#after dinner mints: the plan

[britcision]

I have been possessed by dark visions at 3AM for two nights in a row again so y’all enjoy this I guess

Why can’t these demons invade Ryoko Kui’s mind she can draw

Anyway Mithrun and Fleki both deserve to bite people way more and fuck psychic types Mithrun’s entire pokemon team is different Woopers and a single Clodsire it is his destiny

Warnings: mild physical violence, blatant attempts at emotional manipulation, the Canaries are not letting their captain go if they can help it

AO3 link for the full series:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54634867

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After Dinner Mints - The Plan

It was Fleki’s plan, which was never a good sign. Otta was the first to call it a fucking stupid plan, but had to admit that she didn’t actually have a better one.

(This being the main reason Cithis wasn’t the first to denounce the plan. Well, that and the backup being “set Cithis on the Queen or at least some high ranking official”.

Which was an even worse plan, because even though Canary convicts couldn’t do magic without permission, Cithis specifically wasn’t even allowed her staff within the capital’s city limits. She’d beaten the supposed restrictions far too many times.)

The good news was that they had six weeks at sea to lay the groundwork, and see if they could come up with a better plan. Or bail, if the current plan seemed unlikely to work, and come clean.

No one wanted to bail and come clean.

Luckily, the groundwork was simple, and they could get started right away. Once they were far enough from port that the squad could safely be on the deck without being in a sailor’s way, the four convicts gathered to a spot conveniently near where Pattadol was standing at the railing.

It didn’t really matter what the warden was doing; they all had a grand total of one job until the ship landed: keep out of the way. And Cithis had Mithrun duties.

Otta picked the spot, settling nonchalantly to lean against a stack of well secured crates where she could pretend not to have known Pattadol was even there. They had to be a little louder over the creaks and groans of a sailing ship, but that just made it easier to be “accidentally” overheard.

“So Fleki, why did you ask the Captain not to talk to the Queen after all?” She called. Lycion, leaning just far enough to see their “hidden” warden, gave the rest a discrete thumbs up.

Fleki sighed dramatically and threw herself to the deck, top of her head poking just past the stack.

“Oh, come on. You heard what he said, he wants to stay in Melini hunting monsters forever! That’s a worse sentence than prison! And he wouldn’t even pay me, at least I get something doing this shit.”

“And the chance to fly,” Lycion cut in, nudging her with a foot until she shifted to the left a couple of inches, “that’ll be in short supply in prison.”

“Hey, you heard Captain Flamela. We’re all looking at reduced sentences, especially dying in the final fight. I’m gonna be out in like, a hundred years tops and then I’ll be free and clear,” Fleki retorted, casually sending her familiar to sit at the top of the stack.

She couldn’t fully go into the bird, not and keep up a full conversation, but she could borrow its eyes if she didn’t need hers.

Cithis was pretending to ignore the lot of them, like she couldn’t have done that literally anywhere else on the ship. When Otta and Lycion began mugging furiously at her she rolled her eyes and sighed, examining her nails.

“Yes, being confined to some backwater country is far worse than whatever a reduced life sentence would be,” she said dryly, not bothering to sound anything but bored.

Otta flipped her off with both hands, but Fleki actually laughed, flailing in her general direction.

“Fuck off Cithis, you’re gonna be in prison for what, five minutes? Captain Mithrun’s the only person who’s ever kept you from doing exactly what you want,” she pointed out loudly, and Lycion hesitated.

Snuck another glance towards Pattadol and gave the ladies another thumbs up. Cithis shot him a withering look that he completely missed, then kicked at Fleki’s hand equally half heartedly.

“Oh, I’m sure our ever so wise wardens will notice that and they’ll have an incredibly well thought out plan,” she said flatly, raising her voice a little when Lycion made some frantic upwards gestures. “After all, our good captain is a war hero and has chosen his retirement; they can’t tie him to a prison simply to keep a single prisoner contained.”

“So you’ll be out of there or running the place in five minutes, maybe fifteen?” Otta asked sweetly, and Cithis chuckled. Tried to do it again, louder, when Lycion made another vague gesture.

“Twenty at the outside. I certainly won’t be wasting my time touring a backwater like Melini,” she declared archly, making an incredulous face at Lycion as his gestures suddenly became faster and more frantic, and much less discernible.

Abruptly he held up both hands and the group fell silent, Fleki focusing more of her attention into her familiar. Then Lycion sighed and relaxed.

“She’s wandered off. Possibly to go narc on us to some of the older wardens,” he added thoughtfully, head cocking to one side.

Cithis shrugged.

“What she does on the ship matters very little. And it’ll save us from having to re perform the pantomime for them too,” she pointed out with a sigh, flicking her hair back off her face.

Otta frowned, cocking her head to one side and examining Cithis thoughtfully.

“For real though, why are you in on this plan? I mean, you probably could get out of any prison they put you in, I heard how many times you were sentenced to the Canaries.”

Lycion looked over, equally curious, but before Cithis could compose some kind of dignified answer Fleki had snickered, reaching over to catch at the bottom of her skirt and yank.

“Because then she could never go see Captain Flamela again, she’d always be a wanted fugitive,” she teased in a sing song voice.

This kick was not half hearted. Nor did it make Fleki regret a single word, more’s the pity.

***

After some heavy debate they decided that once a day was probably often enough, if not a little too often to make an attempt. By the second week Otta had declared that to be far too suspicious; Pattadol no longer looked surprised to be coming across them “coincidentally” in weird corners.

Once every other day, for sure. And time to try a new tactic. There were only so many ways they could loudly declare accompanying the captain to be far worse than a prison sentence.

Which was why Cithis moved them on to pointedly discussing the captain, which they could at least do at regular mealtimes without seeming suspicious. Captain Mithrun never ate with any of the squads, but someone had to bring him his food every time, so it was a natural topic of conversation.

Most of the squad were seated by the time Pattadol arrived at the mess, clutching her bowl and looking uncertainly for a place to sit. The Canaries didn’t tend to eat with the ship’s crew, there just wasn’t enough space in a single room, which with their larger complement meant the room was both full, and entirely Canaries.

The ship usually carried at least three squads; they’d been loaded with four to tackle the Island’s dungeon, and on the way back Cithis had managed to persuade Flamela to switch her squad onto their ship (by asking. Once. And threatening a fate worse than death on anyone who commented).

Which meant that of the six “tables” made of well secured crates (the mess being a storeroom that the Canaries and off duty crew got access to to, once again, keep them out of the way), there should have been plenty of space for all eight wardens on board to sit together without having to associate with their convicts if they didn’t want to.

But Flamela didn’t like the other wardens. Or all five of her current squad’s convicts, to be fair. Flamela didn’t like many people, but she liked her convicts more than the other wardens, so she insisted the squads sit together. For “team cohesion”.

(None of which explained why Flamela would sit next to Cithis if they happened to be the first to eat, or why Cithis could eat wherever the hell she pleased, but it worked for their purposes.)

Which meant that if Flamela was at dinner, Pattadol could sit with her squad’s four convicts, or risk the captain’s temper if she noticed. It wasn’t like she was all that comfortable sat with the other wardens anyway, so her indecision didn’t last long.

Cithis raised a pointed eyebrow at Otta, who rolled her eyes and skulled the last of her thick stew, then stood and grabbed Captain Mithrun’s bowl. She tapped Pattadol’s elbow on the way out, pointed her to the other three, and waved the captain’s stew as an excuse not to actually talk.

Pattadol hurried to join them, darting a quick last scan to clock Flamela and the other captains. She still didn’t actually greet them, because even her first dungeon run hadn’t fully knocked her head from her ass, but Fleki deigned to give her a quick wave.

And then kept going like they’d actually been talking before she arrived.

“That’s a thought though, who’s gonna feed the captain when we’re all in prison?” She asked Cithis, still mostly ignoring Pattadol.

Cithis arched a brow at her, taking a delicate bite of the hard tack accompanying the meal.

“That’s not going to be my problem, is it? Besides, he does well enough between missions,” she pointed out coolly.

Lycion snickered, pointing his spoon at her.

“He does well enough when he’s somewhere stable, with a routine. Running around chasing monsters is gonna be more like dungeon busting than that, he’s going to need someone to remind him to eat.”

Both he and Cithis turned back to Fleki, who raised her hands quickly.

“Hey he’s rich, he can totally hire like, a chef or something. He’ll probably need a whole party anyway, it’s not like just me on my own would be enough!”

“Not like you’d be staying sober,” Cithis sniped with a sly smile, and Fleki stuck her tongue out at her.

“Oh like you’re a teetotaller. Besides, I can’t cook for shit. Lycion, you did better with that whole noodle making thing, you should talk to him if you’re that concerned,” she added quickly, kicking him under the table.

Lycion pretended to consider it, then shrugged.

“Sorry Fleki, demons or no demons, I’m still on a life sentence. It’s not like I can stop having an illegally modified body,” he said with a decidedly smug gesture to the tattoos on his bare chest.

Fleki stuck her tongue out at him too.

“Hey, being released on parole to the captain’s gotta count. It’s not like you can’t take care of him, at least you actually know what he needs! Some stranger’s only gonna fuck it up!”

“What do you mean?” Pattadol finally cut in, her curiosity getting the better of her. The three convicts shared a significant glance, then Fleki sighed, tossing an arm around Pattadol’s shoulders.

(Pattadol immediately shrank away.)

“Right, I forgot, you’ve only been with us since we got Cithis. Still, you know what it’s like taking care of the captain, right?” She poked, releasing the younger elf to grab her hard tack and submerge it in the stew.

Pattadol frowned into her own bowl, then up at the others.

“Well, yes. It’s not that hard, he needs to be reminded to do things more, but…”

Fleki started snickering into her bowl and Pattadol’s cheeks flushed, her grip tightening on her spoon. Lycion cut her off with a gentle smile, shaking his head.

“It’s not too hard when he’s on leave, or on the ship with a routine; remember, Fleki, we had Kabru in the dungeon too, Pattadol’s never seen how bad the captain can get.”

“We were in there all of two days before it was all over anyway,” Cithis added with a roll of her eyes, then turned a sweet smile on Pattadol. “Even I underestimated quite how bad it would be. We were very lucky to have Kabru with us; it’s usually much more of a struggle even to persuade him to eat.”

It was probably a mark of how quickly Pattadol was learning that she didn’t noticeably relax at Cithis’ smile, which Fleki and Lycion had to grudgingly respect. She did calm down a little more though, looking cautiously between the other two.

“How bad could it really be? He won’t be in a dungeon in Melini, just tracking the monsters…” she hesitated when Fleki suddenly groaned, dragging both hands down her face dramatically.

“Oh fuck, that’s a good point! They probably won’t even think to make him take breaks, he’s just going to ride into town to restock and go straight back out. If he remembers to restock at all!”

“They’ll make him restock, Fleck, unless he gets that dwarf cook to go with him whoever he hires is going to need to eat,” Lycion pointed out, then smiled at Pattadol again. “You know how we have to use the sleeping spells or potions to help the captain sleep?” He asked innocently.

Pattadol looked between them, visibly more concerned although not necessarily at them. Which was what they wanted.

“Yes…” she said hesitantly, and Lycion nodded.

“He doesn’t just lie down for them in a dungeon. You have to combat-cast to get him to sleep if he thinks there’s a demon nearby,” Cithis cut in, sighing with expertly performed delicacy. “What? There’s no point sugar coating it; you did see him when we had to stop for rations, teleporting every few feet. He gets… tetchy.”

“He gets pissy,” Fleki said bluntly, waving her spoon, “and if he thinks there’s half a chance he can order you to let him go until he passes out he’ll try it. He can’t even tell when his mana’s low, we all saw him carving the dragon.”

Pattadol actually winced at that, frowning down into her bowl. The convicts exchanged another meaningful look.

Then Fleki sighed and dropped her spoon into her empty bowl.

“Whatever poor bastard he hires is gonna be completely screwed.”

“Kabru will be in Melini, perhaps he’ll help again?” Pattadol asked half-hopefully, and the convicts exchanged looks again. Then Lycion shook his head.

“Kabru’s not going to be leaving the capital if he can help it; he’s finally got a chance to never see another monster again, and after Utaya…”

Pattadol blanched and stared back into her bowl, shoulders hunching.

“Right…”

Fleki gave her a cheerful pat on the shoulder, rising and grabbing her bowl.

“Hey, aren’t you heading back that way too? Maybe you can get a pixie and call in to check if the captain’s still alive like, once a week or something,” she said cheerfully, leaving before Pattadol even turned.

Cithis rolled her eyes, finishing the last of her own food.

“Well, he won’t be your problem either, warden. I’m sure you’ll be busy with diplomatic relations,” she added with a sly smile, and Pattadol’s pale cheeks flushed again.

“Y-yeah… right…” she didn’t seem interested in looking up from her bowl. Lycion and Cithis exchanged thoughtful looks, then both shrugged and left her to it.

Best to let her mull that over. They still had plenty of time before they landed, anyway.

***

As the fifth week came to an end, they were beginning to run out of angles to try. And no one had any better plans.

Well, Cithis was up to something with Flamela, but she refused to say what and Fleki insisted it was an illicit affair, not anything actually useful.

Flamela set Fleki to scrubbing every deck on the ship, so she was also less available for planning, which Cithis refused to pretend to be sympathetic about. Or even not to be smug.

They had one last idea, and not long to put it into action; if coming clean was their only option, they needed time to talk to an increasingly morose Captain Mithrun, maybe Pattadol, and at least one more warden willing to vouch for one of them.

Given that every single warden on the ship had two to three convicts already contemplating them as options to avoid prison, it wasn’t an attractive concept. So it was time to pull out the big guns.

(Flamela was probably Cithis’ backup plan; none of the captain’s three assigned convicts were unwise enough to so much as frown her, but it was pretty much assumed among the entire ship that Cithis wasn’t going to prison. One way or another.)

Fleki and Lycion took charge on this one, “casually” wandering into Pattadol above decks while Cithis took Captain Mithrun for his daily airing.

(That was getting harder too; usually the captain was compliant as a doll outside of a dungeon, but the closer they got to land the more sullen and argumentative he became. He didn’t even want them to talk at him, glaring at anyone who came near him and telling them all to leave him alone.

None of the squad paid him any mind; no one else dared look in his general direction. Which didn’t matter, since he only left his room when he was dragged out.)

As usual, they pretended not to notice her at first, watching Cithis gently guiding the captain around and between the other Canaries.

“I’m going to miss him,” Lycion suddenly said, resting his chin in his hands and propping his elbows on the railing. It actually sounded like he meant it, and Fleki hesitated for a moment before she caught sight of Pattadol further down the railing.

Setting her familiar into the rigging above them to signal Otta, she nodded and leaned up against Lycion.

“I know what you mean… I’m kinda worried about him. He’s tough, you know, but that just means people who don’t know him don’t realise that he needs help.”

“You could always ask him to talk to the Queen again,” Lycion pointed out, flicking a finger at her without looking her way.

Fleki sighed and shook her head, running her gloved hand through her hair.

“I mean, I could, but it’s not like I can do all that much on my own? He doesn’t listen to me like he does you or Cithis, and you guys both have the life sentences thing,” she said loudly, watching Pattadol from the corner of her eye.

Otta sidled up, giving them both a nod.

“What are you talking about?” She asked as if she didn’t know.

Lycion nodded onto the lower deck, where Captain Mithrun had tripped into a coil of rope. Cithis hadn’t helped him up yet, so he was just sat in it glaring at everyone around him.

“Our fearless leader. Until we land, I guess. Then he’ll just be… Mithrun.”

It felt wrong even to hear the name, Fleki and Otta shared an entirely involuntary shudder.

“He’s not gonna do well on his own,” Otta said bluntly, and Fleki and Lycion exchanged startled looks. That was a little more direct than they were thinking.

True though. Fleki huffed and ran her hand through her hair again, crushing a little actual guilt.

“Yeah… for all that he’s got a damn stupid life plan.” Which technically meant that they all did, now.

Life or the next hundred and fifty odd years, depending on how Fleki and Otta’s sentences were commuted.

Lycion chuckled softly and stood, stretching his arms back above his head.

“You know, when you think about it, what he’s planning to do is technically no different than what we did as Canaries,” he pointed out.

All three glanced at Pattadol.

Who twitched, maybe from their joint gazes or just from a breeze.

Down on the lower deck, Captain Mithrun was now refusing to be helped out of the coil of rope. Like he knew how much they needed him to be a really tragic visual aid.

“It’s technically a little safer, almost,” Fleki said “reluctantly”, pretending to be talked around.

Otta snorted and folded her arms.

“Running around some backwater country for the rest of his life following monsters around? Still sounds like a punishment detail to me.”

“That’s kinda my point,” Lycion pointed out with a snicker, turning now to lean his back against the railing instead. If he kept watching the captain he was either going to laugh or cry (possibly both), which wouldn’t be conducive to their mission.

Fleki sighed and tossed both hands into the air.

“Yeah, but keeping the captain alive on a mission was never a one person job! If the Queen’s gonna take this mission of his seriously, he needs a proper squad who can handle the monsters and his needs!”

All three glanced at Pattadol again.

She seemed to be ignoring them.

“Casually” sidling in her general direction, Otta came to lean against the railing too.

“I mean yeah, but it can’t be just anyone. It has to be someone who knows-”

“Oh for fucks sake!” Pattadol threw up her hands, turning to glare at the lot of them. “One of you, right now, I don’t care who but one of you tell me you don’t actually think I’m this fucking stupid!”

All three convicts were stunned into silence, staring at her for a long moment. Then Lycion leaned into Fleki, talking from the corner of his mouth.

“I did not know Pattadol could swear.”

About to agree, Fleki caught the look in Pattadol’s eyes and raised her hands in unequivocal surrender.

“We don’t think you’re stupid! Just… we… we weren’t being subtle, were we?” She asked mostly rhetorically, and Pattadol glared at her specifically before redirecting it to the group as a whole again.

“Not. Remotely. I was waiting to see if you’d actually come out and just ask me, but since you seem to think I’m some kind of credulous child I guess that wasn’t going to happen!” She folded her arms, scowling at them all.

Otta leaned in towards Fleki too.

“Somehow I’m more scared now that she’s not swearing,” she said from the corner of her mouth, and Lycion nodded sagely. Fleki nudged the pair of them.

“So… what do you think though? About talking to the Queen about…” Fleki waved a hand vaguely over her shoulder at the Cithis and Mithrun Rope Cabaret currently entertaining the ship.

Pattadol glared at them all for a while longer, then sighed and leaned back against the railing.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re right. You four are the logical choice to go with him and keep taking care of him; it’s not that different from what you’d be doing otherwise, and you deserve a reward for your service. And it’d be a more useful way to finish your sentences than just in a cell.” She shot them all another glare, raising a finger sharply. “But! I also think you’re going to need another warden to accompany you. I don’t think you’d hurt the captain or try anything, but no one else is going to believe that you won’t just run the second you get a chance.”

The three convicts exchanged thoughtful looks this time.

“You could…” Otta began, but Pattadol shook her head firmly.

“The Queen has already asked me to return to Melini as her ambassador. I can’t do that and keep an eye on all of you. So you need another warden in on this plan…”

“I guess that’s my cue.”

All four jumped as Flamela approached the railing, her coal-black skin reflecting almost gold in the sun. She rolled her eyes at the lot of them.

“Don’t look so shocked. I’m not going back to the fucking capital to play political games, and I’m keeping a career where I can fucking stab something if I can. Cithis asked me before we boarded,” she snapped, glaring at the lot of them.

This time Otta leaned in towards Pattadol.

“Okay but did you also catch that because we thought-”

“Shut up,” Flamela snapped, shooting her another glare, “it’s your own faults for gossiping and playing stupid games instead of just asking.”

“But you don’t like Captain Mithrun,” Fleki butted in, talking over Otta’s protest.

