell Tae to slow down.

The other week, when Taehyung got so drunk he vomited, Jimin had chastised himself for not spotting it right away, that Tae was too far gone, had trodden over that imaginary line of too much and not enough. Tonight- he'll watch his soulmate like a hawk- make sure that the drink he holds now is his last.

But maybe he shouldn't say anything at all, maybe saying anything will only caution the uncomfortableness to return. That’s the last thing he wants- especially since this is the first night in a long time thats felt normal.

His touches remain furiously chaste on you. Not quite as careless as he was before especially as you start to drink more. Jimin is supposed to be the sober one here. Supposed to be the one with restraint, but it's hard with the way your body begs for his touch and your constant squirming any time his touch starts to drift from your skin.

You’re leaning your chin against Jimin's shoulder and enjoying the simple pleasure of his company and the warmth of your alpha, while he and Tae gossip about Jimin’s job after the performance of the better-than-you-thought-he'd-be shaggy-haired alpha on his lone guitar, the music a welcome respite from the constant words.

It’s then that the MC steps up to the stage, quieting the crowd which has gotten progressively louder. “And now we’d like to open up the floor to anyone who might have something of their own to share for tonight.”

Like it's the moment she's been waiting for Tae turns to you and in quick succession presses a soft kiss to your lips, winks at Minnie, and then stands.

"Tae what are you-" but she just sends Minnie a shy smile as she makes long strides to get to the stage first, beating out several other hopefuls and revealing a small folded piece of paper from her own pocket. The mc hands out numbers scrawled on small little dinner placards- and Tae gets the first one.

Jimin moves to stand and accompany Tae, depositing you safely onto the seat but you bob almost falling, holding onto Jimin as you need him to stand, the blood rushing to your head.

Jimin sends a conflicted glance in Tae's direction, then yours.

"Maybe we should just sit, what's he doing?" Jimin's voice is nearly wounded. Worried and drenched in fear for his soulmate.

"I don't know," you take Tae's seat and Jimin sits on the edge of the booth. Jimin makes quick work moving your and Tae's collection of half-finished drinks to the uninhabited side of the booth. Giving you his water and telling you to drink. He's poised to stand should Tae need him to, watching his soulmate with watchful eyes, this entire situation completely foreign to him.

Things don't often feel new to Jimin and Tae.

Jimin and Tae who are two trees planted close together left to grow into each other until two root systems become one. Jimin and Tae who are like sour and sweet candies. Like the line between the ocean and the sky, not even a horizon between the two of them.

Because Tae never lets anyone read her writing.

She never even speaks more than one or two lines at a time- if they happen to taste particularly good on her tongue or she needs help with the order of them. Sometimes- in Jimin's treasured moments, she'll say a few, Jimin's head in Taehyung's lap and Tae's ruddy soul left to filter through the air, as close to honest as she ever dares.

She saves her words for all but the most hidden moments, her feelings special and secret and only for her consumption no matter Jimin's begging. It's been years- years and years since Jimin learned not to ask about Tae's poetry- learned not to ask for things that were not given. One of their few boundaries.

Tae most certainly does not do poetry readings.

Jimin straightens, his knuckles rolling against the table anxiously watching tae wait as the Mc forms the other hopefuls into a small line.

There is a second reason why Tae never ever shares her poems with people. A dreaded reason that many people do not consider when they write their souls down, contain them, and bottle them onto paper for someone to sip at. The ink that stains the mouth and turns a reader's teeth bloody with your soul.

All writers know that there is only one way to ensure you do not die alone.

When you guide people from scene to scene and force them to see the world as you see it. When you let someone in, in that way- it's to have them feel the way you breathe and where you might pause if you spoke. To let someone know what it's like to live through you, to want the same things that you want, the daydreams that become yours together and not just yours alone.

Tae has always thought reading someone's poetry and their favorite stories is far more intimate than reading a diary. It tells you more about a person than how they view the world or how it makes them feel. With writing, you can understand how it hurts them, how they ache, and how to heal them all wrapped up into a short few words.

Intimacy is rarely so pretty and yet so raw.

How many words is Jimin worth, a thousand? Fifty thousand? A million? Or is love more infinite than that? A faucet that never stops dripping, a river that never runs dry.

Tae has exactly two hundred and fifty-five words for you right now, though that’s a pity few with what she could write and certainly not the last batch of words she will whip up with you in mind. It’s a good thing that Tae was drinking or else she might not have enough courage to actually do this, to spill her soul onto these floors and mop up the consequences later.

Her knees shake and her hair puffs up behind her ear in a cowlick. “Sorry- sorry” the mic screeches, Tae's hair is a little halo and her shoulders look bright white beneath the spotlight, her face drowned in shadow. Jimin looks poised to stop anyone that might dare pop the bubble that is Tae by not allowing her to continue even though she takes a good ten seconds to begin.

The crowd quiets down and Tae tries not to feel nervous, failing horribly as her knees start to shake. She has a small piece of paper clutched in her fist; wrinkled and worn like she spent hours poring over it- trembling like a leaf in a downpour too. Tae’s voice cracks over the first line, the words coming out timid at first and then stronger.

“My love is nothing like a meal.”

Someone in the crowd clears their throat as Tae pauses, the sheet in In front of her stilling as she gets her words under her. “-For she is all for me. She is not just a piece to share,

"My love is not just cups of coffee or chosen spoonful’s of sugar, she is not just syrup sweet or candy made cotton, though you might perhaps confuse her soul with something so soft-

Tae's voice builds slowly in its momentum, her shoulders relaxing from their pinched-up poison the more her feelings spill but it's nothing you don't already know, nothing that you haven't felt before.

“No- my love is not freshly broken bread, or sweet favor given from honey to flower. My love is not one part of anything- like vanilla to bean. She is not chocolate, because something so treasured would not dare melt on her lips. My love is nothing like a meal.

“-But a dessert? Now that might earn your favor.”

You can’t stop your small giggle, other people in the bar laugh too. your eyes are locked on tae, you don’t glance to see Minnie's reaction or the movement at your peripherals. You're on the receiving end of more than a few looks, the people who know what table Tae came from, who follow the path of her eyes and find them locked on your.

Jimin wishes he could bottle the way that you look or take a photo without being obvious and missing your moment, standing poised with a hand over your mouth to hide your smile, your lashes brushing your lower cheek for only milliseconds when you blink, breath baited and caught on Tae's every word.

Jimin feels thankful to have a front-row seat and see this, falling in love with Tae never gets old. They're no stranger to accepting another person into their love. It's kind of unfortunate that this is the last time that they'll be allowed to do this. Somehow, Jimin thinks that there will be no one permanent after you. Friends maybe- but lovers?

Never.

Maybe you are the keystone to Tae's happiness, the final piece of the puzzle that is Taehyung's perfect life- the only life that Jimin has ever wanted for his soulmate.

“My love aches and something blooms. My love speaks and butterflies find it safe enough to hatch. My love loves and I am left completely bare of all my armor, but you are not my fatal flaw or my Achilles heel,

"My love my love my love- my beautiful love”

She glances up at you and blushes so hard that she has to hide her face with the edge of the paper. "You are nothing but the tenderest of things possible, love made life and cupids arrow sharper, the breath before a first kiss made human.

Tae's voice goes a hair edge more serious and you never would have expected her next words to break your heart. To feel it crumble beneath the weight of all your hope, where I your atlas I'd hold you up- But as it is, Jimin is already holding himself back.

"I have never felt beautiful.” tae’s face is hung, eyes closed, her deep brow shielding her eyes from the light.

“Because even ugly people have something beautiful about them. The way they smile or the way they sing, the jokes they tell or the stories they bring,

Tae swallows and puts down the sheet of paper, no longer needing to read from it, and only needing to look at you. “But I think the only thing beautiful about me, is you."

"I am the person you have chosen to love."

A hush has fallen over the crowd, no one dares to breathe or move. Your eyes are swimming with tears, you don’t know when you stood up but it’s all rushing to you at the moment, but you won't go to Tae until she's finished.

“And that makes me a most beautiful thing too.”

The paper in her hands falls away and She doesn’t even see the crowd with you in front of her stumbling forward, a short 4 feet and 2 paces from the stage.

But both of you stand in silence, the weight of her words and all their delightful edges between you paused until someone in the crowds shouts- punctuating the silence-

“Just kiss her already!"

The room could be empty of just the two of you and it would still feel the same. Just the two of you standing alone as you did in the dressing room, confessions of love and kisses coming. Tae will confess her love for you a hundred thousand times, again and again just to get it right.

Tae stumbles off the stage and you meet her in the middle- The kiss is cacophonous and echoic, Tae's sweat-damp cheeks pressed to yours and one hand gripping the back of your head to deepen it with a sweet roll of her tongue against yours. Never mind your lipstick and how it smudges, her lips on yours hot and furious and candy to the semi intoxicated crowd as she spins you in her arms. You barely hear the sound of the bar erupting with applause over the thunder of your heartbeat.

The kiss ends and the Mc snatches the mic out of Tae’s hands before she has the chance to drop it in favor of holding you. Tae is quick to vacate the small stage, a few wolf whistles accompanying you but none too lewd.

You pull her face down to yours, lips bitten and kissed pink- that will be kissed raw by the end of the night. “Tae- you- the poem-”

“did you like it? I know it wasn’t my best but-” you just about tackle her and screw the watching eyes as you plant a lipstick heavy kiss squarely over her cheek- smudges be damned. You’ve done a good job of making her lips a little rosier just by kissing her too. Your lips leave the perfect little print on her cheek, you add another to her other side just for good measure.

One person is clapping the loudest; Minnie, still standing and grinning at the two of you, you and Tae dash to him, trading other kisses and in the crowded rancor of people. It’s easy for them to sneak a kiss, for Minnie's arm to settle one around your waist and the other around Tae's.

But this kisses don’t last forever, as more than one person bounds up to compliment her on her words and her poem. A small little gaggle of people who want to talk to her.

You and Jimin share a small smile and he pecks at your mouth while Tae enjoys the attention, shoulders knitting up to her ear in shyness. Growing more and more comfortable when she realizes that no one has anything negative to say only positive things.

Do you have any printed copies? How about a card? can you write your email down? Do you have a blog where you share the things you write?

You and Jimin watch as The Mc approaches Tae and asks if she'll be available next month, as a scheduled speaker.

You return to kissing jimin as Tae basks in the attention, the other poems starting up in the background. Your kisses get hungry quickly, spurred on by the dizzying delight of Tae's words.

There is so much Jimin wants to say that gets swallowed by the kisses. Seeing Tae kiss you only makes Jimin curious, what does it feel like to kiss you with tongue, to make them sweeter? To nibble with his teeth? What is your taste like when combined with Tae’s?

Thank you for making Tae feel that way, thank you for making her feel safe enough to share that much of her soul.

But also,

How did you do that? How did you get her to love you just as much as she loves me so quick? Teach me your secrets. Any way to Tae I will listen and study and love for. Jimin's hands are safe when they hold you- the precious thing that has made Tae feel beautiful.

Jimin didn't know that was a thing Tae wanted. Strong, safe, capable, happy- sure those things are an easy laundry list that Jimin can check off one after the other. But beautiful? Jimin is a tangle of emotions, love for you, and abject jealousy messing with thankfulness.

The back of Jimin's hand, his knuckles, rolls against your cheek as he pulls back for a second hungry kiss, looking and searching your eyes for something of substance before he presses his lips back to yours. He licks into your mouth searching for a hit of Tae's taste.

Jimin's hands-on you are the boldest they've ever been, hands under your skirts squeezing greedy handfuls of your thighs, not that you care, tucked into your forgotten corner in your booth. His hand grabs the outside of your thigh, the tips of his fingers tickling the band of your underwear. Without wondering and without asking, you hook your fingers into his belt loops, pulling his hips closer.

The growl Jimin lets out makes several alphas nearby turn, ears piked, but they give you a wide birth. Jimin needs to breathe, separating your lips with a pop, huffing little breaths into the crook of your shoulder, teeth nibbling.

You look back at the crowd and find Tae in some deep conversation with another poet, one of the ones that went up first, shaking her hand. She casts one glance over her shoulder at you, winking.

How did you end up here, Jimin's body covering yours in the booth?

"Do you know," Jimin whispers low in your ear, dragging your attention back to him, "how hard it is to hold back around you two?" Jimin's lips brush your neck. "Especially when everyone's looking at the two of you like that?"

Jimin abandoned his whispered platitudes in favor of pinning your skin between his teeth and sucking on the sweet skin of your neck. Tongue rolling against your scent gland. It only makes you grab the front of his shirt more, fingers knotting in the fabric. Biting back little mewling noises as he sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin under your ear.

There- now with you substantially marked Jimin's alpha can relax just a bit. But maybe another just for good measure. He sucks a second mark pressing you back into the leather.

Would you let Jimin suck a claiming mark on each body part so that everyone knows every inch of you is his? Would you let him claim you? Suddenly Jimin's alpha is frantic with the need to make sure you stay here.

You blink, breathing heavily as Jimin sucks and sucks, lips parting to lick occasionally at the marks. You blink dully watching Tae's back in the crowd. She casts a bemused smile in your direction and moves to block you and Minnie from view, fingers reaching back from where she sits to rub against your ankle.

Your eyes flash to the crowd, searching for disgusted eyes, anything that would make you want to stop. It's not that you don't want this but- you are in public. And the way Jimin is touching you says that tonight is going to be short-lived. minutes now, and he'll swoop you out of this bar and away.

