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hannieehaee · 5 months

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them accidentally ditching you on your bday pt. 2 - hhu

content: angsty, gender neutral, established relationship, conflict resolution, direct continuation to this, fluff, happy ending, etc.

part 1

wc: 3889

a/n: literally so many ppl requested thisjhdf im glad u guys liked it!! im working on vu and pu versions for this rn btw <3

masterlist

seungcheol -

seungcheol sat there for a minute or so, simply pondering at what had just happened. it was 100% his fault, that was something he was very well aware of. he knew that it had simply slipped his mind, but that did not wipe away the hurt he saw in your eyes upon entering your shared apartment. knowing that you had been waiting for him all day made him feel like an asshole. he couldn't believe that he had forgotten about your birthday even upon coming home at midnight the night prior. he felt like such a hypocrite, always whining at people to give him royalty treatment on his birthday but absolutely ignoring you during yours. you, his most favorite person.

he felt hurt that you had decided to spend the night with some friends, instead of in the arms of your boyfriend, but he understood. this was what he deserved. god knew that he wouldve pulled out all the dramatics if you had done the same to him, which was why he was now at a standstill, not knowing what he should do. he wanted to see you so badly, get on his knees and apologize, letting you know over and over again that you were the most vital person in his life and that forgetting you was something that not even he could forgive himself for.

now, he could've sat there and lamented himself over his stupid mistake, or he could run after you before you made it out of the building. he did not want you going to bed angry, or much worse, sad, so he picked the latter and got off his ass to chase after you, not caring about his current exhaustion as he took the stairs rather than the elevator in order to be able to catch up to you before you made it to your car.

luckily for him, he was able to catch you just as you stepped out of the elevator (having ran down five flights of stairs and almost injuring himself in the process), completely unsuspecting to his sudden ambush. he hadn't noticed until now, but you had dressed up, clearly ready to go clubbing or partying with your friends. he felt bad to get in the way of your plans. no, he felt horrible to accidentally ditch you and then ruin your plans. but he needed to at least try and make amends. he knew that if this were him, he'd want you to try and make it up to him.

you jumped back a bit at seungcheol's sudden apparition as you rounded the corner upon exiting the elevator, seemingly not having expected him to come after you.

"cheol, what are you doing?", you didn't seem mad, but your tone let him know you were clearly not content with him.

okay, he didn't think as far as this. his main goal was just to convince you to stay, then he would come up with a way to make it up to you.

"baby, i ... i'm so sorry. i know how hypocritical this is coming from me. i never meant to forget, you know that! there's nothing i can do to make up for having forgotten about you today, but please, please let me try."

"cheol .. i don't know," you paused, "last year when i texted you at 12:03 you complained about it for over an hour. you're the one always making a big deal about this. i assumed you'd care when the shoe was on your foot, but apparently not."

"i do! i do care. baby, please. let me take you out. ditch your friends. i'll take you somewhere. anywhere. i'll even take you out tomorrow too! i'll take the day off. how does that sound?"

"you cant take the day off, cheol. you're an idol-"

"i dont care! they can come and try to drag me away from you if they want. i want to be with you. please let me. please don't leave. cant stand the thought of you going to sleep alone after what i did."

you chuckled at the first half of his statement, feeling touched at the second part of it.

"are you sure?"

he scoffed, deciding to go on a leap and hold onto your hands, pulling you closer to him, "yes! there's nothing i wanted to do more today than be with you! it mightve slipped my mind that today was the day, but i had a beautiful day for us planned, baby. will you let me show you? please?"

cheol knew it was hard for you to say no to him, specially when he whined and pouted at you, giving you his best performance in order for you to understand how badly he felt. it didn't take much more for you to break, finally letting a smile graced your face as you squeezed his hands in yours.

"you better make this worth my while, choi seungcheol," god, he hated when anyone called him that, but you were the exception.

"always."

wonwoo -

wonwoo was astonished at himself, for lack of a better word. he had never been more disappointed in himself than in this moment. sure, he didn't take birthdays too seriously, and he knew you didn't either, but you always made him feel so special on his day he had only wanted to do the same. he was a lowkey guy, so his ways of showing love sometimes went unnoticed by most people, except for you. you accepted the subtlety of his love, loving him all the more for it. he felt terrible that today he showed you the exact opposite of what he had planned. he had taken weeks to perfect the dinner he had wanted to make for you, having prepared a romantic night for the two of you. all he wanted was to make you feel loved as he held you through the night, but his plan had stupidly slipped his mind.

what kind of asshole ditches their significant other on their birthday? for a stupid video game out of all things? as soon as wonwoo communicated what you had texted him to mingyu, his roommate couldn't help but scold him, telling him this was very uncharacteristic of him. which it was. everyone knew wonwoo to be a very sensible guy. it was very rare for anyone to have their feelings hurt by wonwoo. the guy was just simply too emotionally intelligent to ever be perceived as a hurtful individual. except now he had shown a careless part of himself that rarely ever faced the surface.

he was unsure of what to do. it was clear by your messages that you did not want to see him. you quite literally had asked him to not come. your texts to him were always filled with love, somehow being able to have your affections to him transcend even through text. but these were cold, and with good reason. still, wonwoo did not want to give up. the only thing that would be worse than ditching you on your birthday would be to stay where he was, knowing you were not only upset but also hurt by his actions. or rather, lack there of.

so, wonwoo was now on his way to you. well, to your apartment. you had mentioned in your messages that you would be out with friends due to his absence. it killed him that you had chosen to be with your friends over him, but he was fully aware that he only had himself to blame for that. he was glad you at least had someone to be with while his forgetfulness kept him away from you.

he had a key to your apartment, often heading over to fall asleep in your arms after a grueling day of being an idol. upon arriving there, he knew you'd be gone, so he allowed himself in, hauling in all the ingredients he had packed with him in order to make you the dinner he had been planning all these weeks. he was unsure of when you'd arrive back home, so he needed to hurry just in case. there was also a chance you'd come back in the early hours of the morning, knowing you would sometimes stay out with your friends til 1 or 2 in the am. having practiced this dinner multiple times, wonwoo was able to have it all done by 10, hoping that you'd arrive soon so the dinner wouldn't go to waste. he took care of the ambience, lighting candles and even moving furniture aside to make space for his set up. all he had to do now was wait for your arrival.

it had taken you around two hours to arrive. wonwoo had simply sat there waiting for you, not wanting to contact you as to not disturb you. okay, maybe he had maniacally texted you back earlier, apologizing for his mistake over and over, but had received no response, so he had decided it'd be best to just wait for you to arrive on your own. and now you were here, crossing the door to your apartment.

you stopped upon spotting him, widening your eyes before taking note of the dinner table behind him, "wonwoo? what are you doing here?"

he smiled sadly at you, slightly unsure of what to say, "i cooked for you," he paused, continuing upon seeing your confusion, "im so sorry. time got the best of me. i cant believe it slipped my mind. i knew it was today, but i got too distracted. i never wanted to make you feel like i didnt care. i do. so much."

you stood there without saying anything, still carrying a slightly shocked expression on your face. so he continued.

"baby ... please, have a meal with me. i prepared all this for you. this is what i had planned for today, if only i hadnt forgotten. let me make it up to you, please. i already called off tomorrow. i had a whole day planned for us, but i'll do whatever you want. if you want me to leave, i will. just, please. i need you to know how much i care. i love you, you're everything."

you continued to stare at him for a bit, a soft smile slowly breaking into your features before responding.

"nonu .. you didn't have to do all this. i'm sorry if i made you worry. this is ... it's such a sweet gesture. of course i want you to stay. all i wanted all day was to be with you," it melted his heart that you had wanted him all day, but were separated by none other than himself.

he pulled you into his arms halfway through your response, humming as he felt you hug him back. nothing felt as nice as your touch against his.

"im so sorry, beautiful. this will never happen again, i promise."

"i love you, wonwoo. thank you."

"happy birthday."

mingyu -

mingyu had never hauled ass quicker than at that moment, not even bothering to say goodbye to his roommate before grabbing a jacket and sprinting out of the door.

he couldn't believe his behavior towards you. you had always been a top priority to him, and to now realize he had forgotten your birthday gutted him tremendously. but what got to him even more was the knowledge that you had probably been waiting all day for him, having agreed beforehand that he would make space for you on your special day even through his packed comeback schedule. the sole thought that you, the bestest person he had ever met, had sat alone waiting for him all day, made him feel like the worst boyfriend. so now he was quite literally running in order to get to you.

the dryness of your voice during that call should've been the first hint that something was wrong, but what really made the alarms go off in his head was your lack of response when he said 'i love you' to you. mingyu knew it was dumb to care so much about it, but he thrived off words of affirmation, so your lack of response made him immediately assume something was wrong. you had never not reciprocated his words of affection, much less hung up on him. the moment he expressed his concerns to wonwoo, he was reminded by his roommate that 'oh wait, isn't it their birthday this week?' suddenly his mind started spiraling, now remembering that he had forgotten his boyfriend duties on the most important day.

it didn't take him too long to get to your apartment. okay, he didn't actually run there, he was just being a tad bit dramatic. but dramatics were necessary in this situation, which is why the moment you begrudgingly opened the door after his incessant knocks, allowing him inside, he immediately dropped to his knees, looking up at you as he rambled apologies at you.

"baby, i'm so fucking sorry. god, i don't know how i forgot. i swear the day just slipped my mind. i had plans ready, i swear! i've just been so busy with the comeback- not that that's an excuse! you have every reason to be mad at me. it won't happen again, i promise, i-" mingyu wasn't sure when exactly he was going to stop listing off constant apologies to you. he wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying at this point, just repeating himself over and over again, letting it slip past him that you were now standing above him, holding in your amusement at the state of the pleading man before you.

"mingyu, please get up."

like an obedient boy, he got up, now towering over you as he usually did. he immediately held onto your hands, bringing them up to his chest as he continued his apologies.

"you have every right to be mad at me. i neglected you and forgot about you when i shouldn't have. i didn't even wanna come home to wonwoo tonight! i wanted to come to you! but we have a schedule early tomorrow morning, so it was just easier. but i'll cancel! i'll stay here with you! i wanna make it up to you-"

"mingyu, shut up!"

that was enough for him to slam his mouth shut immediately, looking at you as he waited for your next command words.

"mingyu, listen. i understand. i was hurt you forgot, but i understand you're really busy right now, okay? i'm not angry at you. you don't have to cancel your schedule either. i don't want to get in the way of-"

"i'll do it! you're my top priority, baby. you know that."

"i still don't want you to cancel, gyu. it's fine. i'm not angry. i appreciate your apology. just wanted to be with you today .. i'm sorry if i made you worry," you looked down, almost as if embarrassed by having felt hurt by his actions. this made mingyu melt with guilt.

"no, baby. fuck. how can i make this up to you? can i stay here tonight? hmm? i'll cook you dinner and wake you up with breakfast. i'll even cut my schedule short for tomorrow so i can be back home with you earlier. how's that sound?"

"sounds perfect mingyu, thank you," he took this as confirmation to finally hold you in his arms, swaying you back and forth as he hummed the birthday song lightly against your ear, causing you to giggle against him.

vernon -

everyone was aware that vernon could sometimes be a little too chill for his own good. he didn't make too big of a deal about most things, simply going with the flow and allowing things to evolve on their own. except that could not be done in this situation. right now, he needed to make a choice. give you your space, or run home to you, tail between his legs as he apologized for ever having forgotten about you. the last thing vernon would ever want was for you to not feel the immense amount of love he's always had for you. he knew he could be bad at showing it sometimes, but you were the absolute love of his life, which made him feel devastated over and over again as he kept rereading your texts.

'maybe you should stay at the dorms tonight. not really in the mood for you to spend the night. im sorry. love you.' that was what you had last sent to him exactly thirty-eight minutes ago. how could he just sit with that for the rest of the night? specially when all he wanted to do was be with you and hold you and kiss you and show you how incredibly obsessed with you he was. he was never good with dates, but he had always gotten any and all dates pertaining to you right thus far. he even had a gift for you he had purchased a few months back, but he had stupidly forgotten the day he had been preparing for was this week. this mistake was an outlier, truly, but it hurt you nonetheless, which was all vernon cared about at the moment. he couldn't believe you'd been having to hint at your birthday while your boyfriend remained clueless. you must've felt so dejected. he winced at the thought.

however, right now was not a time for lamentations. even if you kicked him out and told him to get fucked, vernon had to at least try to come home to you now. he quickly went over the situation with his members, explaining that he had been a total douchebag and neglected you. that earned him scoldings from all members present, calling him all types of names and demanding he head over to your apartment right this instant to beg for forgiveness and hope you wouldn't just send him right back.

so now he was on his way to you, despite you having instructed him to stay away. he wanted to respect your wishes, but he couldn't go to sleep tonight knowing your heart was still hurt because of him. he needed to at least see you and have you know that he was willing to try and mend things. vernon wasn't one for public displays, nor was he one for dramatics, but he was willing to pull all stops for you if it meant you'd forgive him. which was why he was currently running through the hybe hallways as he called up his driver to be ready to take him to your apartment as soon as he reached the parking lot.

he had had time to think over a game plan on the way over, except nothing came to mind. the two of you had never fought before. sure, there had been a few minuscule spats here and there, but he had never seen you angry at him before; he'd never given any reason to be until now. he didn't want to freak out over this, but knew how hurtful it must've been for you to feel so neglected by the person who's supposed to love you most, so he felt a pit in his stomach with the worry that maybe this would be enough for you to finally snap at his forgetful tendencies and end it. he didn't have much time to think about this, however, as he now stood in front of your apartment door, fearful of knocking on it.

the decision to open the door was made for him, as you incidentally opened it yourself, yelping at his apparition on the other side of it.

"vernon? what are you doing here?", you didn't seem angry. you seemed more confused at his presence. that was good.

"i- uh ... i'm sorry."

okay, kind of a bad start.

"vernon. i told you not to come over tonight. i'm sorry, i'm not really in the mood to see you right now," even though you didn't appear angry, your eyes wouldn't meet his, making him deflate a bit.

"are you mad at me? i'm so sorry. i didnt mean to forget, i swear," vernon knew there wasn't much he could say past that, but he wanted you to at least know he regretted his neglect.

"i'm not angry, vernon. i'm just a little ... sad. i tried to be subtle about it. i mean, i dont even care for my birthday that much, but i hoped my boyfriend would at least remember it."

"baby, god. i am so fucking sorry. i never meant to make you feel like i didn't care. it just slipped my mind. i know it's not a valid excuse, but i need you to know that it doesnt mean anything. i'm just a fucking idiot. i'm sorry."

he was rambling now. somehow you being hurt by him trumped the chance of you being mad.

"vernon, it's fine. i dont want you beating yourself up about it. i'll get over it. i just need space tonight. i was about to go meet with a friend before you got here," you seemed like you just wanted to get out of the situation, clearly feeling awkward at even expressing your disappointment at him. it made vernon feel like even more of an asshole.

"no! be mad! you shouldn't get over it. i should be making it up to you. stay. please. i'll do anything you want. i'll take tomorrow off. we can do something together. anything you want. i have a gift for you and everything! i got it while in japan, the date just slipped my mind, i swear. please stay. i don't want to leave you alone if i made you sad. please."

"vernon ..."

"please. i don't want to force you. if you want to leave, i'll accept it, but let me make it up to you. i dont want you to feel like i dont care. i do. i know i dont express it much, that's on me. i'll make it known. i'll show you. i don't want to hurt you again, i-"

he was unable to finish his sentence, now stumbling back due to a sudden weight against him. you, with your arms now wrapped around him as your face nuzzled his neck. he instinctively wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you in as he lowered his head to breathe you in, humming as he felt the relief of having you in his hold.

you pulled away too quickly for his liking, eyes slightly glossy but not enough to consider it worrisome, "i forgive you. i'm sorry, i didn't mean to exaggerate. i did feel neglected, but-"

"but nothing. don't apologize, please. this won't happen again, okay? i love you."

"i love you too," you smiled at him before pausing, "i .. do you wanna come in?", you seemed a bit sheepish, probably feeling awkward at hearing vernon ramble apologies at you for the past five minutes, showing way more emotion than he usually did.

"come in? oh, you're not leaving? wait, don't answer that. yes," he held onto your hand before you could say anything, pulling you in for a quick kiss before leading you into your apartment, all under the promise to make up for his previous carelessness and never make you doubt his affections for you ever again.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #seventeen #svt #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #svt oneshot #seventeen reactions #svt reactions #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #svt angst #svt fluff

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hisunshiine · 1 year

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— a wager of lords & love | myg

♔ pairing: noble!yoongi x noble!reader

♔ au/genre: regency era au, arranged marriage au, s2l, fluff, smut, angst

♔ rating: M

♔ wc: 6,813

⚔ warnings: reader’s mom is not alive, era-appropriate sexism, sex jokes, pet names, bedding ceremony, explicit smut: fingering, marking, light breast play, oral (female receiving), vaginal penetration, multiple orgasms, loss of virginity, you will fall so hard for yoongi.

♔ an: this story was written for Leah | @colormepurplex2 as part of the BangtanWHQ Valentine’s Event “Picture Perfect”. Thank you to my beta readers: @downbad4yoongi, @peachiilovesot7, and @moonleeai; this story was so much fun to write. Your feedback, as always, was valuable to making not only this story at it’s best but also making my day better when reading your comments. I love regency era au’s and this one only made me fall even more madly in love with Yoongi, and I hope you will too! Please enjoy!

“What in heaven’s name did I do last night?”

Yoongi groans as he rolls over in his plush bed sheets, sunlight streaming through the window at an ungodly hour. Ungodly, because he never sleeps in this late, but the Scottish whisky and late night at Lord Kim Namjoon’s manor has made him act out of character in more ways than one.

*flashback to the previous evening*

“Yoongi, it has been too long since we’ve gotten together properly. You must come celebrate. It’s not every day that one as young as I is able to acquire more wealth than what feels like the King himself can own.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes from where he stands across the study from his large oak desk, hand gripping the telephone to his ear as he leans closer to the box on the wall to reply.

“I have a plethora of worries, Namjoon, and none of them can be solved by celebrating your wealth.”

“I beg to differ! Come! Have a drink and make merry, partake in some illicit pleasantries. I am sure that’s just what you need to clear your mind and find a resolution.”

“I doubt I will have a resolution by the night’s end, but against my better judgment, I will be there.”

And Yoongi made sure to keep his promise, strolling into the large manor filled to the brim with the most darling of debutantes from Daehurst to Ilsansterchire. He recalls the way the single women seemed to throw themselves at him, all fluttering eyelashes and demure smiles as if they were captivated by his looks and not the wealth they knew lay in wait for his future bride.

The knowledge of his arrival spread like wildfire through the ballroom and Yoongi had felt himself grow flustered as a gaggle of pristine beauties crowded around him to fight for his attention. He kept his face nonplussed despite the rising anxiety creeping along his outer extremities and towards his chest. Luckily, the arrival of the Earl of Upton Busan and the Marquees of Gwangchester helped reduce the number of women in his presence.

Yoongi remembers pretending to be summoned by a friend, escaping into what he thought was an empty parlor that belonged to the late Lord Kim, but the sitting room, with two walls filled from floor to ceiling with books of all sizes and colors was, in fact, occupied. The large oak desk off to the side held an older gentleman, who also seemed to be happy in his solitude, hiding from the revelry.

The man moved a jewel-encrusted chessman across a marble chess board before looking up at Yoongi, a slight nod of his head summoning Yoongi over to join him. He produced a bottle of Smokehead Islay single-malt scotch whisky that he’d been nursing, poured Yoongi a hefty serving into a Glencairn whisky glass, which he promptly swirled to open up the aromas for full appreciation before downing the entire portion.

He knows that this was the catalyst for the conversation of what was bothering him, and so Yoongi, lips loosened from his liquor intake, shared to whom he found out was the Marquees of Seoulshire, his predicament. How his late father’s younger brother, jealous of his position, was sowing distrust in the elder’s bloodline, touting the fact that his eldest son was already married and with an heir on the way, when Yoongi had yet to take a woman’s hand in marriage despite being five years older than his cousin.

Typically, this would not be such a strange thing; many male nobility did not wed until their late twenties, and Yoongi only recently turned his twenty-ninth year, but with his estranged uncle vying to take over the wealth and power of the entire family following his father’s passing, Yoongi had to procure a wife, and fast.

Bonding with the elder nobleman, both introverts sequestered themselves with flowing, piquant beverages, and a small miniature of the only daughter of the Marquees produced for viewing, and thus, a drunken deal was struck for the hand of his only daughter to be wed in one week’s time to the Duke of Daehurst, Min Yoongi. That only daughter being none other than…

You stare at your reflection in the full length mirror. The white dress, with its cut right beneath your bosom, is stifling despite its beauty, and the body of the gown falls along your figure gently. The sleeves are loosely capped, a lace frill edging the cuffs and the line of your decolletage. Your hair is pinned up, with a tiara inlaid with precious stones as the centerpiece to secure the veil flowing down your back in place.

The gloved hand of your maid of honor, Eleanor, who you lovingly refer to as Ellie, reaches up to fluff the veil, nervous energy displacing itself as she holds back from igniting your ire again. You have only just calmed down as your lady’s maid, Charity, places the last of the thrown perfume bottles back on the vanity. You had catapulted them for good reason, you believe. For in a few minutes, you, the unmarried daughter of the Marquees of Seoulshire, will walk down the aisle in the Duke of Daehurst’s manor, towards a man you have never spoken to—have never met—where your traitorous father plans to give you away to become the Duchess of Daehurst.

“Lady Eleanor, will you please take your spot at the door?” Charity asks quietly, following a quick rap on the door, and you feel your heart begin a mad dash within the cavity of your ribcage. As a woman, you have nothing—no power, no wealth of your own, even your title changes from your father to that of your future husband. Some of the things your father has bought you have traveled from your home to the Duke’s, but other items are expected to be bought new, because even they belong to your father. Your only worth lies in the ability to be a proper match for a nobleman and provide him with an heir to carry on his bloodline.

A rush of anger quells the sadness this arranged marriage has left you feeling this past week, since your father went back on the one promise he made you: that you could marry for love, like he did with your late mother, rest her soul.