Flamela shrugged.

“I don’t like any of you.”

“Except Cithis?” Lycion asked sweetly, unphased by her glare, “Or why would you agree?”

It was fascinating to watch Flamela blush, mostly for the sheer novelty. Usually all anyone really saw from her was anger. Which, to be fair, was definitely still present.

“There are so many worse things I can find for you to scrub than the decks,” she snarled, definitely not covering the sudden flush and fluster.

Surprisingly, Pattadol came to their rescue.

“I also think you need to let Captain Flamela and I present the idea to the Queen, and you four need to shut up about it from this point on,” she said firmly, as if there hadn’t been an interruption.

Even Flamela looked surprised, and a little impressed. Pattadol gave all three convicts a sharp look.

“You do also need to tell Captain Mithrun about your plan first. Now. Somewhere private,” she added sharply.

The three convicts now shared a bewildered look. This time it was Otta who asked.

“I mean… we can? But why? If you guys are gonna present the idea, shouldn’t you tell him?” She asked cautiously.

Pattadol gave her a look like she’d asked if water was wet.

“Because for the past five weeks you’ve let Captain Mithrun think you’d rather have your legs cut off than go with him, and he’s upset about it! He’s not going to believe this was your ridiculous master plan unless you’re the ones who tell him about it, he’ll just think we’re forcing you to go!”

There was a long, slow moment, and then Otta frowned, cocking her head to one side.

“That doesn’t really sound like him…”

“He has been in a weird mood though,” Lycion mused, glancing over his shoulder.

Cithis, who never started an argument she wasn’t certain she’d win, had sat down next to the captain. He was still glaring at her.

Pattadol groaned loudly, drawing all of their attention back to her.

“Of course he’s in a bad mood! As far as he knows he’s going to lose everything familiar in his life when we get back, and every bit of stability he’s had for twelve years!”

“He’s been a Canary again for-“ Fleki began, only to be cut off by Otta.

“Wait how do you know how long I’ve been in his squad for?”

Fleki shut her mouth, cheeks pink. Flamela sighed heavily, her hands on her hips.

“There’s records on all of you, and every change in personnel,” she said flatly, entirely unimpressed. “Honestly, you’re not selling me on this stupid plan.”

“I’ll tell you Cithis’ real favourite food?” Lycion offered innocently, grinning when Flamela glared at him. “She likes telling different people different things to see what’s the most difficult or expensive thing they can get her, but she loves shrimp.”

Otta and Fleki turned to stare at him along with the wardens.

“How the hell do you know that?” Otta demanded, already thinking back over half a dozen conversations with their squad-mate that suddenly all made much more sense.

Lycion shrugged.

“I can smell when people lie.”

“You can fucking WHAT?!” Fleki shrieked, over any and all other reactions to that fuck of a sentence.

Lycion blinked, mildly confused at best.

“What? I mean, not everyone. But people I know, sure, I can pick up the patterns, especially in my real body. And Cithis lies a lot.”

Even Flamela looked impressed (and not a little thoughtful), but once again it was on Pattadol to come to the rescue as Fleki tackled Lycion, catching the smaller elf by the waist and yanking her back before she could take them both over the railing.

“You NEVER TOLD ME you piece of shit! Mmmmmmmph!”

Clamping a hand firmly over Fleki’s mouth, Pattadol levelled a stern glare at the other two.

“You need to go and tell Captain Mithrun that you want to go back to Melini with him, now. Before lunch. And tell him that you’ve been working on a plan all month, and that Captain Flamela and I are going to help you. And tell him you’re sorry you didn’t let him know! Fleki I’m not going to let you go just because you keep licking me, promise you’re not going to just attack Lycion again first.”

Still glaring mutinously, Fleki instead grumbled something that might have been agreement behind Pattadol’s hand and sagged. Pattadol cautiously released her, ready to grab at any second, but she just sulked back to the other two convicts, arms folded.

Once she was satisfied that attempted murder was no longer imminent, the young warden nodded firmly.

“Go on then! Get him now and take him to his cabin, no one’s inside on a day like today,” she flapped her hands at them and the convicts turned together, Lycion tossing an arm around Fleki’s shoulders that she promptly bit, but otherwise didn’t object to.

As they walked away, Flamela frowned thoughtfully after them.

“Pattadol, you’re a middle child, right?” She asked, not actually looking over at her fellow warden. Pattadol jumped, startled to be addressed despite everything they’d just agreed on, and looked over nervously.

“Uh… yes?”

Flamela hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward and folding her arms on the railing.

“Your parents made a good choice. You would have been a very good Canary.” Then she sighed and shook her head, straightening almost immediately to stretch out her back. “Or a kindergarten teacher.”

Utterly lost now, Pattadol stared at her for a long moment, then back to the convicts who’d now reached the lower deck, heading to where one beleaguered deckhand was trying to get Mithrun and Cithis away from the rope. It didn’t look urgent, exactly, but it probably wasn’t good.

A slight smile tugged at the corner of Pattadol’s mouth.

“Thanks… I think?” She said quietly, glancing back to Flamela out of the corner of her eye. Flamela gave her a brusque pat on the shoulder.

“You’re gonna need all those skills if you’re staying on as a diplomat,” she added bluntly, then turned and walked away in the opposite direction of the lower deck.

Once again cursing her own pale complexion that showed even the faintest hints of pink, Pattadol looked for her squad-mates among the bustling heads on the lower deck again, her hand drifting ever so slowly up to the place Flamela had touched.

**

Glancing back over her shoulder, Otta considered the two wardens.

“So did we miss something or has Pattadol always been the smart one?” She asked bluntly.

Lycion hummed thoughtfully and then shrugged.

“Well we definitely missed something, but it might be that she’s smart,” he offered. Fleki huffed and rolled her eyes, still not sure she was willing to forgive him.

(Or whether or not he’d been bullshitting.)

“Not smart enough to just tell us she agreed and save us all the trouble though.”

“That might more have been gross optimism,” Otta noted, nudging her way through the newly forming crowd. It meant they had nearly reached Captain Mithrun. And possibly that he was doing something worse.

“Or she wanted us to come to her,” Lycion offered, having a much easier time parting the other elves. The ladies fell into step behind him automatically.

“Same thing,” Otta agreed.

“So what are we actually gonna do about the captain?” Fleki wondered, noting the increasing density of onlookers, most of whom were solely focused on the scene before them.

“Oh, that’ll be easy,” Lycion waved away the problem, nudging between another two Canaries and breaking into open space.

The situation had escalated again without them, justifying the budding crowd. What had been one deckhand presumably trying to politely talk the captain out of the rope was now two deckhands holding a third, one performing a healing spell on a bleeding hand.

Cithis was back on her feet too, holding the captain’s jaw firmly and dabbing at his face with a napkin. He was still glaring, although the effect was lost with Cithis’ grip smushing up his cheeks.

“Honestly captain, I’ve told you about putting things in your mouth when you don’t know where they’ve been,” she scolded him, even as the others approached.

Otta sighed heavily and shook her head.

“This one’s your fault, Fleki, he never used to bite before he met you.”

About to open her mouth to argue or try to defend herself, Fleki huffed and closed it again when Lycion waved his freshly bitten arm in her direction. She rolled her eyes instead, folding her arms.

“Hey if people are gonna grab you they deserve what they get,” she grumbled, glaring at the deeply amused convicts and crew surrounding them.

“He nearly took my fingers off!” Howled the injured deckhand, proffering a freshly healed set of fingers that were still a little red.

Not releasing her grip, Cithis turned from the captain enough to narrow her eyes at him.

“You went to lay hands on a warden captain over a coil of rope. Count yourself lucky if this is the only reprimand you receive,” she informed him icily, as if biting was a very normal thing for a warden to do.

That was how they knew that she was reaching the end of her patience with the captain’s behaviour; usually she was all sweet smiles and gentle reconciliation whenever something went wrong. Things had to get bad before Cithis ever showed her temper.

The poor elf opened and closed his mouth a few times, staring from his fingers to the entirely unrepentant Captain Mithrun.

“But… I… we need access to the lines!” He exclaimed, flailing in the direction of the sails. “He can’t just sit in them!”

Cithis raised a frosty eyebrow at him.

“Are we likely to sink if you can’t tweak this particular rope in the next thirty seconds?” She asked viciously sweetly, and the poor elf’s crew-mates drew away on either side.

Technically, the poor guy was right. The Canaries were all supposed to stay out of the way as much as possible, and defer to the crew for anything related to running the ship. But it was a beautiful day, with clear skies and a calm sea.

Trying to claim there had been any real urgency to moving the captain would be difficult. It wasn’t the kind of argument anyone wanted to escalate any higher.

Lycion gave him a cheerful pat on the shoulder on his way past and a friendly smile.

“I think it’s probably best if you let us handle the captain, and you just handle the ship. Captain, if you bite me I’ll bite you back,” he warned Captain Mithrun, bending down and hauling the captain out of the ropes, tossing him over his shoulder.

The captain very clearly did consider biting him anyway, but let himself be carried like a sack of potatoes instead, glaring at Lycion’s ass.

Cithis maintained eye contact with the unfortunate sailor for a minute longer, then turned to follow Lycion with a haughty sniff. Fleki waved both hands at the onlookers like she was scattering ducklings.

“Go on, fuck off everyone, we’re all definitely going to drown and be lost at sea if there’s a moment’s delay on the ropes.”

Since the show seemed to be over (at least for now), they did begin to disperse, forming into smaller groups to talk about what the fuck that had been about. Which was fair.

Luckily, the threat of Cithis was enough to keep any stragglers from tagging after them as they headed down to the captain’s room. Not that all five of them could fit in the captain’s room; with Lycion depositing the captain on the bed, he, Cithis, and Otta could just about squish to stand in the remaining space. Fleki stayed in the hall, glaring about for onlookers.

Captain Mithrun treated them all to a truly dark glare for a minute, then turned to stare up at the boards above him, his face falling into more of a pout.

Lycion examined his face for a moment, then sighed and shook his head.

“Oh, Captain… we should have said sooner.”

Captain Mithrun didn’t so much as glance over, but Cithis shot him a questioning look. Given that she’d apparently been openly discussing things with Flamela, it seemed a little rich.

Otta cut in to fill them both in, folding her arms.

“We were just talking to Pattadol and Captain Flamela. They’re going to see if they can help get us assigned to go back to Melini with you,” she said flatly, shaking her head minutely as Cithis’ eyes widened. They could talk about that part later.

Captain Mithrun’s face froze, his one good eye sliding over to peer in Otta’s direction. She scratched at the back of her head, feeling sheepish.

“We knew you could only get like, one person as your ward, so we figured for all of us to go it’d have to be kinda the same thing as Canary duty. You’re still gonna be hunting down monsters, and you’re still gonna need someone to take care of you, so really the only difference is gonna be that there won’t be any weird dungeon magic.”

“Which is gonna make Otta way less useful, but she wanted to come too,” Fleki put in from the hallway, grinning and ducking as Otta swung at her.

“Hey fuck you there are sprites everywhere! And I can still dig traps and shit, I’ll be more useful than you in a fight!”

Lycion made an aborted move to try and get between them, but with Cithis in the way he’d have had to push past her. And he didn’t care that much.

He gave Captain Mithrun a cheerful smile instead.

“It’s going to be a little more dangerous too, since we won’t be able to resurrect anyone if they get killed, so we figured it’d have to be all of us,” he explained, and the captain’s gaze slid slowly over to him.

The defined lines of the pout were softening out, leaving the captain looking more confused than anything else. Lycion gently brushed his hair off his face.

“That is, if you’d like us to come with you, Captain?”

That caught Otta and Fleki’s attention, now rough housing in the hall, and both looked over.

The captain’s brow furrowed again, as if the question didn’t make sense. It was hard to tell what made sense to him, though.

“You wanted to go back to prison,” he said after a few minutes, pushing himself up on his elbows so he could frown at Fleki. Who shoved Otta off her and sat up.

“I mean, I said that at first cuz I was surprised! But then I thought some more about it, and talked to the others, and… well, it’s not that much worse than being Canaries. Not if it’s all of us.”

“Yeah, cuz you’d definitely die if it was just Fleki trying to take care of you,” Otta snarked, dodging away from a quick swat.

Captain Mithrun stared at the pair of them, his eye wide, looking rather a lot like a lost puppy. Lycion ruffled his hair, then carefully fixed it when the wide eyed stare turned to him.

“So, what do you think, Captain? Do you mind if we come with you tracking the monsters?” It wasn’t quite the same question, which might have made it slightly easier for him.

The captain stared at him for a long moment too, then very slowly shook his head. He looked almost like he was about to cry, and the two on the floor sighed in relief.

Then Fleki hauled herself to her feet, shoving Otta out of her way to dive into the room, half sprawling across the bed.

“Okay but that’s no you don’t mind, not no you totally want us all to go back to prison instead, right? She asked, propping herself up on her elbows and grinning at him.

Captain Mithrun hesitated again, looking at all four of them as though not fully sure they were here. When he spoke it was just as slow and careful.

“I… won’t stop you if you want to come with me?” It sounded like a question, like he genuinely didn’t know what she was asking or how to respond.

The day had gotten away from him somewhere, but at least he wasn’t glaring any more. And seemed much less likely to bite someone. Lycion even sat on the edge of the bed to let Cithis scoot over so Otta could squish in, with minimal mutual grumbling.

Captain Mithrun was never exactly enthusiastic about anything, but anything beat the sulking from the past few weeks. Pattadol was probably right; at the very least he’d been unsettled, or they’d just confused him out of whatever actually put him in a bad mood.

They didn’t usually push so much into his personal space, but if he’d been upset about them leaving he could probably use a little company. And it wasn’t like there was much of a choice in the tiny room.

If he got cranky again they’d be able to back out. Maybe even before anyone got bitten.

Lycion gave the captain another gentle pat on the shoulder.

“We can keep practicing making pasta together,” he offered brightly, and got a slightly uncertain smile.

“We’re going to have to catch Flamela up on the pasta making, she missed our first lesson,” Fleki snickered, pulling herself up onto the bed too.

That was an even worse idea than trying to fit three of them standing, but the captain didn’t lean away from either of them. He wasn’t his usual deadpan self exactly, but at least he looked a little happier.

Definitely still more confused than anything else, and occasionally looking around to check they were actually there, but the faint bemused smile hadn’t left, which was a nice change.

Things fell as silent as they ever got on the noisy, creaking ship for a few moments and were dangerously close to actually being peaceful.

Then Fleki’s head whipped around and she grinned at Cithis again.

“Oh, and did you know Pattadol can swear? She totally told us to fuck off,” she said brightly.

Mithrun blinked slowly, frowning at her, and even Cithis looked surprised. Otta sighed and shook her head.

“She did not tell us to fuck off.” She waited a beat, then grinned as well. “She asked if we thought she was a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah, she’s been onto us since we set sail,” Lycion chuckled softly, giving the captain a speculative look and then resting his chin on the much shorter elf’s head. Which tipped slowly upwards to look at him too, but didn’t move to dislodge him other than that.

Lycion decided to consider that a win, although it was always hard to tell how the captain felt about anything. If he felt anything about most things at all.

Too bad they were going to be keeping Flamela, not Pattadol while they explored Melini. Still, if she was doing diplomatic work, she’d probably be nearby enough to visit and check in.

She’d definitely love them visiting to make her their relationship counsellor with the captain. With both captains, since it wasn’t like Flamela liked Mithrun either.

It was hard to ignore the way the captain’s stiff back slowly, gradually began to relax back into Lycion’s warmth as they continued to chat around him. Or the way that his feet slid apart to let Fleki haul herself up between them when she started to slip with the motion of the waves, although that might have been to avoid being crushed.

Lycion scooped Mithrun fully into his lap and away from her anyway, making sure not to hold on in case the captain wanted to move away. He stiffened up again, but didn’t move. And slowly began to relax even further, finally resting his weight against Lycion when he didn’t move back.

Otta and Fleki both noticed, and Cithis looked decidedly speculative as she watched the tension slowly leech from the captain’s shoulders.

They’d always tried to give him as much space as he wanted, which had been blatant guesswork… and pretty widely varied, since Otta preferred maximum personal space and Fleki barely even acknowledged the concept.

Might have had something to do with how much time she spent outside of her own body on a regular basis, but the damn bird was just as inclined to burrow in and occasionally bite people.

Lycion wasn’t a fan of too much space either, or rather he liked a fair amount of physical contact. In his actual body for preference, but there was no chance of fitting that into the captain’s room along with the rest of them.

He could handle the spindly elf body for a good cause, and realising they might have been giving the captain too much space was a good cause. Captain Mithrun wasn’t a formal guy, so long as they did what he told them in a dungeon he’d answer to anything and let them get away with whatever they wanted.

It made it hard to see where his boundaries were, so they’d largely sided with caution. And apparently underestimated just how much he depended on them for stability, if nothing else.

Group cuddles on his bed? Probably not going to be much of a feature going forward, even if they did manage to snag an assignment still taking care of him. It got all five of them into the dinky cabin though, and since no one was making Cithis or Otta join in there were no objections.

Fleki was definitely gonna keep pushing until she finally located a boundary, either the captain’s or her own, and then promptly panic and never go near it again. Lycion could always grab her when he wanted attention, but he made a mental note to offer it to the captain more too.

After all, if they were all going to be keeping each other company even after the Canaries disbanded, they couldn’t rely only on Pattadol to tell what the captain needed.

They’d probably also have access to Kabru, with any luck whatsoever. And between the four of them, they could definitely convince Kabru that a little cuddling had been added to the captain’s daily routine.

Cithis had the same thought, exchanging a slow smile with Lycion as the captain very slowly melted into a puddle.

Going back to Melini was going to be a lot of fun.

——————

Pattadol totally also deserves to bite people much more often too, she gets no respect and while that is usually good for her development she does deserve at least a little! (She’d get more if she bit people)

Poor Mithrun has no fucking clue what’s going on or why, including why he is mysteriously now cranky all of the time, it’s not like his entire life has just been overturned and will never recover

There’s also a joke somewhere about Fleki having to learn to pull out now that they can’t just kill and resurrect her when her familiar gets eaten, but I couldn’t find it yet so just assume I’m funny 👍👍

Anyway, come join my touch-starved Mithrun agenda, the biting is not technically compulsory but here we are

[aeyumicore]

what's mine

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: zayne x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with plot, not canon events (completely fictional)

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 10.7k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, first time sex with zayne (not virginity loss), jealous!zayne, dom!zayne, zayne slightly loses control of evol, furniture breaks, lot’s of teasing, fictional characters, size kink, vaginal sex, oral sex f!receiving, tongue fucking, fingering, unprotected sex, creampies, slightly drunk sex (not really), tummy bulge, posessive/claiming behavior, let me know if i missed anything!

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: ao3

━ ✧.˖ A/N: helloooo writing for my fav zayne again <3 would you guys believe this is actually the first lads fic i ever started but i put it on hold because it was way too elaborate and i didn’t want to make a whole like multi chapter fic? i actually cut out a lotttt of it, it probably would’ve been more like 30k words if i kept the same writing style/detail i had originally, and i just could not do that to myself

also the matthew/intern mentioned in the fic is completely made up and fictional, he is not a reference to any characters! i couldn’t bring myself to use greyson for the purposes of the plot bc i think he and zayne are so cute LOL god i love the jealous angsty feelings trope 

pls enjoy hehe i luv u guys <3 also come interact with me on twit @/aeyumicore :’)

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

"Will you go to dinner with me?”

You whip your head around to see where the unfamiliar voice came from, coming face to face with one of the surgical interns of the Akso hospital. You’d run into him several times before when visiting Zayne at work, but never quite got his name.

"Me?” 