But not everything can go to plan.

The first thing you see is the long skirt, and black tulle fluffing around high-heeled shoes. Black, shiny in the way that designer Louis Vuitton's are shiny. And then in the crowd, a flash of red lipstick, a not dissimilar shade of yours that is now mostly smudged across Jimin's lips and Tae's cheeks.

You glance, then- recognizing the lilt of her smile, her face- you feel like a cold bucket of water has just been dropped over you, extinguishing any pleasure as Jimin growls out something that sounds suspiciously like “mine” against your skin.

“Hyejinie!”

Her smile is happy, if not a little strained, blinking back something that looks suspiciously like tears as she looks down at you tangled with some filthy alpha. You and Jimin disengage, as your alpha turns, turns to see who you're calling- the only name on your tongue should be his and Tae's. Not a stranger.

Hyejin isn't alone; no alpha would let their omega go out alone on a Friday night unaccompanied. Behind her, another familiar face lingers in the crowd, half covered in shadow. hands in her pockets, looking at you like a school teacher looks at a student caught cheating.

Moonbyul.

~-~

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hel-phoenyx · 1 month

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Senri is the Almighty gf's character, Nicomaque @soupedepates's and Inquisitor @noa-de-cajou's

I don't know how I ended up here. One moment I was happy, calm, planning my next days as much as I could, wanting to ask Thibault out even if I knew I wouldn't be taken seriously again why would he there's no way he wants something with me no way he can still like me after letting my letters unanswered and stopping to write to me altogether and

And the other moment I am sat on a wall far, far away in Tokyo with the man I loathe the most of all that school next to me, smoking the thirtiest cig of the hour.

And here I promised no one would see me in that state since Senri. Pathetic idiot I am.

Nicomaque holds the pack in front of me.

"Want one ?"

I'm on seven months sober, but right now refusing would take me too much energy. I take one, and he lights it with his own. I won't admit that turns me on yet. I'm too dazed to be horny anyway.

I inhale the smoke in silence, and the familiar taste brings some sort of clarity to my blood-soaked brain.

Nicomaque gives me one of his smug smiles. I want to rip it off.

"Still not gonna talk, huh."

"Shut up."

"Ah, thought as much. And now that you can talk, what do we say to the man that distracted Inquisitor away so we could sneak out ?"

"Fuck you."

"Still the vocabulary of a five year-old, I see your brain hasn't quite come into place. You're welcome, van Heel."

Stop smiling. It infuriates me. But at the same time, I didn't think I could feel something.

I hate this brand of cigs. Of course, he picks it because he knows the smell on him is even more damning this way. At least, this time, that stops me from finishing the smoke, and asking for another. I just crush it on the wall next to me, dangerously close of his hand, without looking his way.

I hate feeling vulnerable. I hate showing a hint of weakness. I hate that it's him who saw that.

I don't even remember what triggered the meltdown. I'm not supposed to have meltdowns that violent. Last time was when I saw Senri's scars, so different and similar to mine at the same time, but no one showed me pain or sadness this time, so why did I end up too weak to even tell Nicomaque to go fuck himself, and maybe let me watch because you can't change a man ?

I am so tired.

He puts off his own cig, before jumping off the wall.

"Well, if you're not gonna talk, that means I can bring you anywhere and exploit you without retaliation. You paying me something to drink ?"

"Dream of it, Papoulos."

"Mister millionnaire doesn't want to help the proletariat, shame. I guess I will have to steal your credit card to correct that mistake."

"Aren't you from a well-off family in Greece?"

How do I know that ? Because he brought me there once for a week in summer vacation. I met his family, or more accurately I met his grandmother. Immediatly weirded out, might I add. I'm not well-versed in family dynamic but I know how to recognize overbearing and although involuntary emotional manipulation.

The prime example of emotional incest standing right in front of me, with his shoes untied since this morning. I'm waiting for the moment he trips on them. I wonder who tied them, huh... Oh, I'm an idiot. Augusta. End of May 2019, they are in a relationship since maybe one or two weeks, and he still haven't driven her away. Almost a miracle.

My commentary is only making him laugh. Funny how that is amlost waking me up.

"Yeah, Greece. Economy crisis and all that. i'm sure your bank account has enough to cover the expenses of a poor college student, you posh bourgeois."

"Fine ! I heard you! Let's indulge in your alcohol addiction, asshole, but I'm not paying more than 5000 yen !"

"Good enough. Come here, walking wallet, let's get drunk before getting back to class."

Alright, once can't hurt, I guess. Louna is probably gonna kill me if she learns where I was, and Sharon must be worried sick not seeing me in the school grounds, but I'm too empty to care, and right now only thing worth a fill is the immoral Ethician's smug smile.

#hel is talking #la peste moderne #hel ocs #lpm #hel stories #hel writing #sometimes the soothing is not what's good for you #but at this point what is seeking healing and therapy when you can have a quick something to make you less self-destructive ?#oh wait isn't that just another facet of the self-destruction :D

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licially · 8 months

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Delinquency.

/ AO3 link. This is an AU that is conjoint with the events of the Lackadaisy timeline, and in case the episodes come out before I finish this: This is only in line with the comic canon, with several deviations to adjust for the storyline. I apologise for any grammatical errors, I suck at English.

1927 proved to be the prime time for speakeasies to pop up left right and center, with prohibition still in full effect most people opted to dodge out of their homes for a night of booze filled dancing instead of staying home. One such aspiring speakeasy, located near the border of a religious section of St Louis, was the Foxglove speakeasy. Behind an entrance towards the very northwest corner, gated by the local bartender with a secret phrase. It isn’t the most closely guarded secret next to the name of the bar, yet it’s enough to distinguish the initiated vs the newcomers, depending on the response.

The bar, not too far from the entrance door, tuckered behind the open space of the dark, orange yet zesty interior. The brick walls lining up the interior, the overhead lights lightly bouncing up and down the place, music that rang through the corridors and ceilings of the underground illegality only interrupted by a few laughs, cries, ice colliding against a mixer, and filled with a scent of smoke, perfume, and a hint of bad odor whiffed around the area. The night at Foxglove grew stagnant. Slowly, the band swung the swing and sang a different song from the mellow, melodic jazz to a serenade with all of its patrons holding hands, and on the wooden floorboards were many people straggling about at their feet to waltz with their partners.

At the opposite side of the bar, however, still laid a distressed detective. His hat laid on the table, alongside a card: a four of diamond. Andrew laid on his arm, fiddling around with Döbereiner's lamp, carefully to not open it by accident. The lighter itself is interesting in that it isn’t sold exactly publicly. This was a gift from his partner, and etched onto it bore the design of a foxglove, which inherently had a key into him being here in the first place after raising it at the speakeasy grille.

“A French 75 please, Bartender.”

He sleazily spoke over the bar, at the behest of the bartender, as a slouched…cat leaned against the warmer wood, with his left arm hanging in dead air, and his right rested into the bench. His low purring, coupled with his obviously very exasperated voice, doesn’t make the interaction between him and the bartender any better. His head hung low, as his left eye met Lyle’s nervous stance as he cleaned another wine glass. Yet they too noticed the design on the lighter, and wondered how did a guy like him get to be here in the first place.

They carefully set the glass down near its proper storage space and mumbled something to themselves as they set out to find all of the ingredients for the cocktail drink. Lemony, zesty fragrance dancing up and down with a hit of gin and a subtle nod back to the citrusy nature of the main ingredient it’s no secret of any bar to serve this for someone looking for a sting in their nights, or to buzz their tongues and noses by the electrifying champagne gin mixture. A couple of seconds of mindless wandering, and they arrived where most of the fruits are: just behind a couple of swinging doors towards the left side, hidden by subtle curtain work and distracted by the band swing of the front.

There, the shelves are packed full of various garnishes. Mints, oranges, cherries, even some tin cans of candied fruits, everything was there. It felt like a bartender’s nightmare, and to some extent it was just that. Everywhere they looked; left, down, up, precariously scanning every tag along the steel shelves, and tilting closer to read the labels a little clearer given the typeface of the labels. It was a confusing task, finding the correct garnish, and made even the bartender wonder if they should have done anything for the labels to have a certain order to them. Alphabetical would be a good place to start, and maybe working its way to ‘most used to least used’ could also save the speakeasy some amount of money, or even have it be more accessible from the bar itself, albeit this is the closest it’ll be towards it as to not ruin the aesthetics.

“It’s annoying to shift through – aha!”

They spoke up after a frustrating minute and a half of searching the pantry alone, interrupted by a few barely lit up lemons and sliced by the lights through the cracks of the wooden boxes and shelf railings. They picked up three, for good measure, and raced back to the bar where the detective was still laying down. The music from before has subsided a little, although it may be intermissionary. Frontside was more or less going through the same period of intermission, or rather through the interlude of the band as they sat back onto the stage, some with cigars and one in particular, the sax player, looked interesting to say the least.

The bar itself was still deserted. Although small, the place doesn’t see a massive influx of drinkers, given most of its patrons are too busy by either the pool tables or poker tables upstairs, yet even then it’s still quiet given the small talks briefly poking into the swing music from the stage towards their right, just past some stairwells that spirals like a lemon peel garnish. Part of it symbolizes one of the more popular garnishes to compliment a martini, and only more popular given the rise of vodka and vermouth cocktails. A mere zesty coincidence, it really was.

As they peeled the lemon slowly, the smooth skin of the lemon falling onto the cutting board, they took another glance back at the band. This time they set themselves back up, and looked like they were going to run through the night one more time with a song. Even with a smaller crowd from night’s descent into midnight, the music kept going on. As if the band itself knew the time for music never rests, especially for improv swing bands such as this one. However-

A sting cut loose the mindless staring, as they flinched down towards their hand. They’d accidentally tear themselves in between the paws, and flinched out of reflex. The lemon itself fell towards the board, and the knife landed between their shoes, as they moved out of the way to avoid any further injuries. Holding their cut, they raced over a nearby sink to wash the area in case of any infections. As this was happening, the sleazy detective raised his head over the commotion to see what happened.

“Bartender, are you–?”

He asked, half drunk yet the sobriety started to kick in given this sentence was the very least legible. His search effort, only consisting of him looking over the bar for a half second, found the average height cat resting their left hand under a slow and steady stream of water. There wasn’t too much they could burn themselves with, and a knife with a speck of blood laid on the blade and stained a dot onto the floor, and he’d piece together what had happened already.

“Ah. I’ll go find some aid. Wait there.” In a derailing realization, he sighed those words out.

∞

He stood up fully, his coat unfurled and his whiskers stood up on its ends again as he gave himself a cat stretch - rather ironically - as he went towards the stage area to see if anyone knows any means of medical attention. At the forefront of the establishment lay the stage and the subsequent wooden dance floor sprawling in front of the protruding stage lights and wooden enclave of the gap between the stage and the actual place. Up on the stage, was the swing band, and like most of the swing bands, the music was as lively as ever.

A moment of silence went along with the end of another swing, as the quiet cheering prompted the band to take a slight break given the shortage of patrons. After all, Wednesday nights never proved the business to be busy in the first place, given the current count of customers can fit on both of his hands, but yet the band didn’t seem like they’ll slow down anytime soon. One in particular, the person holding the alto saxophone, hopped off stage for a bit. Before anything else happens, however, someone spoke up.

“Does anyone know where to find medical aid?”

A silent cry from Andrew, as the patrons looked back at the well-dressed yet ill-faced detective with his arms out. The crowd, and its commanding band, looked back at the aloof detective.

The sax player spoke up first. A worried tone washed over his normally casual demeanor.

“Is this matter an emergency?”

“Quite so. The bartender had accidentally cut themself.” He replied to the dismay of his own exhaustion.

A look of shock from everyone, band members included, as they all started throwing suggestions.

“Have they run the wound under water?” One patron, a Norwegian Forest, asked, in which the reply came immediately following a quick nod.

“They are doing so. I’m only looking for band-aids.” He repeated, with a more reassuring tone. Contradictory, however, as he just said of it being an emergency.

“I do believe they have a medical care box upstairs.” Proposed a properly dressed Chartreux, with a sense of doubt in their voice.

“That’s rather stupid.” Criticized another out of his view, mockingly. “Why would they have those upstairs?”

“Yeah, I agree.” Said another, with a heavy British accent. “Why’d they put it up there?”

“Now is not the time for arguments-” retorted the detective, but the saxophone player had the same plan as well.

“Enough. I’ll go upstairs to find out. Everyone else, you can go back to doing your own thing. We’ll take a break for the night.” He raised his tone, and walked off towards Andrew.

“I believe we haven’t met before, could I ask for your name?” He asked, approaching the detective, and walked past him as well. Andrew, knowing this gesture, followed suit and answered accordingly.

“Jacobs. Andrew Jacobs. I’m a private investigator, I was given the address, and this.” He pulled out the lighter again, and that in turn made Ray go from an inquisitive tone to a more relaxed tone.

“Ah.” He, in turn, held out his dominant hand. “Ray Elwood. Pleased to be acquainted.” He was expecting a handshake, and he got one.

“Might I add, your music has the same swing as Johnny Hodges. Is he a big inspiration for you?” He asked curiously, not expecting a response out of the musician as they walked upstairs.