You scoff at the thought that men should hold any power in society. In one moment, your own father forgot his loyalty as well as his promise to his only daughter. In a drunken stupor, two men agreed to trade you like chattel, your position in life changing in the blink of an eye. Useless, is what they are.

The door is open just a sliver, allowing in the swell of the music, and you hear the creak of the hinges as Ellie disappears down the hall. Your father stands in the corridor, his eyes staring at the floor, unable to meet yours. You can tell he feels rather guilty for the predicament he has forced on you, but with the knowledge that he is not actually mad at the match, you still feel furious. Marrying up in society may afford you a better life, not that you would have had a destitute one with your father’s title, you’d just hoped (and had been promised you would get) to be in love with the man waiting at the end of the aisle for you, instead of dreading the stranger you were about to meet.

Barely able to focus, you feel out of body as your father wraps your arm through his and leads you down the same path Ellie took just moments before. You can see the archway that leads into the wedding hall where your family and friends wait to observe you promise to obey and cherish a man who was described to you by your father as a “rather strapping young man, who’s quiet but wise and with gentle eyes.”

Taking the turn into the room, all eyes are drawn to you as your eyes are drawn to him. He looks breathtaking. Is this truly the man your father made a drunken deal with? The two of you lock eyes, and you work to fix the shock from your face as his demeanor barely changes. In a blink, your father is placing your hand into the Duke’s, and you are able to take in his features up close.

His face is sharp, eyes angled in a cat-like manner that give the impression he is gazing into your soul and sees the truth you attempt to keep hidden. His hair, wavy and pitch black, is parted to the side where the length falls into his face in an alluring manner. It calls to you, wanting to tuck it behind his ear if only to touch his porcelain skin, unblemished and glowing.

He watches you closely, eyes traveling across your frame as he follows your lead, drinking you in. You’re sure that you still look flawless, ever the blushing bride that Charity and Ellie made you up to be, and for a moment you wonder if the Duke is as taken by your looks as you are by his, before remembering that he is the enemy.

The ceremony ends quickly, a recitation of words that will join you in holy matrimony, followed by words promising to remain faithful to one another until parted by death, and you find yourself face to face with the Duke. He takes a small ring from the man right behind him, Lord Kim Namjoon, who you recognize from his many visits to handle business with your father.

“Like this ring, I shall endlessly provide for you and cherish you, until I no longer exist.”

You can hear Ellie swoon from the low tone his voice takes to deliver the sentiment as he stares into your eyes. Vulnerability flashes for a moment before he looks down, focus solely pointed towards the task of claiming you by way of a golden wedding ring, moonstone inlaid with tiny diamonds surrounding it.

Ellie nudges you to hand you the ring provided for the ceremony by the Min family. It is a deep ebony, with a single thin gold stripe running across the middle of the band. The top is raised to a plateau, a moonstone carved with the Yeoheung Min Clan symbol set within the ring.

Taking the regalia from her gloved palm, you recite your part with eyes on him. Despite your anger at the arrangement, he truly is breathtaking. It takes away from the sting of your words just barely, enough that you are able to deliver them without gagging on the bristling words.

“Like this ring, I shall endlessly obey and cherish you, until I no longer exist.”

You barely hear when the minister says that the two of you are free to share a kiss, but you dutifully keep your face calm as your stomach ties itself into knots.

He leans closer, blush colored lips drawing closer until your eyes close with the contact. So soft…his lips tenderly settle against yours, slight pressure as he angles his head to receive you better, hands falling to your hips gently as he tugs you a step closer and it’s like the room disappears leaving just the two of you in it.

All too soon the room comes back into focus as he steps away, face blushing as the room erupts into applause and cheer from the audience. The end of the ceremony is like a blur, and the next thing that you are aware of, you are seated for an early dinner and a reception in the Daehurst Manor Great Hall for guests to greet you and your new husband, leave expensive gifts, and offer kind words of advice for a long-lasting, happy marriage.

“Would it be weird to introduce myself to you, seeing as I am already your spouse?”

His voice is intriguing—having barely heard it during the ceremony—a low rumble that has you leaning in to hear him better.

“I assure you, my lord, weird was deciding for me that I would marry you, without even bothering to meet me beforehand. What if I had been an ogre? But I digress, it’s not any weirder than hearing you call yourself my husband, husband.”

He smiles, one side of his mouth lifting in an amused smirk as he turns in his seat to face you head on. You dislike him even more that your snide remark made not a dent in his armor. No trace of the bashful hue from the kiss lingers, cat eyes glinting with mischief.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my non-ogre wife. I am Duke Min Yoongi of Daehurst.”

Charity and Ellie can barely contain their laughter as they stare at your contemptuous face. Eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed, you shake your head rapidly in distaste at the bedding ceremony outfit they laid out for you.

“I simply will not wear it.”

“Please, Lady Min, you will leave him stunned. It’s perfect.”

“Who said I want to stun that man? Besides, I cannot be seen in so little clothing by a stranger!”

“He’s hardly a stranger, love,” Ellie said, ignoring your stubborn nature. “He’s your husband.”

“Yes, my husband whom I have known all of two hours! I’m just expected to strut in wearing this to please him, and then—” you pause, stricken as your thoughts settle on what is expected of you.

“Yes, you will wear this very thoughtful gift from me, and then you will consummate the marriage!” Ellie whispers the act as if conspiring to commit a crime. To be fair, you felt like a criminal for how indecent the undergarments were.

Laid on the bed was a short, white boned corset, all frill and lace with a matching pair of high waisted drawers. Ellie had also provided a matching pair of white stockings, made of silk and to be held up with ruffled garters at your thigh. There was a silky chemise that you could wear as a tunic to cover yourself, but once in the Duke’s bedroom, he would see you in all of your risque glory.

“Come now, m’lady, we must finish getting you ready. I am sure the men are chomping at the bit to begin the ceremony.”

Dread fills you as you strip from your wedding dress and step into the lingerie your maid of honor gifted you for your wedding night.

“Well, they can just chomp a bit longer, maybe they can tire each other out enough that I am not needed tonight.”

Having only bathed two hours prior, you are able to skip the bath and spend a few more precious moments with your closest friends. You didn’t have a mother to talk to about things like bedding ceremonies, having learned everything you could from the head house matron, kitchen maids, Charity, and Ellie. Ellie was able to convince her own mother to share a little this past week to help you, but there was still so much you felt you did not know to expect.

As Charity brushes your hair, Ellie spreads a glittering, perfumed powder onto your skin as she talks in the background of the excitement she feels, but you cannot bring yourself to share in it. With a quick twist and pin, your hair is up and you find your feet leading towards the Duke’s wing of the manor. You can hear the merrymaking from the reception still carrying on downstairs; with a wedding as important as yours, you were sure that the people would be here celebrating your union until the sun began to rise.

The door to the Duke’s room is ajar, loud laughter coming from the well lit room. Ellie walks arm in arm with you as Charity follows behind, seeing you off. As your lady’s maid, she’ll reside with you in the Daehurst manor. The housekeeper stands a few paces from the door to lead Charity to her new quarters. Bidding you goodnight, Charity retires for the evening as you and Ellie enter the bedchamber. It is quite spacious, with a large bed in the middle of the room. To the left of the entryway sits a low table surrounded by a pair of armchairs and a matching loveseat, all framed by a magnificent fireplace.

Every seat is taken, with three men squeezing onto the loveseat and a sixth perched on the edge of one of the armchairs. You don’t recognize five of the six men, though Lord Kim Namjoon is among them. You do not see your new husband, so you and Ellie remain standing away from the men so as not to be seen as indecent.

“Duchess! You have arrived for your bedding ceremony, have you not?” A blond haired man nearly falls from the love seat, giggles alerting you to his inebriation. An open decanter sits on the squat table, almost empty.

“Please, Jimin, on all things that are holy, do not bother my wife.”

Your head whips around at the gravely sound of the Duke’s voice. Yoongi looks freshly bathed, no longer in a suit but in a long tunic that sits untucked over loose, black trousers. His dark hair falls in damp curls framing his face, and you hold in a small gasp.

“I won’t bother her hole-y, hyung—that’s your job! Get her all hot and bother—”

“Get out.”

The giggling, intoxicated men all look to Yoongi, pouting with various levels of frowns and scowls adorning their faces. You and Ellie watch the interaction, Ellie with a smile at their banter and you with a grimace as you attempt to keep yourself from growing warm at the indecent remarks regarding what is to come.

“But hyung!” You watch as another one pouts, standing from the loveseat to full height to plead with your husband. “You’re the first to be wed, we’ve been talking about being witnesses for each other for years!”

“Taehyung, you know the plan was to be here when she arrived as a testament to the wedding night, but never to stay. I appreciate your…excitement, but now that you can confirm the duchess’s arrival, you all may take your leave.”

“Appreciate our excitement, but won’t let us stay to watch as you get exci—”

“Jungkook, that’s enough! Out, now!”

With a groan, the three mischievous men begin to walk out of the bedchamber, waving at the older three who are slow to get up. Ellie squeezes your hand in unity before stepping away to follow the boisterous group out into the hall.

“I’ll see you at breakfast, love. I’ll be traveling back to Seoulshire with your father tomorrow afternoon.”

You can only nod, aware of the plans but seeing her linger to make sure that you are okay. You give her a smile, and she finally steps through the threshold behind the first troupe of men to return back to the room you had prepared in. The last three men follow, greeting you and saying goodnight in the same breath.

“It is a pleasure to see you, my lady. I pray that by morning you are able to turn this peevish man affable.”

“Enjoy your night, Duchess!”

“Yeah, all two minutes of it!”

Yoongi thunders to the door, shutting it as the group bursts into laughter muffled by the oak barrier. He turns the lock, then turns his back to it to lean against. You can’t help but to watch him, chest rising before he releases a long sigh. He reaches a hand up to his neck, scratching subtly. The sleeve of his tunic slides along his arm, revealing more unblemished skin. His head is facing the carpet, ink-colored hair falling to cover his face—a face you think you could like very much—eventually. Though right now, even the thought is not enough to quell your irritation at your welcoming.

“I am so sorry for my friends’ behavior.”

His apology startles you. You are not used to men of his prestige to be so easy to offer an apology. During the wedding and at the reception, he appeared stoic, quiet and observing except for the few moments he engaged with you. You assumed it was just happenstance, that he was playing off of your stubborn jests, but seeing him now so open makes you wonder.

“My lord, no need to apologize. They were inebriated and excited for our coupling. Ellie was excited too, though she was better at keeping it hidden.”

“Yes, women do tend to be better at that. More practiced.”

“Do you truly believe that? I have watched my father work, and all noblemen seem to be very good at hiding their emotions.”

Yoongi smirks at your wit, pushing off of the door and walking closer to you.

“You are quite keen, my lady.”

His compliment startles you, as does his encroaching proximity. It is not menacing, if anything you are startled by your body’s response to it. His scent, a heady, woodsy musk infiltrates your senses causing any lingering animosity you had towards your father for this arrangement to seep from you. You’re tired of fighting; the knowledge of having lost before even starting lingering in your mind each time you fight back against the marriage has exhausted you. Still, you want to make sure that the Duke is aware that while you may be acquiescent, you are not easily compliant.

“My lord, I—” you look down at your hands, stumbling over your anger as you collect your thoughts. “I just want to say that I know neither of us wanted this, neither of us knew what to expect until we saw each other today, but I made a vow, so I promise to try my best, but I don’t know what I’m doing or what you expect from me, and I don’t think that I will be good at obeying, so please do not expect that from me. You may be a duke and my husband, but I demand that you treat me as an equal—”

“Shhh…” Yoongi’s thumb and forefinger grip your chin, tilting your head up to face him. You have no idea when he got so close. “I spent quite some time with your father, my lady. He spoke very highly of you and even produced your miniature from his coat pocket to show me. I may have been drunk, but I was not a fool in my decision.” His eyes rove across your face as he gently tilts your head side to side. “You are much more beautiful than the painting captured.”

If he’s hoping that flattery will tamper your annoyance, you feel he will need to try a bit harder. Though, to be fair, his flattery is working on you. Pair that with his face, and he’s doing quite a good job at putting out the fire, but you still remain steadfast.

“How lucky to be a man. You got to see a sample of the product before buying, while I just had to trust that my father wasn’t so drunk that he sold me to the next man who walked past?” You scoff, crossing your arms as you raise your chin out of his hold in defiance.

“Trust me, princess, the luck was all mine. Had I not been the next man to walk by, who knows what woman I would have had to settle for.”

You can’t believe he’s teasing you. Calling you princess and making jokes off of your distress. You want to smack the smirk off his face. You want to kiss him again like at the altar. You’re clearly confused after such a long day of upheaval.

“Right, because any woman should be grateful that you chose them? I was promised I would get to marry for love, just to wake up and be told I was marrying a stranger in a week.”

“Are you really angry because of this arrangement? Not that you should be grateful that I chose you, but you should be thankful for the life that you have, even before me. Not everyone lives how we do.”

Shock. That’s the only way to explain what you are feeling. He is not…man-splaining society’s plights to you, is he?

“I quite know this, my lord. I never said I was not grateful for my life, just that I am currently upset at a promise being broken.”

“Princess, I am sure you know this, but in your stubbornness, you seem to have forgotten yourself. You have a good life, you have food on the table prepared daily by the cooks and maids, and are not having to whore yourself out for a few coins to feed yourself.”

“No, I just have to whore myself to you for the rest of my life, provide you with heirs as soon as possible.” You decide to not hold back; if he’s going to be vulgar as a tactic, two could play at that game. “I may not be whoring myself out for a few coins to feed myself, but let’s not kid ourselves. We both know that I am not seen as anything more than a vessel for your cock and your children to use.”

“Tell me, princess, are you upset because you truly think me some evil, vile man, or are you actually more upset that you don’t have a real reason to push me away?”

Yoongi steps away from you, walking over the bed and settling down on the edge. You can’t help but watch the way his veins move as he leans back and rests on his palms. He’s so handsome and so assured of himself, and behaving as if he doesn’t even care that it’s your wedding night. You really don’t know how to explain how you’re feeling, because everything is at odds. He mistakes your silence during your internal debate as confusion and continues to explain.

“I know I’m not unappealing to the eye, and not an old geezer like many of your friends have had to deal with, I’m sure. We probably aren’t that far off in age difference, if there even is any. We’re young, and while you may be feeling angry about this marriage, I also get the feeling that you’ll be open to letting that anger go soon.”

“I barely know you, my lord, so please don’t take offense to this, but what, pray tell, gives you the feeling that I’ll be letting my anger go soon?” you ask, walking over to where he sits. You feel powerful as you position yourself right in front of him, and being above him like this with his head turned up in order to lock eyes with you, makes his cat eyes look even more alluring.

“Because, my dear wife,” Yoongi leans forward, entering your space as he brings his right arm up off the bed and to your thigh, “of what I plan to do to you tonight.”

Yoongi’s touch is like fire as he drags it up your thigh to the hem of your chemise, using both hands to grip the edge and pull you even closer to him. You inhale a breath, your body giving away just how much he affects you. The last tiny bit of you fights to not give in, that is, until he pouts up at you.

“If you’ll let me?”

Never have you experienced a man handing control over to you like this. All your life, you have been told what to do, how to behave, who to befriend, and even who to marry despite being promised that would be the one area you could decide. But here sits your husband, a man who quite literally holds you in his hands, able to do whatever he wants with your body now that he essentially owns you—this husband of yours is asking your permission to ruin you.

Unable to speak, you simply nod, eyes wide as he stands, and he never looks away from yours until your chemise blocks his view as he pulls it over your head. Now it’s his turn to inhale sharply as he takes in your angelic form. White lace corset ending just below the bust, high waisted lacy bottoms, ruched garters around each thigh with a clasp to hold your silk stockings in place…an angel, indeed.

Leaning closer to you, his words send tingles down your body as he pleads with you.

“I need you to say it, my lady,” he whispers, “tell me that I can touch you here.”

You jolt as you feel his hands touch the exposed skin of your side.

“Y-yes,” you say, clearing your throat due to how parched you sound.

“And can I, say, touch you here?” One hand trails lower, fingers dancing over the front of your drawers as the other holds you in place. Two of his fingers slide between your thighs, pressing against your core, and you sigh out a quiet moan.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good girl.”

His fingers continue to travel back and forth, slight pressure causing you to grasp his shoulders for balance. He drops his head into the bend of your neck, lips leaving wet kisses on your overheated skin. He smells divine, his long hair tickling your cheek as he continues kissing and touching you. Your breathing gets louder, and he responds in kind, speeding up his fingers as you feel yourself ruining your panties for this man.

“Y-yoongi…that f-feels really good,” you tell him, surprise lacing your whimpers. You don’t want him to stop touching you, if anything you want more. Yoongi’s lips are latched onto your neck, tongue swirling with light pressure as your knees grow weak. With a light nip of his teeth, he pulls away to speak.

“I want you to always feel good with me, princess.” His gravelly voice is full of yearning, and you can tell he’s just as affected as you are. “I promise you’ll always feel good, if you let me take care of you.”

You can only nod your head, words eluding you as he turns you in his hold, pressing your back to his front while letting his fingers slide inside of your panties and part your lips. You feel his length pressing between your cheeks, thick and firm. He steps backwards with you, pulling you down until the two of you are seated on the edge of the bed. You’ve never been so turned on, dropping your head back to lean on his shoulder as he pulls one thigh to open you up wider.

You put up no fight, instead grinding down on him as you swirl your hips in time to the pads of his fingers circulating your dripping center. His lips reattach to your exposed neck, this time with more passion and it almost distracts you when his fingers dip inside of you, bucking once in his grip at the welcome intrusion. He’s gentle, only going as far as you let him, and the more he does it, the less you tense up, until he’s gliding in and out of you.

You’re unable to stay quiet any longer, every breath letting out a moan that is a melody to Yoongi’s ears.

“I…Yoongi, I think…I’ve never done this before, what’s happening?” you breathe out, and he chuckles darkly.

“Do you trust me?”

“I—”

“I promise it’ll feel good, okay? Trust me, and don’t fight it.”

“But—” his fingers don’t let up, and you squirm on his lap.

“Princess, be a good girl and trust me, don’t fight it—don’t fight me anymore.”

“O-okay, I trust you, Yoongi.”

Letting go, you relax into his hold as he resumes kissing your neck, left hand pulling your chin until your lips meet his in a sloppy sideways kiss. His foot presses against the inside of yours until you groan at the muscle strain. Your legs are so far apart, but it feels even better as his fingers begin a rapid thrusting. He swallows all of your whimpers as you feel your body reaching a peak and it all just feels so good, his free hand leaving your chin to touch your chest, hands roaming as you rock your hips to meet his palm against your sensitive nub and with a simultaneous bite to your bottom lip and pinch to your neglected nipple; you feel yourself combust.

You swear you see fireworks behind your eyelids as you tremble in Yoongi’s arms, barely alert enough to hear him whispering words of praise as he works you through it. It’s not long (or has it been ages?) before your hands push at his, overstimulation causing you to mewl in frustration.

It feels good and you don’t want to stop, but your body can’t take more. Not right now at least.

“That’s it, you did so well.”

“Me?” you question, voice raspy. “I didn’t even do anything but sit here.”

“Trust me, you did plenty. I think you can feel exactly what you did to me.” Yoongi alludes with a slight thrust of his hips, and you in fact do feel him.

“That’s because of me?”

“It’s all because of you. Your sounds, the way you were grinding onto me, the way you taste…” Yoongi slides his fingers into his mouth, sucking your essence from his two fingers lewdly. “You made me this way.”

Your face grows impossibly warmer at the thought of the power you have over a man such as he, and your ability to bring him to this level of vulnerability.

“Does…does it always feel like that?” you question, wondering if it could possibly get better.

Yoongi can barely contain his smirk, “Oh, dear wife, that was just the appetizer.”

Lifting you off of his lap, he sets you down next to him so he can stand and shed himself of his clothing. Naked, he stands before you in all of his glory so you can take in just how well endowed the duke is before kneeling on one knee.

“Can I take these off of you?” he asks, hands gesturing to your hips. You softly say yes, and once your ruined drawers are discarded, he then touches the sides of your corset. “And these?” Nodding, he leaves you in just your silk stockings. “I rather like how these look…”

Still kneeling, he takes your leg and leans you back until you’re sprawled on your back and he has a perfect view of your heated core. He kisses along your clothed leg until he reaches the skin of your thigh, biting lightly until he rests your leg on his shoulder. Turning to the other leg, he does the same, this time going all the way up. You throw your head back into the soft, satin sheets as your hands grip whatever they can. His tongue explores your sensitive area, lapping at your pearl until you’re incoherent, hands tugging at his long tresses to guide him where you want him.

There are no words to describe how Yoongi is making you feel. You’ve never felt this way before, so powerful or in control. You wonder if he’ll always be this willing to hand over the reins. Either way, you plan to savor it.

The sounds coming from between your thighs are obscene, but the louder and sloppier Yoongi is, the better it feels.

“Yoongi, oh!” Your toes curl as another wave of euphoria grips you. Tender kisses along your stomach just barely keep you from floating away as Yoongi brings himself higher and higher along your body. His teeth nip at your breasts, teasing as he laves his tongue around your nipples, perky against the air in the room. Chest heaving, you try to gather your wits as Yoongi’s naked body lays along yours, his hands on either side of your chest as he massages them, spending ample time tasting everything your body has to offer.

“My lady, if you’re ready, I’d rather like to feel you.”

In your post climactic haze, you try and understand what he’s asking.

“Feel me?”

“Yes,” he says, kissing your neck and you don’t understand how your body can still crave for more just from his lips on your skin, “I rather ache for you, princess.” The meaning becomes clear when he adjusts himself over you, and you feel the thickness against your thigh. You are aware of what he needs, how he means to alleviate his ache, and for a moment, you’re scared.

It all fades away as he kisses you, his lips soft against yours as he soothes away the worry.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise. If it hurts, just tell me to stop, okay?” he presses another kiss to your lips, and you melt.

“Okay,” you whisper as you pull away from the kiss, “I trust you.”

He smiles, this time a genuine one at your words before kissing you again. You feel yourself getting lost in it when a pressure at the apex of your thighs causes you to gasp. Breaking the kiss, you look between your body and Yoongi’s watching as his cock, flushed and rigid, breaches your core. He’s going slow, and he lowers himself back down to kiss you more, wanting to take your mind off of the pain as he fills you.