The intern chuckles at your dumbfoundedness, which he thinks is adorable, "Yes, you’re Y/N right? My name is Matthew. I'm one of the surgical interns here. So, will you let me take you to dinner tomorrow?”

Zayne chokes on his rice from the seat beside you, patting his chest a few times to clear his throat. You’d decided to have lunch with Zayne after your check-up today; well more like you’d forced him to the cafeteria with you against his will. You’d desperately wanted to try the infamous mint chocolate chip jello the hospital cafeteria served, even though you knew it’d be disgusting. And so you both sat at a table in the cafeteria, you with your jello and Zayne with a homemade bento box you’d made for him, along with some of his favorite pastries from the bakery down the street.

At his coughs, the intern’s eyes snapped to Zayne’s and it was like he’d just then realized Zayne was there, the surprise and anxiety written all over his expression. Zayne was always someone who commanded respect and fear from his colleagues and subordinates, so much so that Matthew had turned pale as a ghost. 

"Oh! Dr. Zayne, I'm so sorry I didn’t realize–” but Zayne cuts him off with a simple wave of his hand. 

"It’s fine. Continue your conversation.” You’re a bit taken back by Zayne’s nonchalance. Sure, you were just childhood friends but it would be nice if Zayne had any reaction at all to being asked out right in front of him. You yourself couldn’t deny the attraction you felt towards Zayne but it was seeming more and more that it was completely one sided.

"I, um…” you’re at a loss for words, not knowing how to let the handsome intern down. Matthew was honestly very attractive, and seemed kind enough, but you had hoped to spend your friday night with Zayne, though you hadn’t had the chance to ask him yet. He’d been swamped with surgeries and patients the last few days and you hardly got to see him at all. And you missed him thoroughly.

"I actually had plans with Zay– I mean dr. Zayne,” you glance at Zayne, hoping he’ll get the message, but the expression on his face is dark and unreadable. 

"No we don’t. You should go,” Zayne’s tone is cold and his eyes refuse to meet yours. Despite yourself, your heart clenches in disappointment. You know Zayne could be obtuse but he was also extremely intelligent and perceptive. He undoubtedly knew you wanted to spend your night with him. But it was becoming more and more apparent he did not want to spend his with you.

"But i–”

"I have plans anyways.” Your eyes can’t help but sting as he avoids looking at you. So you try to steel yourself; you were a big girl and a little bit of unrequited affection would not destroy you. Keeping your voice steady and blinking back unshed tears of frustration, you look up at Matthew, his eyes lighting up at you expectantly, and you try to give him your best smile.

"I...I would love to go to dinner with you!”

You don’t notice the deep scowl on Zayne’s face as a dark icy storm brews in his green eyes. 

–

You stumbled out of the taxi, your way-too-high heels catching on the foot step almost causing you to trip headfirst into the pavement. You sigh as you catch yourself on the cab door and glance at your hunter watch and see that it’s already 1am. 

"Get home safe miss, and no more drinks, you hear me?” Your cab driver reprimands you teasingly.

"Yes sir,” you mock salute him as you wobble onto your feet, thoroughly drunk, "Thank you so much! Please drive safe. Good night sir!”

"Good night miss!” 

You turn towards your apartment building, sighing in exhausted defeat. What an absolute disaster of a night.

The date was unexpectedly wonderful. Matthew was handsome, kind, funny, and a complete gentleman. He brought you to a very fancy and expensive restaurant downtown, so you wore one of your most elegant dresses, not that you had many. It was a simple satin black mid-length evening dress, with a slit that exposed just up to your mid thigh and an open back that accentuates your figure. You’d normally never wear something so sensual on a first date, but you couldn’t deny that the way Zayne had reacted, or not reacted, stung your heart. So maybe you did go a little extra tonight because you were hurt. So what?

After dinner, Matthew and you took a leisurely stroll at linkon park, with enough time to catch the sunset. As you watched the sun melt into the sea of golden yellows and dusky pinks, Matthew kissed you. It was passionate, slow, and soft. The perfect kiss.

Except when you moaned out Zayne’s name. 

And so the night ended as quickly as it began. Matthew was as understanding as he possibly could have been, but you could tell it killed anything that could have happened between the two of you. Matthew was a surgical intern, so with what little free time he had, he said he couldn’t chance it on a girl who was clearly already in love with someone else, especially if that someone was his boss and mentor. He’d offered to give you a ride back home but you refused, saying you’d grab a cab instead.  

So you found yourself at a bar, downing shots of soju to numb the mortification of your blunder but also the feeling of utter patheticness. Hours went by as you wallowed in your emotions. You’d had feelings for Zayne for as long as you could even remember. And still, you couldn’t tell him or move on from him. 

But maybe you would have the guts to tell him if it didn’t feel like he literally could not give two cents about you, beyond as a patient and as his annoying childhood friend. It was literally like pulling teeth to get him to spend any time at all with you lately. 

So here you were, stumbling into your apartment building at 1:37 am: drunk, exhausted, and empty. The night breeze raised goosebumps on your exposed thighs as your heels clicked on the pavement in the dark. 

You headed toward your apartment, through the main entrance and up the lobby elevator, the alcohol still making your brain swim. Luckily you no longer saw double, and your eyelids no longer felt like a ton of bricks.  

The elevator door dinged open and you trudged toward your unit, your toes screaming in protest in the confine of your heels. You forced your vision to cooperate with you as you tried to punch in your door code. The error buzz sounded out, again and again, and you groaned in frustration.

In the blurry edges of your vision, a large and slightly scarred hand reached over yours. Yelping, you whip yourself around and reach to grab the gun you always had strapped to your thigh. But from the icy cold touch against your fingers and the scars littering the pink skin, you realize exactly who it was.

"Zayne?” You did your best not to slur, trapped between him and your front door. You don’t miss how he swears under his breath as his eyes trail down your body, lingering at all your exposed skin, before snapping back up to your face. You can’t even imagine how wrecked you must look right now, mentally kicking yourself for not touching up after the bar. Your gloss was undoubtedly smeared from the kiss and the copious alcohol, your hair a bird’s nest from the night breeze, and your mascara smeared from the stray tears of your drunken emotions.

You didn’t do a very good job at steeling your voice because Zayne saw right through you, his eyes narrowing as they absolutely drank you in, "You’re drunk?” His voice holds a dangerous edge, as if mad that you’d have the audacity to be drunk. He deftly types your access code in, and gently ushers you into your apartment. You stumble in your heels against his body, and Zayne wraps his arm around your waist to catch you before you fall. You flush at the way his hands palm the exposed skin of your lower back. 

"M’not drunk,” you protest, swatting his hand away, not wanting your body to give any of your feelings towards him away, but Zayne only grips you tighter, fingers flitting between the soft satin material of your dress and the goosebump ridden skin of your back. His arm on your waist feels so right, threatening to make you melt right into his embrace. But you fight the urge, trying to hold onto your annoyance.

You can’t see his eyes but you know they’re rolling in their sockets at your obvious drunkeness. He gently guides you through the threshold of your home and then kneels down before you. The sight of him on the floor in front of your feet makes you reel, hoping the furious blush is masked by the flush of alcohol in your blood.

"W-what are you doing?” You try to step back, but your knees wobble and Zayne grips your thigh in place. You shiver at his cold touch on your sensitive skin, a little too high for you to keep any semblance of calm.

"Do you want to stay in these deathtraps?” He murmurs as he starts to slip the strappy heels off of your aching feet. His fingers around your ankle tingle as he softly massages the red skin of where the straps dug in.

"Zayne? Why are you here? Did something happen?” Your voice wavers still, but Zayne’s cold touch is starting to sober you up and clear your vision as your mind tries its best to focus on him. Zayne doesn’t respond as he lifts your other foot and slips the other heel off. His fingers linger on your bare legs before he slips your house slippers on your feet, standing back up to tower over you. 

"It’s almost 2 in the morning, and you’re just now coming home,” his voice is hard and stern, it’s clear he has things he wants to say but you’re in no mood for a lecture on sexual safety, stds, and stranger danger. 

"I was busy,” you snap, your emotions running extra high from everything that had happened today, especially Zayne’s nonchalance. But he’s incredibly patient with you, as he always is, taking you by the waist nagain and leading you to your living room couch. You’re too tired to resist, and you desperately need to get off your aching feet.

"How was your date?” Zayne sits you on your couch and then heads to the kitchen, coming back with a glass of water. His question reminds you of how royally you screwed up today and your mood sours even more. 

"Fine,” you mutter, trying to keep from snapping at him again. Zayne sits beside you and brings the glass of water to your lips, tilting it for you with his fingers on your jaw. You take deep gulps, the cold water soothing your entire sore body. Sinking further into the couch, your mind wanders back to your disastrous screw up. You’d called Matthew Zayne. It literally couldn’t get more mortifying than that.

Zayne stares at you and you know he doesn’t believe you, so you murmur again, "It was fine.” But as his intense eyes bore holes into you, your voice cracks under all the feelings you’d stuffed deep down today. 

He was here now and it confused you to no end. You’d wanted nothing more than to spend your day with him, but he’d pushed you away. Were you really that blind that you’d developed feelings for a man who did not feel even slightly the same way? 

Your eyes well up with tears at the thought and you try to subtly brush them away by pretending to scratch your cheek, but as always Zayne sees right through you. 

"Did he do something to you? Did he get you drunk?” Zayne’s voice is calm but hard and threatening.enough to scare you if it weren't for the way he softly gripped your chin, forcing your eyes back to his, using his free thumb to catch the tears before they can slip down your cheek

But through it all, you register the implication of his words. "Wh-what? No!” You exclaim, "Matthew was a complete gentleman.”

His eyes track yours, unwilling to let go of your gaze, "Then why are you crying?” 

You blink back your tears before more can fall onto his thumb. Your voice wavers as you stare into the hazel green ocean of his eyes, and you answer his question with a question of your own, "Why are you here Zayne?” 

"I wanted to make sure you got home safe.” Your chest constricts with unrelenting emotions, but your drunken haze makes you even more steadfast in your stubborn resolve. 

"Well I'm home, safe,” you avert your eyes, knowing if Zayne keeps staring at you with that intensity you’ll start to unravel and confess everything.

"Why did you take a cab home?”

Your eyes snap to his, "How did you know I took a cab?” And this time Zayne’s eyes refuse to meet yours, "Zayne? How long have you been waiting for me?”

Zayne doesn’t respond, instead brushing the tangles out of your hair. You try to get his attention by tugging at his tie, the alcohol making you feel much bolder than you normally ever would. 

You can see his adam's apple bob as he lets himself be drawn in, only slightly, towards you. At your pout, he sighs in defeat, prying your hands away so he can loosen the tightened hold around his neck, "I’ve been waiting for you…forever.” 

Before you can respond, he clears his throat and continues, "I got here at 9 and waited in my car when I knocked and you didn't answer.”

At your bewildered expression, he sighs and elaborates, "I just wanted to see you get back home safely. But when I saw you get out of that cab I needed to come check on you.”

Your brows furrowed as your sobering self tried to do the math in your head. Zayne can practically see the steam coming out of your ears and smiles lopsidedly, chuckling under his breath at how adorable you were being.

"You waited for 7 hours?!” You exclaimed, eyes wide. 

His grin deepens and you can see his eyes sparkling with laughter , "You are drunk. Why are you drunk?”

You purse your lips shut, unwilling to speak. With all the overwhelming emotions swarming your mind, you knew if you started talking now you would surely never stop.

At your silence, Zayne prods gently, "Talk to me, Y/N.” His voice is deep and commanding in a way that almost always gets you to listen to him. 

You zip your lips shut and turn away, doing your damn best to not give in. But Zayne’s touch, still on your cheeks, forces you back towards his eyes.

"Be a good girl,” he demands softly, his eyes searching yours for answers. 

Blowing out your cheeks like a child, you’re unwilling to give up the attitude, "I’m drunk because I was drinking.”

"Did Matthew take advantage of you?” Zayne’s jaw is locked and the intensity in his eyes is blinding, damn near dangerous. 

"No! Zayne, no. I went to a bar to drink alone, after our date,” you try to hide the embarrassment from seeping into your voice.

"Why? Did he do something to you?” His voice is still threatening, and you sigh at the unrelenting questions. You knew Zayne well enough to know he wasn’t going to let up, so it would just be easier on you if you told him everything that happened.

"Matthew was amazing,” you don’t notice the way Zayne’s eyes darken at your praises for the intern, "The date was fantastic. And after, we saw the sunset.” His expression is still unreadable and you start to fidget under his intense gaze, not knowing in the slightest what he was thinking. 

"And then he kissed me. We kissed. And that was it. I went to the bar and he went home. End of story.” 

Zayne’s fists ball so tightly his knuckles turn white, but he keeps his gaze steady. He doesn’t speak, and you’re scared of the tense silence that falls between you two.

"He couldn’t at least accompany you? Make sure you were safe?” You can tell Zayne is angry by the way his feet taps uncharacteristically erratically against the floor, "Driven you home?”

His questions make it impossible for you to forget about your horrifying mistake today and you just feel so incredibly bad for Matthew. The regret and embarrassment gnaw at your mind like parasites. And so against your better, albeit slightly still drunken, judgment, you finally blow.

"He left because I was thinking of you, okay? Matthew was a gentleman, he was funny, kind, and charming. And yet I was thinking of you the whole time. And so he left and I went to a bar and got drunk all on my own, okay?”

"You were thinking of me?” Zayne’s voice is an annoying mix of bewilderment, intrigue, and what sounds like mockery, which just infuriates you.

"I am always thinking of you Zayne! I thought about you at dinner, I thought about you when we watched the sunset, and I thought about you when he kissed me,” you burst, your drunken lack of inhibitions leaving nothing unsaid. 

Zayne’s face is unreadable again, but there’s a heat in his eyes that makes you tremble in your seat, "You were thinking of me when he kissed you?”

Unable to bear his unrelenting repetitive questions anymore, you explode, "Yes Zayne! And when he kissed me I called out for you!” The confession tumbles out of your mouth before you can even think twice about it. It takes you a second to realize what you’d just blurted out and you bury your face in your hands, wanting nothing more than to scream at the top of your lungs. Unfortunately it was 2am and you had neighbors that most definitely would not appreciate that. 

You feel his strong hands grab your wrists gently, prying your hands away from your face, wanting to see you, "You called for me?” His tone is as amused as it is intrigued and it frustrates you to no end, the shame weighing heavily on your mind. 

"Don’t tease me right now Zayne,“ you warn weakly, "I am always thinking about you. But you…” your voice trails off to a shallow whisper, "You don’t seem to think about me.”

Zayne is silent but his eyes are as intense as you’ve ever seen them, staring into your soul. The silence is thick in the air as you refuse to be the one to break it.

Finally, he speaks, voice clouded with indiscernible emotions, "Is that what you really think? That I don’t think about you?”

"Do you really think I waited for 5 hours, in my car, for you to come back because I don’t think about you?” Your breath catches in your throat at the pure and raw growl in his voice. 

Before you can respond, he continues, "I think about you every second of every day. I thought about you all day, thought about you on your date with Matthew.”

Zayne shifts so that he can cup your face with both his hands, drawing his face closer but not close enough, "I thought about him getting to hear your voice, getting to touch you…to kiss you. It drove me insane.” 

Your feelings churn in your stomach and into your chest, making it hard to breathe. The way Zayne is looking at you, his hands holding your face so possessively, threatens to stop your heart altogether. You’re drawn to him all over again, only this time it feels like he might be drawn to you too.

"W-why?”

Zayne doesn’t speak, and you watch as his eyes flutter to your parted lips as you pant out your breaths, eyes fighting to stay open amidst all the tension enveloping the two of you. 

"Why did you push me to go with him then?”

His eyes force themselves onto yours, as if unwilling to leave your lips, "I made a mistake.” 

His revelations quickly sober you up, and you’re left feeling vulnerable but bold. You softly grab a fist full of his tie, pulling him closer. You can faintly hear him groan under his breath, but he lets himself be guided towards you. Your lips are so close to each other that you’re inhaling each other in, and you beg gently, "Kiss me, Zayne.” 

Zayne wastes no time at all, threading his fingers from your cheek into your hair, pulling your face the remainder of the distance to his own. 

Your first kiss with Zayne is nothing like you’d daydreamed it would be. You’d imagined the patient and reserved surgeon to be soft, gentle, taking his time with you. You’d expected it to be passionate but reserved, like the handsome raven haired man himself. 

And while the passion was undeniably there, what you didn’t expect was the bruising claiming heat that came with it. Zayne’s soft lips marked you as his own, a lifetime’s worth of emotions evident in the way he molded himself against you. With every twitch of his lips, Zayne laid claim to what was his. He kissed you like you might disappear at any moment, as if this was all a dream.

And when his tongue swiped across the parting of your lips, asking for permission to enter, you gladly relented control and authority. After all, you were his. You think you had been for some time.  

You hadn’t expected your first kiss with Zayne to be like this, and yet it was everything you wanted and more.

When you shift yourself to climb on top of him and straddle him on your couch, Zayne reluctantly pulls away, hands still gripping the back of your head, "Y/n, we should stop.” But he can’t stop his hands from leaving your soft hair and resting on your hips, almost like a reflex. His words say one thing but his hands just can't seem to pry themselves off of you.

You’re taken aback by his words, unable to stop the insecurity and hurt that paints your face. Zayne notices instantly, one of his hands leaving your hips to stroke your cheek, hooking some of your hair behind your ear. You lean into his hand, the whiplash starting to exhaust you as much as it kept you on your toes. 

"I want to,” he whispers hoarsely as you squirm on top of him, answering your unsaid thoughts, "I can’t even convey how much I've fucking wanted to. But you’re drunk. And the first time I finally take you...I want you to feel every second of it.” 

Your eyes flutter at his words, stomach clenching in anticipation. Having fully sobered up a while ago, before he even kissed you, you can’t help but beg a little, "I’m not drunk anymore. And even if I was… I want you. I’ve wanted you…forever.” 

Zayne swears, his eyes going full doctor mode, and you can tell he’s inspecting every inch of you to try and discern if you’re truly sober or not. You fidget nervously under his intense stare, to which his hands grip your waist painfully tight to keep you in place.

"Stop,” he grits out forcefully, as if in pain. You do your best to still in his lap, and that’s when you feel the unmistakable bulge of his erection underneath your parted dress that had ridden up to bunch at your hips, right against the pantyhose against your cunt. 

"Are you sure this is what you want?” He groans as your body presses deeper into his lap, "Because once…we start I won’t be able to stop.” 

His words send a shiver down your spine, the heated warning doing nothing but arousing you to your core. Through your hooded eyes, you nod eagerly at him, "M’sure Zayne. Won’t want to stop.” 

He smirks at you, a heart stopping smile that melts your brain and cunt simultaneously into a leaking mess, "You asked for it love.” 

Before you can even have the chance to physically combust at the affectionate pet name, Zayne whisks you into the air, scooping you under your exposed knees effortlessly. You yelp, clutching onto his neck as he carries you like a bride into your bedroom, navigating your apartment like he owned it. He bent down to capture your lips with his again, like he couldn’t physically wait to get you to your bed before claiming you again. 

You feel the cold press of your sheets against your spine as Zayne sets you down gently, and settles in between your thighs on top of you. His eyes absolutely devour you whole, raking up and down your exposed satin clad skin, "You look beautiful. I’ve been wanting to tell you all night.” His praise is throaty with desire and it makes you squeeze your thighs together against his body in anticipation. Your face heats at his words, and you run your palms up and down his abdomen, the material of his dress shirt feeling like silk against your burning skin. 

Zayne grins and chuckles, mostly to himself, but the sound catches your attention and you find yourself pouting in self-consciousness, "What’s funny?”

Zayne’s long fingers trace the outlines of your body under the satin dress, eliciting soft moans from you that please him to his core, "You just look so beautiful.” His fingers reach the bottom of your dress and begin to stroke the fabric of your pantyhose, inching up under your dress, so torturously slowly, "You wore this for him, yet I'm the one that’s going to tear it off you.”