“Johnny Hodges…” He held his head in a thinking pose, tilting a little. “Yes, I’ve heard of him before. Have you also heard ‘Zib’ Zibowski though? He does some good sax as well. I’ve had the honor of playing alongside him, and…” He paused, his complexion muddled for a moment. It’s not weird for him to talk about Zib like this, but to a newcomer? It feels like he’s doing too much.

“...he’s amazing.”

“I’ve never heard of him. Having been around some bars, and some speakeasies on occasion, but I’ve never heard of that name before.” He flicked his tail a little, curious on what this ‘Zib’ has to offer differently than the swing everyone else had to offer.. But this short conversation turned shorter as they approached a box with a red cross towards the back wall.

The top floor, scattered with various tables found in casinos; roulette wheels, poker tables with no one sitting atop it aside from a couple of stray dealers, who looked at the duo with a silent eye, as if beckoning them to join the table. Of course, with a more pressing issue at hand, they both just ignored the strays. The carpeting was the same as the downstairs area, albeit the roof is a little closer to them with chandeliers lighting up the smaller albeit expectedly more busy area. It, in essence, wasn’t too busy. A couple of stragglers still stuck up top, including two ladies gossiping about something. It doesn’t exactly process through with Andrew and Ray, given how they are in a hurry, but they didn’t exactly want anyone to fiddle with their banter either, so they stopped as the two ran by, and opened the cabinet.

Swinging open, the cabinet revealed a couple of tiny tins, and Andrew pulled out one of such ‘accident emergency’ cases and closed the cabinet after. Ray, eager to go over back to the bar, immediately started sprinting after a semi-vocal “Let’s go”, leaving Andrew to come sprinting after him.

Soon, they reached the stairs and subsequently raced down the stairs. Their boots clanked against every metal step as the lobby looked on at them with a concerned look for a split second. Before long, they stood to the side of the bar and faced the bartender, who was sitting there and compressing the cut with a nearby towel. Ray was the first to reach out, as he raced across the bar to cater for the cut. But it wasn’t met without resistance, as Lyle slightly pulled the wound away from Ray.

“I’ll be fine, Ray.” They addressed the sax player, but with no sense of rejection and rather… playfulness? There really isn’t a tone here, it felt more monotonous than actual speech.

“I don’t think you have three arms to both treat your cut and mix drinks.” Ray shot back, as Andrew left the container on the bar just behind the two. Knowing this, Ray immediately reached for the box and opened it. Aside from all of the junk: a random pair of scissors, antiseptics and rolls of bandages were a newer invention that rolled around. He opened the Band-aid sticker, and urged Lyle to move the towel.

They complied, and wrapped the sticky part around their thumb as Ray let go of the hand.

“...Thank you.” Lyle nervously said, looking around to clean up the mess on the floor. They’ve been the cause of this chaos from start to end, and they were really really feeling bad about it.

“I’m sure it was nothing. I’m just glad it wasn’t a horrible cut. Don’t know what this place would do without a bartender like you.” Ray smiled at the bartender, also looking for ways to aid the bartender, both figuratively and mentally. He moved his hand to sort of hold theirs, just placing it on top of theirs on the counter.

Lyle gained a smile from the Maine Coon’s hand touching theirs. The bit of chaos that had occurred was finally coming to a close, but their night was not. They still had a few patrons who needed drinks.

“You should probably go back up on stage… I have some catching up to do here.” they left their hands, about to pick up another martini glass out of the shelf underneath. After all, the original cocktail needs a newer recipe, given how the lemon has been wasted, but the bartender still kept pushing. It’s their job, after all.

“Oh? Why can’t I stay?” He said in a twist of fate, climbing back over to the otherside of the bar. As he did, he adjusted himself unto a nearby stool, not only to talk to Lyle in the first place but also to watch how drinks are made. Oftentimes, he’d be interested in seeing how other stuff works as well, and maybe picking a few techniques here and there to conform to his jack of all trades attitude. But this time, he took his teasing a little further, after he leaned against the bar from a distance, and said more rhetoric with a smug grin.

“And what if I wanted to stay? Surely, the customer’s priorities are right all of the time, right?”

Lyle never paid no mind to the conversation, at least they blocked out almost all of the one-sided conversation. There are more pressing matters at hand - literally - as they squeezed the lemon juice from another sliced lemon into a cocktail shaker. The liquid slowly filled the bottom of the shaker, as they discarded the remains into a bin directly below. Afterwards, they grabbed a nearby bottle of gin and a measuring glass. They held out the cup, and poured out exactly what was ingrained into the tiny metal cup: 1.5 ounces. They soon poured that into the lemon juice, as they neatly tucked the bottle back onto the shelf behind them.

“Although…I do wonder.” The saxophonist spoke again, this time with a more alluring tone as he made his way back over to the busy bartender. “Your expertise is interesting to look out for, why don’t you share some secrets for a guy like me?”

They still kept their silence. Unintentionally, yet unwillingly.

The next step involved some more ice, as they went towards an ice maker, that was directly-

“Oh…?” His ears perked up, as did he when the bartender got closer and closer to him. As he sat up, Lyle scooped ice into the shaker. The loud shuffling, coupled by the unpleasant sounds of ice cubes colliding against the scooper really irked the experienced bartender, it’s one of the worst parts of working at the bar. Sounds like glasses clinking, the freezing touch of something way below room temperature, and sometimes even odd and often distasteful creations based on a fixed recipe.

They continued, past the uneasiness of the cold in contrast to the lukewarm temperature of the speakeasies, and past the person who’s been practically begging for their attention for the longest. At this point, he’s decided to set up his own boundaries and remain to the side. As he did, he leered back over to the detective, who’s now full blown asleep at the bar towards the general direction of the staircase they just descended down from.

∞

He felt his head go into a daze. He had been up for the last couple of weeks working on a case regarding the territories of two rivaling gangs: Marigold, and one ‘Foxglove’. Recently Marigold, with the absence of its infamous henchman Mordecai Heller, has been running around mindlessly and, in the process of destroying their own reputation, also destroying their own legacy. It’s unclear who is truly in charge, more so what their true objective within the region is. After one brutal interrogation with one of the members, they revealed that they were planning moves against a “Foxglove” crew and had been setting out “precautions for an encroaching attack”.

He had written multiple theories out, scrawling through piles upon piles of evidence to connect three central theories on who this “Foxglove” can be. Yet, he’s decidedly unsure if he wants to submit this theory to his higher-up and subsequent partner: Russell Johnson, of whom he runs a private investigation firm with. He reasoned to himself that if anyone knows, Russell would, and for the last couple of days he hasn’t been hearing much of his thoughts on the matter of who this gang is, and only dismissing it as of the moment.

“Andrew, I don’t have time for this.” Andrew recalls the conversation between the two just before he made his way here in the first place. “I got a cold case down my neck and you’re sitting here rambling about something we don’t have to worry about.” Russell had said these words to him, just before he left the apartment studio with him and the corkboard of evidence stacked messily on his corner of the room. A contrast to the more organized, and therefore more pleasing to look at, office of Russell. They’ve not had a dispute over what case to cover, and yet today was an exception.

This slowly has him descend into his own thoughts. As he lay his head onto his sleeves, he looked on wearily at the duo in the distance as they talked and talked on and on with each other. In the corner of his eyes, the lights flickered a little as they droned on and on, garbled through some unknown capacity. Some words, at least from where he sat from, didn’t make sense to him.

“Bar– scent— ture–”

“Way– far– truth–”

At least, he’d think that those were words, since those are mumbles to his ears. Distant murmuring as he continued rummaging through his own thoughts.

For a while, the moment kept getting to the point where the bartender had stopped working altogether, and the sax player was the one keeping them at bay. The rest of the patrons have gone back to their regularities, sprawled about the speakeasy. That was, until the front door of the speakeasy had opened again, this time with a more sharply dressed cat. His beige fur, coupled with a fedora wedged between his asymmetrical ears. A tuft protruded from underneath the hat, and his purple-blue suit and even darker shade tie caught someone’s attention.

“I do believe there was someone new here, have you two seen him?” He fixed his suit a little, looking over to Ray and Lyle leaned up against the bar. They both pointed, almost simultaneously, at the semi-drunk Andrew. He remained at his spot, glancing over at the detective, and nodded. He offered his hat back to the doorman, and loosened his suit a little bit. Afterwards, he descended back past the two, adjusting his cufflinks. The duo from the bar realizes now what is about to happen, and moves away from the other two towards a more private part of the venue.

“I hope it goes well for him…” Said Lyle, worried.

“I do too.” Ray replied, knowing that he couldn’t help in the slightest.

∞

He stirred himself back into consciousness, his head dangling like his whiskers on a bad day, and the headache in his head got heavier and heavier, and it’s without reason. He had been perfectly fine, even through the investigations that surrounded the controversies around Lackadaisy and recently more active Marigold. Although the delinquencies of Lackadaisy are on the lesser side of things, only made all the more excessive by one Roark Rickaby, they all tend to reach a certain degree of chaos that can’t go unnoticed.

However, as time progressed, Lackadaisy faded from the investigative firm, and from his mind as a whole. Crime in St Louis wasn’t limited to just moonshining, and rum running, after all. A more recent debate has been passed around also, one including an ‘Atlas May’ and the details surrounding his death. His widow, Mitzi, has come forward and put a statement and alibi. He was there for when Russell questioned her, and asked other witnesses to confirm said alibi. However, as it turned out, one other person hadn't put forward any testimony, and the investigation seemed to be fixated on this person in particular.

Before he could theorize further, however, his hand felt something. It was a warmer, more gentle feeling. Something that liberated him and his dizziness gave way to a new clarity. He grabbed it back against his own instinct, it was… even warmer. His hands soon heated up, and he rose up from the sloppy mess from his overthinking and overwhelmed emotional state. His eyes scanned the bar surface, a glass of cocktail sits on his left, and the wood finish remained faintly reflecting the light above the bar. To his direct front, numerous bottles of different alcoholic beverages laid, and curved to the distance as he turned towards the person holding his hand.

It was Russell, and he smiled at him.

“I’m so glad you made it, my friend.” His eyes finally met his deep blue eyes, something a deep morning lacks, and something the early morning is abundant of. He brought their hands up to and around his shoulders, as he too sat down besides the detective. His vision, blurred from reality, soon readjusted itself.

“Russell? Where were you?!” The two erupted into a mix of laughter and a hint of sadness as they hugged each other, as some of the other patrons, including both Ray and Lyle, looked at the commotion from the corner. Andrew hugged him tight, as his tail wagged back and forth rapidly, with one swing almost knocking up his glass of French 75 that was set there.

“Oh my, you missed me that much, did you?” He jokingly asked, patting his partner on the back. Andrew laughed, and loosened his grip a little. Russell did the same, as he stood back a little and patted his shoulder. Somewhat gripping it also.

“So, how is this new place for you?” He asked, accompanied by a bright smile.

“It’s… something. [For] The time I’ve been here, the music is great, the atmosphere is low…” He let his eyes wander, trying to scan the venue for anything positive to say. To an extent, he did have a lot of good things he could say about this place, yet he lost his words somewhere in the storm of emotions brewing prior to Russell’s visit.

“Oh so they’ve treated you well? I’m glad to hear that.” Russell laughed, before he reached into his own coat and ruffled amongst something that was inside. Something, now that he thinks about it, resembled a gun.

“Why of course they have. Now, is there anything–”

He felt something poking at his chest. As he opened his eyes from the laughter fully, he saw what was truly in Andrew’s eyes: an invoking glare, and his slitted eyes slitted silence into a somewhat talkative bar. His expression turned more sour, as he looked down to find out what was rubbing against his chest. A snub revolver, loaded with .38, greeted his heart’s door. Russell cocked the hammer as Andrew looked back up, now showing a slight bit of disappointment and worry through his complexion. Russell spoke, tilting his head up slightly.

“Jacobs. You’ve…” He paused, his eyes dashing about to look for the right word. “...looked too far into things you are not meant to look for.” He continued, still holding the heterochromic gray cat at a standstill, gun towards his beating heart.

“I did it, because the people wanted answers.” He retorted, still maintaining a calm expression despite the more life-threatening situation at hand. Russell scoffed at him. He had a nonsensical definition of such: justice. A blind power that defies the law, rights the wrongs and sometimes wrongs the rights. He lowered his gun slowly, and aimed it back up towards his neck.

“And what of your justice? What will you do now? Oh Detective, O great Sherlock Holmes…” He laughed again, Andrew looked back with his own judgmental stare. His ear twitched at every word he said, fueled by the taunts he puts out despite his partnership with him. “Justice serves only as a tool, for a fool.

“Your search for Foxglove eventually turned up here, did it not?” He taunted, quickly loosening his grip to pull out the same lighter he had been carrying. The same design, now more clearly laid in between his eyes, now takes on a whole different meaning as he stammered his next words.

“This… place, this whole thing… was Foxglove?”

He reached into his own pockets to pull out the same lighter, and held it against his. It was an exact match. As he did so, Russell turned his so that the side faced towards him, and a curved c shape, almost in the shape of a heart on one of those packaging boxes for Valentine’s Day. He too turned it, and it became the other half of a heart. Something that can spark itself on fire. As he focused back onto Russell with this newfound meaning, Russell smiled once again, putting his lighter back into his side pocket and holding the gun back into his coat to store away the revolver whilst twisting the drum to an empty chamber.