“You’re…impossibly tight…” he pants, and you would laugh if you were in the mindset, but at the moment, you are all consumed by Yoongi. He pushes another inch, stopping to allow you to grow accustomed to him, and you know that this is unusual for a wedding night—you have heard the horror stories from other women, and this has been anything but. Yoongi has made sure to let you have ownership of your pleasure tonight, and even now, he looks to you for confirmation that he can continue on without hurting you.

Raising your hips, you help guide him in the rest of the way, and he grunts as his forehead touches yours. His arms shake as he holds himself above you, wanting to take you with haste, but knowing he must control himself for now.

Reaching for him, your palms settle on either side of his face, bringing him closer to kiss you as you roll your hips against him. He huffs, pulling out to give you a good, even stroke, and you nearly scream at the pleasure and pain of it. He apologizes against your lips, but you shake your head, urging for more. He complies, though slower this time, not wanting to scare you off from sharing his bed. Yoongi is so gentle, sweet even as he swivels his hips, and you move your hands to grip his hair and his shoulder, leveraging to meet him with every gyration of your lower body.

A few tugs to his hair leaves him cursing in gratification, and soon you feel his hand reach to your leg to lift. His thighs speed up as he thrusts haphazardly into you before you feel a hot release of his seed filling you and spilling out around his cock, now lazily unloading itself as he slows with each jolt. His release provides you with just what you need to follow him, walls clenching around him to milk the last drop.

Sighing, the two of you lay tangled in the sheets, Yoongi’s fingers smoothing your hair as yours play along his chest, a feverish color now spread across his decolletage after your love making.

“I’ve never experienced such a blissful feeling as this,” you admit.

“Likewise, my lov—my lady.” Yoongi corrects a slight slip of the tongue.

“It’s okay, I think I could quite like being called your love,” you tease, though your words ring true. You now know what you felt with Yoongi. Liberation. A freedom you have never felt as a woman, provided to you in the most surprising of places: the arms of a man.

At breakfast the next morning, Ellie can’t help but notice the way you seem to glow as you sit at your husband’s side. The two of you can’t stop touching, whether it be holding hands or light touches to each other's arm as you two talk with the others who stayed overnight. Being married may not have been what you had seen for yourself a week ago, but after last night, you have a feeling that you could fall deeply in love with your husband, the Duke, and he with you, his Duchess.

“Marriage isn’t all that bad, is it, my love?” Yoongi whispers as the maids pass around the breakfast foods, and you shift your gaze to the marks you left barely hidden by his collar from an early morning romp.

“No, my love, I rather find that you have proven me wrong, and I quite like that.”

“And I quite like you.”

“You had better!”

thank you for reading!!!

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elisela · 9 months

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‘this is my husband/boyfriend/partner etc.’ + NurseyDex

that's mine nurseydex, alternating pov

Nursey goes flying. Headfirst into the goal, arms flailing, Will thinks he hears a yelp sort of flying. He only resists the urge to roll his eyes because Bitty’s looking right at him and he doesn’t want a lecture.

Still—when one of the assholes on the other team barks out a laugh and says, “Who was that, Bambi?”, Will can’t help but sigh.

“That’s my teammate, asshole,” he says, and cuts over to check him against the boards.

—

Derek misses the days that the frogs were wide-eyed and respectful in the Haus. These kids—he’s going to need some sense knocked into them soon. They’re loud, rowdy, and far too interested in integrating into the group by joining in on the teasing, which is a right they have not yet earned.

Like now, when they’re giggling to themselves and looking at him.

“So—” one of them starts, smirking, and never finishes.

“So,” Derek repeats, jerking his thumb at Dex, “that’s my roommate.”

The laughter grates on his nerves, but not as much as pretending he doesn’t care about sharing a room with Dex.

—

Nursey is … singing? Will thinks that’s what he’s trying to do at least, and he’s heard him sing almost every day in the shower so the warbling coming out of his mouth is surprising. He’s not saying Nursey is good by any means, but he can sound decent with the right song and this … this is not the right song.

He doubts the fact that all the words being slurred thanks to being absolutely trashed is helping.

Will stays at the bar until the song is done, resolutely facing away from the somewhat dimly-lit karaoke stage so he doesn’t get dragged into participating. Luckily—or not, considering Ransom and Holster seem to have disappeared so the drunken idiot is now his responsibility—Nursey doesn’t say anything when he comes crashing up to the bar except, “Tequila shots?”

Will can barely understand him, but the look on his face—the one that appears whenever Nursey thinks he’s had a particularly good idea—speaks volumes. “Water,” he says firmly, sliding a waiting pint glass over.

He really doesn’t understand whatever Nursey mumbles then, but he has more pressing problems, because his lap—previously empty of everything except his coat—is now occupied. “Jesus,” he mutters, trying to wiggle away. “Dude—Nursey—”

“S’comfy,” Nursey says, and Will tries once more to get him to move to his own seat with no avail.

The bartender, when she returns, gives Will a raised eyebrow. “He bothering you? I can get him out.”

Will sighs. “He’s a friend,” he says, and adds, “so he pretty much bothers me all the time.”

“Ya love me, pretty boy,” Nursey says. He starts to laugh—at what, Will has no clue—but it makes him wiggle in a way that Will isn’t sure he’s entirely comfortable with, and Nursey goes sliding to his own seat after another shove.

“Shut up and drink your water,” Will says, and motions to close their tab.

—

“That’s Jack,” Derek says, nudging his grandmother and pointing at the television, where Jack is leaning on the boards and chatting with the coach. “He’s on the Falconers.”

“I’m rooting for them,” she says, and tuts when Derek makes an aborted noise. “Hush, you don’t get to choose who I like. Is he a defender?”

Derek’s been playing hockey most of his life and every time he watches a game with his grandma it’s like she’s never heard of the sport before. “No, he’s not a defenseman,” he says. God help him, he’s never going to get through this game alive.

The shot switches to a close-up and she hums. “Handsome.”

Derek shrugs. Jack’s fine, he supposes. A bit too bland for him, nothing that really stands out, not like—”And that’s Dex—Will—over there, in the white. Will—he’s my—” he swallows a bit too hard.

“If you think I haven’t figured out you like men and women, Derek, we’re going to need to have a conversation regarding your assumptions about my intelligence.”

He wonders if God would actually strike him down if he prayed hard enough. “He’s my boyfriend, Gram,” he says, staring resolutely at the television.

She hums again. “That Jack is more handsome though, don’t you think?”

It’s going to be a long game.

—

Will’s trying to hide. Table at the back, hat still on and pulled down low, black hoodie and black jeans. Anything to make himself blend into the background, because he doesn’t want to be caught dead here.

He also doesn’t want to be involved in any conversations, not that the girls at the table next to him have picked up on that. He’d made two fatal errors: being cordial when one of them had said hello, and admitting he’s never been to an open-mic poetry night.

They haven’t stopped talking to him since.

“Okay, this guy—I’m not sure he’s your type, you know? Not that you aren’t like, super intelligent—I mean you’re here, right, so obviously—but he has a lot of heavy themes in his work if you really dig in and you really need to hear them a few times to peel back the layers. I’m hoping he reads the tree above the grave again, it’s—”

She cuts off, finally, when a cough sounds from the front and Derek begins to speak. There’s utter silence while he recites words that Will’s heard a hundred times over in various iterations, tweaked and stressed and polished until he could probably say them in his sleep, then an excited outburst of conversation among applaus when it’s over.

“Amazing, right?” she says, and keeps talking while Will nods. “Have you heard of him before?”

Will looks at her. “He’s the one I came for,” he answers honestly, grinning for the first time all night when he sees Derek making his way over. “He’s my husband.”

#'this is the only fic i'll write' i said #ha #what an idiot i am #nurseydex #missanniewhimsy #eli writes #omgcp

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gowonders · 4 months

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11:45 ♥ c.bg

notes : helloooo >_> felt like writing a new years fic for the pure reason of me liking it more than christmas.. and i got a crazy idea while doing my makeup .. soo.. !!! DID I FORGET TO RELEASE THIS…??? maybe. so it is based around new years, im so so so so sorry!! its so late >_< hope you enjoy this ~

warnings : not proofread, english isn’t my first language, yes i did bsf➡️lover again kill me, perv!switch!gyu, kinda perv!sub!fem!reader, dubcon, mentions of alc, and oral (m. rec.), reader has a BAD oral fixation :3, lmk if i missed any baes~~

beomgyu only had one new years wish. or.. resolution, he should say. to get you, his best friend to be his new years kiss. and he had a set plan, to get you to a party, and get you drunk enough to forget anything if you didn’t feel the same .. simple enough, right?

except, like anything that seems simple, it was the most fucking complicated thing ever.

a couple of knocks are heard on the doorway as you fix your makeup up, you turn your head back and meet beomgyus gaze, a meek smile on your lips. “hey gyu, what’s up?” you ask, putting down your lip gloss vial. beomgyu huffs and shakes his head. “um? we have to go soon.. get dressed and finish your makeup, i only wanna be fashionably late.” he says with a chuckle. “okay, okay,” you respond with a giggle. “let me get changed…” you trail off as you put on lip gloss, it had a pretty glimmer which gave it a white tone, and of course, it drove your best friend crazy. because all he could think of was painting your pretty lips with his cum…

“beomgyu.” you cut through his thoughts, holding up some dresses. “can you help me pick one? i’ll be quick, i just seriously don’t know which one to wear.” you ask with a pout, tilting your head.

“uhhhhhhh” beomgyu says into the air.. both of the dresses were cute, and they’d look perfect on you.. but one was more revealing. one one hand, it’d be really easy to keep his eyes on you all night.. but on the other, people would be able to see you too… “that one.” he says, pointing towards the less revealing dress. he’d be able (hopefully) to see more some other day. “oh, yeah! that is cute!” you say with a smile, “let me get changed and we can go.”

a few minutes later, you’re walking out of your room, looking absolutely perfect. like.. beomgyu could die right. there. but luckily, he keeps his composure and stands up, looking you up and down. “you look really nice, yn.” he says with a grin. “um.. thank you gyu, you too?” you respond with a chuckle, tilting your head at your best friends sudden sentimental words.

with a sigh, beomgyu waves his hand and grabs his keys, waking towards the door. “let’s get going?”

and somehow, maybe 2 hours later, you’re wasted.

you only had a few drinks.. did you? at this point, you couldn’t keep track. your best friend kept handing them to you, and you just took them, because what kind of person turns down free drinks? maybe a smart person.. because at this point, you are feeling things worse than a buzz.

“beomgyu….” you slur out, titling your head as you look at the boy sitting next to you. “can you hand me that..” you say to the boy holding your purse in your lap, pointing at it. you had kindly asked beomgyu to hold your purse before you came, and thank god you did.. because who knows where your stuff would be without him? “yeah, for sure.” he says stiffly, handing you the bag.

his mind is going crazy. he pulls out his phone a few moments after giving you your stuff, and sees the time. 11:45. he only had around 20 minutes to try and get you to be his new years kiss.. or more.

and god.. the way you applied that pretty and shiny lip gloss right infront of him didn’t help. he wanted to kiss it off, and have it smeared all over his cock. you would look sooo pretty… big, round, glassy eyes looking up at him, your bruised knees visible from your short dress, his hands tangled in your hair. don’t even get him started, if only you gave him a chance.

“it’s 11:50…” you start, pouting. you take your can of.. whatever you were drinking at this point, who was keeping track, and holding it up to your lips. “another year, no kiss.” you say in a tone that, to beomgyu, sounds like you’re begging him for that kiss. you take a sip of the drink and hold it up, making a toast to yourself. “ah, no.. yn..” beomgyu says, pulling your can down. “if you want.. i could kiss you? i know we’re best friends but like.. you complain every single year.” he sighs, looking you in the eye. he had you right where he wanted, you were drunk, he could have you in his arms if he used the right words. “i just hate to see you so upset!” he says with somewhat fake pity.

“really? you’d do that for me, gyu?” you ask, your face almost lights up. “you’re so thoughtful.. shit, i’ll take it.” you say with a slurred chuckle, pulling out your phone once more to check the time. 11:59.

“well. um.” beomgyu starts with a chuckle. “yn, happy new years. you’re my closest friend, and i can’t wait to see what the new year brings, right? i think you’re really great so like-“ he says, somewhat rambling before you cut him off. “its 12.” you mumble, holding onto his shoulders and pulling him in, pressing your glossed lips to his.

finally, ohmygodohmygodohmygoddd- are all of beomgyus thoughts repeated as you kiss him, and soon enough, he tries and shoots his luck, swiping his tongue across your lip, and your lips part.. which just ends you guys making out for a little longer than some “new years kiss”…

as he pulls away for air, you’re still connected by a string of saliva, and his lips are smudged with your lip combo.. just like he wanted. you guys had already made out.. and you were in some isolated part of the house.. it wouldn’t be a crime to ask.. “yn, wanna give me head?” it was bold. really fucking bold. but you were drunk, you would not remember anything in the morning. “yeah, sure.” you mumble. “like.. right now…?” you ask, and he just nods.

“mkay.” you say under your breath, and your hands move to his belt, undoing it. the clinks echo throughout the empty room as he leans back on the armrest of the couch, his hair turning more disheveled than it was before. your fingers hook under the waistband of his briefs once you unzip his pants, and he shivers, leaning his head back.

“i’m gonna.. yeah.” you say, slipping off the fabric and watching his hard-on spring against his stomach, your mouth watering at the sight of his leaking, red tip. you press your thighs together and whine, wrapping your hand around the base of his length, starting to pump it. his cock was so pretty..?

you could barely contain yourself as you press a small kiss to his tip, a shaky breath fanning against it. “so pretty. love you.” you mutter before you lick up his precum and wrap your lips around his length.

beomgyu couldn’t believe his ears.. aren’t,,, drunk sayings,,, sober thoughts??? he didn’t want to harp on it much.. he was literally about to ruin you. and your pretty little face.. and that really distracted him as he laced his fingers through your hair, fisting it.

as you sped up, beomgyu started to push your head down to take all of his inches, making you choke slightly and tears well at your eyes… you could care less. the salty taste and the way it hit your throat had you going crazy, you had to press your thighs together to try and satiate some neediness, but you could still tell, with the way your whines and moans muffled against his cock, making the experience all the more better.

“n-ngh, yn, fuck!” he chokes out, hips snapping up against your face as he pushes your head all the way down. “f-feel so- good..!” he pants. sweat was beading at his forehead, and a sheen of it could be seen from his half open dress shirt.

and you were faring no better, because beomgyus taste alone had you going, eyes squeezing shut to hide the way they rolled back.. you couldn’t wait for him to just paint up your throat.. and he looked so pretty, eyes squinting and lips parted as he lets out heavy breaths and groans, his disheveled hair and shirt.. god you were going crazy.

your hands jerked off the parts you absolutely couldn’t reach, so with that, your mouth and the vibrations of your moans.. beomgyu was on edge.. he could cum. any second. and honestly.. so could you.

“g-gonna c- ah!!” beomgyu cries out, throwing his head back all the way against the arm rest, hips rolling up into your face, gripping your hair for dear life, needy moans leaving the boy until he stays in a hilt, shooting white ribbons of seeds into your throat, making your whine against him, and that shot off your climax, except you finished in your panties, ruining the flimsy fabric. he just tastes so good..

and you were about to get the whole.. ruined underwear.. somewhat taken care of.

#gowonders: writes #gowonders: smut #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu hard hours #beomgyu hard thoughts #beomgyu smut #beomgyu fanfic #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu imagines #txt #beomgyu

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emeritusemeritus · 5 months

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All about the girl [Eddie Munson x Reader]

Title: All about the girl.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader {Established relationship}

Timeline: Set after 1984 for the music I’ve referenced. No mention of Stranger Things canon or Vecna.

Summary: Meeting your boyfriend’s family for the first time was never easy but luckily for you, Wayne’s a little tipsy.

Warnings: Drinking. Brief mentions of Eddie’s deadbeat dad, alcoholism. Just a funny little drabble. Reader is mentioned to have D cup breasts but it can be replaced by anything you want. I love Eddie’s awkwardness. Inspired by a Reddit post I saw that instantly gave me Eddie feels.

I will reference Judas Priest every chance I can in Eddie fics, they are the ultimate metal gods and I stand by that.

Wayne Munson was nothing like his deadbeat older brother Al. He was a self proclaimed gruff, grumbling hick but he was responsible, loyal and patient. The only thing he shared with his brother was his taste for alcohol, which started from an early age and had developed the older he got, though the younger Munson brother didn't depend on it nor did he act like a fool under the influence. Wayne had a healthy relationship with alcohol, as opposed to his brother. Responsible, loyal and patient.

Wayne likes a nice ice cold can of beer after a long shift at the plant, sometimes more when he has a rare day off the following day. It never fazed him to drink his well earned beer at the same time as he eats his breakfast, it was a natural consequence of joining the night shift.

Eddie had only seen his uncle drunk a handful of times in his life, never really seeing a stark difference in the man's general demeanour. Sure he was a little more talkative, more prone to droning on about stories of his youth or laying out a full summary of one of his favourite westerns, but he was largely unchanged.

Upon entering the trailer midday on a Wednesday, Eddie pauses, throwing down his worn black backpack beside the door near the two seater table and looked up in surprise when he sees his uncle Wayne sat in his trusted armchair, surrounded by empty cans of beer. An old western is playing on the screen, the telltale noises of horses clopping on dirt and a few too many fake gunshot noises being the obvious key.

"You're back early son," Wayne mumbles, his eyes flicking quickly up to the younger man before falling back to the screen as he takes another swig of his beer. Eddie nods, trying to think of an excuse to his truancy, mumbling something eventually along the lines of free study period, hoping that Wayne wouldn't probe any further. He doesn't. He sits resolute in his chair, hardly moving as his eyes focus on the movie, the only movement being his hand raising the can to his lips as he takes infrequent sips.

Eddie slinks off to his room and focuses on the task at hand, instantly piling up dirty clothes from the floor and around the room, making space as he tidies. He tidies up his desk and the array of stuff on top of his dressers, thrusting some things back into the top drawers that struggle to close due to the age of the cheap wood and all the crap stuffed inside them.

He moves around the amps that litter his room, actually creating a bit of floor space and a walkway as he gathers up records and tapes that have been strewn over the floor, a vague memory appearing of knocking them over a few days prior in his haste to gather his D&D stuff in time for Hellfire.

He even makes the bed. Airing out the blankets and sheets as he goes, trying to make the room just that little bit more presentable.

When he finally stops and takes a step back, looking around at his obvious hard work, he's impressed and a little proud of himself. He turns, noticing the assortment of dirty clothes he'd piled up in the corner and scoops them up in his arms, kicks open the door and walks out towards the washer dryer in the kitchenette of the trailer, dumping the clothes on top of the laundry basket that permanently sits atop the dryer, overflowing as per usual.

Wayne suddenly walks out from behind where Eddie is stood, appearing from the bathroom as he zips back up his old, worn jeans, wiping his freshly washed hands on his denim clad thighs. He whistles low as he shoots a look into the bedroom, seeing that his nephew had cleared up for once.

"If I didn't know any better son, I'd say you had a lady coming round 'ere," Wayne teases gently, looking upon his nephew to see his reaction. He sees Eddie freeze, his eyes widening as he looks like a deer in headlights, causing Wayne's eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. "Good for you son," he mumbles, clapping Eddie on the shoulder as he walks past him to take a seat back down in his trusty armchair. Eddie follows wordlessly, sensing that his uncle isn't done, holding back from asking further questions.

"What's her name? What's she do? What's her bra size?" Wayne asks seriously, cracking open a fresh beer and taking a large swig. Eddie's mouth falls open at his uncle's surprising questions, spluttering and stammering his way through a mumbled reply, only causing Wayne to chuckle at the boy's flustered reaction. Eddie has turned beet red, shuffling in his place as he pushes down thoughts of her breasts, briefly trying to gage what size she would be before mentally he shakes out the thought.

"M'only messing son," he chuckles before frowning as he turns his attention back to the Western on the TV. "You're in my way boy," he grumbles, his voice holding just a smidge of humour as he waves Eddie out of the way.

"Her name's y/n," Eddie says quietly as he steps aside, no longer being an obstruction to his uncle's movie, choosing not to answer the other questions out of embarrassment. Wayne simply nods with a knowing smile tugging at his lips, enjoying busting his nephew’s chops just a little.

It’s a little past six when Eddie’s van steers wildly onto your street, his music turning down only slightly to a moderately appropriate volume as he parks up outside of your house. You rush out, pausing very briefly to kiss your momma on the way before you hop up into the van, greeting your new boyfriend with a sweet and passionate kiss.

“Look I,” Eddie says sheepishly as he pulls out of your street, keeping his eyes on the road. “Wayne’s a little, buzzed, shall we say. Just ignore him if he tries to be funny.” You look at Eddie, even though he’s not directly facing you and give a little questioning frown which he seems to instinctively notice. “He um, he knows you’re coming, caught me cleaning up a little. Guess he thought it was funny to rag on me a little for it.”

“Wait. You cleaned?” You asked, completely ignoring the point of the conversation as you pretend to be overwhelmingly surprised as Eddie’s actions. He shoots you a deadpan glare at your words but you simply smile back at him with a shit eating grin.

“What did he say?”

“Er,” Eddie noticeably pales as he pauses for a moment, hesitant to reply. “He was just winding me up, he asked your name, what you do… your bra size.”

You couldn’t help but burst with laughter at his words, imagining Eddie’s face turning beet red at the words. You wheeze with laughter as Eddie looks on in confusion.

“I’m sorry, that’s great,” you laugh, running your hands over your thighs. “That’s exactly how I’m going to introduce myself to everyone I meet now.”

“Like hell you are,” Eddie says possessively, though the slight smile on his face tells you that he did find it a little humorous now the mortification had gone.

“I don’t know, sounds like a good way to get to know someone to me,” you tease with a smirk, reaching for the volume button on the control to turn up the music just as Metallica’s Creeping Death came on, wanting to hear the distinctive guitar riff a little better. The conversation fell flat as your favourite part of the song came on, the insane guitar solo followed by the ‘die by my hand’ bridge.