Your body trembles at his words, the pool between your legs growing wetter. You can feel yourself growing impatient, only wanting his body to press onto yours, to suffocate your.

"Zayne please, don’t make me wait any more,” you murmur as you sit up on your elbows, pressing your forehead against his. You heartbeat is quick and your rapid breaths fan across his face. 

His eyes darken at your pleas, the hazel hues appearing almost a light brown, "Fucking hell Y/N, you’re going to drive me insane.” He sits up on his knees, loosening his tie before undoing it completely and discarding it on the floor next to your bed. You bite your lip as you watch him undo the top three buttons of his shirt, his toned chest on display under it. 

Leaning back down, he presses a bruising kiss against your swollen lips. His hands wander to the thin straps of your dress, gently tugging until they slip off your shoulders, letting him tug your dress down until your breasts are exposed. His tongue against yours is unrelenting, marking every inch of your mouth as his.

Detaching himself from you, he buries his face into your neck, his cold lips incredibly soothing against your lust burned skin. You cry out when you feel his teeth softly sink into the skin of your pulsepoint, as he suckles on you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. 

"Zayne,” you gasp out, his tongue and teeth working in tandem to have your mind filled with nothing but his mouth on you, "Please.”

He trails down your neck and collar, inhaling you into his lungs at every opportunity. You feel his smile against your skin as he reaches your breasts, your nipples pebbled from the lust. He voice is muffled against you, "Please what, my love?”

"I…” you’re too mortified to say the things you want him to do, so the silence overtakes you. Unhappy with your hesitation, Zayne bites into the supple flesh above your pert nipple, eliciting a string of moans and squeals from you. He’s instantly using his tongue to soothe the pain away, quickly replacing it with waves of raw pleasure. 

Zayne lifts his head, staring at you expectantly, "I can’t continue if you don’t tell me what you want.”

His unrelenting teasing drives you to the edge of madness, your arousal evident by the way it leaks through your panties and your pantyhose. But you’re stubborn, still refusing to speak. 

"Good girls listen to their doctors don’t they?” He places fleeting kisses onto your goosebump riddled areolas, careful to purposefully neglect your increasingly sensitive nipples.

"Should doctors really be this intimate with their patients?” You retort like a brat, wanting to dish back all of his incessant teasing.  

He smiles at you, thoroughly amused at your insolence, "I suppose not, but am I really just your doctor?” With that he captures your waiting nipples into his mouth. You cry out at the incredible feeling of his cold lips on your breasts but his warm tongue on your nipple, your lower body thrusting up uncontrollably into his crotch. 

He groans into your chest as you brush against his throbbing erection, restricted by the confines of his pants. Against the heat of your womanhood, Zayne hardens impossibly further, feeling like he might actually explode against the constraint. The sounds of your pleasure and your cries for him make it difficult for him to concentrate.

Switching to your other nipple, Zayne uses one hand to undo his belt, letting it fall to the ground with his tie. He undoes the button and zipper his pants, yanking them down with such feral urgency. When his cock was finally free, he broke away from your chest, hissing in relief. You look down and you’re met with the realization of why he was in so much pain. 

Zayne was large. In a way that terrified you to your very core. You could imagine that the restraint of his briefs alone would be uncomfortable, painful even, when holding something like that back. 

Zayne catches your stare and he grips your chin between his fingers, guiding you to his eyes instead, "It’ll fit baby, don’t worry.”

You fight to keep your lip from quivering, trying not to get lost in his green eyes, "Will it?”

"I'll make it fit, but first let me prepare you love,” he says Matter-of-factly, pressing a kiss to the bridge of your nose. The certainty in his voice turns you unbelievably on and you find yourself needing to please him. Your hand seeks out his erection, grasping it firmly into your fingers.

He groans at the slightest touch, knees buckling into the bed beneath you. You start with languid and deliberate strokes, feeling every vein pulse under your fingers. Your thumb finds his large engorged head, already leaking with pre cum, feeling every smooth surface of his cock under your touch. While Zayne writhes on top of you, you revel in his glorious manhood, everything about it utterly perfect and terrifying.

As you touch him, Zayne leans into the crook of your shoulder, laying claim to your sensitive neck. He marks every inch of bare skin he can find, leaving a trail of red and wet bruises in his wake. 

Your entire palm is wet with his leaking arousal, as he moans so closely into your ear. Gently, he pries your palm away from him, sitting back up onto his knees, smirking satisfyingly down at the marks he’d left, "God, I've waited so long to have you.”

You reach down to shimmy out of your pantyhose and black evening dress, leaving you in your black lace thong, naked, willing, and pliant before him. You see him gulp harshly, his eyes hazy with need, and you sit up to level with him, "So take me Zayne.”

A low growl rips from his throat, as he pushes you back onto the bed, setting your head against your wooden headboard. Zayne tortures you, kissing down your collar, your chest, your naval, and finally down the soft mound of your pelvis. 

Zayne seems almost feral as he looks at your lace covered cunt and back up at you, "Did you really wear this for him?”

"N-no,” you whine, "I wouldn't have ever l-let him. He wasn't you.”

Zayne seems somewhat placated by your response, hooking his cold fingers into the waistband, his voice a low grumble, "That’s my good girl. No one will ever see you in or out of these, but me. Right?”

Your brain fogs over as he slips your soaked panties down your legs, his breath hitching seeing the string of clear slick clinging to your cunt. 

"Fuck.” He’s lost in his stares, in absolute awe of the meal before him, carving every single perfect centimeter into his memory. You squirm under his intense stare.

"Zayne please don’t make me wait anymore,” you wine, crying out as he bends down and his lips graze the apex of your slit. 

His voice is incredibly smug, "You are so beautiful when you beg for me.” You sigh in frustration as his lips and fingers continue to just barely graze your needy body. 

"Zayne, please,” your body thrusts into his, but he holds you back down, almost impatiently.

"Behave yourself, Y/N. You can do that for me, can’t you?” His voice is full of command, making you back down instantly, shivering at the suspense of his words.

"I didn't wait this long to have you just to rush all the things I want to do to you,” he all but purrs, as his lips find your soaking slit.

The room is filled with your lewd cries as Zayne’s tongue licks a stripe from your clit to your throbbing hole. As your doctor, Zayne knew the ins and outs of your body but you never expected him to know you like this. Like his tongue was designed for nothing else but to deliver you the most unimaginable pleasure in this world. 

Zayne groans when his tongue enters you for the first time, the quivers resonating straight to your core. His nose brushes against your clit as he fucks you with his tongue, the vibrations of his own lust filled grunts bringing you closer to releasing all over his skilled mouth.

Your thighs clench against his face, and you almost worry you might suffocate him. You try to pry them away from him, but he only grips them with his strong hands, bringing them closer to his face, wanting nothing more than to be yours, wholly and irrevocably.

"You taste better than I ever imagined,” he moans out, staring into your eyes from between your legs. You blush at the filth of his words and the glistening slick smeared across his lips and chin.

"Did you – ahh hah – think about me often?” You tease between the sounds that spill out of your mouth uncontrollably.

He doesn’t answer, instead capturing your entire clit into his lips, sucking in earnest. You feel his smirk as you squeal out, hands digging into the fabric of your sheets and tugging hard. His hands knead your ass as he continues to eat, positively starved.

"Z-Zayne I-I can’t take much more,” you slur, your toes curling against his sides as he goes back to spearing his tongue in and out of you, using the tip of his nose to massage your clit, inhaling the smell of your arousal into his lungs.

"Yeah? Is my girl gonna make a mess for me?” He breathes into you, his hands reaching up to toy with your nipples. You cry in response, feeling the coil in your gut tightening beyond belief, the pleasure threatening to make you explode.

"Cum into my mouth love, let me taste you,” he whispers breathlessly into your cunt, slipping his middle finger inside of you, the wet sounds of his skin pounding into yours filling the room. You come done instantly, screaming as your back arches off the bed and you release all over Zayne’s waiting mouth, hands ripping at his soft hair. 

"That’s it baby, look at you cumming from just one finger,” he muses, working you through your orgasm with just his middle finger. You let out a stream of broken moans, unable to form any words.

"Fuck you’re this tight around just one of my fingers?” He murmurs before dipping back down to devour everything you give him. 

He laps up your spend eagerly and diligently, not letting a single drop go to waste. Refusing to relent against your twitching clit, Zayne devours you until the overstimulation lights your pussy on fire. He’s always had a sweet tooth and it looks like he’s found his absolute favorite dessert, unwilling to give it up any time soon.

"Such a messy girl,” he mumbles to himself, the clear strings of arousal sticking from your wet thighs to his chin. 

Your thighs tremble at the discomfort of overstimulation, doing your best to back away from him, "Mmm Zayne, s’too sensitive. No more, please.”

He relents reluctantly, looking utterly displeased with having his treat taken away. As he sits up, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans forward into you, tapping your lips with his thumb.

"Open,” he commands forcefully, bringing his soaked middle finger up to you. You part your lips obediently, welcoming the taste of you on his skin. His eyes squeeze shut and he lets out a deep heated moan at the feel of your tongue on him, tasting everything he got to taste. His cock literally felt like a ton of bricks needing to be pleased. 

Releasing his finger, you reach for his length again, "I-I want to make you feel good too.” 

Zayne presses his cold lips to yours, simultaneously undoing the buttons of his shirt. He pulls aways to shrug the clothing off his broad shoulders, giving you an eyeful of his glorious physique. He shivers, letting you jerk his erection up and down, but pushing you down when you try to get on your knees before him.

"Next time. We have all the time in the world,” he whispers, pushing you against the headboard, holding your cheek in his large hand, "But right now I need to be inside you.”

The smoldering fire in his eyes makes your mouth dry, and you nod meekly. The promise of a ‘next time’ is enough to have you ready for him again. Your cunt still quivered, recovering from your previous orgasm, but pooling at the hoarse need in his tone. 

As your head lays on a pillow against the headboard of your bed, Zayne lifts you from the small of your back and shoves another pillow behind you, so that you’re elevated towards him, served on a silver platter.

"Spread your legs for me,” he growls, the urgency in his voice leaving little room to protest. And so you obey, widening your legs for him, watching as he admires the area between your thighs like it was 

His hand reaches to cup you, clit caught against his palm and fingers toying with your hole, "Who does this belong to?” 

But you can’t hear him through the searing pleasure of his touch against your over sensitive body, the blood pounding in your ears like drums. Looking at where his hand meets your body, you cry out at his ministrations against you, your thighs trembling in shivers. 

With his free hand Zayne grabs your chin, slipping his thumb into your mouth, harshly forcing your eyes to his, "Don’t look away. Be a good girl and answer me.”

Although his words are driven with lust, they remind you of the emotional turmoil you’d been weathering because of your feelings for the man in front of you.

"M’yours Zayne, always been yours,” tears well in your eyes and you hope he can understand the weight behind your words, behind all the lust and arousal filled craze. 

Zayne stares back at you, and his eyes hold an entire galaxy of emotions that match the colors of his irises: desire, devotion, awe…and love. 

"And I am yours,” his words strike your heart and you lean up to slot your mouth against his. As he kisses you, he lines up his thick length with your cunt, teasing your clit with his engorged tip, his pre cum mixing with your spend that still leaked out from your prior climax. You cried into his open mouth at his teases, your back arching off the pillow and further into his cock. At your movement, his head catches onto your throbbing and waiting hole, eliciting a deep grunt from him. 

He pulls away, groaning, "So impatient, you want it that bad?” You whimper, burying your face into his neck and latching onto his pulse point to save yourself from having to answer. 

"P-please…” you whisper into his ear. He groans, fishing through the pocket of his pants as he pulls them off of his legs. 

"Please what, love?” He smirks at you, pulling his wallet out, now just in his briefs pulled down to let his massive erection free. 

You gulp, staring at the way he stands so proudly against his naval, reaching comfortably to his belly button. His girth rivals that of at least three of your fingers.

The rustling of plastic snaps you out of your shameless ogling. Zayne places a condom packet between his teeth, tearing it with one hand. You gulp at the sight of him, but you protest, "I–i um,” you clear your throat, trying to work up the courage to vocalize what you want, "You don’t have to use that.”

Zayne’s dark eyes catch yours, and the edge in his voice is dangerous, a warning, "Don’t tempt me. I need to protect you.”

Your face burns as you try again., "W-what I mean is, well as my doctor you know I'm clean.” You do your best to stop your voice from wavering, "And I-I um I'm on the pill.”

Zayne’s eyebrows quirk as his irises darken with heat, "How come I didn't know that?

"I’ve been using an online service for a few months,” you say sheepishly, "S-so you don’t have to use that.”

Zayne catches on, a satisfied smirk gracing his features, "Is that so?” He teases his entire length on your slit, practically fucking you along the lips of your womanhood. Using his swollen tip, he taps your clit forcefully, eliciting a throaty yelp from you.

"Tell me what you want.” You shiver at the pure feral domineer in his voice.

"P-please Zayne, I want it. I need it.”

"What do you need baby?” 

You groan in frustration, but give into his demands, "I-I need you Zayne, need you inside. Need it so bad.” The way you can see his breath hitch in his throat fills you with confidence, so you lean closer until your bottom lip brushes against his, "Need to feel you inside, please Zayne.”

His jaw locks as he grits out forcefully, "I will give you everything.”

Zayne holds his cock with one hand, lining it up with your entrance. His other hand grips the wooden beams of your bed frame, "Can you take it Y/N?”

If you’re being completely honest, you’re not sure you can. Though you weren’t a virgin, you had never even seen a man so large, let alone attempted. But at Zayne’s expectant expression, you nod eagerly, "Y-yes I can, I-I can try.”

"Good girl,” he mutters, before sinking himself into you. The stretch is so much worse than you imagined it would be, practically splitting you in half. You squealed, clawing at his biceps as he did his best to enter you. Feeling so incredibly stuffed, you look down only to see he’s barely just gotten his tip inside.

The vein in Zayne’s forehead throbs as his jaw slackens, a string of swears leaving his lips, "Jesus you’re like a vice down there. I need you to loosen up love, or else I'll never be able to get inside.”

You pant against him, not knowing what to do but to watch the way he stares intently at your tummy. The heat and desire in his expression arouses you beyond belief, and you unconsciously squeeze your velvet walls in excitement. 

Zayne’s knuckles turn white as he grips the headboard for support, the veins in his forearms bulging as he groans out, "Fuck baby please. Are you trying to squeeze it off?”

"Sorry, m’sorry. S’too big,” you wail, hands gripping his shoulders for support. The stretch is nothing like you’ve ever felt, and you don’t know if you can take much more than what’s already inside you. "Z-Zayne it’s too big I c-can’t,” you pant, doing your best to relax and loosen up your muscles. 

"You can, you’re doing so good for me Y/N,” Zayne huffs out, pushing deeper into you, the slick from your forming arousal and his pre cum starting to make the stretch easier. The drag of his cock against your gummy walls starts to feel so torturously delicious, like your body was made to take him in. 

Finally, he eases into you, eyes unable to look away from where your bodies connected.

"If you could see how – hah – beautiful you look like this, spread out for me,” he grunts, being as gentle as he can manage, when all he wanted was to ram into your warm and tight cunt, squeezing him so tightly. 

"Been waiting for the day I could – shit – finally be inside you. Drove me fucking insane thinking about you and Matthew.”

His words are enough to have you leaking all over your joined bodies, the slick dampening his pelvis and your thighs. As he seats himself in you as deeply as he can, his tip brushing against your womb, he lets out a shaky breath of ecstasy.

"Is this what you – hah – thought about? When you were with another man?” His words are claiming, making butterflies explode in your gut and your cunt to flutter around him. You can only moan and drool as his body thuds into yours, over and over. 

"Sweetest little princess cunt I've ever felt,” he swears, languidly withdrawing from you before pushing back in, knocking the breath out of you. With your head leaning against the back of your bed frame you can see every second of his glistening length burrowing in and out of you, like it absolutely owned you. 

"Z-Zayne,” you moan, nails digging into his shoulders, "Please.” You don’t know exactly what you’re begging for, but you can’t stop the words from coming. 

"Hah, if you want something you have to – fuck – ask for it love,” he pants, doing his best not to get lost in the pure pleasure of finally getting to be inside you.

His words send you reeling, the ecstasy increasing with each deliberate and hard drag. You fight through the fucked out haze, vision blurred from your hooded lids, "Hah - harder please.”

At your request Zayne stutters for a brief second, your cunt squeezing so tight he could barely move, "Anything for you.” 

With his hand clutching the frame, he uses his other hand to rub harsh circles onto your swollen clit. His pelvis smacks against your thighs and ass so hard that the bed posts knock into the wall repeatedly, the skin slapping sounds mixing with the sounds of the wood against the plaster. 

At the added stimulation your eyes roll into your brain, your eyelids weighing down heavily. Zayne leans in until his chest presses against your breasts, your breaths heaving in tandem. His eyes follow yours, forcing you to hold eye contact with every deep thrust into your soul. Against your will, your eyelids flutter as the pleasure starts to overcome your fighting consciousness.

You can vaguely make out Zayne’s smirk, as his hand leaves the frame to cup your chin in his palm, "Don’t tell me you’re already worn out, love.” His fingers flick against your clit.

You yelp out, nails digging into his back with one hand while the other hand smacks his shoulder gently. You pout, "You’re so mean to me.”

He leans down to kiss your shoulder, his pace never faltering. He chuckles against your skin, "But you can take it, right? You always take me so well.” The double meaning of his words makes you clench in excitement, the praise making your chest tighten.

He groans as you clench down onto him, threatening to make him blow, "Hah so fucking tight. You like that huh baby? You like it when I praise you?” He thumbs your clit with more intensity, wanting to see you come absolutely undone for him.

You bite your lip to keep from screaming, nodding eagerly in response to his words. Zayne’s thrusts only grow in intensity, as if he’s trying to reach your esophagus from your cunt. You’re a mess of uncontrollable moans and mewls, unable to stop your eyes from rolling back and your tongue from hanging out as he fucked you into oblivion.

"Look at you,” he grins arrogantly, voice husky with desire and raw possessiveness, "Going on a date with my intern just to end up with my cock stuffed in you.”

You whine at his words, simultaneously not wanting to think about Matthew but also being so turned on by the dominating undertone of his words. His fingers abandon your clit, much to your disappointment, to trace the bulge his cock makes in your tummy. His other hand pulls your chin down so you can watch him.

"Look how deep I am, love,” he grunts. You watch in awe as the small bump in your stomach  bulges and disappears with the rhythm of Zayne’s thrusts. With every withdrawal, Zayne’s impressive cock glistens with slick, the throbbing veins bulging enough to make you drool. Absolutely entranced, you fit your hand under his to stroke at his cock as it pushed through your tummy.

Zayne swears as you caress his cock through the bump in your tummy, throwing his head back to catch his breath. His hand goes back to paw at your clit, trying to stop himself from blowing his load into you right there.  

As the climax builds in your gut, you throb around his impossibly hardened length spearing in and out of you, to which he twitches inside of you. The sounds of your combined whimpers and grunts, the lewd smacks of his damp slick dampened skin against yours, and the bed slamming against the wall overwhelm your brain until you can only think about Zayne, his cock inside you, and the overwhelming pleasure he’s giving you.

"Zayne, I-I’m close,” you cry, hand abandoning your stomach to loop around his neck, digging your nails into his damp skin.

"Fuck – I know love, I can feel you trying to squeeze it out of me,” he grunts, body slamming into yours so hard that your body smacks against the headboard.

"I’m gonna – gonna cum,” you cry, nails digging into the taut muscles of his back.

"No,” he demands, and you do your best not to gape at him. He gasps through his next strokes, "Be a good girl and wait for me. I want to feel you finish all over me when I cum inside you.”