Andrew remained in place, still processing this all in. He lowered his arm, and sat back down, still his mind wandered. What now could he make of the ongoing investigation? Even if he were to file this down, marking his own partner to be the supposed “suspect” responsible for all of the property damage that’s been increasing, not to mention all of the gunfights that bursted out within the few days?

“So now you know the truth. Does it hurt? Does it mean anything?” He asked one more time, a defeated look reflected on both of their faces, as he turned his back to him. He didn’t know the repercussions of his words, nor what he would do next after he told his story. “Do you now know the slightest clue why I haven’t been talking about this? I’ve been just as conflicted as you are.” He slightly swallowed his own spit, and continued with a choked tone.

“Day after day I have to deal with this anxiety and fear because of ongoing tensions. I’ve yet to uphold my own responsibilities, and whatever I do in that office affects how this place operates. Everything I do, and subsequently everything you do. I have to backtrack my words, consideration at heart, and a weight on my shoulder because I know you would do everything, everything. All in the name of the truth.” At the end of everything, he sat down on a nearby stool, exhausted. He didn’t want to continue this further, as he stared lifelessly at the floor.

He didn’t expect his partner to sympathize with the way he handled this. All of this boiled past his emotions, his attitude and his usual calmness. His theories are further proven wrong, however, as Andrew puts a hand on his shoulder, and sits there beside him. “You’ve done a lot. I’m sorry, and I…” He paused, trying to find the right words. By now, he’s found himself flustered being next to him. He never admitted his crush on Russell, and his absence only made things worse.

Before Andrew could muster up anything else to say after that, he was pulled into his embrace, and he felt his lips touch Russell’s. It didn’t exactly process for him, at least not instantly, but they both just sat there, sleazily kissing each other as the bar’s quietness rose back to the usual sparks of conversations back and forth again. After a short while, they broke off the kiss and stared at each other, in a daze. Andrew’s cheap yet smug smile let Russell onto a tiny fit of laughter, as they held each other’s hands.

“I’m sorry, that was… fun.” He heaved a sigh, holding on to the table and standing up. However, it’s stopped by Andrew still holding his hand tight.

“You owe me another one tomorrow.” He said, almost in a teasing way, as he followed suit. He grabbed the cocktail glass, now almost at room temperature given the conversation that ran through his entire evening, and gulped almost all of it. After a short while, he was shaken up by that drink alone: his tail pricked up, he lost some control of his body, subsequently collapsing onto Russell’s arms, and spilled the rest of the drink onto him.

“Andrew!?-” He yelled, catching the intoxicated detective in his arms, almost bridal style, and slightly hissed at the cocktail spilled onto his shirt and coat. He wasn’t exactly pissed, but he was… annoyed. “You owe me a new suit.” He snapped back, almost half-heartedly, with no response from the former. As he set down the detective on another stool, he put the glass back onto the bar, and sighed again. He, underneath all of this, had been running his due diligence in

investigating the uproar of Marigold.

He had reasons to believe this was correlation and causation of Mordecai Heller. The Savoys are known to be eccentric, and oftentimes pose a threat to the whole city given their absolute control over Marigold without a clear direction. As for why they would target the same exact suppliers he’s been shutting down, despite keeping this an absolute secrecy to everyone outside of Andrew, is a mystery. In fact, one of the same people working for Marigold was found dead by him with a memo hastily written down: “Anything Foxglove touches will be ours.”

Russell took another look at the slumped over Andrew, and his fears and worries only surrounded the person he had called his lover. When time comes: whether it will be Marigold finding out about this place, Mordecai gaining an upper hand and deciphering Russell’s involvement in Atlas’ demise, or backstabbing, he will always keep his own partner in mind.

“Everything I do is for you.”

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy au #delinquency AU #licial

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joycruz · 1 year

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“May Halaga Ka”

Financial literacy is a global challenge, and the need to close this gap is undeniable. Some people donate monetarily to charities that support their advocacies, but there are more ways to give back. Knowledge can be equally valuable, which is why we included the financial literacy part in our service-learning program. Providing competent financial planning is an immediate and direct step to help your community improve its financial resilience.

Most people are found to have difficulties in managing their daily expenditures, economic transactions, and financial resources. This is particularly true of and troubling for the poor, who, on the one hand, are more likely to be financial illiterate and, on the other hand, face constant and cumulative financial tightness. Therefore, their lack of skills and ability to manage their already limited resources to meet various basic living needs adds to the material hardship of their low and unstable incomes. Aside from the livelihood training we provided, it is important that the partner community had the awareness in properly managing their finances for a better future especially if they will push through with the candle making business. Knowing how to manage your finances is a skill that will serve you well in all stages of your life.

10 Tips for Saving Money

Track your expenses - One way to determine your capacity to save is to track your expenses. By listing down your expenses, you’ll know where your money goes. It will be a revelation that even the smallest splurges or overlooked costs can add up to a significant amount.

Set your financial goals - Financial goals are important so that you can create a financial plan. By focusing on your goals, you’ll know what to prioritize when making a budget. Setting aside P500 or P1,000 every pay day can help you achieve those dreams, one small step at a time.

Make a budget and get everyone involved - Our most important tip for saving money fast is pretty simple: Learn to budget. Planning your family’s budget can be difficult, especially if you are considering the needs of your family members. Discuss why you need to set a budget, let them know about your financial goals.

Start saving - Save a small amount consistently, instead of waiting for a big break to start saving money. We can start saving with any amount that's possible on our income. Saving a small amount consistently is better than having no savings at all.

Evaluate and make sacrifices - This is why listing down your expenses is a very important step in financial planning. You have a clear view of your spending habits and you can now take control. Take some time to evaluate your expenses and get rid of unnecessary ones.

Challenge yourself and make it a habit - There are challenges out there, like 50-peso money challenge, no eating out at restaurants for a week, etc. Do it now! These are fun, yet helps you save money while still making you feel satisfied and fulfilled.

Live healthy and quit vices - How much is a pack of cigarettes? How much do you spend on alcohol in a bar? Quitting these vices hits two birds in one stone. You get to save money because cigarette and alcohol expenses will be eliminated from your budget. At the same time, you get to save money from medical expenses should illnesses from smoking or drinking arise.

Find other sources of income - Think of your passion or hobbies like baking, sewing, cooking, writing, selling, etc. You can make income out of your passion and succeed from it. The money you get from your sideline can go straight to your emergency fund.

Stop using credit - It’s weird to have an emergency fund and yet pay a huge amount of interest on credit card debts. As you control your daily and monthly expenses, prioritize paying off debts.

Practice minimalism - A minimalist lifestyle proves that less is more. Sometimes, owning a lot of things means additional expenses.

Little changes can go a long way, and when you are discouraged, remember you are doing it for your family’s future. Any improvement in financial literacy will have a profound impact on people and their ability to provide for their future. It helps people manage their financial affairs and improve their standard of living. But it also makes an important contribution to the soundness and efficiency of the financial system and to the performance of the economy. Becoming financially literate is not easy, but when mastered, it can ease life’s burdens tremendously.

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dilfwaynes · 3 years

Text

durante la notte

summary: natasha always deals the cards first, but always ends up being the first to fold them as well.

✎ word count ; 1.5k

⚢ pairings ; natasha romanoff x fem!reader

genre ; smut

✗ warnings ; mean power bottom!reader, undertones of elitism, strap on use, degradation, pwp.

a/n ; natasha x Italian!reader cos i was finishing italian hw while writing this and thinking in Italian LOL not edited !!

translation: fangool / go do it in an ass, / marone / damn it / il mio piccolo tesoro / my little treasure.

you lick your lips slowly, lifting the petite glass and bringing it to your lips, tasting the rich krug flat on your tongue. fingers wrapped around tightly as you watch natasha flaunt around the bar end of the restaurant, collude deep with a full view of her little display with your table only a few feet away. rolling your eyes you pick up the cigarette pack aside from you, fumbling down your drink and lighting it up, blowing out the thick french scent smoke.

“excuse me, could you please put out your cigarette,” your eyes flash towards the man some tables away, eyebrow cocked in annoyance and distrain. you stare blankly, tapping away the burnt ashes off the tip and turning your attention back to natasha.” ma’am.”

“marone! leave the fucking smoking section then!” you snap towards their direction, eyes harden and un amusement fading to anger fast, glaring. “proletariat, fangool!” shifting back to the russian, catching her eyes and bridging the intensity of her green, inhaling once more. sliding the champagne again to your lips, raising an eyebrow over the rim with jealousy burning in with the alcohol. are you finished with your game?

natasha smirked over her slightly hauled shoulder, your expression lamely and stoic but faded underneath is the whole reason she’s continuing on her show. still, she peers at you from the corner of her while fingers shims around the younger girl’s arm, your rings grasping tightly against the glass, the cartier sleek love band, and the golden diamond aside it as well a panthère slimed around your wrist. truthfully you looked good enough to eat with the white silk pressed on your tanned skin, giving you more of a glow with the golden accessories.

brushing back the stray hair behind the girl’s ear she watched as your mien fallen and a rushed snap of your fingers has the waiter ushering you the bill, eyes set on natasha as you mindless throw money for the check and tip.

“natasha,” waving a hand behind your back to beckon her to tail from a distance, and like always she obeyed. following you into the car, muttering something in Italian before the chauffeur starts the car. you turn your attention back on her calmly, nodding before reaching a hand and yanking her head to rear in your pleasing.” what a show you’ve put on tonight beloved, but i didn’t care much for your co-star.” you laugh softly, pulling her upper to meet her eyes. your nails running along the back of her neck with your lips attaching to the base of her throat.

“but i don’t think it’ll do well,” you sigh, the mock of sympathetic patent with a now pout in place. natasha’s lips quirk upwards, deciding to play along.” that’s mean to say baby.” her eyes trained on your lips, the red curling into a pleasing smile, the hold within her hair loosens, and a soothing hand pushing her streaks back.

“don’t worry, you can be the main star of my show,” you say quietly, intertwining your hand with hers and bringing it down to your thigh under your dress, your gaze flickering back towards her.” and mine will be a lot better and successful.” your fist tightening withholding her hair once more and roughly pushing her towards you, slamming your lips against hers with a smothering kiss.

“but i don’t know if you quite deserve it, touching that filthy puttana,” you whisper nearing the shell of her ear, voice edged with a low seething.”i shouldn’t even let you touch me. i bet if i let you, you’ve spread that whore out and fucked her, hm? or would you have done that if i wasn’t there?” your words meant to come out as teasing but natasha heard the undertones, and she knew you knew, that she knew.

“no,” natasha lets out shakily, holding back a groan of the feeling of your teeth nipping at her exposed neck.”don’t want her, just you.” your head falls against her shoulder, smoothing a kiss on the blade.

“just me?” your relaxed features now sneering, your grip a little tighter at the movement of the car stopping. nodding,” just you.”

giving her another kiss before opening the door, an unspoken command for her to follow you into the penthouse. kicking off the satin heels, peering over to the entrance where natasha stands.”c’mere il mio piccolo tesoro,” you coo, tapping a spot for her to join, smiling to ace the act. natasha doesn’t need to see the calm before the storm to understand how this is gonna play out. draping your legs over her lap, catching her face between your fingers,”such a pretty girl,” you murmur, shaking your head.”too bad she’s such a little fucking slut.” you finish, though the tone still mockingly sweet, your smile replaced with a lazy grin now.

without any response from natasha you shift towards her lap, your legs between her waist and gripping her thighs with a bruising kiss, wrapping her legs further around her waist. alining your sex to brush right against her bare thigh, sighing out at the friction, the thin panties the only thing keeping your pussy from her warm skin.”stay put.” you hiss, sealing it with a pinch to her arm, laughing at her little groan of pain. striding towards the chest tucked into the corner, picking up the silicone and a small bottle of lube.

“make yourself useful for once and lube that bitch up,” you laugh at your own words and take no mind to natasha, she rolls her eyes stripping herself of her top, watching your little tease show of taking off the silk, and as expected a matching white set underneath. rolling her hips up through the harness, squeezing some of the lube into her palms and running it along the fake length. lifting her gaze and meeting your steps to her, your bra unclasped and somewhere thrown but your panties remain. she cocks her eyebrow downwards, silently asking why they’re still on. you don’t reply, simply pooling them down, and reaching for natasha’s face by her jaw and shoving the expensive lace into her mouth, very well enjoying her wide eyes of curiosity and then surprise.”don’t give me those eyes, i don’t wanna hear you after that shit you pulled with that puttana.”

slowly sinking yourself on the strap, slapping a looming hand of the red head underneath you, taking the cock with a burning stretch leaving you aching, moaning when you feel the tip hilts, natasha drooling at seeing the fake cock poke out some from your stomach. waiting a few moments before lightly grinding on the strap.”see, if you weren’t some stupid bitch i would’ve let you fucked me,” you tell her, grabbing her shoulders for support, rising your hips up and slamming them down again. natasha grits her teeth, itching to touch you, kiss you, feel you literally anything.”please.” she muffled out.

you chuckle at her barely audible beg, her eyes glossy and her voice so whiny, you loved her like this. you decide to throw her a bone and grab one of her hands to give some attention to your tits. speeding up your pace with the added pressure of natasha tugging your nipples between her fingers.”fuck, fuck, fuck play with my clit baby.” you gasp out, your eyelids fluttering with the coil in your stomach ready to snap. podding her thumb against your clit, watching your face falls into pleasure and soon you’re crying out and gushing all over her lap. alcohol always made you extra sensitive.

ripping the makeshift gag of your panties from her mouth, she stares at you for a few seconds.”i’m fucking you at least once tonight.”