Eddie was smiling and chuckling at your obvious excitement as you joined in with the ‘die!’ Chants, your fist in the air as you instinctively headbang to the breakdown in the song, continuing right up until the fade out. He openly laughs as you mimic your air guitar during the last harmonic power chord progression at the end. When the song is over, you both share a wicked smile before a little freak out when Judas Priest’s ‘love bites’ comes on right after, the deep foreboding chimes making your eyes widen significantly in sheer delight. They were undisputedly your favourite band and this track was one of your favourites from defenders of the faith.

Eddie chuckles again, eyes flicking between you and the road and smiles warmly to himself, proud of the fact he’d created this mixtape with you in mind, eternally grateful that you shared his love for metal.

It’s going dark as you pull up to Eddie’s trailer and knowing that Wayne would be home had you feeling suddenly a little nervous. You’d been round to Eddie’s trailer before a few times but Wayne had never been home before, having left for work before you arrived.

“You good princess?” Eddie asks, throwing the van into park and turning to you, sensing your slight nervousness. You smile and nod, trying to hide your slight nervous tension and unbuckle yourself, stepping out of the van to stand facing the trailer, seeing the lamp light pouring out of the windows in the evening darkness.

“All good,” you nod, following him up the steps to the trailer as he busts open the door and gestures for you to step into his home with a flamboyant gesture of his arms and a slight bow, making him look like the strangest, and hottest, doorman you’d ever seen.

“Uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, grabbing his uncle’s attention as he prepares to introduce you both, his voice not hiding his anxiety. The older man stands and moves to you with a slight but pleasant smile on his face. Feeling your confidence coming back, you step forward slightly and extend your hand to him.

“Hi Mr Munson, I’m y/n, I work in retail 3 days a week whilst I’m at school and I’m a D cup,” you say with a deadpan expression.

Wayne instantly bursts with laughter, his face lighting up and shoulders shaking with his laughter, the slight tension in the room instantly falling away. You don’t look at Eddie but you can tell that his shocked expression was suddenly eased as he watches you and Wayne shake hands, seeing his uncle’s expression becoming infinitely more pleasant.

Wayne offers you a seat on the sofa and calls out to Eddie to get a few drinks in as he takes a seat in his armchair, reaching for the television remote to turn off the western that was still playing on the screen.

Eddie goes to the kitchen to grab drinks for everyone and watches on from over the counter to see his girlfriend and uncle getting along like a house on fire. Even he is surprised to see Wayne be so open and warm towards his girl, watching as they chuckle and he’s certain he can hear Wayne giggle once, a noise he’d never heard fall from the man’s lips.

Seeing you so at home in his trailer, getting along so well with his father figure has him feeling a certain way, a warmth spreading in his gut. He was in love.

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#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #stranger things #eddie munson masterlist #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson

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marvelmusing · 1 year

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In Another Life

Part Five

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Alternate Universe!Reader

Summary: Alina is presented to the king as the sun summoner, and from that point onwards you and Aleksander become increasing busy - and apart.

Warnings: mild violence, some angst (but bear with me they will get through it I promise).

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist • Next Part

Nerves finally settle into your body as you stand in the hallway, waiting for the king’s attendants to announce Aleksander’s arrival. Then the doors will open, and you will walk into the main hall to meet with the King of Ravka. You drum your fingers lightly against your thigh, hoping that none of the Grisha surrounding you can see your agitation.

Aleksander notices. Even as he’s talking with Alina, he glances over at you. When she falls silent, he steps casually towards you, his shoes clicking against the marble flooring beneath your feet.

“Are you ready?” Aleksander asks, dipping his head down to say the words quietly against your ear. Turning on your heel, you face him directly. Once your eyes meet his, you nod resolutely, straightening your back.

“Let’s go change the world.”

He steps away from you, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth as he moves to stand beside Alina.

When the doors open, you trail a few paces behind them, on Aleksander’s left. The flock of Grisha follow the three of you, their footsteps echoing as you walk through a small hallway towards a wide flight of stairs.

You try not to stare wide eyed at the main hall as you walk down the steps. Instead you keep your eyes on Aleksander, who’s own eyes are fixed on the thrones at the far end of the hall.

As you hear the Grisha behind you come to a halt, the urge to stop walking and stand with them seizes you. I want you by my side. That’s what Aleksander had said to you. So, you force yourself to keep walking.

Aleksander stops just before a strip of red carpet which leads to the dais on which the two monarchs sit. Following his lead, you stand several paces behind him, to one side, and bow as respectfully as you can.

Behind your back, you’ve woven your fingers together tightly, nails digging into soft skin as you fight the urge to fidget nervously. Luckily neither of them pay much attention to you, but a shiver runs through you when you lock eyes with the Apparat.

When the Queen addresses Alina, your heart is in your throat, watching her widened eyes as she looks up at Aleksander. He steps in immediately.

“She is Alina Starkov. The sun summoner, moya tsaritsa.”

He bows his head lightly in the direction of the thrones.

“She will change the future. Starting now.”

Aleksander’s gaze softens as he focuses on drawing the shadows together, lengthening the darkness to spill out into the hall. There’s whispers and quiet murmurs around you. Soon they will all have something more interesting to talk about.

Aleksander turns, stepping in front of Alina. You know what words he is murmuring against her ear. There’s an unpleasant ache in your chest as you observe their closeness, which you push away immediately. Even in the darkness, you can see Alina’s eyes are widened. Then Aleksander takes hold of her wrist.

Light bursts into existence.

A shimmering globe of sunshine surrounds you, radiating from Alina.

The heat of it surprises you, as if you’re standing in front of a blazing bonfire on a freezing cold night. It stings your face a little, but despite this you continue to face the glow of light. Your eyes close, head tilting back, as you bask in the warmth. In this moment, you realise how cold you’ve been - for your entire life.

When the warmth disappears, and applause erupts around you, your eyes flutter open. Aleksander has released his hold on Alina, and he’s looking at you. Smiling at him, you join in on the applause.

The King is on his feet, clapping his hands together hurriedly. Once the crowd begins to quieten, he speaks to Aleksander. As the two converse, Aleksander insists that Alina needs time and space to train. The king nods, dismissing you all, and you breathe a small sigh of relief.

Aleksander bows, and turns around on his heel. Alina does the same, and the two of them begin to walk towards you his hand in hers. They make quite the pair.

Alina looks elated, whether that be from using her power, the fact that the audience with the king well, or Aleksander’s attention, you’re not certain. Likely a mixture of all three. You don’t blame her for being pleased with any of it.

“You were perfect.” Aleksander tells her quietly.

Staring very pointedly at the floor, admiring the tiles there, you force yourself not to think about how his words make you feel.

You only look up again as Aleksander breezes by you, and the crowd of Grisha part instantly, allowing him to leave swiftly. Turning to Alina, you offer her a smile, and inform her that you’ll be accompanying her for the rest of the day.

»»---------------------►

Your first stop is her kefta fitting.

“What do you think?” She asks tentatively, fiddling with the fur that lines the inside of her sleeves. You beam at her.

This is another moment where the surreality of your situation hits you. Seeing Alina Starkov in a blue summoner’s kefta with your own two eyes.

“You look amazing.” Her smile is shy as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“The General asked if I wanted to wear black.”

You pretend to look surprised.

“He did?” Of course he did. She nods, smoothing her hands down the front of her kefta, fingers tracing over the golden embroidery.

“But I asked for blue. Do you think he’ll be angry?” You shake your head instantly.

You’ve seen Aleksander be intimidating and authoritative, but never angry. You hope to never see him truly angry, especially not at you.

“Not at all.” You pause before you add, “At least you’ll fit in with the rest of the summoners.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

The servant that had been attending to Alina bows rather awkwardly, fumbling as he attempts to leave the room in both a graceful and respectful manner. From the look you share with Alina, the poor boy doesn’t appear to have succeeded.

Once the door shuts the two of you breathe out a confused laugh.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.” She remarks, and you quirk a brow at her.

“The curtseying?”

“No. Well, yes. But I meant…” Her face grows more serious. “I don’t think I’ll get used to the look in their eyes. Now that they know me as the sun summoner.”

She steps over to her dressing table, tracing her fingertip over the edge of the tabletop, pointedly ignoring her reflection. Then she glances over at you with a small frown.

“You don’t look at me any differently.”

That’s because you’ve always known she was the sun summoner. She’s the main character. She’s the one who will actually save Ravka - not you. But, of course, you can’t tell her that. Instead you shrug.

“You’re still just Alina in my eyes. The mapmaker who can carry more books in one hand than I can with both arms.”

She laughs softly, no doubt reminded of one of your trips to the library with her.

“That’s sort of what I’m afraid of. Not being Alina anymore. Just the sun summoner - or some sort of saint - a miracle saviour. When I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Anyone who looks at you any differently now isn’t worth your troubles.” You tell her firmly. “As for not doing anything yet, it’s your first day at the Little Palace as a Grisha. Do you think the six year olds brought here can summon on their first day?”

You raise your brows questioningly at her, and she holds your gaze for a long moment, before she sighs quietly and relents.

“Probably not.” She admits, the corner of her mouth twitching with the urge to smile.

“Exactly.” You link your arm around hers. “Now let’s go get some lunch and show off your new kefta to everyone in the dining hall.”

Her smile widens at that.

In truth, you were nervous about eating in the dining hall. You know how protective the Grisha are over their respective tables. Why they had to be so divided by their Grisha orders you will never understand. Perhaps that’s something you can change as well. One thing at a time though.

Whether the eyes are lingering on you - an otkazat’sya sitting with the Grisha - or the new sun summoner, you’re not certain. Nadia and Marie are kind enough to encourage Alina to sit with them, and to your surprise they invite you as well.

As lunch is served, they both ask Alina lots of questions about herself, which she seems rather shocked by. Once their curiosity has been satisfied, they turn to you.

“So, how long have you been working for the General?” Marie asks you. She seems genuinely interested, and not trying to accuse you of anything, but you can sense the other summoner’s looking over at you.

“Not long. But my family have known him all my life, and he’s been kind enough to give me somewhere to stay.”

“And your position as his assistant?” You nod.

It’s likely the Grisha will question your ability, and assume that you achieved your position through some unknown means. Which is true after all. But you couldn’t tell them that you were from another world, and that your job as Aleksander’s assistant was only given to you so that you could give him warnings about the future.

“I was my town’s bookkeeper. The General must have thought I would be well suited to the job.”

They both ask about your town, and you give minimal information but enough to avoid any more questions. After observing Aleksander during meetings, you’re now rather good at redirecting conversations.

You ask Nadia and Marie about themselves, and soon they’re chatting about an upcoming visit to the banya.

Once lunch is over, the girls offer to take Alina to combat training. She seems rather pleased with this suggestion, and you’re happy she’s already made some friends. You wish her luck and head towards the war room, you haven’t checked the post yet today and you’re expecting an update from Mal soon.

Aleksander lifts his head up from his papers once he hears you enter. When his eyes land on you, he frowns.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, and you mirror his frown.

“Where else should I be?”

“I thought you were taking Alina to combat training.” You shrug lightly.

“She’s with Marie and Nadia.” He places his pencil down, folding his hands together as he looks over the table at you.

“I wanted you to begin combat training as well.”

“Me?” He nods.

“You should learn to defend yourself.”

“With Botkin?” You ask, uncertainty in your voice. The corner of his mouth twitches into a small smile.

“Are you afraid of Botkin?”

“No.” You answer quickly, and Aleksander definitely doesn’t believe you. “I just don’t think his teaching style will benefit me.”

That isn’t a lie. Aleksander can see that and his smile widens slightly.

“What if I asked Fedoyr to work with you instead?”

“Surely he has better things to do.” Aleksander shakes his head slightly, leaning back into his chair as he looks at you.

“He’s being stationed here at the Little Palace for the next few months. I’m certain he would be happy to help you.” Sighing a little, you nod.

“Okay.”

There’s a satisfied spark in his eyes, and you frown as you walk towards your usual seat at his war table. Then there’s a knock at the door, and Aleksander calls out,

“Enter.”

Turning to look at the door as it swings open, your head swinging back to look at Aleksander as Fedoyr steps into the room.

Aleksander’s face is smoothed over into a serious expression as he regards Fedoyr, but you can see the amusement in his eyes when his gaze flickers to yours momentarily. Narrowing your eyes at him, you’re tempted to scowl at him - he had known you would relent regarding his combat training suggestion.

Unaware of the silent interaction between the two of you, Fedoyr bows in Aleksander’s direction.

“You asked to speak with me, moi soverenyi?”

“Fedoyr, yes. My assistant requires some combat training, and I believe you could be of some help in the matter.”

Fedoyr smiles at you, inclining his head as he responds,

“I’d be happy to.”

»»---------------------►

The jolt of hitting the hard dirt thunders through your body, and you groan weakly.

“Well that’s quite the improvement.” Fedoyr remarks from the sideline of the training ring.

Zoya smirks as she observes her work - you - lying sprawled over the ground.

“I didn’t last five minutes.” You argue. Fedoyr shrugs.

“Better than not lasting two minutes.”

Zoya holds out a hand to you, and you narrow your eyes in suspicion. She laughs, shaking her head at you, which prompts you into accepting her hand. Once you’re upright again, you attempt to brush away the dirt from your shirt.

“I think you’re making it worse.” Zoya warns you, and you fear she may be right.

Over the last almost three weeks, you’ve been spending your afternoons with Zoya and Fedoyr, trying to improve your combat skills. Your progress is rather slow, but Fedoyr remains optimistic.

With your afternoons filled with training, and Aleksander undertaking Alina’s lessons instead of Baghra, the two of you only ever see one another during meetings. Occasionally, your schedules will align so that you can have dinner together as you used to. But even then, Aleksander seems distracted.

“Shall we go again?” You ask Zoya, hoping to avoid thinking about Aleksander. She grins.

“I must have hit you harder than I thought.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Nazyalensky.”

Tossing her hair back elegantly, she smirks as she assumes a fighting stance which you mirror.

“I don’t need to.” At that you roll your eyes, and she swings at you.

Somehow you’re able to dodge her blow, stepping around her body to move towards the edge of the circle. She follows you.

You’re not fast enough to completely dodge her next blow, her knuckles scraping over the side of your face. Grasping at her wrist, you attempt to hook your foot around her ankle, aiming to use her momentum to bring her down.

It doesn’t go to plan. Zoya stumbles. Your foot gets caught between both of her ankles, entangling your legs together. Both of you are sent toppling onto the floor.

Fedoyr chuckles, clapping slowly as the two of you try and untangle yourselves.

“You’re lying on my arm.” She hisses.

“I think your knee landed in my ribs.”

Eventually you’re able to free yourselves, rolling over onto your back to stare up at the sky as you attempt to catch your breath. Zoya braces herself on her knees.

“Tired?” She asks with a raised brow.

“Oh no, I just love lying on the floor.”

“Explains why you let me throw you there so often.”

The two of you breathe out a laugh.

Zoya had been wary of you at first. Her quick wits and barbs made you nervous, so you’d been nothing but polite to her within the first week. As you had spent more time together, it soon became easy enough to joke and laugh with her.

The three of you turn at the sound of a horse and rider making their way over the gravel at the front of the palace.

“Is that the post?” You ask, and Fedoyr frowns as he looks over the direction of the entrance to the Little Palace, where a servant appears to have received a bundle of letters. He nods.

“Looks like it.”

“I should go.”

Zoya picks up her kefta, and tosses your jacket towards you. Flashing her a smile, you shrug the garment on. They both wish you a farewell, and you hurry over the grass towards a side entrance to the palace.

Ducking by two servants, you’re able to stop the man who had taken the bundle of mail in the main hallway and ask for any letters addressed to you or the General.

There’s a few missives from the front lines in the South, addressed to General Kirigan. Nothing for you, meaning nothing from Mal. You do spot his handwriting, but it’s on a letter for Alina. You had encouraged Alina to tell Mal about everything, even the discovery of her power, and Mal appeared to have taken it well.

Slotting the letters for Aleksander into your pocket, you thank the servant and head towards the stairs. At this time in the afternoon, Aleksander will still be conducting Alina’s lesson. Giving you some time alone to search the library.

There’s been a very particular, reoccurring element in your dreams as of late, and it has your curiosity piqued.

It takes you a while to find the fiction section. With Ravka’s war torn history, the priority of the library at the Little Palace has mostly been study and research - not stories. But you soon find a selection of fiction books.

Eyes skimming over the titles, you brush your knuckles lightly over the spines of the books as they sit on the shelves. Half of you doesn’t even believe you’ll find it. But then.

“I know you.” You murmur softly.

Pulling out a book with a smooth brown cover, you look over the front of it, reading the Old Ravkan words embossed onto the stretched cloth. The edges have been decorated with a simple pattern of antlers.

Opening up the book, you look down at the words inked onto the pages, but it’s all in Old Ravkan. A language you’re still struggling to learn. But even with your limited skills, you recognise the title.

You search the surrounding shelves, hoping for any sight of the other two books you need, but you’re unsuccessful. It’s then that you cross paths with the librarian, and decide to enlist her help.

She’s an old woman, with grey hair and a kind, wrinkled face. As you hand her the book, she slots on her glasses and peers down at the title.

“Shadow and Bone?” She reads aloud. You nod.

“I was wondering if you had anything else by this author.”

“In all honesty my child, I’ve never seen this before.” Your brows lift in response.

“You’ve never seen it?”

“You think I know every single book in this library?” Glancing around, you do see her point. There’s a ridiculous number of books here. “And I’m not as young as I once was.” She adds with a small smile, handing the book back to you as you nod in acknowledgment.

“Thank you for your help.”

A strange, guilty feeling claws inside your chest as you make your way hurriedly back to your room. Clutching the book tightly against your chest, you’re afraid of anyone seeing you, or more accurately, seeing the book.

Once your door is shut firmly, you sigh, slumping against the wood with the book still pressed firmly against your body. Mentally searching through your room, you decide upon the small compartment inside the drawer of your vanity table. It’s a small spot, but there’s enough room for the book.

That should keep it safe, but one thing is certain.

No one can ever find this book.

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse

In Another Life Tag List: @parabatai-winchester @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @jambolska-grozdova @mxacegrey @budugu @cynthianokamaria @scarlettqueen190 @aikeia

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift

#in another life au #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling #the darkling x reader #the darkling au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone #the darkling x you #the darkling x y/n #in another life chapters

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ofthecaravel · 1 year

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You Don't Go To Parties

A Danny Wagner/Sam Kiszka fic

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: Danny hates going to parties with Sam. It's Sam he likes.

Tags: Pining, angsttttt, fluff, the girls are fightingggg

Words: 3.3k

A/N: ...hi. I don't know. Nothing wild, just a little conflict and then conflict resolution. Inspired by 'You Don't Go To Parties' by 5SOS (which you should really listen to while you read it.)