"O-okay,” you say, but you’re honestly unsure if you’ll be able to wait, the waves of pleasure crashing into you so roughly it threatens to overtake you right then and there.

"That’s my girl,” gripping your chin, Zayne leans in to kiss you again, his tongue claiming your warm and waiting mouth. Your eyes squeeze shut and your body tenses as you try to quell the raging tides of the impending climax, moaning endlessly into Zayne’s mouth.

You pull away to breathe, your lungs needing as much oxygen as possible to withstand the ecstasy. Zayne’s hand grips the wooden beams above your bed again, his knuckles turning white as he watches the pleasure contort your beautiful face. 

"I-I can’t – ”

"You can, baby. I’m – hah – almost there, just hold on a little longer for me,” he grunts. The pleasure and pain of his edging threatens to knock you unconscious, but you nod and throw your head back as your eyes roll backwards again.

Through your fucked out haze you can vaguely see a strange icy sheen forming on the wooden beams of your bed’s headboard. You follow the path of luminous crystals and realize they’re forming from Zayne’s hand that grips against the frame so tightly his knuckles are pale and taut, as he comes closer to exploding inside you. 

Unable to shake yourself out of the pleasure, you can’t find the words to warn Zayne. You continue to watch in awe as the beautiful iridescent flakes frost over the dull old wood. His palm is covered in a layer of snow white frost, the tiny snowflakes dancing around his skin as it grips the furniture so forcefully. You realize he’s losing control of his evol, because of you. And the idea of that threatens to push you head first into your second orgasm of the night.

It happened so fast. As Zayne bullies himself in and out of you, thrusting as if his life depended on it, the wooden beams of your headboard cracks in his hand, the wood turning brittle against his icy evol, and shattering under the force of his bruising grip. 

Zayne shields your body with his own as frozen wooden splinters fly everywhere, his thrusts stuttering as the sound of cracking wood pierces the air. You can tell he’s scared, constantly worried about losing control of his evol around you like this. His hands clasp together, massaging his wrists and trying to calm the unpredictable storm of his evol. You can feel him about to pull away, to get away from you and keep you safe.

You hug him close to you as he tries to pull away not wanting him to stop, not caring the least bit about the splintering wood falling into your hair. The worry and disgust with himself is evident in his eyes, and it tears at your heart so you do your best to comfort him, "S’okay Zayne, it’s not a big deal, I promise.”

But his eyes are far away, thick with emotions that make your chest lurch. You hold his face in  your hands trying to get him to look at you and not the splintered mess of furniture above you. You lock your knees around his waist. "Zayne baby,” you soothe gently, "Look at me. Look at me please.”

His frantic eyes meet yours under the guidance of your palms. You watch as the storm in his eyes calms down ever so slightly when they meet yours. You brush your thumb against his cheek, whispering, "Don’t stop, please. M’so close. I need you.” 

But Zayne is hesitant, only filled with worry for you, his thrusts halting altogether but still thick and solid in you. His jaw clenches down, "Did I hurt you?”

"Not at all,” you reassure, hand stroking his anguish laced face, "I don’t care, please make me cum Zayne, want to cum for you s’bad.”

Zayne continues his thrusts slowly, trying to shake away his anger at himself, "Hah – I'm so sorry Y/N, I'll buy you a new one, okay?”

"Y-yes whatever you want, but please just fuck me,” you plead, not wanting your climax to slip through your fingers, "Please don’t stop.” 

Your begging is enough to have Zayne going feral again, slowly regaining the vigor in his thrusts. His hand dusts the wooden fragments away from your hair. Your head sinks deep into the pillow, and falls back to peer at the gaping hole in your bed frame, slightly in awe of his sheer primal strength. It honestly turned you on unbelievably, edging you closer and closer. 

"Zayne I c-can’t wait anymore, m’sorry m’cumming,” you wail, your nails digging through his back as the ecstasy explodes in your body, from the tips of your curled toes to your fucked out brain. Your walls flex against Zayne’s vigorous thrusts as he continues to chase his own high, briefly forgetting about the furniture he’d ruined in his brief slip of control. 

Your eyes pull away from the snowflakes melting on the splintered headboard and fixate on Zayne’s eyes as your vision spots with fireworks, his cock pistoning in and out of you relentlessly. 

He lifts your thighs up until they press against his chest, your muscles aching in protest. Your ankles rest on his shoulders as he drives himself into your guts at this angle. He leans down and your body screams at the stretch in your muscles but he hits you so deeply like this you can’t feel anything but pleasure. He hits your g spot at every thrust, your body barely recovering from the previous orgasm as he steers you straight into another. 

"Sh-shit,” he groans, his eyes hooded as they bore into yours, "Squeezing me so fucking tight, are you trying to milk me? If you keep clenching down like that I'm gonna – fuck!” He swears at your nails digging into his broad back, dragging deep scratches into him as he fucks you roughly through the pleasure. 

"P-please Zayne I want to feel you,” you cry, "Cum inside me, please.” As Zayne pounds into you with no semblance of mercy, stars blur your vision, your body doing your best to accommodate him and the endless waves of overwhelming ecstasy. Your wet release splashes against your skin with every thrust of his hard muscular body. 

"F-fuck I'm gonna cum so deep inside you baby,” he groans with his eyes intently staring into yours, "This pussy is all mine.”

"You’re mine,” his voice is intense, a primal growl of urge and possessiveness, claiming you as his with both words and with his body. He bends back down, pressing a wet open mouthed kiss into you, tongue intertwining with yours needily. Both his hands threads through your hair, tugging gently as he rocks into you. He groans into your mouth, body shuddering as he finally releases into you.

Zayne rips away from your lips to rock onto his knees before you and carry you onto his lap, wanting to be able to hold you as close as possible as he emptied rope after rope inside of you. The angle allowed him to literally fuck his spend up into you. Your legs wrap around his waist and your hands around his neck, unable to even squeal at the sudden movement, only able to drool out against the crook of his neck. 

His spend is so deliciously hot inside of you, as your pussy quivers at the warmth, squeezing him even more. He forces his tongue into you again, wanting to be attached to you in every way as he pumps every thick rope into your waiting womb. As he tugs on your bottom lip, body still pressed on top of your legs, cock hitting your sweetest spots, you release all over him again.

Your eyes squeeze shut as your cunt pulsates uncontrollably, pulling more and more of his essence into you. Zayne’s thick muscles shake under you, the waves of his orgasm rocking his entire body into yours.  

You pant as his bounces slow, his unending stamina finally coming to a halt as his sweaty chest heaves against your trembling breasts. He presses gentle kisses to the deep hickeys he’d marked onto your skin, using his broad hands to caress your bruise splotched throat.

The sound of satisfied pants and soft moans blankets the two of you as you snuggle into him, never wanting this moment of post sex bliss to end. Your collective spend begins to leak down onto Zayne’s lap, your poor cunt physically unable to hold the copious amount of spend inside of you. 

As his member softens it begins to slip out of you uncomfortably, so you squeeze in an effort to keep him in you as long as physically possible. 

Zayne swears, his eyes heated and his gentle grip on your throat tightening just slightly, as he warns you darkly, "Behave. Unless you want me to take you again.”

And though the idea of him bringing you to orgasm again, and many times after, sounds like heaven on earth, you don’t think your poor cunt can possibly handle any more pleasure for tonight. He chuckles when you ease up, stroking the curvature of your naked spine with his icy fingers. 

"I’m sorry about your bed, my love,” he murmurs into the shell of your ear, falling softly backwards onto the bed and guiding you down with him until you rested on top of his hard muscular body, his softening erection still nuzzled deep inside you. He’s careful to lay the two of your joined bodies away from the destroyed headboard, holding your head protectively against his chest.  "I will buy you a replacement tomorrow.”

His free hand roams every inch of your body, from twirling the strands of your hair to gripping the supple flesh of your rear. 

"S’okay Zayne, it’s not necessary,” you murmur sleepily, tracing the contours of his taut muscles, "I don’t need a new frame.” Honestly the idea of Zayne breaking your bed in pure primal lust was enough to have the heat collecting back in between your thighs. 

"I would rather you take me on a date,” you smile into his skin, "Since you ruined the one I had today.”

Zayne chuckles, the sound so warm and beautiful to your ears you think you might melt right into his solid frame, "I suppose I did. Will you let me take you out tomorrow?”

You lean up so that your chin rests on his chest and you can peer at him through your lashes, giving him your best begging face, "Only if you beg.” 

He looks up at you, the amused lopsided smile on his face just begging to be wiped off, "Please? Let me take you to dinner.” He lifts your chin off his chest with his index finger, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He smirks when you shiver at his fleeting touch, watching you bend to his very will.

"And then after…” he trails off, fingers leaving your face to trace against the side of your exposed breasts, and up to your hard nipples. You bite your lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of moaning out. 

As he incessantly fiddles with your skin, you finish his thought with a joke, "After you can come destroy my new bed frame too.”

Zayne’s eyes darken with mischief and amusement, "You shouldn't write checks your body can’t cash, my love.”

The filthy promise in his words coupled with his cold fingers pressed deliciously into your pebbled peaks rip the whimper you’d been holding back out of your lips, your cunt clenching in anticipation despite your crippling exhaustion.

But it seems Zayne knows your body as well as you do. "But for tonight, just sleep,” he mumbles into the top of your head, pressing his lips into your hair. 

"Mmm stay here with me, please,” you murmur into his chest, letting the sleep take root in your pleasure numbed mind. 

"I'll be here when you wake up,” he reassures, his voice falling deeper and rougher with exhaustion and hands shifting to cover your bodies with your comforter. His hands then wrap around your waist, holding your body against this, as if scared you’d disappear from his arms. "I won’t ever leave you.” 

Your heart flutters as the unconsciousness claims you. "G’night Zayne,” you mumble, kissing his chest.

"Good night my love.”

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

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[writing-mlm]

Blue-pilled man [D.W]

Summary: Sophomore year of college and life is good-- until Bruce invites your family to Thanksgiving. Thankfully your boyfriend is there to distract you-- wait, boyfriend??? Pairing: Damian Wayne x male!reader WC: 9.3k

A glitch in the system is what you’d considered yourself. There wasn’t supposed to be anything special about you, the middle child born from the rare chance the birth control didn’t work. The failed plan B. The unimportant middle child in a large family living along the West Coast. You hadn’t been anyone special, you hadn’t done anything remarkable with your life. 

You’d graduated high school and flew across the country to Gotham of all places. Low housing costs, honestly, was the only reason. You’d been going to Gotham University for what? Five or so months before you’d gotten an internship at Wayne Enterprise for your major in business. It was going fine, you met some other interns and made fast friends and went out with them as often as you could. 

Which is probably where you fucked up. You’d gone out to someone’s birthday party in a club, fake IDs locked in. It was fun, from what you could remember. And you were all going to head out since it was a Sunday— poor choice, you know but you went to use the bathroom when someone shoved some blue pill into your mouth. But at the time you were too drunk to care about what it was. It tasted like a mint though, so you assumed that’s what it was and thanked them for the breath mint before heading to meet your friends in the Uber. 

The next morning you woke up with a raging headache and the need to vomit. Unfortunately for you, you had a meeting with the Bruce Fucking Wayne. Apparently, he interviewed each intern a couple of months into their internship and it was your turn. Surprise!

But thankfully, it led to where you are now. 

As a Junior in college, you like to think you’ve been doing this long enough to get the hang of it. You’ve also been granted off-campus housing. Which was fucking amazing. You lived with one person and get this… he’s Bruce Wayne’s son! Honestly, for a nepotism baby, he was cool. 

Plus, he was Robin. So it made going out to fight crime at night so much easier, and his dad— your boss in more ways than one, always understood why you were late to work. But it also meant he called you whenever Robin was called in. 

“Player!” Robin shouts as you leap from roof to roof, leaving an animated dust cloud after you. “Player!” He repeats this time his voice cutting through your comms. “You’re going the wrong way!” He groans and you land on the roof, confused. He watches as you tap in the air and a holographic map pops up, taking over your field of view. 

   “Oh, shit!” You say, tapping a button on the bottom of the map and it shoots back to the corner it came from. “My bad, Rob!” Tapping on your waist bag, you see a selection of food and swipe to find a glowing lollipop. “Heading your way now!” Popping the lollipop into your mouth, you feel a surge over you and look down at your boots. There’s a green glow on them and you nod to yourself before jumping to the roof that was closest to him. 

He nods when he sees you following him, taking off towards the robbery happening at a local, beloved restaurant. 

“You think they’ll be open tomorrow?” You ask, catching up to Robin just as the two of you jump down from the roof and land across the block from the restaurant. “I was thinking we get some of their food for dinner tomorrow.” He glances at you then sighs, heading towards the restaurant.

   “Considering no one’s dead, yes.” He says once he's halfway across the block. You grin and catch up to him, already scanning through your inventory for where you kept handcuffs. 

—

“Do you reckon I could be a mad scientist?” You ask Damian as you walk into his bedroom, not even looking up from your laptop. “Or could I get roped into a cult? Am I cult material?” Sitting on his bed, you tuck one leg under you and let the other dangle off of the bed. “I don’t think I’m cult material, I’m not easy to peer pressure,” You mutter. 

   “No,” He sighs, setting his own laptop down next to him but he doesn’t close it. “You couldn't be a mad scientist but you would get sucked into a cult.” Gasping, you look up at him and blink. 

   “Nuh-uh! How?” Crossing your arms, you sit properly on his bed and shut your laptop. 

“You almost signed up for the Church of Scientology last week because they asked if you wanted to take a personality test. Every time you pass by a club that asks you to join, you sit on it for a week before declining because I remind you that you’re a full-time college student with a job and a vigilante!” He lists and you huff, throwing yourself onto his bed. “It’s not your fault, though. Growing up in an environment where you didn’t feel loved would lead to a person being more susceptible to a cult. They make you feel needed, wanted.” God, you hated that he had taken that psychology course. 

“Ouch,” You mutter, resting your hands on your stomach. Looking over at him, you see he’s gone back to doing his work. “Do you want me?” You ask and he glances up at you before looking back to your laptop. 

   “In my room? Depends on my mood.” He shrugs.

“In your life, I mean.” He looks at you this time, his hands ready to close his laptop. 

   “I do,” He gives one strong nod. “Considering I agreed to live with you until we graduate, I would hope I’d… enjoy your company.” Smiling, you look back to the ceiling. His ceiling is bare, although you can see the marks from the times you’ve thrown sticky balls to the ceiling and pieces got left behind. You wonder why he hadn’t taken those off yet. 

Damian’s room isn’t what you had expected it to be. He has various art materials set up around his room, an entire section of his room is dedicated to his pets like their beds and toys, and his walls are covered in various items. You see drawings, news clippings, posters of various famous people he enjoys, and a full-length mirror was nailed to the back of his door. He doesn’t have a rug, he says Alfred the cat likes to tear those up. But he does have a curtain that looks like a rug. 

Not to mention his swords. 

His bed is nice, too. Bruce had spared no expense furnishing the place, he’d gotten the best beds possible for the two of you. Damian preferred a firmer bed, he never liked the feeling of sinking into a bed and not being in control of that. He also needed space for his pets, since there was no rule about how many could sleep in his bed now that he no longer lived in the manor. Prior to moving in, you’d pegged him as a one-pillow type of guy. But he had an absolute mountain of pillows, most of which he didn’t even use. 

Tapping on the transparent food icon that was always in the corner of your eye, you watch as your inventory materializes above your body. You widen the bar into a grid and scroll until you reach a water bottle. 

“Want one?” You ask. “They’re cold.” He hums and you pluck two water bottles out from the bar and toss one to him. Of course, being Damian, he catches it without looking up from his work and you roll your eyes. 

   “Thank you,” He says as you close out your food inventory. 

Honestly, major fucking thank you to that blue pill guy. Whatever was in it had made you into your very own video game character. You could even change your appearance! It was so fucking cool, you could find random items lying around and literally create a bomb in two seconds! 

Not that you’ve ever done that. 

Sitting up, you take a slow sip of the water as Ace trots over to you and lifts his paw. Grinning, you pat the bed and he jumps up, bumping his nose to your arm as a greeting before curling up at Damian’s side. He glances down at his dog and mindlessly pets him along his spine. 

“Have you studied yet?” He asks, lifting his eyes from his screen to meet yours for a brief moment. Capping the bottle, you toss it back into your inventory and lean back on his bed. 

   “A little,” You admit. “Between jobs and class, I haven’t had time. Was gonna during break, though.” He raises an eyebrow and you shove his foot. “Sorry some of us won’t be visiting family and will have an entire week to do nothing!” 

“Oh, and where do you think you’re staying?” He asks, finally fully closing his laptop and setting it on his nightstand. 

  “Here,” You shrug as if the answer was obvious. 

    “Father wants you at the manor, he’s invited you to Thanksgiving,” This is news to you. Looking at him, you see Damian is looking at you before he turns his attention back to Ace. He’s old, you note. He’s gotten the powered face and you’re pretty sure he’s been sleeping on the sofa while watching late-night game shows. He even snores now. 

   “Oh, thanks so much for the heads up!” Scratching his backside, Ace’s leg kicks and you chuckle. His eyes crack open when you stop and he moves to nudge your hand, letting out a small howl. 

“Don’t be cruel, he’s old.” Damian gestures to the dog who’s doing his best to look like he’s about to cry. Where he learned that, you’ll never know. But you lay down properly on the bed and continue to pet him. Damian pets his head, and you just barely register that he probably doesn’t want you to smash his pillows underneath you. Adjusting yourself, you look around for Alfred. 

He’s awake in his cat tree, but his tail is slowly swishing in the air. A little harshly, you might add.

“Someone’s jealous,” You joke, and Damian follows where you’re looking. “Come and get pet, Alfred!” The cat lets out a chipper merwl and leaps from his place on the tree and onto the floor. There are two small thumps, one from the front paws hitting the floor and the second from the back paws. Alfred flicks his tail as he lands before jumping onto the bed in one big jump. 

He nudges your free hand and when you lift it, crawls underneath forcing you to pet along his back before he settles on your chest. One thing about cats is that despite their small size, when they’re sitting directly over your ribcage they all but quadruple in weight. 

“Ow,” You bite back a groan, closing one eye and slowly easing onto Damian’s pillows. “Lay down, please,” Whispering to Alfred, he blinks and then plops down as if his bones had just gone away. Chuckling, you pet wherever he asks and close your eyes. 

“Fathers texted,” Damian mutters, shifting down on the bed so he could comfortably lie down. “We’re patrolling tomorrow,” 

“Thank god, not tonight,” You huff, looking down at Alfred whose content on your chest. He’s purring loudly, and his front paws are neatly tucked under his body while his lower half is splayed out to the side. His eyes don’t leave your face, though. They’re half-lidded like he’s fighting sleep and you see his head rocking a bit. Scratching his forehead, he pushes his head further into your fingers and gives one lick before laying his head flat on your chest. 

“He likes you too much,” Damian chides. “He’s a traitor!” Alfred doesn’t miss a beat as he rolls to turn his back to Damian, letting out the loudest sigh he can muster in his very tiny body. 

   “He’s a baby!” You protest. “Ain’t that right, Alfie?” In response, Alfred flicks his tail once, slowly lowering it back down to your stomach. “See,” Looking over at Damian, you see him watching his cat with an almost envious glare before he looks at you. 

“You know it took me five hours to train him?” He asks as Ace gets up and jumps off of the bed. You watch for a second as he paws the door open before slipping into the hallway. Damian scoots a bit closer and raises his hand to pet Alfred. “He was totally feral before me.”

“Ah, so he was you before Bruce?” The tease is clear in your voice, your eyebrows wiggling and your chest shakes a little bit when you see his reaction. 

   “I wasn’t feral,” He bites, looking over at you. 