“if you can even do that right beloved.”

your words get stuck in your throat as your back drops to the couch, natasha between your legs and pushing the tip inside, arousal pulling at the slick coating the strap. holding your hips still she snaps hers, filling you up. her mouth dry seeing tears peak the corner of your eyes, your legs shake around her already and she hasn’t even moved yet. supporting her body weight with her hand against the side of your head, grabbing the arm of the couch and thrusting up, her grunt going straight to your core. she smirks at the strings of high pitched moans she’s getting out of you, your nails dragging across her back and digging in, your legs beginning to shake uncontrollably with the sound of natasha fucking you, the couch dampening under the pressure of natasha’s hips against yours.”don’t stop, i’m gonna cum you better fucking make me cum.” leaning down and smashing her lips down to yours, reaching a hand to where you both connect and rubbing circles on your clit.

your eyes roll to the back of your head, your grip on natasha unbreakable and your body shaking under her from your second orgasm of the night. giving out a few more trusts to ride out your climbmax, kissing the side of your temple and staying inside you. panting slightly, burying her face inbetween your neck and the Italian leather.

“does this make me forgiven?”

“we’ll see.”

#natasha x reader #marvel smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagines #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff headcanon #mcu smut

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forever-rogue · 3 years

Note

Ooh a request?! Delightful. List 1-45 & 79, Javier Peña. Fem!reader with curves if possible? :) thx for an amazing blog! A friend of mine got me HOOKED on your stories. ❤️❤️❤️

45. "Everyone keeps telling me you're the bad guy."

79. "I can't get you out of my head."

Enjoy!

Javier Peña x Fem!Reader ; warnings: language, smoking, drinking, mild smut (18+ only)

Javier Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

“You must be Javier Peña,” you stuck your hand out and held confidently and waited for the man in question to shake it. Instead, he looked at it almost as if it offended him, placing his own hands on his hips as he cocked his head to the side in order to study you. When you realized that he wasn’t going to shake it, you pulled back and scoffed lightly, “or not.”

“Who are you?” his brows knitted together as he stool a quick glance over at Van Ness and Fiestl, who immediately looked away, pretending they hadn’t witnessed the interaction. Whatever this was, they knew exactly what this was going on and had neglected to keep him in the loop, “why are you here?”

“Why are you such an asshole?” you tilted your own head to the side and offered him a wickedly sweet smile. Javier’s expression flickered for just a moment before he just shook his head and pointed at the door.

“See yourself out, kid,” he huffed before turning back to his desk to settle in for the afternoon, “I’m too busy to waste time on things like this. I’ve got things to do.”

“Like what?” you refused to back down and be bossed around by a man that refused to even shake your hand. Javier huffed as he sat down and lit up a cigarette, frowning when he saw you take a seat opposite him.

“Like catching bad guys,” he scowled, and despite the annoyed expression on his face, he still managed to be one of the most handsome men that you’d ever encountered. It wasn’t fair that he could be this much of an asshole, and be gorgeous on top of it, “doing actual work.”

“Huh,” you crossed your legs and leaned forwards, noting the way his dark eyes scanned your form, “that’s funny, because everyone here keeps telling me you’re the bad guy. It's all about perspective, right?”

"And what's your take on all of this?" he was playing it cool, putting his feet on his desk as he smoked and watched you with a searing intensity.

"That's yet to be fully determined," you confessed, leaning back and playing at being just as relaxed as him. Your heart was thumping wildly around your ribcage as you sized him up and he did the same. You weren't about to just give in to him, "I know you helped bring down Escobar, that you're determined to do the same with Calí, that you've fucked your way through half of Colombia, and you're an asshole in every sense of the word. You haven't proven me wrong so far."

"Does that attitude get you far?" he took a particularly sharp drag of his cigarette before slowly exhaling.

"Its gotten me this far," you cocked your head to side and made tutted lightly, "if we're doing to work together, I'd appreciate a little respect."

"What do you mean?" and he laughed. The bastard had the audacity to laugh at you, "in your dreams, kid. This is a real job, and what are you doing? Playing pretend?"

"First of all," you resorted to pulling out a card from your purse and tossing it at him, "I'm from DEA in LA, and I've been working in Mexico. I look young, sure, but if you think you're going to disrespect me because of that, then you've got another thing coming. I'm here to help you finish this once and for all. You can take my help or I can go back to LA and watch you crash and burn. Its your call, Peña."

He pursed his lips as he looked over your card, surprised by your stubborn determination and also pleased by it. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you watched him, trying to anticipate any move he could make.

"Fine," he held your card between his fingers before crumbling it and tossing it into his trash can, "welcome to the team, junior agent. One fuck up and you're on the first plane back to LA."

"Deal."

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Fuck, fuck - Javi," his name was a rushed, reverent plea as your arms wrapped around his neck, "yes, right there!"

You could practically feel him smirking against your skin as he pressed kisses all over your neck and collarbones, making it a point to leave to nip at the delicate skin. He wanted to leave marks, wanted the world to know you were his.

You were currently in his lap, on the couch in his apartment. You'd come over for dinner and a drink, telling him that you couldn't stay - shouldn't - but one thing had led to another and here you were. You were lost in him as he fucked the life out of you.

Again. It was supposed to be a one time thing. Both of you had agreed. And...that had been months ago. One night had turned into two and then three and then...many more.

From reckless and clandestine affairs in his office or in the closets around the building, to an exclusive relationship, to...whatever this was. Neither of you had ever placed a real label on it, but it was something. Perhaps it didn't even need a label - you were just and he was yours. That was good enough for you.

"Feel so fucking good, Dulzura," he groaned as he reached down to rub gentle circles on your clit, causing you to mewl in his ear, "so perfect."

"Javier," you burrowed your face into his neck as your walls clenched around him, and he closed his eyes as he started to stutter in just thrusts, "so close. Please, baby…"

"Let go," his voice was low and dark in your arms as you felt the grip of your orgasm wash over you. His cock twitched as your walls hugged him and he soon followed as he slipped inside of you, your name falling from his lips like a prayer, "fuck."

"Javi," you couldn't help but laugh lightly as you carded a hand through his dark locks. Pulling back, you beamed at him before gently kissing his swollen lips, "I really had only intended to come for dinner and a drink."

"What happened?" He smiled as he brushed a few stray locks out of your face before kissing you slowly, deeply. He might not have been the best with words, but he always seemed to be able to convey his feelings with his actions. You shrugged innocently before slowly moving out of his lap, already missing the feeling of him inside you.

"I don't know…" you grabbed a cigarette from his pack on the table and lit it up as you laid back and watched him, "there's a certain DEA agent that can be very convincing. And he's handsome and charming, even if he's an asshole sometimes. But I can't get him out of my mind."

"Very funny, Dulzura," he stood up and pulled on his boxers as he drank in the sight of you in your naked, post coital bliss. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead before heading into the kitchen, "beer?"

"Ahh, that drink I was promised," you leaned your head back and watched as he opened the fridge with a smirk on his face as he shook his head, "at least you keep true to your word."

He laughed, warm hearty thing before coming back over and sitting down, lifting your legs up and placing them in his lap before handing you a bottle. Taking one last drag from your cigarette, you quickly stubbed it out before taking a drink from the beer. It wasn't anything special, just the cheap local kind, but somehow, enjoying a cold one with your lover made it that much better.

"What?" you'd caught Javier staring at you several times, his brows knitted in his concentration as he aimlessly traced over your skin. Nudging him gently with your leg, you tried to capture his attention, "hey, Javi. What's wrong? You're thinking too loudly."

"Why are you here, kid?" there was an odd look of self doubt in his features as his eyes bore into yours. You set your bottle down before leaning up and moving so you could reposition yourself in his lap.

"Are you having second thoughts?" you took his bottle and set it next to your before taking his face in your hands, "Javier, you know why I'm here. You don't have to say it and I won't say it if you don't want me to."

"Its for cheap beer, huh?" he asked before you broke into a fit of giggles and peppered gentle kisses all over his face. He liked this, he'd realized some time ago, how gentle and soft you were, how you took time to make him feel good - feel loved. It was almost entirely foreign and at first the odd mixture of feelings had hit him like a truck and caused him to panic; but it soon quickly dawned on him what it was. While he was terrified, he didn't want to fight it. Not now, not with you.

"Yes, Javier Peña, its for the cheap beer," you whispered against his lips, "I-I love cheap beer. I'm in love with it."

And just like his mind meant reeling, and he felt a flush of warmth was over his entire being. But he looked back at you, with a fierce determination, his eyes still managing to be soft as they crinkled in the corners just the way you liked.

"I...I'm in love with it too," he whispered after a moments of saccharine bliss as you had continued to kiss him, scratching at his scalp just the way he liked, "fuck - I'm in love with you."

"Javier," you beamed at him, fighting off every worry, every fear with the smile that seemed to light up his soul, "too far. I was literally just talking about the beer."

"Fuck off," he laughed before wrapping his arms around your waist and standing up, causing to you to laugh. He started walking down the hall, taking care not to drop you, eagerly heading for his bedroom, as you held onto him for dear life but continued to kiss him.

"What are you up to?" you whispered in his ear just before he gently tossed you onto his bed. You crawled up towards the headboard, grinning at him as he tugged off his boxers again.

"I was going to make love to you," he had a calm air about him before he moved to loom over your body, "but now I'm thinking you're too much of a brat for that."

"Why not both?" you teased as you pulled him down to your lips, "both is good."

"You'll be in this bed all night."

"And then you better get started."

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x fem!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #narcos #forever-rogue's follower celebration

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trvncyz · 3 years

Text

now playing- always you by louis tomlinson

pairing: kokonoi hajime x seishu inui

genre: angst

warning: mentions of weapons, cigarette smoking

[3:15 am]

Hajime Kokonoi lay awake in his bed, facing his false ceiling. The intricate gold designs and the switched off lights all stared back at him. It was an uncomfortable position, his back hurt but it was the only item left in his room that he hasn’t stared at for at least half an hour yet. Today he excused himself from his meetings early and ‘went to bed’ because he felt tired. It felt like the weight of the entire world had been placed on his shoulders. His lungs felt constricted and his head felt heavy. His black wavy hair fell on his face ‘delicately’ as people described it but he just wanted to tie it back, get rid of that shit. His earring felt heavy, like it was pulling out his ear. His feet hurt, heels had never been uncomfortable for him but today he just wanted to kick off his favorite Jimmy Choo pair into oblivion. His jacket felt uncomfortably warm and he didn’t like how his wide bottomed pants flared around when he walked. If he had to sum it all up, he felt like utter shit.

It was alright though, everyone has their bad days and he’s been overworking himself recently because he really wanted that deal with the Chinese gun company to work out. It would bring in a lot of money and weapons and he would make sure he gets this way, through hook or by crook. No, it was alright that he was tired. What wasn’t alright that he had no one to comfort him through it. He wasn’t there to hold his hand and slowly stroke his hair out of their confines. He wasn’t there to softly sing to him and joke about how he should just print more money. No, he was all alone and it was completely his fault.

He thought back to the days the two spent together. Quiet dates in the library or shopping dates at the local thrift shop. Don’t get him wrong, he loves himself a good Gucci jacket but nothing compares to the sleek leather jacket he saw at H&M. He thought back to all the good times and cursed himself. He hated himself for letting him go. He cursed himself for choosing money over the one person who was with him through it all. Was that black card more important than his love? He knew the answer but he tried to reason it with himself. He said “40 million yen is just a trifle now.” He said to himself “I can now save many other Akane Sans out there.”

Yet, he was never quite able to get the elephant out of the room. The absence of Seishu, his Seishu was heavy on the air in his room. He hadn’t seen him in so long. Did he grow his hair out? Does he still wear heels like he used to? Does he still think of him the way he does? He knew through his relations that he worked at Draken’s bike shop. Was he happy there? Did he like going for bike rides at 3am? Would he hear a bike roar underneath his window right now only to see his Seishu on a bike, recklessly living his life? The simple answer to that was ‘no.’ Seishu had always been an early sleeper and even if he did change with time, his soundproof window wouldn’t let the hypothetical roar of the hypothetical bike reach his ears.

He reached over to his drawer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He hated smoking without him and silently hoped that Seishu thought of him whenever he smoked (that is, if he did.) Selfish, he knew. But what could he do? He tried to heal his broken heart but none of it ever seemed to work. Drinking in the most expensive bar in Tokyo, visiting TDL, none of it ever worked out for him. There were always a thousand new faces out there but Seishu Inui was the only one for him. It was always Seishu Inui.

He wished he didn’t let him go. If he could go back in time and undo it then he most definitely would; even if it meant giving up on his soul. But he couldn’t time leap. He had let him go and there was no bringing him back. He knew that if Seishu saw his current state and status, he would be repulsed and this time, instead of being pushed away he would run on his own. So the best thing ‘Coco’ could do was forgetting him too, and starting a new life without him in it, but don't you think he's tried? Don't you think he has tried so hard to forget his childhood friend whom he loves without any bounds?

In a way, he owed his sanity to him. Seishu was the one who gave him a reason and no matter what Kokonoi did, it would always be him and his memories nagging his peace of mind.