Let me know what you think!

~~~

It was the evening of Sam’s 21st birthday, but Danny already knew he was a cruel drunk.

He had grown accustomed to a routine. They’d show up at the party together, Sam would stick like him to glue through his first and second drinks, staring up at him with doe eyes and a smile Danny had learned to associate with disappointment. By his third drink, he was halfway across the house draped over a girl he had never met, most times leaving without telling Danny. But it was worse when he did see him before he left, when they’d make eye contact while Sam was leaving. He’d bring the girl to his lips once before slipping out the door, never peeling his eyes away, leaving Danny clenching his jaw and wondering why in the hell it made him feel so sick. Danny could’ve told him he didn’t want to go to parties anymore, but it was hard to say no to Sam. Sometimes, it was hard for him to say anything at all to Sam.

Luckily, this party was at Sam’s house, so it was far less likely for him to disappear completely. Danny had been helping set up since the morning because, in typical Kiszka fashion, Sam had waited until the day of his birthday to actually get any party stuff together. But Danny didn’t mind. He liked ferrying Sam around from store to store, listening to him chatter from the passenger seat with his legs on the dash and a cigarette bobbing between his lips while he yelled at passing cars. He liked their bickering back and forth while he hung streamers in all the high places Sam couldn’t reach, with Sam complaining and blowing hot air into balloons all with a grin on his face.

“You just like putting me to work,” Danny accused after Sam had curled up on the couch with a mountain of balloons on his lap that he claimed kept him from getting up to show Danny exactly where he wanted things.

“Absolutely I do,” Sam agreed, tossing a slow moving balloon at him. “And you love the work.”

“You’re the real work,” Danny said in faux exasperation.

“Exactly,” Sam affirmed.

Danny rolled his eyes and turned back to the crepe strand in his hands, pretending to be annoyed. But it was true, wasn’t it?

He had a feeling Sam sort of knew that he loved him in a way that he didn’t like to think about. Maybe he had known from a very early point and decided it didn’t need to be acknowledged, and Danny was more than happy with that. He planned on going the rest of his life without letting Sam in on a few key feelings he harbored towards him. Sam was his best friend. But there were some things that he didn’t need to hear. Danny worked to make his life as easy as possible, and keeping him out of the loop on some aspects of his inner monologue was among the easiest of tasks.

“This party is going to be the party of all parties,” Sam piped up from behind him, bringing back the lighthearted atmosphere.

“You’re going to be the drunkest man in Michigan,” Danny laughed.

“In the United States, more like.”

“In the northern hemisphere.”

“In the world!” Sam argued determinedly. “How dare you doubt me.”

“Whatever, man, but I’m not cleaning up your puke,” Danny teased. “Again.”

“That was one time,” Sam grumbled. “Let it go already, God.”

“Never,” Danny grinned. “And no tattoos!”

“You’re no fun.”

“How many people did you even invite?”

“Everyone,” Sam replied, a smile in his voice that Danny didn’t need to look to know was there.

“Lord have mercy on your security deposit.”

“Party of all parties, man,” Sam echoed. “Just you wait.”

By the time the sun had faded and the house had reached full capacity, it really did seem like Sam had invited everyone they knew. Or maybe everyone in the world. It was shoulder to shoulder, a sea of smoke and laughs and liquor heavy breath that Danny couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose at. Danny always got a rush being swept up in the chaos that Sam brought to his life, and he had no problem being pleasantly buzzed and chatting up all his friends. However, after a few hours, he was sweaty and a little dizzy and his social battery was starting to drain faster and faster. As he looked out over the crowds, he just wanted his best friend. He thought about how quickly Sam had shot down his idea of getting drunk and hanging out on the roof, just the two of them.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Sam had scoffed. “It’s a big birthday. It has to be special.”

Danny had laughed and agreed, even though the idea had seemed pretty special to him. He knew what Sam meant, of course, but he replayed a daydream of what it might be like if they had just laid out under the night sky and a cool breeze and talked until the sun came up as he looked around for him. He managed to track down Jake and Josh, but they were as high as Mars and had no clue where Sam had gone off to. Danny was pretty sure they didn’t have a clue about much of anything as he listened to them squabble and pass a blunt back and forth, so he bid them a polite goodbye and kept searching.

On a whim, Danny wandered upstairs. The guest rooms reserved for Jake and Josh had been firmly locked to prevent any hookups, but Sam’s room was open just a crack. When Danny lightly opened the door, he could see the glow of the lamp on his bedside table and the window open. The light of the lamp lent him some vision in the pitch black of the late night, and he saw a familiar head reclined against the slope of the roof and the smell of cigarette smoke tinting the air. Danny let himself in, navigating the familiar layout of the room easily in the dark. He stuck his head out the window, holding back a sigh at the feel of the cool air against the sweat that had settled on his skin. And there was Sam, laid out against the weathered shingles with his hands behind his head and a cigarette stuck to his bottom lip.

“I thought you said this would be no fun,” Danny said quietly and Sam smiled with his eyes closed, as quiet and somber as Danny had ever seen him. Awake, that is.

“’s not so bad,” Sam hummed, his foot tapping to an unheard rhythm. “Join me?”

It was a command (it was never a request if it was coming from Sam) so Danny hauled his tall frame through the window in a practiced way that never failed to scrape his knee ever so slightly. He left a foot of space between them, stretching out to be as comfortable as he could be on the scratchy surface. It was the warmest April on record, but the chill of the night air still made his skin prickle. Still, it was far more refreshing than the cramped, steamy environment in the house that thrummed below them.

“How is it in there?” Sam asked after a minute of silence.

“Hot,” Danny answered, flipping through his senses. “Loud. Everybody’s in good spirits. You were right, it’s the party of all parties.”

“Good, good,” Sam murmured agreeably, taking a long pull of his cigarette and sending a big plume of smoke up. Danny watched it to prevent himself from turning to try and read Sam’s expression.

“How long have you been up here?” Danny asked tentatively.

“Mmm,” Sam pondered, his foot tapping a little faster. “45 minutes? Hour?”

“Why?”

Danny heard the fabric of Sam’s jacket scrape noisily against the shingles as he shrugged, and he was just drunk enough to be annoyed at his lack of explanations.

“Are you feeling okay?” Danny pried further and Sam laughed mysteriously through his closed lips, finally lolling his head to the side and opening his eyes. His pupils were big and his lashes were starry and suddenly Danny felt all the alcohol in his veins slam into him all at once. His fingers curled against the air, holding onto nothing.

“You’re my best friend,” Sam breathed.

“You’re high,” Danny replied, deciding it as he said it, watching the frantic way Sam’s eyes leapt over his face. There was no other explanation for it.

“You were right,” Sam continued. “This is special.”

“I don’t know,” Danny laughed weakly, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. “This is a mostly one sided conversation.”

“Ask me anything,” Sam slurred, turning fully onto his side, cradling his head against his hands curled under his ear. “Quick, before I wake up.”

“What?”

“Before I’m sober,” Sam giggled. “You know what I mean. I’ll be honest.”

“I thought you were always honest,” Danny retorted. “You pride yourself on it.”

“I’m a liar.”

“Alright, fine,” Danny agreed, his heart racing. “Why aren’t you downstairs?”

“I don’t like parties,” Sam whispered conspiratorially. Danny barked a laugh.

“You love parties! You drag me to one damn near every weekend. You’ve been plotting this one since last year.”

“I love having an excuse to get drunk,” Sam explained, his words still blending. “I love being able to disappear in a crowd. I love making connections with zero risk.”

“You love leaving early to go fuck randoms,” Danny sneered, his lip curling.

“Yeah,” Sam chuckled breathily. “I especially love never talking to them again.”

“Why?”

“It’s easier.”

“Than what? Actually committing to something?”

“100 times easier,” Sam agreed.

“I guess,” Danny said, not wanting to linger on the topic of Sam waking up in a different bed every weekend. He thought about it enough already. “If you hate parties so much, then why do you always go?”

“You always say yes when I ask,” Sam answered plainly. Danny squinted at him.

“Sam, I fucking hate going to parties with you.”

There it was. He’d been dying to say it, and he felt the sting of it on his tongue as it left his mouth. And yet, Sam didn’t even flinch, a smile still ghosting his lips, his eyes happy and blank.

“I know,” Sam whispered.

“I know you know,” Danny snapped. “So, why?”

“Because I like that…” Sam trailed off, flipping onto his stomach to take a final drag of his cigarette and smother it against the windowsill. “I like that we go together.”

“What?”

“I like that you always show up 5 minutes early,” Sam continued, resting his chin in his hand, his elbow digging into the asphalt. “Because you know I’ll be late. I like that you honk the horn and threaten to drive away, but never do. I like that we go halfsies on the music we listen to on the way there, even if it’s only a 10 minute drive.”

Sam paused, his eyes closing and his mouth cracking a dreamy smile.

“I like that people know that we’re going to be there together so they leave us alone for that first hour,” Sam went on, Danny’s stomach flipping. “I like…I like that there are people around that know I’m a lightweight so they don’t look twice when I’m all up in your business.”

“Sam, stop,” Danny whispered. He felt sick. He didn’t know why.

“I like that you stay, even when I go,” Sam persisted, his voice soft. “I like that you look for me in the crowd when I run away.”

“Stop,” Danny repeated, covering his eyes with his arm, staring up into the weight of his skin against his burning eyes. He felt drunker than he knew he was. “You’re being mean.”

“I’m being honest,” Sam disagreed. “Better late than never.”

“I don’t even know what you’re saying,” Danny laughed, tipping his head back ever so slightly so that any tears that pushed their way out would slip back into his lash line.

“I’m just saying that parties are better than being alone with you sometimes,” Sam said, and Danny took it like an arrow in the gut. He took his arm off his face and sat up suddenly, glaring at Sam.

“So I’m not your best friend,” Danny spat, hurt. “I’m just your fucking lapdog?”

Sam blinked in surprise. Danny threw the look right back at him.

“What?” Sam slurred, and Danny could’ve strangled him over it.

“You don’t like hanging out with me?”

“No, that’s not-”

“That’s what it fucking sounds like!”

They had both sobered up in five seconds flat, staring at each other fiercely.

“Just forget it,” Sam said hurriedly, raking his fingers through his hair in an anxious practice Danny had seen since middle school. “I’m drunk. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, say what you mean, Sammy,” Danny hissed, a bubble of suppressed frustration rising to the surface. “Tell me what you really think of me. That you just like having a yes-man to follow you around. That’s what you meant, right?”

Every insecurity Danny had had in their friendship had been unleashed, and Sam sputtered wordlessly as Danny’s face flushed angrily.

“Say it!”

God, Danny hated fucking parties.

“I can’t!” Sam yelled, his voice shrieking in a desperate way that Danny had never heard, and it caught him so off guard he physically recoiled. Sam swallowed and looked out over the tops of the houses, his skin lit up golden in the lamplight and his profile so painfully pretty that Danny wanted to roll right off the roof to avoid looking at it.

“This is a perfect example of why I have to leave you at parties when I’m drunk,” Sam finally said, his voice oddly thick with emotion as he laughed tunelessly. “I’m bound to say something dumb and ruin everything.”

“So say the dumb thing,” Danny replied. “I’d rather you say it than we pretend like this never happened.”

Sam looked down at the space between them. It felt like miles.

“I’m scared to be alone with you sometimes, that’s all,” Sam murmured.

“Why?” Danny asked for the millionth time in the past 10 minutes.

“I just…” Sam tried to meet his eye but couldn’t, instead stopping halfway and staring at the fervent thrum of a heartbeat in Danny’s throat. “I just worry that I’m going to start something.”

“Like…a fight?”

“Like a-a something. I don’t know what it would be. But it would be different and scary. And I know you’re scared of it too.”

All the breath rushed out of Danny’s lungs. He couldn’t quite grasp what he was hearing. He was certain he was just interpreting it to be what he wanted to hear.

“Then you know that maybe I…” Danny’s mouth had never felt so dry. “I want it too.”

“I know you do,” Sam said quietly. “I’m not stupid. I wish you’d just say it.”

For a minute, they just listened to the muffled sounds of the party still raging below, frozen in their place.

“I like you, Sam,” Danny croaked, barely audible. “A lot. Is that-”

“Yeah,” Sam cut him off, his lips finally tilting up ever so slightly. “How long?”

“Forever,” Danny breathed, meaning it. The word hung in the air for so long that they could almost see it. Finally, Sam looked up at him, somehow shy. Danny didn’t know he could be shy.

“You?”

“Not forever,” Sam admitted, his pupils still huge, his eyes round and doll-like in the dark. “High school, maybe. I don’t know. I tried not to think about it.”

“Same,” Danny chuckled, the relief rushing through him. It had to be 4 or 5 am now, but he had never been more awake. “I don’t even know what it is sometimes.”

“I don’t blame you,” Sam laughed too, pulling his legs to his chest and resting his cheek against his knee. “I’m a lot.”

“Nah,” Danny whispered, reaching out and playfully punching Sam in the shoulder, even that briefest of contact setting his skin on fire. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Sam gave him another shy smile, and Danny realized that he was quickly becoming addicted to this bashful version of Sam that was revealing itself.

“Hey,” Danny said, harnessing another rush of adrenaline and scooting closer to Sam, who tensed ever so slightly when Danny’s leg brushed against his shoe. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” Sam rolled his eyes with a grin. “You wanna know something weird?”

“I don’t think anything will ever be weirder than the conversation we just had,” Danny pointed out and Sam full on laughed, his smoky breath puffing a cloud in the chilly air.

“That’s so true,” Sam agreed, his eyes still glittering with uncried tears that had bloomed during Danny’s yelling spell. “But the weird thing is I’ve actually sort of wished for this. I mean, not this exact scenario, but the past couple years on my birthday, when I blow out the candles, I always wish that I’ll finally get the balls to say something to you.”

“Really?” Danny asked quietly and Sam nodded, finding himself relaxing under Danny’s stare for the first time in a really, really long time.

“You’re my best friend,” Sam repeated, echoing his drunken declaration.

“You’re mine,” Danny agreed, his breath hitching in his throat as he cautiously drifted his face closer to Sam, who nervously glanced at his lips before making eye contact again.

“Yeah,” Sam breathed, looking down at Danny’s lips again, his heart slamming so fast it stole all his breath. He tilted his chin out and batted his lashes, wishing that one of them would just take the leap. He watched Danny’s eyes dance over him in the careful, needy way that he was so used to.

“Can you promise me one thing?” Danny asked, so close that the warmth of his breath fanned over the high planes of Sam’s cheekbones.

“Sure,” Sam agreed blindly, a little desperately.

“Don’t invite me to any more parties,” Danny begged, knitting his dark brows. “And don’t go home with anyone else ever again.”

“That’s two things,” Sam teased, reaching a brave hand up and cupping Danny’s cheek. His skin was red hot and Sam’s cool fingertips melted against it, his fingers drifting into the wild curls at Danny’s temple as his thumb swiped over the apple of his cheek.

“Promise me,” Danny whined, his arm snaking over Sam’s waist, his large hand resting gingerly on the sharp bones of Sam’s hip, almost afraid that too much pressure would crush him.

“I promise,” Sam murmured as the space between them finally closed when Danny leaned over and caught Sam’s lips in a gentle, nervous kiss. It was Sam who applied the pressure, sitting up further and slotting their noses together while he lightly dug his nails into his skin, drinking in the lingering scent of Danny’s cologne and the sharp, weedy sweetness on his tongue.

Danny, on the other hand, was convinced he was dreaming. Sam’s sleek waves of chestnut hair kept grazing his cheek, his head spinning when he caught a whiff of the pricey coconut shampoo he used and boasted about religiously. His lips were as smooth and soft as Danny had daydreamed about, and when he nipped his bottom lip between his teeth experimentally, he chuckled with satisfaction when Sam let out a muffled yelp and hum. He grasped Sam’s hip firmer and pulled him over onto his lap, moving him as easily as if he were made of paper, but they broke apart with a start when a shingle skidded under Sam’s hand.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this on the roof,” Danny panted and Sam laughed, nodding in agreement but making no move to climb off of him, instead wrapping his arm around Danny’s neck and pushing a stray curl off his face. There was something unspoken between them where they both knew damn well that they’d stay up on the roof until the first rosy rays of dawn started to peek over the skyline.

And as he looked up at the beautiful boy in his lap, Danny had never been so happy to not be at a party.

A/N: Questions? Comments? Concerns? I'd be happy to keep writing every once in a while if y'all wanted. No smut, though...

Taglist: @s0livagant @holdingup-fallingsky @t00turnttrauma @the-starcatcher @streamsofstardust @spark-my-nature @joshkiszkashusband

#WE LIKE??#this is v short but i spent wayyyyy too long on it #gvf #greta van fleet #danny wagner #sam kiszka #sanny gvf #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van art #you dont go to parties #karoufiction

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thebibliomancer · 8 days

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Earth X #X

What the hell does #X mean??

Well, it means the end. The end of Earth… X. There’s two sequel series after this.

Mar-Vell gets the cover to the last issue. And thank goodness for lens flares because I’m fairly sure he’s very casual Friday.

Earth X. It’s hard to summarize the previous 13 (because #0) issues.

Long story short, the Earth is an egg. All superpowers and mutation are because the Celestials manipulated human evolution to make them guardians of the egg.

The mass mutation of Earth’s population has kicked off 200 years early because Black Bolt set off a terrigen bomb.

A psychic kid called the Skull rose as a Celestial failsafe to control the aggressive and unruly mutated population but Captain America killed him.

So the Celestials landed on Earth to wipe out all life before it threatens the egg but Black Bolt sacrifices himself to shout really loudly into space for Galactus.

Celestials vs Galactus.

Kind of a lose/lose situation for humanity.

The Earth X X issue is double sized. There’s a lot to cover but the subplots have mostly dried up.

Here’s one I’ll get out of the way early.

Reed Richards suddenly remembers that he promised Medusa that he’d help find her missing son.

God. I had completely forgotten about that. It was almost an inciting subplot that got the Inhumans bumping into Reed. But anyway, since Reed got Black Bolt killed, he feels obligated to duck out mid-plot resolution and reunite Medusa and her son.

Who was the new Black Knight all along.

Cool to wrap that up.

But back to the headlining fight.

According to New Watcher Aaron Stack, Galactus is tougher than one Celestial but might get overwhelmed by a Host of them.

And he keeps tinkering with his Galactus machines instead of punching giant space gods.

Luckily, Galactus gets some backup.

Namor toots as he pleases to summon sea monsters to attack the Celestials in the name of ancient-er Atlantis and for the dinosaurs.

He gets smacked aside.

Silver Surfers Norrin Radd and Shalla-Bal attack the Celestials to buy some time. And Shalla-Bal gets blowed up. Dangit, she’d only just been introduced last issue.

Loki brings an army from Hel, after convincing them that death is fake and that their entire identity was imposed on them.

(That’s why he shanked himself last time.)

They buy some time until the Celestials convince them death is real and they drop dead from it.

And during this, Galactus makes some big moves of his own.

I can practically HEAR this panel.

Like a static-y reverbish BWOOOOOOOOM!

Anyway, the Celestials eventually decide “fuck this actually” or however space gods would phrase it. They fuck off back into space.

Which just leaves the problem that now Galactus hunters and there’s a tasty planet right here.

Or whoever new Galactus this is.

Reed Richards turned Galactus into a star. The running narration implied that someone else has filled the vacated role.

Which has all to do with the tiers of mutation discussed in the previous issue.

Tier 1 - everyone has different powers. Ex: Earth right now.

Tier 2 - homogenization of powers into shapeshifting. Ex: the Skrulls or Reed Richards

And revealed this issue Tier 3 - completely malleable in body, mind, and will. Incredibly powerful but constrained by how observers identify them. Ex: the Asgardians.

This Galactus has become Galactus because he believes he’s Galactus and is believed to be Galactus.

But originally his name was

Franklin Richards.

Franklin who has connections to Galactus and has been said to be destined to be the last survivor of this universe the way Galactus was of the previous.

(I don’t know whether all that stuff predates Earth X or was inspired by it. Possible tally marks.)

And Franklin whose name Black Bolt shouted into space, which drew Galactus to Earth to his confusion.

Reed can’t acknowledge Galactus is Franklin, not without leaving the universe without it’s counter to Celestials over-population. But he does suggest that Galactus is known for relocating the populations of the planets he eats. And since Franklactus is influenced by how he is viewed, the universe has a kinder Galactus now.

There’s no planet to relocate Inhumanity to so Galactus just slurps the Celestial embryo right out of Earth and flies off into space with it.

So the day is saved but damn that’s a sad and lonely existence for Franklin.

He doesn’t even get some Radd company because the Silver Surfer is staying on Earth.

Back on the Moon, Aaron Stack gets tired of Uatu’s blah blah blah.

He finds where the old Watcher is hiding, since he has only appeared on a screen. He throws Uatu’s prior dismissal of good and evil and says that evil is “to do nothing in the face of need.”

Then he unplugs Uatu from the observation equipment so that on top of being blind, he also can’t hear anything from Earth. A Watcher with nothing to observe.

“He doesn’t have the right to watch. He took my face.”

Aaron really held that grudge.

So now we get into the epilogues and sequel hooks for Universe X.

Now that he knows that the terrigen mist caused the mass mutation of humanity, Reed has some ideas on how to fix it.

But he’s getting some pushback. There are people who want to keep their cool new superpowers. And T’Challa thinks the mass mutation gave the animal spirits of Wakanda anthro bodies and he won’t endorse a plan that could reverse that.

Peter and May have repaired their relationship. May has been helping Peter get back in shape.

Cop Luke Cage is still after Peter to join the police but Peter laughs off the idea of becoming a cop.

The circus guys that became the new X-Men are going to stick around as X-Men.

I cannot fathom why these guys were given so much focus for the minimal impact they had on the plot. I could not tell you what their personalities or even powers are.

I also don’t understand why Circus Daredevil got so much attention.

Earth X still has its mysteries.

After being given some massive foreshadowing that he’d play a role, Mar-Vell finally shows up when the plot is done!

He assures Reed he’ll be huge in the sequel.

“There’s a lot that’s about to happen, Reed. I’m coming back. I’m coming back to save everyone. And they’re not going to like it.”

????

Reed asks him to clarify but Mar-Vell refuses.

He does find the time to imply he’s going to be born from Perfect Humans Adam Warlock and Her though.

Why? God knows.

Mar-Vell also suggests that the dream he kept giving Bruce was a big brain move to indirectly get Loki aware that the Asgardians are fiction so he’d shank himself, go to Hel, and recruit the inhabitants to help fight the Celestials.

That’s… either very big brain or a complete asspull.

Captain America is still sad he had to murder a child.

Aaron Stack decides he’s going to be the Watchman instead of the Watcher. Sounds like more of an active role and I dunno maybe he likes Alan Moore.

Luna finishes her transformation into a beautiful butterfly lady so she’s ready for her arranged marriage to Black Knight/the Prince. But he has no interest in her.

Oof, that’s rough.

And Reed finishes converting his old vibranium beacon towers into giant devices to siphon and burn the terrigen out of the atmosphere so things can eventually be normal.

He calls them Human Torches because even Reed Richards has his sentimental side.

So that’s Earth X.

I don’t love everything it does but it makes a decent stab at tying everything in Marvel up in a big Celestial-shaped bow. I can appreciate how fleshed out the setting is, how there’s still stuff going on that we don’t know, and how it’s tightly plotted so that a lot of what seems to be random weirdness plays into the resolution.

I like how many prominent heroes go from depressed and beaten down by the past to getting their groove back. Reed Richards, Tony Stark, Peter Parker all start in a bad place and find their heroism again.

The creative team must have been very confident it would succeed since there are SO MANY sequel hooks in the ending.

And it can’t be overstated how much of an impact Earth X had on the rest of Marvel. I tried to call out the times when something from Earth X inspired another Marvel book. And I probably missed a lot because the ideas have become common enough that I didn’t realize they originated here.

But the book never explains what the X in Earth X means so 0 out of 5 stars, bad comic.

#earth x #liveblog #Celestials #Galactus #silver surfer #namor mckenzie #Loki #mr fantastic #uatu the watcher #machine man #mar vell #Medusa #franklin richards #spider man #captain america #look basically everyone