   “You stabbed your brothers,” You softly remind him and he scoffs, laying his head down on the same pillow you were using. But neither of you seems to notice or care. 

    “If they could get stabbed by a ten-year-old, they deserved it.” 

Alfred stands up, his back rising to comical heights before he spawns and stretches over to Damian. 

“Traitor,” You frown, rolling to your side and watching as he lays down on Damian, his tail curling under his body. 

   “He knows where home is,” Damian jokes, making you scoff. 

“I’m gonna go take a shit,” You mutter and press a kiss to Damian’s forehead. Somewhere in your mind, it was intended for Alfred, but you missed it and didn’t realize it until you were at the door. 

“I don’t mind,” Damian said when he noticed you had paused at the door. 

   “…Okay…” You hum and leave his room. It’s not like you’ll make a habit out of it. 

—

A week later you’re both in the apartment's living room, Damian is busy working on this art project he’s been working on and you’re cramming for your last final of the semester. You’re sure if you read another word in that stupid textbook you’re going to explode and huff, slamming it shut before tossing it onto the pile that had amassed on the floor. 

You need to do something else. Looking towards the kitchen you squint, food? No. Sighing, you look towards Damian. He’s focused on his drawing, you’d hate to disturb him. Your attention drifts down to your phone that’s vibrating on the coffee table. 

Perfect timing. 

You grab your phone and stand up before leaning down to kiss Damian’s cheek and say a quick “Call,” before heading into the kitchen to fix yourself a snack. 

Okay, so habits quickly form, according to your track record. 

Apparently, anytime either one of you leaves a room, you announce it with a kiss on the cheek or forehead— whichever is closer, and then the location. You’d actually grown to be fond of it. And it didn’t really affect your previous relationship with him. If anything, you spent more time with Damian now. Which seemed impossible considering you go to the same college, live in the same place, work at the same place, and fight crime together. 

But, still. It’s just bros being bros. 

“Hello?” You answer the call just before it stops ringing. Slipping the phone between your shoulder and ear, you open the fridge and lean inside for a better look. God, you need to go grocery shopping soon. 

   “God! I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes!” A woman shouts from the other end and you pull the phone from your ear and check the caller ID. It’s not saved and you don’t recognize it. Probably the wrong number. 

   “Who is this?” You ask, grabbing the butter tub and opening it. Yogurt-covered fruits. Jackpot. You set the tub on the counter and reach for a nearby bowl. 

“Your mother! Hello, this is (Y/n), right?” Standing up straight, you disregard the fruit and rush into the living room and wave to get Damian’s attention. He doesn’t notice and you almost shout at him; he’s Robin and he can’t tell when his best friend is literally silently calling out for help five feet away?

   “Hey, mom!” He looks up at that, slowly setting his pencil and sketchbook down. He mouths something but you don’t catch it between your blinking and pacing. “How’d you— how are you?” You cringe, biting your fist to stop yourself from speaking. 

“Horrible! Where are you? We’re in Gotham,” She huffs and you whip around to Damian, eyes wide and you’re so close to lowering yourself into a squat and banging your head on the table. 

  “You’re here! In Gotham!” Damian sits up properly, motioning for you to put it on speaker and you do, setting the phone on the table. “How long are you here?” You ask, tugging your hands down your face. 

“Two months,” Your mother answers and you swear you almost passed out right then and there. “Ujjwal, no! That place looks like it has bedbugs,” She huffs and your step-father starts to complain in Hindi. “Where are you?” She asks over the complaining. “We’re coming over!” 

“I dorm, actually!” You quickly spit out, covering your mouth immediately afterward. 

   “Ah, why don’t you have an apartment yet?” Your step-father asks. “You know, your sister, Nadia has a house.” He says, forgetting the fact that Nadia was 27 and had won the lottery before moving to the countryside and buying her own house with her roommate since elementary school. 

    “I know, abbā.” You strain. 

“I still don’t know why he went to Gotham for college,” He mutters and you wouldn’t have heard it had it not been for them being on speaker. 

“Come meet us!” Your mom demands. “We’re in front of Gotham Bright Hotel! Diana is tired.” 

“I’m busy, mom.” 

“Nonsense, come and pick us up!” She huffs. 

You at Damian, silently telling him see, crazy! He nods and thinks for a second before grabbing the TV remote and hurriedly opening YouTube. 

“I’m studying and I’m pretty busy,” You repeat, watching as he looks up Fire Alarm noises. “Just stay there. I heard it’s a go—“ The video plays and you thank god there wasn’t an ad and it’s loud enough to seem real. “Sorry, abbā, mom, I gotta go! Fire drill,” Hanging up, you sigh and press your forehead to the cold table. 

“Why are they in Gotham?” He asks, stopping the video. 

   “Fuck if I know,” You grumble into the wood. “I should get a new number…” Sitting down, you stare at your phone and groan. It’s not worth it. “I’m gonna take a nap, don’t wake me up until the sun comes up, please.” Getting up, you kiss his cheek and head to your room. 

—

It doesn’t take long for you to bump into your family. The very next day, in fact. Dick had all but begged you and Damian to come along with him and the rest of the Waynes to go and check out the tree they put in front of Gotham City Hall every year. Like the New York tree. Just way smaller and probably will be stolen before Christmas. 

You’re next to Damian, your hands stuffed into your big coat and your chin trying to retreat into your scarf watching as the crane lowers the tree. It’s already decorated in yellow and red ornaments, There’s some Gotham Vigilante ornaments, too, you note and grin when you see your insignia. 

“It looks nice,” You chitter to Damian who looks over at you. He laughs at your state and moves in front of you to fix your scarf. You watch him as he carefully unwraps it and measures it to an equal length. He does it incredibly fast and you hope one day you’re as good as him with— everything really. 

He looks back up at you and carefully draws the middle in front of your neck. He has to lean a bit forward to wrap the material around your neck but he doesn’t mind the fact that you can see your breaths mixing with the small gap he created. You don’t either, though. His fingers graze your neck as he tucks the scarf into itself before he admires his work and nods. 

“Thanks,” With a noticeably less chatter of your teeth Damian is satisfied with his work and stands next to you again. You peer over at Dick who’s grinning ear to ear, watching the tree and putting his phone back into his pocket. 

“He’s like a kid or something,” You laugh and Damian follows your eyes.

   “He’s up to something,” He shakes his head and glares at his brother. Feeling the glare, Dick looks over at the two of you and waves his hand wildly. “Suspicious,” Damian confirms to himself. You roll your eyes and look back to the tree. There are some people helping set it in place as it’s lowered. Hopefully, there are no bombs in it this year. 

“(Y/n)?” Several heads turn to the voice and you see your younger sister grinning and rushing over to you. She’s dressed in a fancy blue winter coat, the one with a small cape on the shoulders and white fur along the edges. 

   “Diana…!” Behind her, you see some other family members. Your parents, both your step-parents, your siblings, and two cousins with their mom. “Oh my god.” You whisper. In truth, you probably should’ve expected they’d be there. That’s your fault. 

“We should run.” You tell Damian and he considers it. But your mother must be the flash with how fast she’s in front of you. 

“Where’s your hat? And you don’t have gloves!” She immediately says while removing her gloves and holding your face for a second. She removes her hands as you try not to move away from her grip, then places the back of her head to your forehead then your ears. “You’re going to get sick!” 

“Is this your mother?” Bruce smiles as he stands behind you. 

   “Yes,” You nod, putting your hands in your pocket. 

    “I’m Bruce,” He introduces himself and holds his hand out. It doesn’t click fast for the others, but for Diana it does. 

“Like Bruce Wayne? So, you’re Damian Wayne, right?”

Diana’s eyes gleam as she asks and for some reason, it leaves a bad feeling in your mouth. You don’t like the way she looks at him and the idea of her touching him makes you angry. He notices, you don’t know how, and places a hand on your shoulder. 

   “Yes.” He nods. “And you are?” Her smile falters for a second and her eyes dart to you for a second. She composed herself and removed her hands from her pocket. 

    “Diana, his sister!” She holds her hand out for him as the rest of your family catches up. “He must’ve talked about me a bunch!” She flashes a grin to you. 

   “Not at all.” He shakes his head and turns to the rest of your family. You hide a grin and he shakes their hands, he already knows their names and he’s seen their faces before so it’s just a formality on his end. 

“I had already invited (Y/n) to Thanksgiving,” Bruce starts, getting everyone’s attention back to him. “Would you like to join?”

Oh god no. Please. 

Damian looks over at his father with barely hidden distaste as you stare at nothing. You know they’ll jump at the chance. They’ll ruin everything. 

“We’d love to!” Your father says as your stepmother nods in agreement. The rest of your family agrees and maybe it’s the cold air that makes it hard to breathe but for some reason, you can’t. You blink, trying to take in as much as possible but it’s hard and you’re sure you don’t have asthma. Not anymore at least. Subconsciously, you tug at your earlobe to try and calm down. 

“We need to leave now, though.” Damian cuts off your step-father as he’s about to speak. “We have finals to study for. It was nice meeting you.” He grabs your wrist from your ear and tugs you after him; you follow him without hassle until you’re back at the car Bruce had driven in. 

“I truly do not understand father's thinking. Inviting them without consulting with you was a brash and out-of-character thing for him to do.” He frowns, unlocking the car with the keys he snagged from Bruce’s pocket. You used to wonder how he did it, but you’ve learned to not truly question him and his methods. Just hope he teaches you then one day. 

   “Yeah,” Is the only thing you manage to say. Only Damian really knew about your family, the others just knew you weren’t very close with them. 

It was one night, you figured. You’ll be fine. 

—

Bruce had requested everyone be at the manor before noon, which to Damian reads as being at the manor by nine. It’s less than a two-hour drive from your apartment to the manor, so you had to be up since four in the fucking morning. Which, honestly, you didn’t mind all that much. 

It was a little homey just sitting with Damian in the living room and the sun wasn’t up yet, and then taking turns getting ready. It was nice. Different too. It almost distracted you from the fact that you were about to see your family.

“Is this okay?” You ask Damian as you enter his room, tugging at the hem of your sweater. He was already dressed, in a simple black shirt and brown pants but he made it look expensive. You felt stupid and like someone pretending to be important. God, your pants didn’t even fit right! You should probably go and change, find something from one of the gala’s you’ve attended. 

   “You look perfect,” He says as he removes your hands from the hem and locks your hands together to stop you from leaving. “Cuff the ends of your pants, perhaps.” He adds offhandedly. You frown and look behind him. He has a small bag packed and you look back at him. 

“I don’t wanna go,” You whisper, searching his face for a sign that he’ll agree and you’ll both stay in your apartment for the night. You won’t have to see your family and probably finally block them. He won’t have to deal with his brothers. It’s a win-win situation. 

    “Take this opportunity,” He says and lets go of one of your hands to grab his bag from his bed. “Show them how good you’re doing. You’re basically a Wayne, you’re above them in every way possible.” Shouldering his bag, he guides you to your room and hands you your bag. 

“But…” You bite your cheek and take the bag. “What if… I dunno— I do something stupid! I slip up and reveal everything… I’m probably better off just sitting there. Diana will do most of the talking anyway.” You huff the last part. “Did you see the way she acted? I mean, she definitely toned down the spoiled and entitled energy but still. She’ll probably try and get with you, too.” His face scrunches at the thought and it makes you laugh. 

   “You should know she’s far from my type.” He says as he checks his phone and you don’t really understand but you pretend you do. 

“Can you grab Alfred? Pennyworth is here.” Humming, you enter the living room and grab the carrier that Alfred is less than happy to be in from the table. You try and keep him as stable as possible while Damian gets Titus and the two of you head out. He locks the door and you add an extra measure from your toolbar before going to the elevator. 

“You’ll be fine,” He swears as the two of you step inside. There’s no one else in the elevator seeing how early in the day it is and all the students have already gone home. “Besides, I’m sure one of my moronic brothers will do something embarrassing and do all the talking for us. And Pennyworth has promised knafeh.” 

“I love knafeh,” He grins and steps out of the elevator. 

   “That’s why I asked him to make it.” And they call him a demon.

Following Damian, you spot Alfred waiting in front of the car with a warm smile. 

“Good morning, Mr. Pennyworth,” You greet him while giving him a one-armed hug. 

   “Good morning, Mr. (L/n),” He pats your back then moves to open the car door. “Young Master Damian,” He nods and Damian nods back. The two of you scoot into the car and you set the cage in front of your legs. Alfred meows when he realizes he’s going back to the manor and begins to scratch at the bottom of the cage. 

“I’m sure he misses the open space,” You comment, trying to peer down inside of the cage but you can only lean down so far without fearing you’d break your back. 

   “Alfred is truly a pampered cat,” Pennyworth says as he enters the car. “Buckle up.” 

The ride is spent with you and Damian discussing random topics from your next patrol to your finals. He had even gotten Alfred to join in on the topic and the two of them all but yelled at you to study for your finals. Eventually, you did cave and promised them you would and you just know Damian is going to hold you to that. 

“Now,” Alfred sighs as he parks the car in front of the door to the manor. “I have to retrieve your family along with Master Dick. Do not tell the others this, but I trust you two the most in the kitchen. Could you please continue my preparations?”

“Of course, Alfie!” You grin while Damian just nods. Alfred smiles and looks at the two of you through the rearview mirror.

   “Thank you, I have a list on the fridge. Simply follow it until I get back.” With the promise not to fuck anything up, the two of you head into the manor and quickly put your things into his room and let Alfred out. 

“You’re better with a knife,” You mutter as you read over the list on the fridge. A  list probably isn't even the right word for it. It’s four pages long and double-sided, explains what’s being made and the steps to make it and you’re not sure that’s even all of the papers he’s created. Alfred tends to go big for Thanksgiving, you think it’s because the Wayne’s hadn’t been a big family until Bruce got addicted to taking in kids. Not to mention now your family was joining. “I’ll season the food.” 

Damian peers over at the list as you move to wash your hands and sees that everything has a time next to it, they’re already a little behind schedule so he’ll need to work quickly. He’s sure that the two of you can catch everything back up to speed and hopefully allow Alfred some breathing room. 

It’s vegetables after vegetables for Damian. He’s sure he’s cut up an entire acre of carrots and onions by the time he sees the two cars pull up to the manor. You, on the other hand, are having fun mixing and mashing various foods. You just hoped it was to Alfred’s standards. 

You see both of the cars pull up and take that as your sign to wrap up whatever you’re doing and you wash your hands. 

“I’m a pro fucking chef,” You grin at Damian as he sets the last of the stuff he chopped into a bowl next to the sink. 

   “It smells good.” He agrees, watching as the cars pull to a stop just long enough for everyone to get out. Your family piles out of the cars and you cringe as Diana is quick to insist on a family photo. You, of course, are not included in it but that’s nothing new. That fact doesn’t do anything to satiate your mood, though. 

“Bathroom,” You say as you kiss his cheek and head down the hallway. He watches with a frown before he wipes his hands on the kitchen towel and decides he’s not going to greet your family at the door. 

He stops at the first-floor bathroom and hears the faucet running. He knocks on the door once with his index knuckle and hears the water stop running. 

“I’m going to be in the family library,” Looking up from your spot on the top of the toilet, you wipe your face and clear your throat. 

  “Okay, be there in a second.” 

—

Entering the family library, you’re glad your family wasn’t inside just yet. They were probably still taking pictures in front since god knows how many individual and group pictures they like to take. Damian is sitting on the middle couch, Titus and Ace are sandwiching him together but Ace moves when he sees you. Like he knows you’re going to sit there. 

It makes you smile and you greet Tim who’s on a chair, he gives a small wave without pulling his head out of his laptop. You wonder what case he’s working on, has to be important if Bruce couldn’t force him to keep it in his room. The others aren’t downstairs yet, so it’s just the three of you in the room. 

Damian moves his left arm to the top of the sofa as you sit down and only when you’re comfortable does he move it to lay across your shoulders. He doesn’t do that often, but whenever he does it’s a welcomed interaction. You lean into his touch, just a little. 

You hear them enter the manor, but you’re more focused on the fact that he started to play with the hair on the base of your scalp. He’s probably doing it on purpose, but you don’t care; you’re glad he does because you didn’t even realize they had entered the library until you felt him greet them. His shoulder bounces a bit as he nods to them. 

“Oh,” Nadia says and you look over at her. She says it in the same way you’d say oh when you catch onto something. But you’re not sure what she’s caught onto. Her roommate, Kendall, waves with her fingers and you wave back. “Hey, squirt.” Your eyes turn back to your sister and her hand that twitches to grab Kendall’s. 

“There you are!” Her hand snaps back to her side as your mother speaks. You sit up straight as you see your mother, you don’t know why. But it felt wrong leaning on Damian with your family there, you’ve never felt that way before. “Why didn’t you greet us at the door?” Your mother asks. 

   “I was busy.” You say, looking over your family. “How was the ride?” 

“No one shot at us,” Your cousin laughs, throwing himself onto one of the sofas. You cringe, watching the wood bend at the sheer force he’d thrown himself down with. “But there was this one lady with the only gyatt!” He says and oh my god, you’d forgotten he was a middle school boy. 

“How’s school going?” Your step-mother asks, sitting in your father's lap. Your mother eyes them and you try not to as well, but you’ve never liked them together. She’s twenty-five, hardly old enough to be with a man in his fifties. 

   “Good,” You hum. 

“So,” Diana grins as she crosses her leg over her right. “Damian, what’s it like— living in Gotham? I bet it’s scary.” She’s sitting on the sofa next to the one you’re on, but closer to Damian. You bet if your folks weren’t in the rooms she’d try and reach for his hand. You try and not to focus on that. 

   “It’s not,” He shrugs. 

    “Really?” She grins. “Because I was thinking of transferring to Gotham University!” She says and Damian’s fingers twitch along your back. 

   “It’s not scary for me, someone who isn’t used to life here will never make it.” He quickly adds and she frowns. 

“It can’t be that hard,” She waves her hand to you. “I mean, (Y/n) is doing fine and he’s… him!” She laughs as she says that and you look at your parents, they’re clearly listening to the conversation but as per usual, no one will ever stop Diana. 

   “What’s that supposed to mean?” Damian asks while leaning forward in his seat. 

“There you two are!” Dick shouts as he runs into the library. His eyes look between the two of you and he makes the same face he does when he sees a cute dog. 

   “Richard.” Damian greets. 

“Kori!” You gasp and rush over to the woman as she walks into the room. Damian grumbles something but stands up and follows after you. “Oh my god, Dick didn’t mention you were coming.” You glare at him but he holds his hands up. 

   “We wanted to keep it a surprise,” She laughs and holds onto his shoulder. “His father has the baby.” Two months ago, Kori had given birth to their daughter, Mari. You had yet to meet her, but Dick made sure to spam-send you photos whenever he could. 

“Aw!” You frown. “Why does that old man get to see the baby first?” Damian hides his laughter and you nudge his side with your hip. 

   “Because she’s my grandchild,” Bruce says as he walks in behind them. He walks next to Kori and you see her swaddled in a purple blanket, sound asleep. 

   “And I’m the godfather!” You remind him, looking down at Mari. 

   “As am I,” Damian reminds you and you roll your eyes, waving your hand at him.  

“Can I hold her?” You whisper, afraid you’d wake her up. Bruce nods and you grin, helping him slide Mari into your arms. “She’s so small,” Turning to Damian, he holds your shoulder with one hand, and the other scoops under the hand that holds Mari’s head. He’s trying not to smile in front of Dick but you can see it. 

   “She has your hair, Richard.” He notes, turning to his brother as he puts his phone back into his pocket as quickly as possible. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t broach the topic. 

“And her mother's eyes,” Dick smiles at his wife. 

“Let’s sit,” Bruce says and you nod, unable to look away from Mari in fear of dropping her. Damian guides you back to your seats and you slowly lower yourself onto the couch. 