So he wept. Like a child wailing for his candy, he wept. It was just like every other night he spent alone. And while he cried for love that once was, another lonely boy woke up. It was the same old dream, same old nightmare. And he wept too. They both wept for each other and then smiled and went to sleep. They weren't alone, a ghost of the past gave them a soft kiss on the forehead and said

"I'm right here."

And while they were drifting off to sleep, they heard a little voice, which said

"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."

#tokyo revengers #hajime kokonoi #inui seishu #kokonui #kokoinu #kokonupi #koko x inupi #tokyo revengers fanfiction #kokonui fanfiction #kokoinu fanfiction #kokonoi x inupi #kokonoi x inui #yasha writes #tokyo revengers fandom

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

poker night | stiles stilinski

word count; 9320

summary; you and stiles have grown close since leaving for college, and the pack coming to visit is the little push you need to finally cross that bridge.

notes; this is teh second fic for my birthday week/7,000 follower celebration!

warnings; smut, drug use, underage drinking.

Excitement and pure joy were coursing through your veins as you watched out of the open curtains down to the street below, the sun just beginning to set as the late evening moved into early night, and you heard Stiles chuckle from across the room where he was tipping various chips into different bowls to lay out beside the poker table he’d rented that sat in the middle of the room.

“Excited, much?”

“Yes!”

You turned to look at him, giving him a pointed stare as you dropped your hand from holding open the curtains to instead place both of your hands on your hips, giving him a wide smile as you rocked on the balls of your feet, and he returned the wide grin, crumpling up the foil packets and dropping them all into the bin as he deemed the room ready. He was lucky, he had a rather large dorm, and all to himself, far bigger than yours was but you were still convinced that the pre-FBI program gave each of their candidates far better university living than the rest of you got. There was plenty of space for everyone to cram in, some of them choosing hotels in the area and some of them choosing to stay with Stiles, it had been a squeeze to get everyone in, but it was worth it.

You hadn't seen your pack since the day you’d left Beacon Hills.

It was hard to be away from them all for so long, after everything you had all been through, and yet you knew you had it easier than most. Stiles had only been a fifteen-minute drive from your accommodation, and so the two of you had grown infinitely closer than you had ever been, relying on one another heavily to make the transition easier. Lydia had called you every day for the first month and a half, and you’d all had weekly facetime sessions, but it just hadn't been the same.

With the first year coming to a close and everyone being far too broke to be able to afford to actually go anywhere, you’d settled on a few days up at college together for a small but parent-free vacation before the journey home.

It was the perfect opportunity for you all to get unnecessarily drunk, excessively high, and eat a lot of junk food, all while not having to worry about any oncoming attack that might strike, as the year-marker of safety was quickly approaching. Naturally, Stiles had decided to set a theme, and where was the place that drinking and gambling was the norm? Vegas. So of course, Stiles had gone all out with renting a poker table and set, and hanging vaguely Vegas-themed decorations around the place. He was even wearing a t-shirt with a tux pattern printed on the front, and had managed to convince you into wearing your party shirt with the flapper-style tassels on to match.

“C’mon, Stiles, it’s been almost a year since we’ve seen anyone from the pack, why aren’t you bouncing off of the roof with excitement?”

“I’ve seen one person from the pack all year.” He prompted, shooting you a playful wink and laughing as you rolled your eyes at him, before throwing away all the wrappers and holding his arms out for you in an invitation for a hug.

Accepting his offer, you moved away from the window and let him wrap his arms around your waist, barely a sliver of space between your bodies as you looked up at him and sighed. “I’m nervous. It’s been so long since we’ve seen them all, and I love them all so much, but nothing bad has happened since we’ve all been separated but what if just when we all get together again, something bad happens, and we don’t even get to enjoy it an-”

He shushed you gently, using one hand to weave through your hair and tuck it away behind your ear, his eyes fixed on you carefully as the playlist you and Stiles had spent a whole week building was playing in the background, waiting for everyone to arrive to appreciate it. “Bad things don’t happen when we’re all together, bad things happened because we were in Beacon Hills. We aren’t in Beacon Hills anymore, and we aren’t scared kids anymore, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You wanna’ cheer up? Nobody can be sad in faux-Vegas!” He cheered, waving his arm around the room, and you chuckled, catching his face brighten even further as he watched the worry slip away from your features, his lips brushing your forehead before he was tucking you under his chin, and holding you tightly.

You were only still for a second, the two of you swaying slowly before you heard the tell-tale signs of a car pulling up outside, the engine dying and doors slamming, and an excited gasp left your lips. “I bet that’s them!”

His fingers laced with yours and he was moving before you were, the two of you speeding over to the window to peer out, catching sight of Derek’s black car, the man himself leaning against it and waiting as Mason and Liam pulled their bags out of the trunk, Scott sitting in the passenger seat with the door open and his bag in his lap. Both yours and Stiles’ phone were chiming a second after he put his own away, notification in your group chat as he informed you both that they’d arrived, unaware of you watching on from the window with anticipation.

The group was on the move, the car locked and disappearing from sight as they entered the building's lobby area, and Lydia had offered her own ETA as the others all chipped in theirs, and just like that, your fears were gone as you swung open the front door and peered out into the corridor while you waited.

Within forty minutes of the Beacon Hills group arriving, everybody was here, and drinks had been cracked open, snacks dug into, and you were all lounging around and catching up on missed gossip and news, sharing photos and stories that you had wanted to tell in person and saved just for this moment.

Pizza boxes were piled high within two hours, and smoke was filling the air, giggles and laughs shared all around as the group simply rejoiced in being back together once again. Liam and Mason had told you all about the latest shit that Coach had been dishing out, and all the pranks that they had committed, as well as Mason, blushing when Lydia and Kira had pressed him about Corey. Scott and Derek had given a brief update about everything that had happened in Beacon Hills, which was surprisingly little with all things considered, and Lydia had tried to inform you all about the advanced placement work she had been doing in her classes, but had lost you all at some point as it became far too complex for you all to understand, and so instead had switched to telling you about the cute guy she had met at the coffee shop three months ago.

Kira and Malis had been travelling, the pair had recently been all over Europe exploring, and had even visited Isaac in France and Jackson in London, before they’d finally returned home to see everyone. They dished out all the little souvenirs that they had bought, and shared them out with you all before showing you pictures and telling you the stories behind each trip. You had shared your own stories, all the funny ones you had of Stiles falling over or spilling something in public, and he embarrassed you just as much, teasing you until your cheeks were red and he was cuddling you into his side and ruffling your hair as everyone laughed.

It was like nothing had ever changed, and you loved it.

The night had drifted on with natural progress until the music had been turned down to a lower level with the late hours, and the hazy atmosphere had everyone moving sluggishly and lazily as empty bottles littered the floor and the stubs of many dead blunts sat in the ashtray on the edge of the poker table, even the wolves having a little wolfbane laced treats to help them hit the mood just as much as all of the non-wolves had.

You were currently lounging across both Liam and Malia on the couch, lay out over them as you continually brushed off your midriff, crumbs dropping down onto your top each time Liam took a bite of the chip dish that was positioned between him and Mason, the two absolutely gone as they laughed and giggled among themselves about everything and anything.

Alongside their voices, and the conversation between yourself, Malia and the boys, was the rustle of cards and clinking of poker-chips, and you were itching for more physical affection than you were getting now, your inhibitions lowered and your need for physical attention through the roof from the substances racing through your bloodstream. Your sights honed in on Stiles, hair messy from playing with it and back facing you, your chair long abandoned from where you’d given up on cards when they’d started the real gambling, and you’d remembered just how crap you were at the game.

Getting up onto wobbly legs, you made your way across the room, resting your hands on Stiles’ shoulder as you stood behind him, smoothing them down his chest and he placed his beer down, licking the excess of the bitter liquid from his lips and placing the hand on top of one of yours, squeezing lightly as he turned to look at you.

“Hi, cutie. What d’you need?”

“Nothin’.” You sighed, slumping down further and resting your chin on the top of his head, used to the sweet little nicknames he fixed you with, and you relaxed against him as he leaned back a little further in the chair and pushed himself a few inches out front he table, seeming to predict your next words before you had even spoken them; “Was just feeling like I wanted some attention.”

“Hm, well c’mere, you can play cards, I’ve seen your poker face in the midst of some much more intense situations than this, I think you can handle it.”

You flicked him in the ear for his joke about all your supernatural struggles, but he held your hand and guided you around him to stand by his side, making space for you to sink down atop him and get comfy.

Slumping down across the boy’s lap with a deep sigh, your legs were slung across his at an angle, and his arms were quick to wind around your waist, one hand tucking itself under your shirt to seat on the heated skin of your waist, and the other held his cards limply in his hand, but his focus was no longer on them. You’d long since given up on the game, barely able to hold a focus as your mind spun from the hazy smoke in the air, and the taste of bitter-sweet alcohol still lingering in your mouth.

Slightly sticky lips brushed your shoulder as he peppered the bare skin with sweet kisses, and you turned your head to give the boy a dopey smile, watching as his own face creased in a beaming grin in response. His eyes were blown wide, slightly widened and his hair messy from constant playing with it, the arm of yours that wasn’t sitting around his neck for support was lifting up so that you could weave a hand into the chocolate locks, and he sighed out softly at the contact, letting you twist in his arms to face him even more.

“Like it when you play with my hair.”

“Mhm, I know.”

Your words were mumbled in response and he chuckled under his breath as his eyes fluttered shut, tipping his head into your hand, before a voice coughed loudly and the two of your jumped, eyes snapping open and focus moving back to the poker table before you both, other members of the pack gathered around and smirking at you both knowingly, but you let out a deep sigh and only relaxed into the boy under you even further.

“Stop looking at us like that.”

“Like what, exactly?” Lydia all but purred out her words, and you shot her a pointed look, as the others around the table all tried to muffle their laughs of agreement. Derek was looking at his cards and trying to bite away his smile by nibbling on the inside of his cheek, Scott and Kira were pretending to discuss their hand at cards, but were shooting the pair of you small looks throughout their whispered conversation, and Lydia was staring at you with a challenging smirk. You could even feel the members of the others scattered around you watching on, the pack spread out around the smoke room, the funky smell hanging off of everyone and everything.

“You know what like. You’re looking at us like you know something we don’t, like it’s a joke only we aren’t a part of.”

You felt a nose push at the underside of your jaw and tipped your head up to allow the boy more space to nose at the space under your jaw and by your ear, letting him just gain his own affections to his heart’s content, and this only spurred on Lydia’s piercing stare at the two of you. “You aren’t a part of a joke, and in fact, it’s incredibly unfunny. However, I do know something you don’t. We all do.”

“Care to share?”

It was the first night in almost a year that the pack had all been together. Lydia had finished her exams early, Scott had gotten ahead on his training with Deaton to create time, and Liam and Mason had ditched their last week. Derek had driven them all up here, and Lydia had come down from her college to see you all. Kira had come with Malia on the plane after they had recently finished their travels of Europe, and you had come across from your own dorms.

It was barely a travel, you and Stiles went to colleges that were only ten miles apart, and so you were hanging out regularly during the week, you were the only two that had seen each other in person since leaving for college and not just via facetime, and in this time, the two of you seemed to have grown even closer than you had ever been despite all the supernatural drama you had been through.

“C’mon, you two have gotten so close since we all left for college.”

“So?” you and Stiles spoke at once, looking to Scott for his comment, before you were giggling and sharing glances in your utterly smoked out state, finding entertainment in your joint statement.

“Nothing.. ‘sparked’ in that time?”

You took a deep sigh, your eyes wandering around the room, flicking from Lydia to Malia, before back to the redhead who was watching you intensely. “Feels a bit weird to talk about this in front of two of his exes.”

“So, there is something to talk about!” Lydia shouted the words like she had suddenly realised the key to life, looking far more excited than someone who just discovered their best friends having feelings for their ex should look. “God, finally, I’ve only been staying with you for three days and the sexual tension is already too much for me to handle.”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles questioned, breath fanning over your face from where he was all but mouthing at your jaw, dry kisses pressed there as he held you to his chest tightly, having put his cards down on the table at some point so hold you with both hands.

“When I left, you two were friends who would hug, now you’re this pair who are all over each other without even realising it! I mean, the two of you are closer right now than Scott and Kira have ever been!” The couple that was involved against their will let out various noises of complaints, being waved off by the redhead and they comforted one another with small kisses, both you and Stiles shrugging languidly. “Listen, Malia and Stiles ended ages ago, and Stiles and I were barely a couple, we didn’t even sleep together, so don’t feel weird.”

“Way to boost my ego, Lydia.” The brunette under you sighed, but you only squeezed yourself around him tighter, feeling him reciprocate the emotions and push his hand even further up over your ribs.

“Even I can smell the arousal and longing rolling off of the two of you in waves. Just admit it to each other already.” Derek muttered, shifting his cards before pushing some of his counters into the middle, and despite all the alcohol and weed in your system, your eyes went wide as you shifted to look at the boy underneath you, his lips parted a little as he gave you a nervous smile.

“You’re longing? For me?”

He grinned widely, his head tipping to the side, cheeks flushed with warm heat, before he licked over his lips and nodded slowly. “Yeah, since like the first month when you stayed that whole weekend to binge marvel movies with me so I didn’t feel alone and you did that dance thing while you were making pancakes on Saturday.” He paused, thinking over his words, before he was leaning in a little and bumping his nose with yours as your hand came out of his hair to sit on his cheek delicately. “You’re aroused? By me?”