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nordleuchten · 2 months

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The Bicentennial: The Invitation or The Tour that almost never was

As some of you surely are aware, the Bicentennial of La Fayette’s Tour through America in 1824/25 is fast approaching and many organizations/institutes, especially in America, have already made some form of content regarding this event.

Let us have a look at one document that stands at the start of this event – the invitation La Fayette received from the then President James Monroe on February 7, 1824.

‘Monroe and Lafayette’ (no date) Highland. Available at: https://highland.org/teacher-resources/monroe-and-lafayette/ (02/21/2024).

Everybody who has ever worked with Monroe’s papers will tell you, that his handwriting was often not, well, legible. This is completely off-topic, but one of my favourite quotes about Monroe is this statement by Edmund Bacon, one of Thomas Jeffersons overseer’s. He wrote that:

Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Madison both wrote a plain, beautiful hand, but you could write better with your toes than Mr. Monroe wrote.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: A Look at Penmanship (2012) Monticello. Available at: https://www.monticello.org/research-education/blog/the-good-the-bad-and-the-ugly-a-look-at-penmanship/ (02/21/2024).

(And let us not forget that Andrea Gray wrote in the same blog post, concerning Monroe’s penmanship: “Any idea who penned that abomination?”)

I think it is not quite that bad, but Monroes handwriting is also not the subject at hand, so back to the letter. Luckily, there is a transcript by Hampton Kennedy for James Monroe’s Highland:

[Transcription Page 1] Washington Feby [February]. 7th. 1824 My dear sir I wrote you about a fortnight since, a letter which I forwarded to New York to the care of Mr Brown, in which I intimated my desire in at liberty case you felt yourself ^ to visit the Ustates [United States], to send a frigate to some port of France, to receive and bring you over. Since then Congrefs [Congress] have pafsed [passed] a re- -solution, to that effect, expression of the affectionate attachment of the whole nation to you, and of their de- -sire to see you again among us. The period at which you may deem it proper, to accept this invitation, is life to yourself, but you may be afsured [assured], that when- -ever it may comport with your views, of which you will have the goodnefs [goodness] to advise me, a public ship shall be immediately orderd [ordered] to the port which you may designate, to carry you to the country of your adoption in early life, + [and] which has always che- -rished the most grateful recollection of your im- -portant services. I send you here with a copy of the resolution, and have only to add, the [Transcription Page 2] afsurance [assurance] of my high consideration and affectionate regard. James Monro

‘Monroe and Lafayette’ (no date) Highland. Available at: https://highland.org/teacher-resources/monroe-and-lafayette/ (02/21/2024).

And as easy as inviting La Fayette in the end was for Monroe, writing a short and simple letter, the process leading up to Monroe writing this letter was somewhat debated. Allow me to take you back to the House of Representatives on January 12, 1824, when the notion to invite La Fayette was first introduced.

Annals of Congress, 18th Congress, 1st session, I, p. 988.

The bill took its usual route from there and on the next day, the resolution was read again and was voted on – and I know what you are all thinking. Of course the resolution passed! We all know that the Tour took place and America and Americans had such high esteem for La Fayette. They had already supported and honoured him in so many ways, most notable during the French Revolution, his imprisonment and the financial struggles following his release. Well, no. The resolution was negatived by 80 to 74 – a small margin granted, but a defeat, nonetheless.

Annals of Congress, 18th Congress, 1st session, I, p. 1004-1005

Around the same time La Fayette lost his reelection for his seat in the Chambre des Députés – and now even America did not want him? Well, it was not quite that dramatic for our Marquis.

First of all, the wording of the notion was not all it could be, and a committee was there for formed to change the way the bill was phrased. Furthermore, and in contrast to his earlier visits to America, La Fayette had long outgrown “his charming, rich boy-general”-image. He had become a serious politician and a household name in Europe and European politics. His values and agendas were well known. Revolutions were spreading all throughout the western world and at that time the Greek War of Independence (1821-1829) was raging and in South America many regions declared independence and formed Republics. More generally speaking, the 1820s were a time of Revolution and La Fayette, as a general rule of thumb, always sided with the revolutionaries, the ones that fought for freedom (however you want to define the term) and independence. He loudly advocated for Greek and South America, he gave money to Italian and Spanish exiles. In short, he was advocating for Revolution and not everyone liked that. In 1815, after Napoléon Bonaparte’s final defeated the so-called Holly Alliance (Austrian Empire and the Kingdoms of Russia and Prussia) was formed with the expressed aim to keep liberalism in check. In America itself there were varying opinions on how to respond to what was happening and these subjects became even more prominent with Monroe’s presidency and his Monroe-Doctrine. Add to this La Fayette’s dislike for the principles of slavery. Slavery was in the 1820’s not quite such a hot topic as it would later be, but it was still a touchy subject and La Fayette’s opinions, as with everything else, were well known. And, as Mr. William of North Carolina remarked, was the Congress sure that La Fayette even wanted to come?

With all that in mind, the resolution was amended and reintroduced on January 20, 1824:

Annals of Congress, 18th Congress, 1st session, I, p. 1101-1104.

After the new text and a letter by La Fayette expressing his desire to return to America once more before his death were read, the resolution was unanimously agreed upon. There is no hard evidence, but some contextual evidence suggesting that Monroe really urged Congress to pass the resolution.

The problem therefor was not with La Fayette as a person. There still was the deep connection between a man and a people who both owned each other a great deal. The visit was a personal affair that had also a strong political connection, both on a national and an international level. It was a “yes” from America to La Fayette and his believes and it also was a “yes” from La Fayette to America and American politics. And while everything went down just fine, there was still the question regarding the implications this invitation and visit had. Monroe, a personal friend of the La Fayette’s, who had helped Adrienne a great deal during the French Revolution and who supposedly had urged Congress to pass said resolution, wrote, somewhat anxiously, to Thomas Jefferson on October 18, 1824:

His mov’ment, since his arrival in the UStates, has been well directed. Had he visited this city in the first instance, the compromitment of the govt, with the holy alliance, would have been much greater, than by going directly to our fellow citizens, & from them to the govt. By this course, the nation has the credit. The holy alliance, & all the govts of Europe, must therefore look to us, as an united people, devoted to the principles of our revolution & of free republican government.

“To Thomas Jefferson from James Monroe, 18 October 1824,” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Jefferson/98-01-02-4634. [This is an Early Access document from The Papers of Thomas Jefferson: Retirement Series. It is not an authoritative final version.] (02/21/2024).

And that is, in summary, how La Fayette’s visit to America in 1824/1825 came to be.

#to be fair the title is a tad dramatic #marquis de lafayette #la fayette #french history #american history #history #european history #thomas jefferson #james monroe #letters #founders online #1824 #politics

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undead-potatoes · 4 months

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COUNTERSPELL ASK!!!!!!!!! (unless you already answered this (I couldn't find it) or it's already in your inbox)

If New Year's resolutions were a thing in Faerûn, would Jay or Aurora be the kind to make any? What kinds of resolutions would they make? Would they ever be able to keep any of them? Are there any resolutions they'd keep making over and over again, but always fail?

Bonus, because I kind of answered it in my post: What are their plans post-BG3?

I did get a similar-ish ask, but it also had like 4 other questions baked into it, so I'm answering this particular question here (also hi Nonny, if you're reading this I'm working on your ask too!)

- - -

Jay is totally the kinda guy to make resolutions every year, and then fail horribly at keeping any of them. He'll get better at sticking to his planned schedules, he'll get home earlier so he can sleep more and better, he'll set aside time to work on his hobbies, he'll take a vacation for the first time in his life.

And then he never does any of those things, just keeps going as he always has while telling himself "last time I can be bothered with this, I swear". The resolutions mostly stay the same because his life does, and because he never manages to see any of them through.

I think he likes the idea of new beginnings, a fresh start to do things right, but it's of course a romanticized idea more that anything else.

- - -

Aurora is more pragmatic about it, and while new beginnings is a central theme in her journey, she doesn't see the point of waiting for a particular time of year to do so.

She might say she'll do something just for fun, but it's not serious at all, and she rarely even tries to follow through.

If she did do them, they'd probably be things like "spend more quality time with loved ones" and "be kinder to yourself" (something she really needs to work on).

Cult!Aurora wouldn't do any resolutions either, and thinks it's even more stupid than post-tadpole Aurora. She has shit to do, she doesn't have time to sit around and promise herself she'll do all the things that needs doing like that.

- - -

Bonus:

I think I mentioned this in another ask at some point, but Jay's plans for life post-game is essentially:

1) Finish all business in Baldur's Gate 2) Go to Waterdeep to live with Gale 3) ??? 4) Profit

He doesn't have any concrete plans for his future for the first time in forever, and it does him well to just vibe for a while and have Gale pamper him a bit, a gesture which he eagerly returns in kind. They're holding off on marriage at first, giving both a moment to settle into each other's lives, and just learning to know each other better in a less life-threatening situation.

Jay also needs time to feel like he actually belongs in Gale's life, especially among his wider social and familial circles (which luckily works out in the end, I hc that Gale's mom and wider family are actually pretty nice and welcoming cause I need that W for my guy).

Eventually he starts up his business again, operating out of both Waterdeep and Baldur's Gate with the help of a portal set up between the two cities (that would surly be within Gale's capabilities yeah?) I'm sure the wizards of Waterdeep would love a funky little guy who can get a hold of all sorts of weird stuff that they need.

- - -

Aurora's plans depend largely on Shadowheart's ending. In my first playthrough I let her choose the fate of her parents, which meant they died and Shadowheart was free to live life on her own. But I'm not sure if that is my final canon, now that I know both Jay and Aurora would admit to wanting to save them if they were their own parents.

If her parents die, it's simple: Aurora, Shadowheart, and Astarion travel around Faerûn, seeing all sorts of things and getting into way too much trouble, again. They eventually plan to settle down somewhere, with both Aurora and Shadowheart keen to live a more normal life for once, and Astarion finding his own place in that life I'm sure.

If her parents live, Shadowheart stays behind to make up for lost time, while Aurora and Astarion go to the Underdark to help sort out the hoard of unsupervised vampire spawn they unleashed down there. Maybe Shadowheart eventually joins them, traveling around much like when her parents are dead, or Aurora and Astarion occasionally travel around on their own, while Shadowheart stays behind with her parents.

Either way, she has no real interest in a future where she's separated from either one of them for too long at the time.

#Sunny Answers #bioticbear #OC: Tav #OC: Aurora Dawnbringer #thank youuu :3c #giving long ass answers as usual lmao #I started on this at like 6 in the morning like an idiot and before I knew it it was 8 AM and I should have been in bed over 3 hours ago

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garbinge · 1 year

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New Years Resolutions Pt. 2

Nestor x F!Reader

Day 26 from these April Prompts: “I’ve been practicing all year and I think I’m ready to show you”

Summary: Part 2 to New Years Resolutions. You want to show Nestor your most recent resolution even though he’s overseas. (Pre-Cartel Nestor)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. A little angsty, but mainly fluff.

A/N: I loved writing Part 1 to this, it was actually the first prompt I wrote when I started this challenge and when I saw this prompt I knew it’d fit perfectly for a Part 2.

Mayans Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @narcolini @danzer8705

Part 1

“Okay so, I’ve been practicing all year and I think I’m finally ready to show you.” You positioned the guitar on your thighs as you sat in front of the computer screen that was showing you a glitchy and pixelated Nestor. His blue camo navy uniform sat on his shoulders and his hair was shorter, not exactly buzzed but not as long as you remember it being last time you video chatted.

“Alright, let me hear it.” Nestor’s voice filled the computer speaker and you could see his smile as he grinned at the webcam.

“Okay well, wait.” You let go of the neck of the guitar and rested your other over the body of it.

Nestor’s smile grew as he waited for your explanation.

“I want to know how you’ve been, your last letter was short and not very informative.” Your head fell to the side.

He laughed and leaned forward in the folding chair he was set up in and as he made his way back against the back of the chair you saw the other people on calls with their family and friends in the background.

“Where even are you?” You added one more question to the list.

“You know I can’t tell you that.” Nestor’s face fell at the sound of your last question.

“I miss boot camp.” You mumbled and took an exhale.

Bootcamp was 6 months, Nestor had been scheduled to come back home for a week in the summer but he was called to action immediately. No one knew where, no one knew when, no one knew anything except he wasn’t going to be home in the summer. Luckily, once they were docked wherever they were located, they set up the internet and allowed the sailors to video call their friends and family. They were only allowed a few minutes of talking time, it was limited for each sailor, so they scheduled different times for different family members, you felt lucky you always made the cut.

“You gonna show me your newly found talent or what?” Nestor asked with a chuckle back behind his voice.

All your other new years resolutions weren’t so talent driven, you had baked something once a week, volunteered at a new charity every month, and your most recent resolution, read a book a month. This was your first time truly learning something new and you felt the pressure.

You were about to argue, make some excuse because you were nervous, but the connection cut. The space where Nestor was went black and a loading symbol had popped up. Things like this happened occasionally on your calls, but this one cut deeper. Sharing with Nestor your New Year's Resolutions was a tradition you had done for years and now that it was taken from you jus like that you felt some type of way. The initial shock of the video call dropping was gone in seconds, the pit in your stomach felt larger with every passing second and soon enough the anger was bubbling up. You slammed your laptop shut, tossed the guitar to the ground and climbed into bed with the hopes that you could sleep your emotions away.

_______

For the next five days you didn’t leave your room unless it was for food or quick bathroom trips. You sat in front of your laptop waiting for a notification, an email, anything from Nestor. You missed your parents holiday party, which you never really spent much time at anyways, but this year just felt different.

You sat in your desk chair staring at your laptop, your finger mindlessly moving around the mouse as some YouTube video played, your eyes jumping up to the right of the screen any time any notification came through in hopes it was from Nestor. You had the hood of your hoodie up and you sat pretty much in the dark except for some string lights you had hung up when you felt more in the festive spirit.

“You look like a psycho.” Nestor’s voice caused you to sit alerted and look at your open bedroom door.

You were at a loss for words, Nestor, your best friend, was standing in the doorway of your bedroom, in uniform. For a second you double guessed what you were seeing, had you been staring at the computer screen for so long maybe your mind was just playing tricks on you.

“You gonna show me what you learned on the guitar or did I come home for no reason?”

Nope. That was him. His voice sent chills down your spine, you felt tears well up in your eyes and before you could have another thought you were up out of your chair and into his arms. You practically collapsed into him and he embraced you with such an eagerness.

“Are you really fuckin’ here right now?” You whispered with your face against his chest.

He let out a small laugh and kissed the top of your head.

“Yea, I’m really here.” He whispered back.

You pulled your head away from the embrace and looked up at him and for the first time in a year you felt every feeling towards Nestor you buried down come to the surface. It felt like when you threw a mentos into a bottle of coke. You felt the adrenaline literally in your chest. Without another second passing, you grabbed his face and brought it down to yours and met his lips with yours. It wasn’t how you imagined your first kiss, actually, you weren’t sure if you really imagined it would happen at all. That’s when you froze in the middle of the kiss and pulled away with eyes wide.

“Holy shit I’m sorry.” You brought your hands off of his face and used one to wipe your lip trying to erase any memory of what you just did so you could go back like it never happened.

Nestor’s face was neutral, you hadn’t seen him have a neutral face all year, every video call he was waiting to see you with a smile and a laugh, he never let anything that happened while he was overseas show. Which is why your adrenaline had turned you sick, you felt your nerves taking over.

That was until he leaned back down and kissed you right back. Out of instinct you let out a startled yelp that turned into a moan from him deepening the kiss. His hand fell effortlessly to your waist and he gripped you closer to his body, his tongue making his way into your mouth as you got lost in the smell of his cologne, a scent you hadn’t smelled in a full year that almost brought you to your knees.

Nestor pulled away from the kiss and your face filled with disappointment with the loss of his lips on yours. His breath was hot against your face as he caught his breath and spoke.

“I missed you.” He mumbled the words at such a low volume it would have gone unheard if you weren’t so close to him.

“You have no idea.” You let out a breathy laugh.

“You been waiting at the computer for a notification all week?” He asked letting his eyes dance around your room but still not letting his hold on you loosen up.

“Guy hung up on me and didn’t even have the courtesy to send me an email.” You smirked at your own sarcasm.

“He sounds like a prick.” Nestor whispered again.

You smiled and closed your eyes for a minute really relishing in the fact that you had just finally kissed your best friend after pining after him for years but also that he was here, right in front of you. “How’d you know I was waiting all week?”

“You stink.” Nestor didn’t hesitate in his explanation.

It earned him a shove back into the hallway while he laughed.

“You’ll probably say the same thing when you hear me play.” You grabbed the guitar and plopped down on your bed as he walked back to lean in your doorway.

“Well, good thing I’m home for a month.” He said, crossing his arms and his one leg over the other as he stood. “We got enough time for you to shower and for me to teach you how to really play.”

A month. You felt the air in your lungs breath a sigh of relief. 30 days. That was plenty of time. It would never be enough, nothing they gave him would be, but it was better than a week, better than a few days, you knew you’d always have to share his time when he was back and a month was just enough time where you felt okay giving him up for some days.

“I need to really learn by New Years Eve, though.” You mocked what he said.

He scrunched up his nose, “then I guess you better shower quick.”

#nestor oceteva x reader #Nestor oceteva #mayans mc #mayans #Mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans fx #mayansmc #mayans fanfic #mayans fanfiction #nestor oceteva fanfic #nestor x reader #nestor mayans

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owlpellet · 9 months

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*Eyes emoji* what kind of books does Niram like? Does he have any phobias/triggers because of his upbringing? How did he and his mother handle/react to being separated, and how old was he when it happened? How did he get the scar on his lip? What is Niram passionate about? (Of course feel free to disregard or pick and choose if too many!)

!!!

ANSWERS EM ALL

Niram likes all books. Going in with an awareness that authors can have biases, he sees value in every text as some kind of insight into the world around him, which was pretty necessary to have when growing up in captivity. All he had to do as a child was read. Even though he's still young, I gave him the Sage background because of his voracious readership and ability to navigate shelves to find what he's looking for. Historical texts are his favorite, especially first-person journals, because these are often where the most interesting details are hidden. Even though he enjoys fiction, he's kind of put himself on an educational crunch that doesn't allow for much time to sit back and enjoy a novel for a few hours. Being that he plans for immortality, he probably has a mile-long reading list for when he finally has the time.

Aside from the obvious fear of premature death, which would both end his plans to save his family and return his corpse to the liches for raising (maybe, he has contingencies with friends)... needles take a lot of convincing for him. Or they would, if they ever came up, but luckily he hasn't had to deal with that yet. He's not the type to panic and melt down over something but he will clam up, withdraw, and get very terse if he's nervous. He mostly embraced the macabre outlook of his keepers, as fascinated by their experiments as they were to some extent, but a needle in his direction has too many times lead into something traumatizing.

Neither of them handled their separation well and both of them pretty quickly made their own resolutions to take control of their lives. He was around 10 when they were separated, which left him very impressionable to his surroundings-- he got into his head pretty quickly that the most powerful thing you can be is a lich, and if he was ever going to stand toe-to-toe against them, he would have to become one of them. This goal hasn't wavered. They were not the first to be separated, and I think Amygdala has been trying to coax other captive drow into doing something from the inside, because the biggest difference between Niram and every other drow separated from their parents in the Tower is he's a ✨player character✨.

His scar came from a bone devil they summoned and perma-killed with Yuri's axe (the perdition blade consumes fiend souls, meaning they die-die and don't return to their plane if he gets the killing blow). I forget the name of the ability because we just kept yelling BOOONE STOOORM but it was a swirling bone shard AOE, and it ended up catching him with a crit. He has a few more slicey scars from it not on his face, too. The things he does for love. And also because he wanted the bones.

Niram's passion is his academic pursuits, although he does suffer a bit from maybe being too passionate about too many pursuits and struggling to commit to just a few. I think digging in a little deeper one might find that his passions are specifically for patterns, waves, lines, shapes, movement, math/geometry, etc.-- magic came easy to him because he was able to intuit the flows of energy and the patterns of spellwork, he is a gifted artist, and he recently picked up music very easily. He would probably be great at coding and textiles.

#thank you wow!!!#much to think about

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starryeyedadmirer · 5 months

Text

Louis and Harry had always enjoyed competing with one another. Ever since they met, back in the summer of 2018, their friends and family have known them to be the one couple in the room that was always at odds — constantly trying to best one another in any way that they can, simply for the sake of having some harmless fun.

Everything they did together had to be a contest, held in order to determine which of the two men was the better lover. It didn't matter what time of day it happened to be, where they were, or what they were doing... not even the earliest hours of the morning were sacred. Something so simple as waking each other up was considered a petty act of war, waged by the first partner to stir up.

—😴😴😴—

By some miraculous stroke of luck, Louis was the first of the two lovers to open his eyes and arise from the comforts of their mattress, after having a fulfilling, restful night's slumber. His body still heavy with sleep as he rested his back against the crooked headboard, he couldn't help but to celebrate his serendipitous head-start. Somehow, he was going to rub it in Harry's face... in a way that would be unforgettable for either man, and establish his superiority... and, luckily, it didn't take him long to come up with the perfect power-move.

As the rays of sunshine streamed in through the window on the far side of the bedroom, Louis contemplated the mischievous plan that had formed in his mind. Should he go through with it, and disturb Harry's rest? Wake his sleeping beauty from his slumber, and suffer the consequences of his impulsive decision for the rest of the day — by way of Harry's irritability — just to satisfy his competitive spirit, and claim his victory. Should he let Harry sleep, and wait to brag? He wrestled with the idea for only a few minutes, but after weighing both options briefly, it took him practically no time to reach a resolution. This morning, he decided, was the perfect morning for a little bit of healthy boasting.