“She’s less fragile than you think,” He softly reminds you and you finally look away from her. Damian looks away from Mari and looks at you, his eyes flickering across your face before they settle on your eyes.

   “She’s so small, though.” You frown and he nods, moving some of your hair from your face. “Wanna hold her?” 

“Wish Jay took that much of an interest in her.” Dick frowns, watching the two of you. “First grandchild of the family!”

“Hopefully only grandchild for a while,” Bruce says as he unbuttons his jacket to sit comfortably. 

   “I doubt you’ll have a baby problem anytime soon.” Tim laughs, finally putting his laptop away. “Dickie is the only one of us to date a woman.” Dick laughs and Bruce genuinely has to think about it. Had he raised a home filled with gay people? Did he make kids gay? He’s one for four at the moment but he sort of wishes Duke and Cas would even the scores out a bit. No— he’s zero for five. He corrects himself, remembering Dick’s boyfriend from a few years back. 

   “Not true,” You cross your arms, oblivious to Bruce’s spiral. “Steph—“

“You know what I meant!” He rolls his eyes. “He’s the only guy in this family who’s dated a woman.” 

“No,” You shake your head while looking at Damian. “Didn’t you date uh… what’s her name? Nika?” He looks almost offended that you said that. 

   “(Y/n), she’s gay.” He corrects. 

“Alexis?”

“She was delusional.”

“Emiko?”

“Friends.” 

“Maxinne?”

“Friends. Why do you think I’ve dated these women?” The man himself walks into the library with Alfred. 

“…Jason…” You admit and he gives you a Are you fucking serious look. Jason looks confused for a second but he can get a hint of what’s happening based on Damian and Dick’s face. 

   “You believed Todd to tell you the truth of my love life?” He stresses and now you feel stupid. 

  “When you say it like that!” You huff, turning your head away from him. “I mean he also said you dated Jon.” 

“And that didn’t give you a sign he was lying?” He chuckles. 

“So, are you single?” Your mother asks and you catch Diana pretending not to listen but she leans in closer. 

   “No.” Damian answers in a tight tone and you frown. 

   “No?” You echo and he looks at you, bewildered. 

“No shot,” Jason laughs, his head tilted. “You two with me.” He points between the two of you and you look between his family, a similar look spreading across their faces. What the fuck is going on? But you follow Jason after Damian handed Mari back to Dick. He doesn’t look happy, you note as he walks two paces ahead of you; something he hardly ever does. 

Jason guided the two of you into a smaller library that Bruce uses when he’s having meetings. You stand on the carpet while Damian stands close to the fireplace. 

 “Damian,” Jason says as he closes the doors. “Are you single?” 

“No.” He snaps. 

“(Y/n),” He turns to you. “Are you single?” 

“Yes…?” You trail. “Why?”

“Figure it out!” Jason laughs and then leaves the room. Staring at the door, you sigh and sit on the couch, leaning your arms on your legs. 

“(Y/n),” Damian calls. “Why didn’t you tell your family we’re together?” His voice is smaller than before and he doesn’t look at your face, like he’s ashamed. 

   “We’re what?” You shout, your head snapping over to him. “Dude, since when?” He realizes it then and now it makes sense. 

“You kissed me.” He stresses and sits down across from you. 

    “Yeah, on the cheek!” You roll your hand. “That’s normal and totally not romantic!” He crosses his arms and you shrink into your seat under his gaze. 

   “Do you kiss all of your friends?” He asks, an eyebrow raised in the air. You humor it for a second, thinking about kissing one of your college friends on the cheek like you did with him. It seemed gross, wrong. As if it was some sort of violation. That those kisses between you and Damian were sacred and to even think about it with someone else was somehow an act against god. 

“Well, no,” You blink down to the floor.

   “Then why me?” He asks. You don’t understand at that moment, but when you look back on the conversation you realize he was guiding you to an answer you already knew. 

    “I mean, it just feels right with you.” Looking back at him, he’s smiling and his eyes are bright. “But I’ve never liked a guy before.” You admit, taking in a deep breath. “I dunno how to be in a gay relationship.”

“It’s the same as any other relationship.” He reassures you. “If that’s what you want.” He adds, holding your hand. You look at your hands together and smile. Do you want that?

You imagine yourself, going on dates with him and announcing each other as your boyfriend. Kissing him. Like actually kissing him. And it makes your face hurt with how much you’re smiling. You’re giddy, like some kid with a crush and you feel stupid for not putting two and two together sooner. 

“I think I do.” You look at him and hold his hand back. “I do.” You nod. “I want that— this.” 

“Good,” He sighs, his shoulders relaxing. “Because my family already knows.” He admits and you look at the door. Jason is probably still there, listening and reporting back to the others. 

   “Do you want other people to know?” You ask. “I know you consider your private life… private.” 

“I would love nothing more than to introduce you as my partner.” He says, his thumb rubbing against your flesh. 

    “If I knew you liked me this much before I would’ve made a move sooner,” You laugh, looking between his eyes. He rolls his eyes and stands up, pulling you with him. 

Once you’re on your feet, he holds you by your hips and you don’t exactly know what to do with your hands. You settle on holding his waist, you’ve never realized just how toned he was. 

“Can I?” He asks, bringing his left hand up to brush against your bottom lip. Understanding what he’s asking, your heart hammers in your chest as you nod. “Use your words, Habibi.” 

“Yes.” You nod feverishly and he dips in without a second thought. His left hand cups your face, trying to pull you closer and you’re doing the same with his waist. Digging into his skin, you’re sure your lips are going to bruise with how needy you’re kissing him. It’s almost shameful how easily you’re crumbling under his touch. Your stomach is doing tricks that only Dick could perform and for some reason, you don’t know why you didn’t do this sooner. 

Never has a kiss felt this good, this right. His right hand moves from your hip and travels up, surely messing up your shirt but that’s a worry for another time. You can only focus on how it’s now holding the back of your head, his nails dragging across your scalp and you can’t help the noise that comes out. 

“Oh?” He utters against your lips. You laugh and take the time to catch your breath, looking between his eyes, listening to your shared panting. 

   “Again?” You’re almost pleading, your eyes stuck on his lips. 

    “Of course.” This kiss is different, it’s less of a release and more of a we have all the time in the world now type of kiss. It’s slow and it’s tender, you feel all the details in his lips and how yours moves against his. This one feels like a hum you’ve known all your life and it’s wonderful. 

This time, your hands find his hair and you don’t realize it, but you’re dragging your nails across his scalp and playing with his hair. He does, though. It makes his heart hammer and he moans into the kiss, unable to do anything but focus on you. 

“Alright, that’s enough!” Jason says as he opens the door. Without breaking the kiss, you open your hot bar and with pure muscle memory, grab the water gun and spray him until he leaves. Damian laughs, pulling away from the kiss, and looks at Jason who’s trying to avoid getting sprayed but it seems like Damian’s rubbed off on you more than you realize it because damn, even when he moves you’re still hitting him!

He looks back to you and you’re still looking at him, your pupils blown wide and he can feel the light panting coming from you. Your lips are glossy, coating in both of your spit and he’s sure his are too. He can get used to that. 

“We should head back,” He reasons, lowering your water gun. “Before father sends Grayson and he starts crying like before.” Throwing the gun back into your hot bar, you give him a questioning look. “When I announced we were dating… he cried.” 

“You’re joking?”

“Unfortunately not.” He rolls his eyes and stands up straight, fixing his clothes and his hair. You do the same while Jason is going on about cleaning up the water and having to change. There’s no water on the floor, you note as you walk out of the library. None on the walls either. Every single one of them hit Jason. 

Back in the family library, you return to your seats and Tim is the first to notice both of your elated moods. It’s more visible on you, but it’s harder to spot with Damian. It’s more of a feeling he gets, his face is as neutral as he can be when he’s around you but he’s so clearly happy. His steps are different, he imagines if he had less dignity he’d skip around the manor. The two of you settle in your seats and he’s pleasantly surprised to see you lean into Damian without a care of who else is in the room. 

He’d gotten the text, along with every other sibling from the NO BRUCE!!! group chat. Jason, only seconds after closing the door had told everyone that you didn’t know of your own relationship. Safe to say you knew now. 

Tim looks at your family and the only happy one seems to be Nadia. She’s a somber type of happy, though. She’s happy for you, but she can’t bring herself to be half as bold as you are and it hurts. Diana is trying to wrap her head to a different conclusion, she’s holding onto hope that you’ll be pushed away. It almost makes him laugh. Your older brother is in his own world, as he’s always been. He’s quiet, hardly noticeable but it seems to be on his own devices as he had picked the furthest seat from everyone. 

But it seems to be from more of an air of misplaced pride than anything. His nose is turned up and he’s wearing an expensive suit. But it’s clearly not his, Tim would know. If there’s the money to splurge on that type of suit there’s always a tailor to get the proportions right. 

Then there’s your half-sibling, from your father's side. She’s around ten and he wonders just when did your parents separated. Then he remembers there’s a seventeen-year age gap between the oldest and the youngest of your siblings. She’s sleeping, her head on her father's shoulder and the forgotten iPad discarded on her lap, about to fall off and hit the carpet. 

Your father sees the two of you and looks at your mother who’s trying to keep her calm around the company— rich company at that. Tim doesn’t know why, but if he were them, he would at least try and pretend as if he’s happy for the relationship. Their son was dating the richest bachelor in the world and could very possibly give them a comfortable life. But he doesn’t think they see the bigger picture. 

And yet, despite the clear disgust throughout your family, no one says a single word. The entire library is silent save for Mari and the two of you, talking as if no one else is in the room. 

He wants to gag. 

“Kids,” Bruce says as he sits straight in his seat. “Could you leave us for a moment? I’d like a word with the adults.”

“Half of us are adults,” You chide and he gives you a look. 

   “A word with the parents.” He corrects. 

    “I’m still in, baby!” Dick silently cheers to not wake Mari. But it only makes Bruce sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose. 

   “A word with (Y/n)’s parents and aunt. Alone.” He stresses. Curious as to what he’s up to, and mostly afraid of what’s going to happen while you’re gone, you open your hot bar without causing too much attention to yourself. The Hotbar is only visible to yourself, so no one sees the vast list of gadgets you pull up and quickly find the listening device Tim created. 

   “Don’t need to ask me twice,” You grumble and stand up, pulling Damian up after you. 

Jason and Tim are already out of the room, there any fewer interactions and they’ll jump at the opportunity. Dick and Kori, despite wanting to enjoy the snow in the yard with the others, retreat to Dick’s room to nap while Mari is sleeping. 

You hold the door open for your siblings and cousin, but Damian sees you place the device on the door and raises an eyebrow

“(Y/n),” Bruce says in a low tone. Of course, he’d seen it, too. 

“Gotta go!” You urge and slip out of the room. 

—

Diana, alone in the yard as her family had drifted away, finds herself bored and honestly, she’s at Wayne Manor and she just has to show off. She hasn’t posted the pictures yet, she still needs to edit them so no one knows she’s there. And she’s sure her followers would love to see a snowy Wayne manor. 

Thankfully, the wifi was stable enough in the backyard that the connection for her Instagram Live was crystal clear. 

She waits until she sees five digits on the view counter before he even starts speaking. 

“Hey, guys!” She waves at her phone. “Bruce Wayne invited my family to his manor for Thanksgiving! Super grateful for that,” She nods towards the large manor and then at the comments, begging to see the man in question. “He’s inside, talking to my parents. But his kids are here too! I think Damian went into the maze…” She looks off to the green hedges coated in a thick layer of snow. “I’ll go and find him.”

She flips the camera around, and her viewers watch as she walks inside. She doesn’t notice right away, but nearly gasps when she sees she has just over two million people watching. Maybe you are good for something, she almost laughs. 

It takes about twenty minutes of aimlessly walking before she finds the center of the maze. The two million viewers had gone down to just a million but she’ll take it. 

“I think that’s it,” She mutters, seeing a clearing of bushes. It’s incredibly cold, so she’s shivering and her teeth are chattering but she can’t blame herself! She’s not used to snow. “There’s Damian!” She whispers, seeing his head of hair sitting on a bench. Pointing her phone in that direction, she decides it’s better to hide herself and look through her phone. 

From what people can see, Damian is sitting next to someone. They can’t tell until she turns the phone a bit more and it’s you. Gotham citizens know you, of course. Over the past couple of years, everyone in Gotham knows the two of you are friends but no one really cares to post about it. 

She rolls her eyes, of course, you’re still stuck to his side. The two of you are talking, but you’re too far away for Diana to hear the conversation. You’re laughing, though and Damian is explaining something. Your laughter slows down and the two of you just sorta of look at each other. 

Damian asks something and you scoff, looking away before he grabs your chin and leans in. The viewer count is going up and before Diana can fully process what’s happening, the two of you are kissing. Honestly, she’s furious! You knew she liked him, she’s sure of that. This— whatever game you’re playing is just to get at her. She’s sure of it. But she can’t act on it, the views are around eight million and she doesn't want Damian to think she’s crazy. 

He’s holding you dearly, it’s the gentlest he’s ever touched a person before and you’re proud to say you’ll be his first and only. 

His lips detach for yours and trail down to your chin. 

“Habibi,” He mutters and you shudder, feeling the vibrations against your neck. Honestly, at that moment you genuinely could not give a single fuck about your family. About their feelings towards you, about the ways they treated you growing up, and about them. As people. Each and every one of them, none of them could ever compare to this. 

Thank that blue-pilled man, seriously.

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Gambled On Red And The Price Was Paid

Your best friend, unable to bear your post-breakup malaise, decides to take action. Despite your deep emotional pain following the betrayal by your ex-girlfriend, and your subsequent withdrawal from life, she believes it's time for you to move on. She suggests a night out to reinvigorate your social life. At the bar, your attention is drawn to a redhead and her brunette partner, whose infectious laughter and captivating dance moves stir feelings of attraction.

TW: smut, intersex r, wandanat, mommy/daddy kink... uhhh yeah

A/N: Definitely my first time writning a threesome, let alone an intersex threesome. Let me know what you think!

Word Count: 5.8k

The evening had settled into a quiet rhythm, the city's heartbeat a distant murmur beyond the condominium's thick windows. Inside, the living room was a tableau of shadows and stale air, punctuated by the flicker of a TV playing to an empty couch. You hadn't moved from your spot in days, a testament to the relentless grip of heartache. Your eyes were glued to the screen, but the images dancing across it were as indiscernible as the path ahead of you. The area around you was littered with wrappers, empty dishes, and take-out containers, as you continued to wallow in what once was.

But you should know better. Your best friend won't let this continue. You deserve better. Sarah always told you that your ex, Ali was trouble walking. There had been signs, signs you had ignored for years. But finally, walking into her apartment when you were supposed to have a dinner date, to find her fucking some random chick- that was the final straw. You'd been together since college, so it's no wonder you felt like your soul had been ripped out. You had been planning on proposing that night, after being together for the better part of 7 years. But seeing the lack of remorse in her eyes sent you into a spiral.

Sarah enters the room, her footsteps firm and deliberate. She's carrying something that smells faintly of mint and leather. It's a freshly ironed shirt. "You're coming out with me tonight," she says, her voice brooking no argument. She's been worried about you, her best friend since childhood, and she knows that sitting around isn't going to fix you. "You're going to shower, change, and we're going to hit the town. No more of this fucking nonsense." She holds out the shirt like a banner of hope, a symbol of your impending return to the land of the living.

"But," you start, and she quickly shushes you.

"You've moped around long enough," she says firmly, placing the shirt on your lap. "It's time to get out, clear your head, and maybe, just maybe, find someone who deserves you."

Her words hit like a slap to the face but in a good way. With a heavy sigh, you sit up, the shirt's fabric feeling foreign against your skin. You hadn't realized how much you've missed the feeling of being clean and dressed. You bumble your way to your bedroom, tossing the shirt to the side.

"I'll be waiting. Don't you dare think about trying to lock yourself in here. I'll kick your damn door down." Sarah's voice echoes through the hallway as you enter the bathroom. You turn on the shower, the sound of the water gradually increasing from a whisper to a roar. You stand there for a moment, the heat beckoning, before you step in, letting the water wash over you, carrying the grime of the past few days down the drain along with your despair.

As you scrub away the layers of defeat clinging to your body, you begin to feel a glimmer of something akin to hope. Maybe, just maybe, she's right. Maybe you do need to get out of here, breathe in some fresh air, and remind yourself that there's more to life than the woman who so callously tossed you aside. You let the woody, fresh scent of the body wash fill your nostrils, a stark contrast to the stale scent of the room you've been living in. The warm water cascades down your back as you let the shampoo lather in your hair, a sensation that feels both cleansing and cathartic. As you rinse, you can almost feel the weight of the past week sluicing away with the soapy water, swirling down the drain and leaving you feeling lighter than you have in days.

Slipping into a black lace bra, the black button-up, and a pair of slim black jeans, you get yourself as ready as you can be for a night out. The shirt fits like a glove, the fabric brushing against your skin as you move. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and for a brief moment, the reflection staring back at you seems like a stranger. But then your eyes harden, and you nod. You're ready. You need to get over her. And what better way, than to try and get someone under you?

When you emerge from your bedroom, Sarah's smile is immediate. "Look at you," she says, clapping her hands together. "I knew there was a woman in there, somewhere." She's dressed to kill, her hair curled and makeup on point. "Let's go," she says, grabbing her purse and opening the door. You both stood at the curb, waiting for your Uber to arrive, Sarah chatting animatedly about the vacation her and her boyfriend just went on. You nod along, your thoughts still cloudy and depressed, but you're starting to feel the beginnings of excitement.

The car pulls up, and you slide into the cool leather seats, the scent of pine air freshener filling the cabin. You let the city lights play across your face as you drive, the music playing softly in the background. It's a stark contrast to the dark, claustrophobic atmosphere you've been living in, and you feel your shoulders relaxing.

The bar is bustling with life, a cacophony of laughter and chatter that fills your ears like a symphony. Sarah guides you through the crowd, her hand firm in yours until you reach the bar. The bartender, a burly man with a twinkle in his eye, greets you with a nod. "What can I get you?"

Sarah immediately pipes up, ordering her usual vodka soda, and turning to you. "You can get whatever, tonight babe. It's on me." You mull over the drinks menu, your eyes scanning over the rows of bottles lined up like soldiers ready for battle, their colorful labels glinting under the bar lights. You decide on a double whiskey neat, something to burn away the last remnants of the day's melancholy.

As the drinks are placed in front of you, the smoothness of the whiskey glass feels surprisingly good in your hand. You take a sip, letting the liquid warmth spread through your chest. The burn is comforting, a reminder that you're alive and feeling. You look around the bar, taking in the faces of the people around you. The air is thick with the scent of cologne and perfume, the hum of flirtation, and the occasional shout of a sports fan. It's a world you've been absent from for too long, and it's both overwhelming and invigorating.

"Now, we need to find you someone to dance with," Sarah starts. You send her a warning glance, trying to convey to her that she needs to take it easy tonight. You're not ready to jump into the dating pool just yet. But she's on a mission, and nothing is going to stop her. She grabs your hand and pulls you to the dance floor, the strobe lights painting the room in a disco-infused haze. The music is a pulsing bass line that you can feel in your chest, the kind that makes you want to move even when you're feeling your lowest.

Sarah started dancing with you before she was whisked away by someone she worked with, leaving you to fend for yourself for a while. You knocked back the rest of your drink, beginning to worm your way back through the crowd towards the bar. Standing at the bartop, you order another whiskey neat, feeling a familiar burn of eyes on the back of your head. Assuming it was probably Sarah, you ignored the feeling, patiently waiting for your drink. The barkeep slid the drink your way, winking as he turned to tend to some more people, and you turned, leaning back against the bar to observe the throng of people on the dance floor.