Your breath hitched, and he smirked very lightly at your response, his lips brushing yours when you nodded. “Yeah, ever since the day you came over right after going to the gym and you were all sweaty and asked if I minded if you used my shower and then you walked around with your shirt off before dinner. I definitely didn’t mind.”

He laughed lightly at your statement, his eyes glazing over a little as he remembered the day. “Are you longing, too?”

“Mhm. Are you also aroused?” Your question hung heavily in the air and he let out a soft sound under his breath as you asked him.

“Of course.”

“Cool.” You both spoke the single syllable word at the same time, your eyes closing as your fingers dug into his jaw a little, your breathing as light and shallow as everyone else in the room seemed to fade away. It was simply the two of you, sharing breath and his tongue brushing your lips when it peeked out of his mouth to wet his own, and you whimpered under your breath so quietly only he would hear it, to which his hands tightened on your flesh as he picked up on the sound.

“You want to go back to your place?”

“Oh, definitely.” You nodded rapidly, and he beamed shifting in your lap, taking a swig of his drink as he downed the rest of the glass, and slipped his hand into your back pocket as the rest of the group stared at the two of you with wide eyes, shock evident on their faces about how easy that conversation had really been, but you didn’t care, because Stiles was running the pads of his fingers very subtly over your ass and squeezing through your pocket, even as he stared down everyone else in the room, and your skin was beginning to feel hot from something entirely other than the atmosphere in his dorm that you had all created. “We need a cab.”

“We can call one and makeout in the doorway while we wait, go get your bag.” He pulled his touch away from you, placing a playful slap on your ass and grinning at the way you squeaked before scurrying away to gather your belongings, and he was grabbing his wallet, throwing down a handful of notes on the table, quickly booking an Uber with the app on his phone.

When your hand slipped into his again the shocked looks had morphed into smirks, the only three teams still sitting around the table were reshuffling cards and setting themselves up to play, Stiles telling them all not to wait up for him to come home, before he was pulling you from the room and towards the door. “You booked a cab?”

“Yes.”

“And we’re going to make out in the doorway until it gets here?”

“Fuck, yes.” He tipped his head to look at you, slamming the front food shut and guiding you towards the stairs you were so familiar with, as the two of you set off on your quick and stumbling journey toward the main entrance to the building.

“Will you grab at my ass again like you were before?”

“Do you want me to?” He didn’t give you a chance to respond, however, before his fingers were leaving yours and moving over your lower back to grab at your ass roughly, feeling your shake as he curled you into his side, the two of you inching down the lower staircase. “Like that?”

“Yeah?”

“Honestly, I’ll do anything you want me to.”

“I’m going to remember that for later.” You punctuated your words with a nibble on his lower lip, glancing up into his swirling whiskey eyes through your lashes, and he groaned under his breath, letting himself nod slowly as he used his grip on your ass to pull your body flush up against his. His mouth descended onto your own once again, catching your lips in a fiery kiss, instantly parting as the lust took over your both, tripping and stumbling down the final few steps as he pressed you into the wall beside the door, uncaring for who may see the pair of you as his tongue tangled with your own, visible between your parted mouths whenever your heads twisted to the side for deeper access.

It was sloppy and wet, and a clash of moans and whimpers as the two of you teased done another endlessly with a mixture of slow and ongoing kisses that alternated with needy and rushed ones, teeth clashing and lips dragging.

Hands roamed one another’s bodies, your palms tracing over the broad and hardened planes of his chest, the workouts he had been on for the pre-FBI fitness programs had done things to his body that lacrosse never did, and you were sure the day you’d seen Stiles do a pull-up was the day you realised rolling over guys may actually be a thing. The muscles twitched and tensed under your fingertips, and his hands were rubbing along you back all the way to your upper thighs, exploring your body as he pinched and squeezed in places that made your body jerk and twitch into him.

His lips were working along your neck as your heart raced, your eyes closed and back arching up, chests pressed flush together, and the what around the two of you almost felt like it was too much. The fingers that were sitting low on your waist slipped even further, grazing along you covered pussy through you jeans, ad he pushed down teasingly on the spot he knew your clit would be, biting down on the joint between your shoulder and your neck when he heard you moan his name out breathlessly at the simple action.

He dragged his tongue over the spot, moving in to dip back down to kiss you, before the two of you were breaking through your haze at the sound of a horn honking, and the phone in his back pocket was buzzing. He was panting for breath as he pulled back from you, only one hand still touching you as his fingers laced with your own, a stark contrast from every part of him pressed to every part of you only seconds prior.

“Good thing, one minute longer and I probably would’ve had my hands down your pants right here in the doorway.”

He gave you a sultry wink, before he was pulling you along to the car waiting on the edge of the road, ignoring your wide eyes and stuttering words, holding the door open for you and helping you inside like a gentleman, like he hadn't just threatened public nudity and a great orgasm only seconds prior. He was seconds behind you, confirming his identity and booking to the driver, and as the car took up motion on the short journey once again, he turned back to you.

“You okay, baby? You look flushed.” You turned to look at him, sensing the light tone in his voice that was playfully disguising the question underneath as to whether you still wanted this, and you nodded gently, taking his face in your hands and pulling his face down so that you could peck his lips.

“I like it when you call me baby.”

“You do?” He dragged his nose along your cheek, brushing a kiss to your skin, the intimate and sweet touches making you blush hot and red under his touch, his chuckle so soft that only you could hear it.

“Yeah. We could have been doing this for months, y’know.”

“Making out in a taxi and trying not to feel each other up to much before we get back to your place?” He joked, tucking an arm over your shoulder and you settled into his side, your hands playing with his other one as it sat on your thigh and squeezed lightly.

“I was going to say being together, but sex works too.” Your words were whispered out, and he twisted until he was nuzzling affectionately into your hairline.

“You want that? To be together with me?”

“Well, I wasn’t longing for fun.” You scoffed, and he shifted his hands to lace your fingers together, his arm squeezing you tighter to him.

“I can’t say I always knew we were meant to be, or that I spent my whole child and teenhood pining after you, but I really think we would be special together, and I think we could go a long way together.” You rolled your eyes at his affections, but the alcohol and drugs in your body were making you emotional, and you sniffed away your feelings as you pushed your face into his neck, pressing a kiss to his skin in a silent acknowledgement of his statement.

“Together, then.”

“Together.” He confirmed, and the scenery flashing by before you both was quickly coming to an end, Stiles confirming a payment to come out of his bank account, before he was thanking the driver and watching as you clambered from the car to stand before your own building, Stiles stumbling out behind you and pressing himself up to your back as the two of you giggled in your drunkenness.

It was an awkward walk between the two of you, you back pressed to the wall of your elevator as you each tried to hit the right button for your floor, seeming to hit every single one but the right one, and the journey was filled with shared giggling ad little moans as you let him kiss and lick at your neck, marking your skin with red marks that would be dark by the morning. His hands had fished your keys out of your pocket, and he was holding them up before you as the two of you all but raced along the corridor to your room.

The door slammed off of the wall as you made your way in, dropping the keys to the floor and kicking the door shut behind you as he navigated you on the path he knew so well toward your bedroom, the light feeling in the air gone as lust and heat replaced it, your mouths meshing together in urgent kisses that begged for more, wandering hands and tugs of material, your jacket pushed from your shoulder to the floor and your hands tucked underneath his t-shirt as you finally got to feel the abs that you had so often watched sweat run down when he’d taken you to do workouts with him, or showed up at your place straight after the gym or a run.

Pulling his own shirt up and over his head, your hands were immediately drawn to the exposed skin of his chest. It certainly wasn’t the first time you’d seen him without a shirt on, but it was the first time you’d been allowed to actually look, to touch, and your fingertips were pressing into the smooth skin, palms flat to his flushed chest, pink and shining with a light layer of sweat from the heat forming between the two of you. “Damn, Sti.”

“What? Still thought I was the skinny kid with the buzzcut from sophomore year?”

“No, you’ve spent enough time wandering around without your shirt on while I’m around for me to know you’re hot, it’s just now I can actually appreciate it.” You flashed your teeth at him in a cheeky grin, and he gave a breathless chuckle in response, the muscles in his stomach tightening as your fingers dragged down over the taut flesh, until your nails were scratching at the trail of dark hairs below his navel, hooking into his dark jeans.

“I wouldn't have minded if you’d appreciated it before.” You tipped your head up, kissing along the underside of his jaw gently, licking at the smooth flesh from where he had shaved earlier in the day, and his breathing shallowed as you did, his fingers tightening on your hips. “Okay, no fair, shirt off, baby. I’ve been wanting to know what your tits looked like since you wore that red bikini to the pool party I took you to.”

You went almost the same shade as the aforementioned garment as he whispered the filthy words into your ear, and he pushed his hands up under your shirt, hands inching the flimsy material up until it was sitting just under your bra, his thumbs smoothing out over your skin and brushing at the wire of your bra. “You sure you want to do this? We don’t have to. I swear, I’d be more than happy to just cuddle with you and watch movies like we always do on Tuesday nights, just s-”

Your lips met his, pressing a deep and longing kiss to his lips, and he moaned into your mouth when the connection was made, your bodies coming up flush against one another as you moved your hands back up to loop around his neck. Your fingers weaved into his hair, one hand behind his head as the other cradled his jaw, and he tipped his head to the side, your noses bumping and brushing as his tongue dipped out to tempt your lips to open up for him. Instead of allowing that, however, you were pulling away, just enough until your lips were barely brushing his, letting him groan out in dissatisfaction.

Pulling your shirt up and over your head and dropping it to the ground, his eyes widened as he took in the sight of your exposed chest, all other than the simple white bra you were wearing underneath, and your jaw dropped as you suddenly remembered the underwear that was clad on your body.

“I wasn’t expecting this when I put my comfy underwear on today, I have way cuter bras than this.”

He smirked, popping the button on your jeans so that they were loose enough for him to tug down softly, until they were tight around your thighs, your jaw hanging open as both of his palms slipped down to squeeze at your ass. “I was assuming you wouldn't be wearing the cute blue thong when you had no idea what would happen tonight. Besides, if you'll let me, I’d much rather have your underwear off and on the floor, with my head between your thighs and my hands on your tits instead.”

“How do you know about my cute blue thong?” You whined, tipping your head back with false-irritation in your voice, and letting him kiss down your neck as your hair fell back behind you.

“You do your laundry with me every week, sometimes I’d see what was going into the machines, and that piece caught my eye, I always hoped I’d get to see it on you, and we have plenty of time for that. Besides, I’m wearing boxers with hotdogs printed on, so don’t worry about it.” His fingers moved one of the straps of your bra away, letting it fall away to sit on the side of your arm, exposing your shoulder to him, and you own hands found the clasp behind your back, undoing it for him and watching as his eyes focused in one your breasts, nipples already hard under the material, and he licked at his lips as he stared down at your chest. “Shit, you have such perfect tits.”

You took one of his wrists in your hands, dragging the limp limb up until his palm was pressing over your skin, a content sigh falling from your lips was beyond your control as his fingers twitched and he took control once again, squeezing at the fleshy mound you had given him access to. His thumb and forefinger pinched your nipple teasingly, rolling the taut bud between the pads, and your back arched up, pressing even further into him.

Dipping down, he took the other between his teeth, pulling lightly before sealing his lips around it, his arm wrapped around your lower back so that he could tip you backwards, your hips pressing into his and the bulge in his jeans becoming obvious as you found yourself flush up against one another.

“I really need to know what else that mouth can do, and what else you’ve got hidden, and then when we’re all fucked out, we can definitely cuddle and watch a movie. First, though, I want you to make sure I scream loud enough that my neighbours know your name.”

“And here I was thinking I’d be doing the dirty talk, huh?” He sighed out against your skin, pulling away from your breast with a ‘pop’, the skin wet and shiny and he moved back up to brush his mouth with yours. “You got it, princess.”

His hands found your hips, pushing you backwards onto the bed, and he was pulling your jeans the rest of the way down your legs, taking your socks and shoes as he went, stripping you down to just the polka dot cotton panties you wore, and your hair fanned out around you on the bed as your chest rose and fell, mind spinning as you tried to gather yourself, the whole motion had happened so quickly. His hands were on your knees, pushing your thighs apart until he could settle on the mattress between them, and lick a long stripe up along your covered core, spit soaking you underwear, but the feeling of his hot breath against you was already making you tremble underneath him.

“Can’t wait to taste you, I bet you’re sweet, hm? That okay? I’ve been dreaming ‘bout getting my head between these thighs, or having you ride my face, cum on my tongue, how’s that sound?”

“Yes! Yes, to all of it, whatever you want!” Your words were promising for him, and he caught your eye as you propped yourself up on you elbows to look at him, his eyes blown with lust and dark as he hooked his fingers into the elastic of the waistband, tugging the material away from your swiftly, and he let out a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a moan as your glistening folds were put on display for him, with no barrier between.

“Oh, fuck, you look so good. All spread out for me, dripping wet and blushing. You’re perfect.”

“I’m not perfect, Stiles.”

“You absolutely fucking are, and I’ll prove just how perfect I think you are.” His lips descended onto yours as he leaned over you, one hand holding him up as you shared a sloppy and heated kiss, the clashing of teeth and tangling of tongues, wet sounds audible in the room as the two of you frantically dove into one another's mouths, exploring and becoming familiar with new territory. The other hand snaked down between your body, cautious fingers dragging along your drenched skin as two digits parted your folds, swirling in the built-up wetness and bumping against your clit. “Shit, you’re so wet. All for me, yeah?”