A mischievous grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked around and observed the stillness of the room. It was so peaceful... too peaceful. If he was going to make a move, he was going to have to do it without making a sound.

With the stealth of a sly snake, Louis slipped underneath the covers and slithered his way down to Harry's hips — his heart racing. The spring-mattress moaned and sighed as he shifted his weight to climb over Harry, and straddled his partner's resting form... but the sleeping beauty's slumber remained un-disturbed. A relieved chuckle rumbling in Louis's chest, he slowly lowered his chin onto Harry's belly — admiring the gentle rise and fall of his tattoos, as he held his own breath — and prepared to claim his victory.

Burrowed beneath the heavy comforter, he ever-so-softly extended his tongue, and gently probed Harry's gorgeous, unprotected navel.

A tingling sensation coursed through him as he began to explore the rugged terrain of his boyfriend's belly button. His tongue traced a tight circle around the deep hole, teasing the rubbery rim of skin, and causing Harry to stir in his sleep. Louis couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement, knowing that Harry would awaken to the strange sensation of his slimy tongue against his tummy... a sensation that he wouldn't soon forget.

Becoming increasingly more aggressive with every stroke of his tongue, Louis forcefully plunged himself down into the deepest parts of the crater, and continued to dig until he struck a nodule of solid flesh. He could taste all of the grody sweat and dirt that had taken hold down there... the buildup of years and years of neglect. It was the most bitter thing that his tastebuds had ever encountered... and, after coming in contact with his saliva, it smelled even worse than it tasted.

The strong aroma of curdled cheese and soggy, dead skin carried out a foul assault on Louis's nostrils, as if it were fighting back against his petty plot... but, determined to wake Harry up, he pressed on.

—😴😴😴—

As if sensing Louis's touch, Harry gradually started to awaken. One after the other, his legs began to twitch... and then, his arms... and, finally, his abdomen. Though his body was somewhat active, he struggled to open his eyes — still submerged in the sunken daze of sleep. Expressions of confusion and pleasure washed over his face as he tried to identify the source of the odd sensation that was radiating throughout his body. Was it a product of his dreams, or was it real?

Weirdly aroused by Louis's unexpected display of dominance, Harry's eyes widened, showing a range of bewilderment and ecstasy. A confused smile rose across his lips as he peered under the covers and met Louis's assertive gaze. With a lazy, delicate touch, Harry reached beneath the sheets, and ran his fingers through Louis's hair — holding his head down. His breathing deepened as he surrendered to the sensuality of the moment... submitting to Louis's advance, without uttering a single word.

—😴😴😴—

Though his initial plan had been to establish himself as the day's champion, and rub it in his partner's face, Louis found himself captivated by the intensity of Harry's pleasure. He couldn't help but to dig deeper and deeper as the sound of Harry's moaning flooded his ears — further enveloping his tongue in the thick sweat and dirt. It was as if time stood still around them... like they were the only to people in the world, connected as one.

#starry eyes #quick write #harry styles #harry styles belly/tummy #harry styles navel #louis tomlinson #smut fic

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biffhofosho · 1 year

Text

Prisoner to Temptation | Chapter Seven

Word Count: 9.2k

A/N: First off, it’s actually crazy to me how vocal you cool kids are about this story considering how small my little third-person POV readership bubble is. Like, I think I’m in love with you people.

Second of all, since you’re so vocal, I hear tell that a few of you would like to file some grievances with your local HR rep regarding my babygirl’s gatekeeping of herself when it comes to her husband lmao. Let’s see what our darling prince might do this chapter to pry open those gates, hm? ;)

Cvr | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12

After their second night together, Naran had found things much more troubling for her than the first. It wasn’t just that everything in her bed smelled like Hyungwon now. It wasn’t just that, after one overnight, her body had already started keeping to one side of the bed. Most damningly, she had laid awake far too long dwelling on the way her body had almost compelled her to kiss him. She tried to forgive herself, to rationalize it away as human nature, but no matter what reason she settled on, it wasn’t good enough. She had made a promise to herself that her future would not be ruled by the passing fancies of men, and when Narangerel of Moghulikhan made a choice, she was resolute. She would not invite him into her bed so carelessly so soon.

But by the same token, she had also made a promise to her sister to include the girl’s new brother-in-law in their daily activities, and Naran was also a woman of her word. Over the next week that passed, she found small ways to appease Saran while safeguarding her peace of mind.

When the sisters went to the library, the prince tagged along. Luckily, once they were there, it was a solitary experience, which made it easy for Naran while Saran and her new brother reviewed books together.

Another day, Saran had wanted to paint in the gardens, so Naran had suggested the prince come along to be her sister’s subject. Unfortunately, that backfired since Naran was a dreadful painter, and her sister had ended up begging the crown princess to pose with the crown prince. Sharing a bench for hours with her husband under a shady maple hadn’t exactly been in her plans, especially when their sides had to be pressed together.

At least during the next day, when they had all taken tea together, Naran had finagled it so her sister sat between them, and the crown princess had gotten some much needed distance, save from his big-eyed, gentle-browed looks over his tea cup.

The most challenging day had seen Hyungwon teaching the sisters how to fish in one of the ponds. Fishing wasn’t much of a skill set for the ladies of the steppe, so it had required hands-on instruction, which the prince had been more than agreeable to offer, but the difference in his instruction between the two sisters was marked. Saran had received a side-by-side cast and reel tutorial; Naran, he informed, was a hopeless case, and the prince had taken to wrapping his wife in his arms and carefully positioning her hands and body for “the perfect cast.” She might have caught her first fish that way, but it had come at the high cost of a lingering kiss to her cheek after her success.

Thankfully, the next day saw the whole party of royal ladies on an excursion to an apple festival in town since the silk festival they had initially planned on was further away, and Queen Jigme was not keen on a full day’s ride. Though Naran had been looking for an excuse to get as far away from the palace as possible, the apple festival had turned out to be lovelier than she had dreamed. She had only had apples once in Urga, and they had been far too soft and mealy for her taste, but these were firm and honeyed and all together divine in ways she’d never dreamed.

“Your Royal Highness, please, I beg you take one home for your husband,” beseeched a peddler as she crammed a particularly shiny apple into the princess’s basket.

Now, the apple felt like an anvil in Naran’s hands on the ride home. She considered eating it herself—Hyungwon would never be the wiser—but the farmer had been so proud and so insistent, and the crown princess knew she had to honor her subject’s offering. In the end, she wished she hadn’t. The way her husband’s eyes lit up as he received his first gift from his wife made Naran sway the same way she had when she’d tasted fermented apple cider that morning.

The problem with lively days was how quickly the nights came. That first evening, Hyungwon had cornered the princess in an ill-lit hallway and asked with hopeful eyes if she would visit his chambers later. It had taken all of her strength to say no.

The intensity of their last encounter had frightened Naran. Though there had never been any hope of escaping how attractive she found the man, she thought at least that she might have some measure of control over that attraction, but it had become abundantly clear that, despite her rational mind, her body craved him. She figured if she limited his trespasses into her bed—or hers into his—in time, her mind could overcome her body. Obligations could stay obligations. They could be independent partners and friends—who sometimes had to sleep together for the sake of a nation.

Of course, the more she thought of it, the less reasonable it sounded. After their first night of cataclysmic experiences, Naran realized how quickly she’d become addicted to the pleasure Hyungwon had offered her. Without him, her bed felt too big and her sheets felt too cold, even after they’d been warmed by the servants.

A few more nights like that should have been easier. They weren’t. The knowledge that her husband’s door was a mere sprint across the parlor loomed large in her overactive imagination. Which was why after only an hour into her second night alone, she had retreated to Saran’s room and stayed there the rest of the week. That way, it was easy enough to turn down the prince’s offers for the time being.

Meanwhile, as if to spite her meticulous planning, the rest of their families got along surprisingly easily considering a few months ago, their countries were on the brink of unspoken war. The emperor and the khan, in particular, seemed to have formed some kind of a bond. Most nights, they retired to the emperor’s office to drink and joke so raucously that their laughter reverberated down the halls.

The empress and queen were not as free with one another, to the point that Naran thought they were simply trying to out-noble one another. By the end of the week, in Naran’s opinion, they were neck-and-neck in propriety, modesty, and poise, though Empress Indeok held the edge in sophisticated passive aggression and Queen Jigme surpassed in subtle coercion. Truly, they were a well-matched pair, and, indeed, after the apple festival, the sisters caught the mothers stolen away in a bath closet where they no doubt never expected to be found, giggling and sipping fermented cider straight from the bottle.

Which was why the next day came like a dust storm across the steppe—brutally and unpredictably.

Queen Jigme stood in the parlor before the princess, who thought she’d carved out a moment of peace for herself as Saran and Hyungwon had gone to the kitchen for a snack.

“I have come to tell you we intend to return to Urga tomorrow.”

Air fled the room, leaving an inescapable vacuum.

Naran gaped at her mother. “What? So soon? I thought everyone was getting along? You planned to stay at least two more weeks!”

She had to have heard the queen wrong. They were having fun together. There was no reason to leave!

“Yes, but your father’s health dictates it,” added Jigme, “and you know how the weather can be crossing the steppe this close to October. Every day we delay, we risk a snowstorm, and with your father—”

“Mother, don’t lie to me. October is weeks and weeks away, and you yourself said you had never seen Father in finer spirits.”

The queen stood a little taller now, and it was clear she’d shed her act. “You’re as shrewd as your accursed mother, my obstinate sun. Since we linger here, you are spending every waking moment with the people who have seen you every day for two decades yet hardly a whit of time with your new husband.”

“I'd rather spend it with you since our time is finite,” Naran protested bitterly.

“I will not have a princess of Moghulikan dishonor the country that took her in. Be a newlywed, dearest. Have a picnic. Host a party. Go horseback riding. I have heard your Prince Hyungwon looks very handsome on a horse.”

“Mother!”

“I dare say he will look handsome anywhere, especially in the evenings. I am sure candlelight frames his face well.”

“Are you trying to get me to push you out the door because it’s working?”

“Narangerel, let me speak plainly. I know you have spent every night this week in your sister’s room instead of your own.”

The princess scuffed the toe of her shoe along the floor as she shrugged. “What of it? I knew you’d be leaving soon. Why shouldn’t I?”

Jigme was unamused. “Are you or are you not the Princess Supreme of Goryeo?”

Naran rolled her eyes. “Oh, Mother…”

“My love, you will make such beautiful heirs! I can hardly wait to receive the news of my grandchildren.”

“Okay, there it is,” Naran shouted, pushing her mother toward the door. “Yes, please go! Travel safely and wait a long time to come back.”

Jigme laughed and, suddenly, so did Naran, and then just as suddenly, they were both weeping into each other’s arms.

“How I will miss arguing with you,” said the queen into her daughter’s hair.

“I’ll make sure to pick a fight with you in all my letters.”

“And I’ll be sure to scold you back.”

They laughed again through tears and hugged all the tighter. Maybe if Naran never let go, they couldn’t leave her after all.

“If you see an eagle in the sky, be sure to tell Altantsetseg I love her,” begged the princess.

“I will.”

“And give my favorite horse to someone who will ride her often and far. Not Khunbish in the stables. He’s a terrible rider and swears at the horses. You should really turn him out.”

The queen chuckled in agreement as she nodded. “Done, my sun.”

“And please write me often,” Naran said, though the words were getting gummier through her increasingly stuffy nose, “so I don’t forget how to read Moghul.”

“You will not forget who you are, dearest. Of that, I am most certain. You are the best of us.”

“I love you, Mother.”

The queen held her daughter’s face with her hands along with her gaze. Slowly, a smile lit up the corners of Jigme’s strong features. “I love you, too.”

Naran pulled back, wiped her eyes, and tried to stand as tall as her mother had always coached her to. With a bow for her goodnight, the princess turned begrudgingly back to her quarters before her mother’s voice caught her.

“Where are you going?” asked the queen.

“To my room, as you said?”

Jigme smirked. “Your sister’s quarters are the other way. I told her moments before coming here, so she will need you one last night. Come.”

Her mother stretched out her hand, and Naran took it. As they walked back to the guest wing, the princess wondered if this would be the last time she would ever hold her mother’s hand, and she squeezed just a little tighter for just a little longer.

It was a dark day. It wasn’t just that the Moghul royal caravan had been packed and readied, the horses champing at their bits before the gates, but the clouds were thick and heavy as they jostled over Namgyeong. The threat of rain was ever-present, but just as Naran held back her tears watching her family pack into their carriage, so, too, did the clouds hold back theirs. It was only a matter of time before the deluge.

With the khan and the queen already loaded in the carriage, Saran followed, but with only one foot in the cabin, she let out a wail and leapt back out, charging over to her sister.

“This is a mistake!” the young princess shouted. “We can’t leave you here! You belong in Moghulikhan!”

“Saran!” both the queen and the crown princess said in unison.

“Get back in this carriage this instant,” admonished their mother as she eyed the emperor and empress, who were waiting to bid their guests farewell. “You’re making a scene.”

Saran didn’t care as she buried her face in her sister’s hanbok. “I could never bear a move this far from home, so how can you? I know I said I was happy for you, but not when I know what you love most is Moghulikhan. You love it so much, and you are giving it up.”

Naran summoned all her poise and bravery to soothe her little sister’s hair and kiss her head. “It is not Moghulikhan I truly love, but you, my little fox. My match will ensure you find that one special person who brings you joy. You will marry someone who will rule Moghulikhan beside you, and you will be happy and loved, and our people will be forever grateful.”

“They should be grateful to you then,” Saran protested. “I know I am.”

“Thank me by being happy.”

The girl’s hands tightened around Naran’s back. “And what about you? Can you be happy here?”

The crown princess smiled. “I can be happy anywhere knowing you are safe and free.”

“Princess Sarangerel!” called the queen again from the carriage, this time far more desperately.

The sisters rolled their eyes at one another, burst into one final giggle, and hugged one last time. Naran stole the moment to whisper, “Kiss a few boys if you want. Be smart, be strong, be fearless, and never, ever settle. You are Crown Princess of Moghulikhan now, and you are a force to be reckoned with, Your Highness.”

“I love you, Naran!”

“I love you more. Now, go, before Mother has a heart attack or Father goes deaf."

Naran shooed her sister back toward the carriage, and with one final look back, her little sister climbed aboard. One of the servants shut the door, and the next thing Naran knew, the gates had opened and the front of the caravan had already disappeared through. The last thing she saw was the grumpy beak of the goose the prince had gifted them at the wedding ceremony, a ridiculous reminder of the day her life had irrevocably changed.

Naran was sure the clatter of hooves and the snap of the Moghul banners in the sudden gusts would weigh on her mind forever as she watched the last of the carts disappear behind the great wooden doors of Changdeokgung.

“I am sorry to see your family leave,” said the empress behind Naran, startling her. As alone as she felt, the princess had honestly forgotten that anyone else was there with her. “They are very good people.”

“I thank you for saying so,” the princess replied, though her words were hollow.

Hyungwon put his hand on her back in support, but she shrank away. She wasn’t in the mood for comfort or even acknowledgment.

“I never met a man who could hold his liquor as well as Delger Khan,” said Emperor Gongmin as though he hadn’t plotted to take everything away from the man mere months ago.

Naran felt sick.

“I should like to go inside now,” she said as she turned back toward the palace. The princess did not wait for them to follow, even as Hyungwon called out for her.

It started to rain just then. It was only a few fat drops at first, but then the heavens opened with a torrent, and as the other royals scattered under servants’ umbrellas, Naran pressed forward undeterred. At least the rain could hide her tears.

It was deep into a sleepless night when Naran heard a very soft knock on her door.

With a tremendous sigh, she clambered out of bed and wrapped her robe around herself before she shuffled over and rasped, “Who is it?”

“It’s Hyungwon.”

Her head drooped. She was not in the mood to entertain a bored prince, now more than ever.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Could you open the door please?”

Naran growled and swore under her breath, but she opened the door all the same. Waiting on the other side with the sweetest of smiles was the prince.

“Hi,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“You did not. What does his highness need at this late hour?” Truly, Naran had planned to be more polite, but her eyes were tired from crying and she didn’t have the energy.

Hyungwon gnawed on his bottom lip for a moment before he said, “I wanted to see if you would join me for a drink?”

He waggled two glasses along with a bottle of clear, sloshing liquid, and as much as the princess burned to drink herself into oblivion, she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure, Princess? I know what today asked of you.”

Naran choked back a sob just before she could embarrass herself and instead offered a reluctant nod. Hyungwon echoed it and took a step forward, but she held out her hand to stop him.

“Not here,” she ordered. She wanted to be as far away from any place they could conceivably spend another night together and just as far away from the memories of the ones they already had spent.

“How about my study then? It’s quiet, and no one will bother us there.”

Another single nod from the princess.

“Shall I get dressed?” she asked.

“Come as you are,” Hyungwon answered. “There’s no need for pretenses between us.”

But Naran wasn’t so sure about that. She tugged her robe tighter and cinched the collar with her hand. Following the weak light of the prince’s candle, they walked down the corridor to a wing she had only visited on her initial palace tour. Here, the walls were dark, many draped in tapestries or heavy curtains. At night, it felt more like a brothel. She didn’t remember it looking this suggestive on her tour, yet now, the walls felt close, almost pressing against her.

“Are you okay, Princess?” asked Hyungwon. “You look like you’re going to jump out of your own skin.”

“I’m fine.”

The prince considered her words for a moment before he pushed ahead to a heavy door.

“My private study,” he said as he eased it open.

This room had been on her tour as well, but Naran had been too overwhelmed at the time to bother glancing at it. Now, she’d wished she had for the benefit of seeing it on a sunny day. As with every room in the palace, it was large with soaring ceilings, but swaddled in shadows, it was tantalizingly intimate.

Unlike most of the rooms in the palace, Hyungwon had designed his study with a Western influence. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined one wall while a long dresser anchored the other beneath an enormous mirror that no doubt cost more than the yearly salaries of all the servants back in Urga. When he lit the candelabra in front of it, the whole study glittered.

The prince’s desk commanded the space, however. It was huge and heavy, as though the tree it had once been had grown right there and they’d just built the room around it. Thick, smooth lacquer drew out the warmth in the wood like a magnifying glass while ornate carvings of tigers and dragons in eternal battle exemplified its strength. Short of the throne itself, there was no finer piece of furniture Naran had ever seen.

Hyungwon stood behind his desk, and even in his silk robes, his might was unquestionable. If he opened his lips to declare war on every kingdom in the six realms, Naran wasn’t sure she could stop even herself from kneeling.

But, instead, the prince pulled out his chair and gestured toward it. “Please sit, my lady.”

“I couldn’t possibly—”

“Please. You’ll be more comfortable here.”

Naran stared at the immaculate upholstery and overstuffed cushions before she looked back at her husband. “Are you sure?”

Hyungwon nodded and took the seat safely across the desk to make his stance on the issue crystal clear. At last, the princess sank into her chair, too, which was easily the most comfortable chair she’d ever sat in. He uncorked the bottle, and immediately, the pungent aroma of alcohol filled the study. The prince poured a draft of liquor into both shot glasses and passed one across the table.

When Naran had hers in hand, he said, “I promise, my lady, from here on out, it shall get better.”

Thinking it the toast, the princess raised her glass and knocked it back while Hyungwon followed suit with a smirk on his face. At first, Naran didn’t understand why.

Then she felt it.

Scorching agony blazed a trail down her throat to sit like lava in her stomach. For a second, she thought she might breathe fire.

“What the hell is that!” she wailed as she tried to scratch the taste of naphtha from her tongue.

“I told you it would only get better from here. You’ll like this a great deal more the second go-around.”

“I'm never drinking that again,” Naran swore.

Hyungwon smiled knowingly.

“Seriously, what is that rancid stuff?”

“A gift from the Emperor of Champa.”

“My mother was right then,” Naran mused with a slow smile, “Princess Binh was gunning for an alliance with Goryeo.”

“I wouldn't say the princess was,” Hyungwon informed. “Emperor Gia Long seemed more concerned with the match than his daughter. Princess Binh mostly just complained to me that the weather in Goryeo is too cold and that there are no beaches or coconuts here.”

“If I knew all it took to turn you off from a match was complaining about missing sand and sun, I would have spent more time talking about the Gobi.”

“It was too late by that point. I had already made up my mind about you,” said the prince. He poured another drink and offered it to her. “Again, my lady?”

She bit her lip as she considered, but the other alternative was chatting privately with her husband sober, and she didn’t have the strength left for such a thing after today. Naran downed the shot and grimaced.

“Better?” he asked.

“Still disgusting.”

“But better.”

The truth was, this time, her stomach felt warm and fuzzy instead of full of liquid fire, and her limbs were buzzing lightly. Thanks to the distracting sensations, she probed, “Were there any other princesses you considered that night?”

Hyungwon shrugged. “My father had given me a short list, but after meeting all of them, I knew I couldn’t marry any one of them.”

“Why not?”

“For starters, they were storybook princesses—all beautiful and sweet and perfect, to be sure, but completely one-dimensional.”

“That sounds perfect for you, are you crazy!” Naran retorted.

Hyungwon smiled. “Perfect for my kingdom, but you know me well enough now, my lady. I’m hardly perfect for my kingdom.”

“So, this is why I find myself sulking in the most expensive chair I’ve ever seen drinking the foulest drink I’ve ever tasted from a princess who hoped to wed my husband?”

The prince poured yet another round and said, “I’ll drink to that.”

Naran tipped back her glass, and this time, instead of a hiss as the liquid coated her throat, she hummed. “Better.”

“Told you,” said Hyungwon with two charming high eyebrows.

“That’s no reason to get cocky.”

The prince laughed, and on a day with no laughter at all, it sounded all the warmer. Or perhaps that was just the alcohol talking.

“You didn’t come to dinner,” Hyungwon said.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Maybe we should take the drinks slower then. This stuff is a lot stronger than soju.”

“Maybe you should stop making my decisions for me,” Naran challenged, tapping her empty glass on the table for a refill. “I might be Goryeon by title, but I'm Moghul by birth. Alcohol is already in our blood.”

With a stern eye, the prince poured a noticeably smaller portion this round, and she sighed but drank it all the same.

Hyungwon watched her lips pucker as it went down and then he said, “How are you faring today?”

“Great. Everything is going exactly as I always hoped and dreamed,” she said, the sarcasm extra biting thanks to the bitterness in the alcohol. “Another.”

Hyungwon repeated the same shallow pour and then sat across from his wife, watching her with gentle eyes. Either he did not know what to say or he was afraid of another blow to his self-esteem—or maybe it was neither of those things. Everything about him was so soft right now, borderline inviting, like something Naran could fall right into.

“I’m afraid that was the last time I shall ever see my father.” The words were out too fast for her greased lips to catch them as was the tear at the corner of her eye. She swiped it angrily away as she grumbled, “I should have married Prince Grigoriy like my grandfather wanted.”

Hyungwon blinked hard. “Grigoriy of Kazan?”

Naran nodded. “My grandfather had intended us practically, but he could not force my hand.”

“So that’s why he was staring at you all night…” said the prince, lost in a memory of the night they met in her grandfather’s ballroom.