“All for you, Stiles, you really have no idea what you do to me.”

“Mhm, I think I do.” He joked, grinding his hips down into one of your thighs, pressing the erection that was straining into his jeans into your thigh, and you both let out whimpers at the action.

“Then fuck me, Stiles, show me I affect you like you affect me. Fuck me, now.”

“I will, I promise.” He cooed, grinning into your skin, his face buried in your neck as he sunk a single finger into you, all the way down to the knuckle, feeling your velvety walls clench around him immediately, coating his skin in your juices. “I gotta’ open you up first, get you ready for m’ cock, okay? And, I do just really want to fuck you with my tongue.”

With that, he was slipping out of your eyesight and down your body, his arms wrapping under your thighs as he situated himself between your legs, letting out a shaky breath as he lapped at his lips and stared lustfully at your centre. You felt drunk on his touch, everything in your world seeming hazy and blurry as he pressed kisses up along the inside of your thighs, his teeth dragging against the soft skin, and you felt your breath hold in your lungs as he came to the apex of your thighs. That second-long pause felt like it dragged on for hours, before his tongue was finally dragging slowly along your core, a trail from your entrance to your clit, and a loud moan tore from you at the feeling of his mouth on you.

His lips sealed around your clit, sucking harshly, and your back arched up from the bed as he barely did anything, and yet pleasure was already spiking along your entire body. He dragged his tongue, flat and warm, over the bud and made sure that he moved as slowly as possible, teasing you endlessly, despite how much you wanted more. You wanted to remember this moment and make the most of it, but you couldn't think about anything but the pure bliss Stiles was giving to you, the way he was drinking up every drop of arousal you made, the way he was sucking and nibbling at your core in a most delectable way that had a heat curling in your belly and your body somewhere between relaxed and tense.

Once he was satisfied that he had licked up everything you had already given, his mouth closed over you, the tip of his tongue poking and prodding at your entrance and teasing the hole, before dipping his tongue into you, and he groaned out as his mouth was flooded with more waves of your juices. You clenched around the wet muscle eagerly, feeling the way your own body was reacting to him like you never had with anyone else, and your hips rocked up into his face, rolling in repeated motions to meet the thrusts of his tongue in and out of you.

“Fuck, Stiles!”

His chuckle was muffled against your core, the feeling of it vibrating along you body though, and the upturned tip of his cute little nose was once again you downfall, though now instead of being due to making your heart race, it was instead form the way it was nudging against the throbbing bud nestled between your legs, and you felt the nerves in you body zapping and jolting with electricity each time he tilted his head or dove into you even deeper than he already was.

His fingers were digging into your thighs, holding you close to him as you cried out his name, and he was moaning into your centre with each flick of his tongue and drag of his lips against your dripping cunt, slurping sounds that would make a pornstar blush, and you brought up a shaky hand to thread into his hair, tugging on the chocolate locks in warning. You felt the heat overwhelm you, your body tensing and back arching up until it was no longer on the bed and your legs clamping around his head as you came, his name leaving your lips as a sob when he bit down on your clit just enough to spur on your orgasm with a little more power.

Your body was shaking and muscles cramping up, your skin shining with a sheen of sweat and he continued to greedily lap at your hole until you were oversensitive and pushing him away prying your own legs open to release him, and when he popped back into your line of sight, he was wearing own of the cockiest looks you had ever seen on him. His cheeks and chin were shining, and his lips were swollen, hair messy from where your fingers were tangled in the strands and he kissed his way back up your body, smearing your sin with your own fluids, and taking his time in making sure he had kissed and licked at every bit of skin, until his mouth was moving across your cheek and back to your lips.

“You tasted so fucking good, you want to try?” His words were deep, and seductive, and his voice was raspier than you had ever heard it, even in the mornings when the two of you had fallen asleep slumped against one another on the couch after marathoning a new TV show. You found yourself nodding before you even really processed the words, and he beamed down at you with a filthy smile, his thumb pulling your bottom lip down and opening your mouth just enough for his tongue to slither out and play with yours when his lips slanted across your own.

It was a taste you weren’t used to, foreign in your mouth and unexpected and yet it was just a little sweet, like he had said. It was mixed with the taste of him, one which you much preferred but at this point every inhibition you had was thrown out of the window because right now you were drowning in the way his lips played with your own, his lips tempting yours into the interaction alongside his. For a few minutes, you just lay there, your fingers weaved into his hair as you made out, lazy and messy and hot in a way you couldn't even begin to explain, but each kiss left you breathless and craving more, and each flittering touch of his hands along your body as he moved them, dragging them over every limb and expanse of skin, had your body setting alight once again.

“How do you feel?”

“I feel fucking incredible.” You smiled up at him dopily, and he laughed down at you, the moment so incredibly intimate that you felt like your heart was swelling up, and his finger tapped the tip of your nose, before brushing over your kiss-bitten and pouted lips, letting you kiss the pad of his finger.

“Yeah? That’s good, I like this. Us. I like us being like this, it sorta’ feels like one of those lazy Sunday mornings. Don’t you think?” Your arms wrapped around his neck, and you pulled up your legs to clamp around his hips, humming thoughtfully as you considered his words.

“I do, but-” you paused in your words, flipping the two of you over, and he let out a sound of sunrise and shock, before he was staring up at you in awe and swallowing thickly as he found himself on his back, watching your tits bounce above him as you leaned down, hair framing your face and lips barely touching his. “-if this was a lazy Sunday morning, you definitely wouldn't be wearing jeans, and I would be able to ride you a lot easier.”

To emphasise your point, your rocked your hips down into him gently, your eyes rolling a little and eyes fluttering shut as the denim he wore grazed against your sensitive core, a wet patch being left over the bulge of his jeans, the two of you watching between your bodies as trails of slick leaked from you, covering the front of his pants each time you rose up and pushed back down into his covered erection. “You are everything wet dreams are made of.”

His words were groaned out, his hands coming down between your bodies, and he rose his legs behind you, bumping you up just high enough that when his hips lifted from the bed with you sat in his lap, he was able to push his jeans and boxers down to his mid-thighs. His cock was pulsing with need, skin hot and flushed and dripping with precum, both of you letting out squeaky and broken sounds of satisfaction when his cock rubbed against your folds.

Grinding down onto him, his legs fell flat, both of you far too needy for a connection to even undress him properly, and you sat up, hands splayed over his chest for leverage and knees digging into the mattress on either side of his hips, giving you the leverage you needed to be able to rock your hips into him.

The head of his cock pushed against your neglected bead each time, his cock and thighs shining with your arousal as you pleased yourself, whimpering at each strangled noise he let out as his hands clenched by his sides, chest rising and falling under your palms as your dragged your pussy up and down his cock, feeling him nudge against your hole each time, but you were enjoying the build-up a little too much, and you could tell he was too, from the way his face was scrunched up in pleasure and the way his lips were parted to let out short breaths.

“Please, princess. I need to be inside you, I have been wishing for this moment for almost a year, don’t make me wait any longer.”

You nodded, lifting yourself up as he quickly took himself within his hand, pumping himself easily with all the slick on his skin, before he was lining himself up, his eyes finding yours and his other hand finding your jaw, bringing your lips down to meet his in a tender kiss as he felt you sink down onto his cock, gasping against your mouth and nibbling on your lower lip as you took him into your warmth, inch by inch until he was fully sheathed within you.

He let out a long and shuddering breath when your hips met his, your walls clamping around him and flexing experimentally, and he wiggled happily, his whole body deflating as a look of ecstasy and joy took him over. “Holy fuck, you feel incredible.”

You rolled your hips back, circling them slowly as you adjusted to his size, and you felt the breath knocked from your lungs as he dragged against every inch of your walls slowly. There was no barrier between you, and your forehead dropped down to press against his as you experimented with the swivels of your hips and the movements you made, trying to find a rhythm of what worked best for the both of you. His hands came up to your hips, holding on tightly and helping you move, and when his noises picked up in frequency and pitch at the same time that your own eyes rolled back and your skin erupted in goosebumps was when you knew you had found the best way to move.

You left a series of prolonged and loving kisses to his lips, feeling him lean up into it as best as possible, before your nails were digging into his skin scraping lightly as you moved yourself back to sitting up on his lap. He stretched you out, his generous girth and length filling you to the brim, and he was tapping against spots you didn’t even know you had, bringing you more pleasure than you could possibly have imagined, and you clenched around him tightly and rolled the muscles in your stomach. “Oh, God! Don’t do that unless you want me to cum in like thirty seconds, because that was fucking incredible, but I won’t last if you do.”

His words were wheezed out and you smirked, repeating the action and watching the way he writhed and squirmed underneath you, and he shot you a mock glare, pinching at your thighs and making you jump in a way that brought both of you a little jolt of electricity.

“You are a hazard to my fucking health, princess.”

A needy noise left you at the pet name, and you began to bob up and down on his shaft, throwing you head back as you took what you wanted, the feeling of another climax buildings as creeping through your veins and making your vision flash with spots as your eyes rolled, and your lips were drying with each quick pant you took for breath. The angle changed when he pushed himself up onto his hands, and a cry left you, your legs tightening around him as he pushed against a certain spot.

“There?”

“Right there, Stiles! Fuck, please!” Your hands were in his hair, his lips on your tits and teeth grazing your skin as he tried to buck up to meet your movements, and you only sped up more and more as you found yourself becoming comfortable in your motions. The room seemed to fade away, nothing mattered between the two of you except the way his hands felt on your body and the way his cock felt every time it slid out of you almost entirely, before you were slamming yourself back or him and crying out his name.

His own mumbles of praise and arousal were spurring you on, your body feeling like it was on cloud nine, and you no longer felt intoxicated on anything except the feeling of his body underneath you, the way he looked at you lighting you up and the way he kissed you making you feel like nothing would ever matter again. Stiles meant everything, he was made for you, and you could feel from the way the pair of you fit so well together that nothing would ever matter again, as long as you had him and he had you.

Your muscles were growing tired, your knees aching thighs screaming out, but your climax was so close that you could barely even speak sentences now, nothing but his name and your begs for more, and you could feel him twitching and leaking precum within you as he neared his peak. He fell back until he was laying down again, his legs still popped up behind you and you followed after him, a hand on either side of his head as his thrusts into you became easier for him, your jaw slack and tears lining your eyes as pure pleasure overtook you.

He picked up his pace, chasing his own high as well as yours frantically and the press of your chest to his, the feel of the short hairs at his base tickling against your overstimulated clit was enough to completely drive you into bliss. He was pounding into you, never letting up as he kissed your through your climax, feeling you scream out into his mouth as he muffled your sounds and made sure to fuck you through until you could no longer take it. You were scratching at his chest, shaking as everything all when into hyperdrive, feeling like you were floating as he flipped you over, holding your legs up and open as he desperately fucked into your abused hole, wetness on your cheeks as a third orgasm built, straight off of the second one and it all became too much.

His fingers on your clit, his mouth on your chest, his cock stretching you out wide and dragging against your rim with each deep and penetrating thrust, and your fingers tangled in the bedsheets as you thrashed happily under him. Nothing had ever felt this good, no orgasm you’d ever had with anyone else or alone, nothing you had even imagined, and every nerve within you was sparking and crackling with energy as you finally exploded for a third and final time.

You clenched around him so hard that you dragged him over the edge with you, his body collapsing down onto you as he went entirely boneless, spasming atop you as the two of you pressed together and rolled through your peaks. Spurts of hot and thick cum filled you up in ropes, spattering against your walls and filling you up, so much so that each time he shafted you could feel him leaking out of you and dripping down into the bedsheets below, and he pressed multiple soft and chaste kisses to the skin that he could reach, before letting out a deep and satisfied groan.

“Oh, my God. That was the best sex I’ve ever fucking had.” He was crushing you, but you still managed to let out a small giggle underneath him, before he was rolling himself off of you and pulling out, a relieved sigh on your lips as he did. “You’re incredible, absolutely amazing, the best. Just the best. Fuck, I can’t wait to do that again, and just be with you. This is going to be great, an-”

You pressed up to push your lips against his, and he let out a soft sound when you did, before his lips were curling up in a smile and he was kissing you back as best he could.

“You were rambling. You’re even more affectionate after sex.”

“Are you complaining?”

“No! God, no, I love it.” You rubbed the tip of your nose with his, before you were sitting up and grumbling at the protests your body made as you did. “I like it when you’re all clingy and needy, it makes me feel less weird about it when I do the same to you.”

“I like it when you get all touchy, and now I can really do something about it, because let me tell you, all those cute time that you’d come over and just want to cuddle me while I was cooking for us or when you’d hold my hand when we went shopping or lean into me when you’re tired? I wanted to kiss you so fucking badly, and now I can.” Long fingers brushed sweaty and matted hair out of your face, and he pressed his lips to your forehead, before standing up and shucking off the jeans that were still pooled around his calves, kicking off all the remnants of his clothing.

“I can’t wait, because a little secret would be that I wanted you to kiss me in all of those times, too.”

“Good to know, princess.” You hummed, accepting the hands he was holding out to you, and his eyes scanned along your naked form, swallowing thickly and averting his eyes when he caught sight of the mess leaking out of you. “We should get cleaned up, then you can have those cuddles I promised you.”

“Bath time, then a movie?”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

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