Naran thought back to it, too. It was harder now to recall some of the details since most of the night had been overtaken by memories of Hyungwon, but she did recall avoiding every corner of the room the Kazan prince occupied just so she didn’t have to come up with another reason to refuse him.

“I should have just married him. At least then I would have been close to home.”

The prince pouted his lower lip, and Naran’s attention couldn’t help but shoot to it—her husband did have an unfairly pretty mouth.

“But,” Hyungwon objected, “all you would have for dinner every night is beets and cabbage. We eat much better in Goryeo.”

At that, Naran burst out laughing. “You truly do. Beets and cabbage… Never thought about that. I’ll drink to that.”

The princess tipped back her glass again, and Hyungwon drained his, too.

“You know,” she said, biting her lip and leaning farther across the table than she normally would have, “you’re way too pretty. I don’t like your face.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “You don’t?”

“I do not! Even when I want to tell you to go far away from me, I cannot. It makes it very hard for me to hate you.”

“Why do you need to hate me?”

“Because if I don’t hate you, then I have to admit I have in some way accepted the man who took me away from everything I love.”

Hyungwon was quiet for a moment as he busied himself with two fresh pours. He downed his immediately while Naran watched him in confusion.

“I’m sorry, Princess.”

“There’s no point in apologizing now.”

The prince kept his head down though he shook it gently. “You misunderstand. I’m not sorry that you’re by my side now, but I am sorry for what it cost you. Maybe that’s what I’m sorrier about than anything. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to becoming my father, yet I can’t regret it because you’re here now… with me.”

Naran’s hand trembled, and she misjudged the desk when she reeled back and splashed liquor all over the wood, but there was no time to care, not when the prince was staring at her so openly with such flushed, wet lips.

“I should slap you for such an insulting apology,” she said.

Hyungwon waited, perhaps for the justified blow, but Naran’s hand didn’t move.

Instead, her voice dropped as her eyes slid to the mirror where their reflections danced in the candelabra flames.

“Why did you even need me anyway? If you wanted someone to be your friend, you had a line as long as your borders. Anyone would have been a better choice for you than I am. Why did you pick the one person who thinks of marriage as the forfeiture of all freedom?”

“What is so wrong with depending on someone? I've lived my whole life without it. It isn't freedom,” replied the prince, his eyes falling to his glass. “It's a prison of loneliness.”

He knocked back the drink without so much as a wince. Somehow, as he hunched over his desk, his smooth edges blurred even further and begged her to reach out.

Naran ran her fingertip around the lip of her glass as guilt and something even more intimidating rippled through her.

“Aren’t you lonely, too?” he asked in a gruff whisper.

“It's not loneliness I feel but bitterness.”

The prince scoffed. “Of course, it is... My father was right. I am a fool.”

“You could have had anyone, my lord. As grateful as I am for the protection of my people, you didn't owe Moghulikhan anything. Why did you have to choose me?”

“I guess you can't help how you feel,” he lamented.

Panic set her heart on fire. “How do you—”

The prince cut her off with a frantic look. “Which is why I know I'm asking for the impossible, but please, for my sake, Princess, can you tell me just one thing you like about me because I can’t stand another day thinking I married someone who despises me?”

“I don’t despise you,” Naran admitted softly. “I’m not sure anyone could.”

Flashes of adoring faces from every room he had ever entered stormed through her mind, the thin-eyed, bitten-lip women clinging most tenaciously to her memories. The princess downed her last shot to chase them away.

“But you don’t like me either,” Hyungwon finished.

The couple’s gazes could not waver from one another, no matter how hard Naran fought to sever their connection.

Your eyes talk to one another…

At the memory of Magda’s words, something uncoiled in the princess’s chest and snaked through her body.

There was much about her husband Naran admired. Hyungwon listened. He defended her. He upheld his promises. But he might interpret any one of those things to mean more than just appreciation for someone she respected. Best to stick to something superficial, she thought.

As desperate to fill the Moghulikhan-sized hole in her heart as she was to avoid the dejection in her husband’s voice, the princess reached across the ocean of his desk. She held her breath, her hand frozen as though anything further would trigger a trip wire that could fundamentally rearrange everything between them.

Naran bit her lip.

“I like this little freckle here,” she said as her fingertip glanced across the pinprick dot on the side of his nose.

Hyungwon stiffened at her touch though his mouth slackened.

“And this one, too,” she continued. This time, it was her thumb that pressed on the tawny freckle dead center on his bottom lip. “I like it a lot.”

In the end, she gave away too much of herself. The prince now knew how carefully she had mapped his face. Even though a wife didn’t need a reason to look at her husband, Naran thought that maybe she should have chosen anything else. His silky hair, his expressive eyes, his proud shoulders—

Only then Naran realized she was still touching his lips.

Hyungwon kissed the pad of her thumb and her breath hitched. She yanked back her hand and tried to quash its shaking by sitting on it, but she felt the vibrations all the way up her arm even then.

“Thank you,” he muttered as he looked away at last.

Naran’s skin was aflame as she busied herself divining shapes from the inky blobs on the prince’s blotter.

“How about one final drink?” he suggested.

“Okay.”

Hyungwon poured to the rim this time, but before they could drink, out came the things that had occupied the princess’s thoughts all day as she had stared blankly in her room. “So, what happens now that everyone has gone?”

“What do you mean?”

“I believe I’m supposed to spend my days apart from yours.”

“Oh…” His eyes fell to the liquid fire in his glass. “Yes, I’m sure a princess has as much to occupy her time as a prince does.”

“So, as far as ensuring heirs, shall we establish some kind of schedule then?”

At this, Hyungwon’s face soured as the princess had never seen before. “A schedule— Does it always have to be about heirs between us? Am I not allowed to just want you sometimes, too?”

Want me? Naran thought, absolutely incredulous. Beyond the bounds of our contract?

“It is best if we keep feelings out of these things, your highness,” she answered with an embarrassingly shaky voice.

“Who’s talking about feelings? Was it ever about love with any of the others you've been with?”

“No,” she admitted.

Both lovers had been handsome, forward, and uncomplicated. Words were rarely exchanged. They had taken her at first opportunity—in alleys or the stables and once in the grass. Before her wedding night, Naran had never even had sex in a bed. And the other thing those lovers had had in common? After a few meetings, they were gone from her life. But the princess could not outrun the prince. For better or worse, they were in each other’s lives forever.

Hyungwon looked as forthright as ever as he asked, “Then shouldn’t I be able to say that I desire you as a man desires a woman? If you let them, why can’t you let me?”

Naran downed her last drink, and in her rush, a bit wept from the corner of her mouth. She licked her lips and then the corner, and there was no missing the way the prince’s eyes followed her tongue.

“Do you think,” he said slowly, “you could ever desire me?”

In the perfect silence of the empty wing, the princess could hear her every breath. It was too fast, too ragged.

“Yes.”

The air was electrified. Every hair on her arms stood on end. Somewhere outside, a dog bayed at the late summer moon.

At once, Hyungwon sent the glasses and bottle tumbling to the carpet with a thud and a splash. He kicked back his chair as he shot up to circle the desk. Naran had to crane her head to look up at the towering frame of her husband until she found his heavy eyes. Without a word, he scooped her out of her chair. The princess yelped, her hands flinging around his neck as he spun the pair of them to the now-empty desk. The smell of alcohol and something spicier swirled around them. He leaned toward her lips before catching himself at the last second, and whatever gentleness had lingered in those eyes fled entirely.

The prince was nothing but dark lusts now.

To Naran’s surprise, Hyungwon sat her on the edge of his desk, and between the cold wood and the loss of his scorching body, she shivered. It only worsened when she felt his fingers at the knot of her belt, and seconds later, her robe fell open to expose the thin white silk of her nightgown.

Hyungwon didn’t say anything. He simply stooped over to kiss the column of her throat with ravenous lips. The princess gasped and tipped her head to the side to give him more skin to taste. He was quick to cover the new ground as his hand traced up her frame to her covered breast where he toyed with the soft mound beneath. Naran’s body responded with both a desperate moan and a tightening nipple aching for his fingers to shower it with attention.

It was easy to descend into hedonism with him. Though the alcohol had burned away her resentment, Naran was still heartbroken and angry and tired of feeling both. Hyungwon, though, was warm and real and determined to transport her out of the grayness she’d been mired in, as much for her as for himself evidently.

“Is this—ah—is this for the throne?” she said through her gasps, but Hyungwon shook his head.

“Not tonight. This is for my wife.”

The princess let out a little cry as she felt the familiar tingle between her thighs. In a matter of a few words, her body was tuned to his.

Before Naran could process it, Hyungwon had dropped to his knees. With the utmost care, he eased the satin slippers from each of her feet before his fingers played about her naked ankles. There, he traced the hills and valleys along her heels and, once they were mapped, his hands glided along the flare of her calves. With his every touch, little sparklers alighted in her head and heart.

The higher his hands climbed, so did the hem of her gown. Cold air rushed under the fabric, and by the time Hyungwon had bared her knees, the princess was begging for the relief from the rush of heat to her core. Leisurely, he parted her legs, and with every inch, the princess felt a little more frantic and a little more self-conscious. Once he had spread her knees as far as the desk would allow, they quivered and threatened to close again.

“Trust me, my princess,” said the prince in his rich velvet.

“I’ve never—” Against her will, Naran’s voice shook. “I’ve never had anyone so close to me there before.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Naran held her breath. She was scared and overwhelmed and painfully aware of her body, but Hyungwon showed no sign of hesitation or second thoughts. With a shaky exhale, she admitted, “I don’t want you to.”

“Then I won’t. Not until you beg me to.”

Her husband turned his attention to one of her knees and placed his lips there. It wasn’t exactly a kiss, more like a caress with the tender skin of his mouth, back and forth in soothing waves. Occasionally, his tongue would gloss along her flesh and only then would he seal his ministration with a true kiss. With one knee bathed in his adoration, he switched to the other.

Just as Naran slouched against the desk, Hyungwon moved his mouth to her mid-thigh, and this time, he sucked the responsive skin there until she arched up with a howl. He released her, and when he pulled back, the princess saw a dark mark on the once-unblemished peachy flesh. Instantly, wanton desire trickled at her sex, begging for attention he wasn’t yet ready to give.

Hyungwon nudged his new brand with the tip of his nose before he kissed it and then placed a twin mark alongside it. He kept indulging her with his tongue until the princess was nearly ready to explode.

“Oh, please! More, my prince. Please,” Naran pleaded.

The prince broke his seal at last and shifted his gaze up to hers. He charted the sag of her jaw and the peek of her tongue lolling at the corner of her mouth, and he smiled. “More?”

“Higher!” she demanded.

Hyungwon gathered her nightgown at her hips, the fabric drooping in front of her center in a last-ditch effort of modesty but sparing nothing else for her prince’s imagination. Here, he kissed and nibbled every surrounding inch of virgin skin until Naran’s thighs shook with the foreplay and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She let out a sob of frustration, and it garnered all his attention.

Their eyes met, hers even heavier-lidded than his. Through the well of tears at her lashes, Hyungwon’s face splintered into a kaleidoscope of ethereal beauty.

“Don’t cry, my darling,” soothed the prince.

He hoisted up the last of the gown over her hips and exposed her core for him.

“Let me treat you like the princess you are.”

Naran held her breath and collapsed onto the desk, too embarrassed to watch.

She felt a kiss at the juncture of her thigh and lip followed by another mirrored on the opposite side. It was feather-light and unbearably sensual, but it was only the prelude to a new and unforgettable kind of kiss. With pulse-pounding pressure, Hyungwon raked his flush bottom lip up along her seam to kiss the hardening button peeking through, and as good as that felt, it only intensified with a second pass, this one featuring the flat of his tongue.

Naran’s moan made way for a pathetic whine. Her legs squeezed against the onslaught of pleasure, so Hyungwon curled his fingers around the meat of her thighs to keep her at his mercy.

He took his work seriously, keeping his rhythm consistent save for the swirl he would occasionally surprise her with around her straining bud. In those moments, the princess saw stars.

When her eyes finally opened, she found her head had lolled to the side, and there she found her husband’s reflection glowing, not just by tangerine flame but by something softer and even more shimmery. Hyungwon felt her gaze, and his mouth lifted from her only to be replaced by his middle finger easing deep into her pinkness. He turned toward the mirror to catch her eyes there, and slowly, he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh that deepened until she felt yet another delicious burn on her skin.

“How pretty my little star looks writhing on my desk,” Hyungwon murmured, and then suckled a little higher to adorn more of her skin with his black marks of desire.

His finger moved slowly in her walls, coaxing forth ripples of ecstasy Naran had never felt before. Each stroke was deliberate and far, far too measured to do anything but keep her on the precipice of climax. It was heaven. It was hell.

“So tight,” Hyungwon hummed, and she whimpered. “So delicious. You’re totally at my mercy now, aren’t you?"

Naran couldn’t answer, but she knew he wasn’t looking for that anyway. Her legs tightened at his illicit words. Between her husband’s praise and his intimacy, she squirmed for him.

He brought his lips back to the cherry blossom at her sex, and when they closed around it to suckle, the princess keened low and long. The pressure was relentless and just right to make her forget anything that wasn’t Chae Hyungwon. Her hips bucked, but he used his free hand to hold her down while the other continued to stoke the fire inside her.

“Do you like when I spoil you like this?” he asked as he came up for air.

“Yes… Yes, yes, yes!” Naran answered. “But I want more. Faster!”

“How many times have you called me lazy, hm? Maybe I just want to take my time, to feast on you and show you what a sweet indulgence laziness can be.”

To her horror, Hyungwon removed his finger, leaving her core seizing around nothing. Tears sprang to her eyes in desperation, and she sat up on her elbows to gape at the man who was abandoning her just as her addiction had mounted to frenetic levels.

“You can’t—” she protested, but he just smiled, smug and scheming all at once.

When he dove back in, he focused on one fold and then the other, with long strokes of his tongue before pulling each one at a time into his mouth. Every nerve ending tingled. Every inch of skin yearned for more of his attention.

“Put your hands in my hair,” he mumbled between her legs, and Naran’s fingers raced into his locks.

It felt so good to hold his head in her hands. Her nails raked against his scalp before she took to tugging on the glossy strands. Hyungwon purred contentedly as he licked up the mess continuously leaking from her sex, and the noisier he was, the harder it made the princess shake until she realized she was grinding herself on his face. Mortified, she unwound her fingers from his locks as she mumbled an apology.

“I didn’t tell you to let me go,” Hyungwon scolded, and when she opened her eyes, she found him looking up at her with a chin covered in arousal and eyes fixed with determination.

It was clear he had no intention of finishing the job unless she caved to his wishes, so Naran ran her hands back through his bangs to bare his smooth brow. The prince’s eyes closed as he leaned into her grip, and it was so tender, that she thought her heart might burst, but if she stopped, he would stop, and she couldn’t bear the thought again.

Hyungwon’s finger was back at her core now with the addition of another. Together, they traced her entrance, and every time she thought he would enter her again, he deprived her of the gratification. It was the purest torture of her life, and Naran could barely stand it. Her need for her husband had reached embarrassing levels too terrifying to admit.

At last, two fingers glided into her wet and ready indecency, sending her arching up from the desk with a wail.

“It's so much!” she said between heavy pants.

“Too much?”

“Not enough!”

Hyungwon smiled as he picked up speed at last, stretching her walls with every thrust to his knuckles. Luscious coos of gratitude spilled from Naran’s lips as she took his fingers greedily. He knew just how to reach the parts inside of her that responded most ferociously, and in moments, she was teetering over the edge she’d been standing on forever.

His fingers pistoned within her now, churning up filthy sounds that brought color to the princess’s cheeks and hunger to the prince’s eyes.

“I can’t—breathe,” Naran gasped pathetically. “I’m begging you please! Please. I want to let go!”

Hyungwon groaned and dove back to her heat again. His mouth sealed around her pulsing button now as he sucked and flicked his tongue against her until she thought she might go mad. He slipped both of her legs over his shoulders and pressed against her with single-minded resolve to make her forget everything that wasn’t him.

She risked a glance at him, and things got fuzzy fast. His elegant face was framed between the softness of her thighs, his nose bumping against her mound and his eyes shuttered with conviction. Her hand cupped the back of his head as her hips couldn’t stop themselves from driving into his mouth.

And then those wicked eyes opened, locking on hers.

Bliss ripped through Naran with catastrophic devastation. Every muscle within her shook as her lungs constricted and her walls pulsed. Her heels dug into her husband’s back as her thighs clamped around his head, nearly suffocating him.

Here, on a desk where armies were commanded and laws were enforced, the princess came undone with a racking cry.

But, true to his word, Hyungwon wasn’t done.

He kept his fingers thrusting into her quaking walls as one climax ended and another threatened, only this one felt unbearable and impossible. The pleasure was too intense, and her hips tried to run from him as though they were afraid of such unfathomable ecstasy.

Naran’s mind emptied. Even through winched eyes, tears slipped down her cheeks.

“I can’t take it, oh!” she wailed.

“Yes, you can, darling,” he assured. “Just a little more, I know you can.”

“My pr— Yes, I—”

The tip of his tongue flicked her swollen bud again, fast this time and with no restraint. As her vision whitened, Naran clawed the desk, no doubt leaving scratches in the impeccable veneer. There wasn’t a muscle in her body that didn’t seize then.

Another swirl of his tongue and a long, fierce suckle, and she was gone.

She thought she might have screamed, but she might have lost any senses that weren’t solely centered on the exquisite decadence between her thighs.

She collapsed then, whimpering, the last of her strength focusing on her heel to push him back by the shoulder.

“Please, no more,” she whimpered, absolutely deflated. “I beg you.”

“As you wish, my darling. Feel better?” he asked as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pulled her gown back down her legs.

“You’re—wow,” Naran stammered. “You’re really good at that.”

Something fanged and slippery snaked through her chest at the thought of all the practice he had required to become so skilled, but with one glance at his eyes now buoyed by a soft smile, it tempered.

“Do you need help getting up?” he asked.

“You’re not going to—to take me?” the princess asked incredulously.

“I told you tonight wasn’t about the throne. All I wanted was to make you feel good, my lady. Was I successful?”

Naran narrowed her eyes at him. She could tell by the way his tongue probed his cheek and his chest puffed that the man was keenly aware of just how thoroughly he had devastated his wife. His smug confidence was as appealing as it was infuriating.

“You were,” she admitted carefully.

“It was a pleasure to serve you then, my lady. So, that’s a no to the help?”

“No,” she insisted, though as soon as she put her toes back to the ground, she wobbled and stumbled back against the desk. “Yes.”

Hyungwon snickered and helped guide Naran back into the chair, where she slumped instantly. Alcohol mixed with the chaser of ecstasy to keep the room spinning around her, so she closed her eyes while her breathing steadied. Images of her body writhing in the mirror while her husband kneeled between her legs insisted on flashing in her mind, and a sigh tumbled out of her to her absolute mortification.

“You all right?” he asked with a grin evident in his voice.

“Just fine,” she answered immediately, waving him off.

While Naran lounged in the chair, the prince picked up the glasses and bottle from the floor, and something surprisingly boastful of her own bubbled in her heart.

“I don’t think the Emperor of Champa would appreciate our use of his gift,” she laughed.

“Maybe I should write to him to thank him again?”

At the seriousness in the prince’s voice, the princess shot up in her seat. “Don’t you dare, sire!”

“And what are you going to do to stop me?”

This time, Hyungwon was unmistakably provoking her, and Naran bit her lip. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she said she held her liquor well, but when his playful side came out, it always made her feel drunker than she really was.

“You better not,” she warned, “or, next time, you drink alone.”

At this, Hyungwon pouted. “Didn’t I make this worth your while?”

Naran shrugged a shoulder as casually as she could manage. “Maybe this is slightly better than what I was doing…”

“And maybe this was a little for me, too,” he admitted, “because now I will think of you every time they force me in here to do work I don’t want to do. Instead, I’ll think of someone I’d rather be doing.”

“My lord!” Naran cried, indignant, as she cinched her robe tight to her throat again, and Hyungwon laughed in his carefree, spirit-lifting way.

“You’re very fun to tease, my lady.”

“And you’re very annoying, my lord.”

“How are you feeling? Are you ready to return to your room?”

Naran pressed her lips together as she considered more than just her husband’s question. When they had come here, she had been determined to keep him as far from her room as possible, but now, the understanding that she would be going back solo was more disheartening than she thought. Maybe she was lonelier than she realized.

“I think so,” she answered though.

“Then I shall see you back, Princess.”

Naran rose on still-shaky legs to join her husband in the hallway, and slowly, they made their way back toward their building. They chatted idly about their schedules for the week, his filled with meetings and diplomatic engagements while most of her obligations involved goodwill ambassadorship with the empress. It may not have been anything she had wanted for her life, but it was less onerous than she thought. Of course, maybe that was also colored by her tipsy, post-full body release daze.

Just then, Naran stumbled and caught herself against the wall. Hyungwon let out the briefest of chuckles before he stopped them both and swept her up into the basket of his arms to her yelp.

“I can manage on my own,” she protested, swatting at his arm behind her knees.

“Of course, my lady, but it's taking a very long time, and I would like to get to my room before sun-up.”

She scoffed. “Please. You're never in a hurry to get anywhere. You just wanted to show how strong you are.”

“You think I'm strong?” he echoed, but she could tell by the flex in his voice that she was on target.

Naran folded her hands defiantly in her lap even though she would have felt far stabler if she’d wrapped them behind the prince’s neck.

“You do not appreciate help, do you?” Hyungwon pressed.

“I would if I truly needed it. Are you sure you don't just like playing the savior?”

“I wouldn't say ‘just.’ Perhaps one day I hope you might need me back.”

Back?

“Besides,” he added, “I don’t mind an excuse to have your arms around me.”

“They're not—” With horror, Naran realized that her body had betrayed her, and, at some point, she had knotted her hands behind his neck after all, and worse yet, she could not will them back to her lap. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” said Hyungwon with a grin.

“After this, I feel rather badly about kicking you out of my room so quickly the other night,” she admitted reluctantly. “Perhaps next time I will not be so rash.”

“Thank you, Princess,” was all he said, though he was smiling smugly to himself again.

At last, they reached their wing, and the prince put his wife down at her doorstep, though he waited there awkwardly as neither of them seemed to know what to say.

“Thank you for coming out with me tonight,” he said into the silence. “I know you didn’t want to.”

Naran kept her eyes on her slippered feet as she replied, “Thank you for asking. Truly, I am glad I went.”

“You are?”

At the hope in his voice, her eyes shot up to find his waiting, dark as always but with none of his particular brand of blackness that made her wary of his designs. This time, the darkness was inviting—and in many ways, that made it all the more dangerous.

Hyungwon took a step forward. Naran took one back. Her spine was flush to her door, and she could feel the carvings digging through the thin fabric of her robe. His hand flattened on the panel beside her face as he leaned down.

His breath blazed in the shell of her ear as he whispered, “Please think well of me, my lady. After all, we only have each other now.”

With that, Hyungwon kissed his wife’s cheek and bid her goodnight before he disappeared through his own bedroom door.

#monsta x smut #multichapter #prisoner to temptation #hyungwon smut #royal au #arranged marriage #romance #slow burn #bodice ripper #third person

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