That's when you saw her. A woman with fiery red hair, dressed in a green dress that shimmered like emeralds under the disco lights. She was laughing with her friends, her eyes lighting up with every beat of the music. You couldn't help but stare. It had been so long since you had felt that kind of attraction, the kind that made your heart flutter and your stomach drop. You watched her for a moment longer, sipping your whiskey, before you felt a gentle nudge.

"What are you waiting for?" Sarah asked, grinning mischievously. "Go talk to her. I would even tap that, she's hot as hell." You shake your head and laugh at her antics, but as you look over at the redhead, you notice her dancing with a stunning brunette. They both looked amazing, and your stomach was definitely tumbling at the vision they created. You sat yourself at the bar to watch this power couple move with the music, seemingly in thier own little world.

The brunette looked over at you and for a second, your eyes locked. She had the most amazing green eyes, a piercing emerald that stood out even in the flashing lights. You felt a pull, something that hadn't happened since the first time you had seen Ali. She looked away and back at her partner, but not before giving you a coy smile that made your heart skip a beat. You downed your drink, and the bartender slid you another, leaning over the counter toward you.

"I wouldn't stare too much if I were you."

"It's kinda hard not to if I'm being honest," you respond, keeping your eyes locked on the dance floor, tilting your head back as you spoke to the man.

"That's what Wanda wants," he started. This was beyond confusing to you, you wheeled around on your barstool.

"What do you mean? You know them?" You ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sudden spike in your interest. You simply wanted to know who this power couple was. The pair were both so attractive separately, that being together should be illegal. He laughed at your enthusiasm.

"You could say that," he began. "They're my bosses. They own this place. The brunette is Wanda Maximoff, the redhead is Natasha Romanoff." he finished as he was quickly called to the other end of the bar.

Turning back around, you quickly found the couple on the floor, Wanda dressed to the nines in an all-black suit, towering over Natasha. Natasha pressed her back against Wanda, as they danced to the sultry beat emanating throughout the club.

The whiskey had loosened your nerves, so you took a deep breath and approached the dance floor. The strobe lights painted you in a frenetic pattern of color, each flash revealing Natasha's eyes on you. She leaned in to whisper something to Wanda, and Wanda looked over her shoulder, catching your gaze. You felt like you'd been caught in the headlights of a car, frozen in place.

But instead of looking away, Wanda smirked and nodded slightly, as if giving you an unspoken invitation. You felt a strange mix of excitement and terror. This wasn't like you at all, but something propelled you forward. Before you knew it, you were standing in front of them, the bass thumping in your chest like a second heartbeat. Wanda stepped aside, and Natasha moved closer, her hands reaching out to lock around your neck.

"We've had our eyes on you all night, detka," Natasha leaned in, whispering into the shell of your ear. Her Russian accent was thick and alluring, sending shivers down your spine. Wanda's eyes gleamed with amusement, her hand resting possessively on Natasha's hip as she watched you try to compose yourself. The three of you swayed to the beat, your eyes darting between both the pairs of green eyes before you.

The song switched to something slower, and Natasha's grip tightened, pulling you closer. Your hands found their way to her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin even through the fabric of her dress. You could smell the faint scent of jasmine on her, mingling with the sweetness of her perfume. Wanda stepped up behind Natasha, her hands grasping firmly around her waist, pressing Natasha closer to you, creating a sandwich of passion and power that was hard to resist.

"You've been staring all night, krasotka," Wanda chimed in, her chin coming to rest on the shoulder of the woman before you. "Would you like to dance with Natasha, or do you just enjoy watching?" Her words were playful, but you could sense the challenge beneath the surface. You took a deep breath and stepped closer, your hand sliding around Natasha's waist.

Natasha's smile grew wider as you led the dance, moving in a way that had her captivated. Her hips swayed to the rhythm, and her eyes never left yours. It was as if you were in a trance, the world around you fading into the background as the music played on. You felt a hand on your shoulder, and suddenly Wanda was there, spinning Natasha away and taking her place. "Let's see if you can keep up," she said, her voice low and sultry.

Wanda's moves were more aggressive, her hands stronger, and her gaze more intense. You found yourself matching her step for step, the whiskey buzz enhancing the thrill of the moment. The air was electric, and you could feel the heat from her body as she leaned in, her breath hot against your ear. "You're doing well," she murmured, a hint of approval in her voice. You weren't sure if she was talking about your dancing or something else entirely.

Her hand slid down to the small of your back, guiding you closer until your bodies were almost touching. You felt your heart racing, and it wasn't just from the exertion of the dance. This was uncharted territory for you, and yet it felt surprisingly natural. You could feel Natasha's eyes on you, watching from the sidelines with a knowing smile. Natasha soon rejoined you both on the dance floor, her hand dragging across your shoulders before she looped around and stood next to Wanda.

The music grew slower, the lights dimming as the two of them moved in perfect synchrony around you. Their movements were fluid, almost predatory, and you found yourself unable to look away. They whispered to each other, their eyes never leaving yours, and you felt a thrill run down your spine. You didn't know what was happening, but you were definitely into it.

Wanda leaned in closer, her breath hot on your neck as she whispered, "You have our attention, detka, not many can say that." Her words were a challenge, a promise, and a question all rolled into one. Natasha stepped in front of you, her hands framing your face as she searched your eyes for an answer. The intimacy of the moment was stifling, but you found yourself nodding.

The two of them shared a knowing glance, and Natasha's hand slid down to your wrist, guiding you towards a roped-off VIP section of the bar. You felt like you were being led into a lion's den, but instead of fear, all you felt was a thrilling rush of excitement. As you approached, the bouncer nodded, the velvet rope parting like the Red Sea for Moses at their unspoken command.

Suddenly, Natasha pushed you back, the backs of your knees hitting the booth and causing you to fall backward. She climbed up, straddling your waist as Wanda slid in the other side, a wry smile on her face.

"So, tell us, what's a beautiful woman like you doing out here all alone?" Wanda's voice was like velvet, her fingers tracing patterns on your forearm as you both leaned closer. You stuttered out something about a breakup, and Sarah bringing you while trying to keep your cool while Natasha's thighs tightened around yours.

Natasha leaned in, her breath a sweet whisper against your cheek. "A breakup, hmm? Maybe we can help you forget all about her." Her fingers played with the buttons of your shirt, and your breath hitched as one popped open, revealing a sliver of skin. You felt your body responding, a heat building that had nothing to do with the crowded dance floor. You hear Wanda hum behind you as she leans down to your level.

"Well, someone who would break up with someone like you... they must be stupid," she said, her voice a seductive purr. "It just so happens to be your lucky night." Wanda's hand trailed down your neck, sending a shiver through your body. Her touch was firm, yet gentle, and the way she spoke made it clear that she was in charge. "We have been wanting to add to our mix if you will." you groaned as Wanda slid her hand underneath your shirt, dragging her fingernails up your chest. Natasha was a wiggling mess on your lap, your buddy downstairs definitely waking up to the stimulation.

"Wands," Natasha mewled, and confirming your suspicion, when the redhead directed the brunette’s attention to the area below your waist, they both saw the now present erection straining in your pants.

"Looks like someone's eager to join the party," Natasha teased, her voice dropping to a sultry growl. Her hand trailed down your stomach and caressed the bulge in your jeans, making you squirm with pleasure. Wanda's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in to kiss you, her lips warm and insistent. You tasted whiskey and the promise of something wild as your mouths melded together.

Your skin felt like it was on fire, the feeling of both women running thier hands all over your body, Natasha teasing your member while Wanda took your breath away. Your hands found their way to Natasha's hips, guiding her movements, and she responded with a low, throaty growl. You felt like you were in a dream, one that you never wanted to wake up from. You whined as Wanda pulled away, stopping your movements and Natashas.

"Lyubov," Wanda directed to her partner. "I need her to answer us first, be a good girl and mommy will give you what you need." Natasha's hand stilled, but her eyes never left yours, hunger burning in them that mirrored the one building in your core. "Are you interested," she hesitated as she realized they still didn't know your name.

"Y/N," you gasped out, nodding your head vehemently. You weren't sure if it was the lust-filled state you were in, or the two women raking thier hands all over you, but you couldn't put together a coherent sentence. "Words, Y/N," she growled in your ear, causing your eyes to roll back in your head.

"Fuck yes."

"Good," Wanda smirked.

Her hand slid down to the base of your neck, her grip firm and reassuring. "But you must be clear about what you want, krasotka," she said, her eyes searching yours. "We don't play games."Wanda pulled away, done with the teasing as she pulled the curtain to the room back, signaling to the bouncer at the entrance. "Now, let's get home." Wanda stood, straightening her suit as she stuck her hand back for Natasha to grab. You sat there, bewildered at what just happened.

Natasha smirked as she saw your expression, hopping off your lap. "You're coming with us, yes?" she asked, her hand outstretched. You nodded, unable to find your voice, and took Natasha's hand, allowing her to pull you to your feet. The walk to the exit was a blur, your senses overwhelmed by the smells of sweat and perfume from the other patrons, the lights flashing by in a dizzying array of color. The cool night air hit you like a slap in the face, and you realized you hadn't even asked where 'home' was.

Wanda and Natasha led you to a sleek black car parked out front, the engine purring like a contented cat. The driver opened the back door, and Natasha's eyes never left yours as you slid in. The leather seats were cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat that still lingered from the dance floor. Wanda got in after you two, her eyes meeting yours with a knowing smile. Natasha climbed on your lap, her hand immediately finding its way back to your neck, sending sparks of desire shooting through your body.

The drive was short, but it felt like an eternity. The tension in the car was thick enough to cut with a knife, and the anticipation was almost unbearable. Natasha's mouth grazed your jawline, her teeth nipping at your earlobe. You could feel her breath, hot and erratic, and your body responded in kind. You didn't know what was waiting for you at their place, but you were eager to find out. The car pulled up to a modern townhouse, the lights inside casting a warm glow onto the sidewalk.

As you entered the townhouse, the vibe was immediately different from the chaotic energy of the bar. The walls were adorned with abstract art, the floorboards gleaming in the soft light of the pendant lights hanging above. The scent of vanilla and sandalwood filled the air, a comforting aroma that somehow made you feel both at ease and incredibly aroused. Wanda led the way upstairs, her hips swaying with purpose, and Natasha followed closely behind, her hand never leaving your neck.

You were guided into a dimly lit room, the centerpiece being a king-sized bed draped in dark red satin sheets. The sight alone was enough to make your heart race faster. Wanda took Natasha's hand, pulling her close for a deep, passionate kiss. The raw desire between them was palpable, and you couldn't help but feel like you were about to witness something incredibly intimate.

Wanda stuck her hand out, beckoning you to come closer. You couldn't resist the magnetic pull, stepping towards them as they broke their kiss. Natasha's eyes never left yours, the fire in them growing with each step you took. Wanda wrapped her hand around the back of your neck, drawing you in for an equally passionate kiss. Your body responded on instinct, your hands finding their way to her waist, pulling her closer. The kiss was demanding, a declaration of intent that left no room for doubt. You pulled away, grabbing hold of Natasha and pulling her in for a searing kiss, causing Wanda to moan beside you.

"There she is," Wanda mumbled, sliding behind Natasha and kissing the woman's neck. The silk of Natasha's dress slid against your skin, her hands already working to remove your shirt. Wanda's lips trailed down your neck, her teeth grazing your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine. You felt Natasha's fingers deftly unbuckling your belt, her eyes never leaving yours as she slid your jeans down. You were now in your boxers, and she was dressed to kill, her dress riding up to reveal the lacy black thong she wore underneath.

The room was a whirlwind of sensations: the soft kisses from Natasha, the possessive grip of Wanda's hand, the scent of their combined desire. You had never felt so alive, so desired, so...needed. Natasha's mouth found yours again, her tongue demanding entry as she began to grind against you, her own need evident. Wanda's hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of your bare chest, her nails scraping along your abs. Finally, you couldn't bear the tension any more, your dominant side suddenly awake to the desire that was so palpable around you.

With a growl, you pushed Natasha onto the bed, her legs spreading in invitation. She was the picture of temptation, her eyes hooded and her lips swollen from your kisses. Wanda took this as a cue to move closer, her hands sliding down to cup your ass as she whispered sweet nothings in your ear, urging you on. You could feel Natasha's eyes on you, watching, waiting. You leaned down, capturing one of her nipples in your mouth, feeling it harden beneath your tongue. Her moan was music to your ears, and you knew you had to give her more.

You slid Natasha's dress up over her hips, revealing the damp fabric of her thong. You could feel the heat emanating from her, and you knew she was ready. Wanda's hands were now at the back of your neck, her nails digging in as she pushed you down further. You slipped Natasha's thong to the side, feeling the slickness of her arousal against your fingertips. You slid one digit inside her, and she arched her back, her nails digging into the bed. Wanda stepped back, watching you with a predatory gaze, her own desire clear as she began to undo the buttons of her shirt.

Watching Wanda out of the corner of your eye, you reached out, and grabbed the collar of her shirt with your free hand pulling her towards you. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as the fabric fell open, revealing her matching black lace bra. You kissed Wanda deeply, your tongue dancing with hers as your finger continued to explore Natasha's wetness. Wanda stepped closer as she undid the clasp of her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts were perfect, the pale skin a stark contrast to Natasha's olive complexion.

Natasha's legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as you slid another finger inside her. She was so wet, her walls clenching around you, begging for more. You felt Wanda's hand at the back of your neck, her thumb brushing against your earlobe as she whispered sweet nothings in Russian. The sound of the fabric tearing was almost as erotic as the moment itself as Natasha tore your boxers off. You felt the warmth of her skin against yours, and it was all you could do not to explode right then and there.

You wrapped your arm around Wanda's waist, throwing her to the bed next to her wife. You continued to pound your fingers into Natasha's heat, using your other hand to deftly undo the button on Wanda's slacks, pulling them down with a swift tug. She gasped at the sudden exposure, her eyes flashing with desire. Natasha's hips were moving in rhythm with your hand, her breathing shallow and erratic. You began to tease Wanda, her arousal ever present in her lace panties. You began to slowly rub her clit through the fabric, her mewls becoming more fervent as she continued to kiss Natasha.

Wanda's hand snaked down, sliding them aside to reveal her glistening pussy. She guided your hand to her, her hips bucking against your palm. You felt Natasha's orgasm building, her muscles tightening around your fingers. You leaned down, capturing Natasha's mouth with yours as she broke away from Wanda, her cries muffled by your kiss as she came.

Wanda's body quivered next to you, the view before her almost too much to bear. Natasha recovered slowly, climbing down onto the floor as she got on her knees before you, you watching with bated breath as your other hand was knuckle-deep in Wanda's pussy.

"Take me," Natasha whispered, her eyes locked onto yours, a hunger in them that was almost feral. "Take us both." You groaned, and Natasha began to stroke your length, gathering the precum that was running down your shaft before taking your entire length in her mouth. You carded your fingers through the red locks, gripping her hair tightly as your other hand worked Wanda open, the brunette squirming and moaning on the bed before you.

Wanda watched intently, her hand gliding over her own breasts, her eyes never leaving yours. The sight was too much for her to handle, so she adjusted, and straddled your hand, grinding against your knuckles as Natasha's mouth worked you to the edge. The two of them were a symphony of pleasure, each movement, each gasp and moan a note that played in perfect harmony.

With Natasha still worshipping your cock, Wanda leaned in, her breath hot against your ear. "I want you inside me," she whispered, her Sokovian accent thick with desire. You nodded, the need to claim her was too intense to ignore. You gripped Natasha's hair, pulling her back away from your throbbing member. She looked up at you with her doe eyes, yelping as you pulled her up by her chin and directed her back to the bed.

"Be a good girl for me, princess," you whispered in the redhead's ear, kissing her deeply before directing your attention to the waiting brunette.

Wanda slithered closer, her legs straddling yours, her wetness coating your thighs. She reached down and guided you inside her, her warmth enveloping you like a glove. You groaned, leaning your head back and exposing your throat to the brunette beneath you. The tightness was too much to bear, and so you firmly grasped the milky thighs of the woman before you, leaning down and kissing Wanda with such passion and lust that it made her head spin. You pulled away, growling in her ear. "You ready to find out who is really in charge here, baby?" your voice was thick with desire, your hands gripping her hips. Her piercing green eyes shot open, a challenging stare being shot your way. "Daddy is about to put you in your place." you purr into her ear, a deep moan coming from her as her back arched towards you. You leaned back, pushing yourself as deep as you could within the Sokovian, wiggling just enough to cause her to mewl. "Isn't that right, princess? Daddy is about to make Mommy feel so, so good."

Natasha, not one to be left out, positioned herself at the side of the bed, her breasts heaving as she watched the scene unfold. Her hand slipped down her, her eyes glazed over as she began to touch herself. The sight was almost too much, and you had to fight the urge to abandon Wanda and take Natasha's mouth again. But you had promised to make Wanda feel good. You began to thrust, slow and deep at first, feeling Wanda's walls tighten around you with each stroke. She began to move with you, her hips rising to meet yours, her nails digging into your shoulders. You could feel Natasha's eyes on you, her breathing growing heavier as she watched. Suddenly, Wanda gasped as you changed your pace, thrusting into her hard and fast, the sinful sound of her and Natasha's moans combining with your skin slapping Wanda's wetness, her eyes rolling back into her head as she ran her fingernails down your back.

Wanda's legs began to quiver, her orgasm approaching like a storm on the horizon. Natasha reached out, her hand sliding up Wanda's thigh, her thumb circling the brunette's clit. Wanda's eyes shot open, meeting Natasha's as she felt the pressure building. With a final, powerful thrust, she came, her body tightening around you like a vice, her cries echoing through the room. You leaned down, kissing her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, feeling her pulse race beneath your lips.

Natasha, now standing beside the bed, her hand a blur between her legs, was close to the edge. She looked at you with a wildness in her eyes that was intoxicating. You pulled out of Wanda and stood, your cock still rock-hard and gleaming with her juices. Wanda's breathing was ragged, her body limp with satisfaction, but she managed to give Natasha a knowing smile, urging her to continue. You grabbed the redhead's ankles, pulling her towards you, she squeaked at the shift as you batted her hand away from her glistening heat.

With a smirk, Natasha wiggled closer, her hand moving for yours. She wrapped her hand around your length, stroking you with the same hunger she had shown earlier. You groaned, the pleasure intense as she worked you with the perfect amount of pressure. Wanda's eyes followed the movement, her desire rekindling as she watched Natasha's hand glide up and down your shaft. "It's your turn," Wanda murmured, her voice thick with lust. You snapped out of the daze Natasha had worked you into, and pushed her back, positioning yourself between her toned thighs, your head prodding her entrance.

Natasha's eyes widened with excitement as you began to push inside her, her walls stretching around your cock. She was so wet, so ready, and the feeling was indescribable. You watched as her breasts bounced with every thrust, her red hair a fiery halo around her flushed face. Her eyes never left yours, the connection between you two electric. Wanda leaned in, her tongue tracing Natasha's collarbone, her teeth biting down gently as she watched your bodies come together. Natasha's moans grew louder, her breath coming in gasps as she reached for Wanda's hand, lacing their fingers together.

The room was a symphony of desire, the slap of skin against skin echoing off the walls, the scent of sex filling the air. You felt Natasha's muscles tighten around you, her back arching as she came, her cry of pleasure music to your ears. Wanda leaned down, capturing Natasha's mouth in a kiss, sharing in her wife's climax. Your own orgasm was building, the pressure in your balls becoming unbearable. You pulled Natasha's legs over your shoulders, going deeper, the feeling of her coming around you too much to handle.

Natasha's moans grew louder, her nails scratching at the bed as she reached for Wanda's breasts, her own nipples hard and sensitive. Wanda's hand slid down Natasha's body, her fingers finding Natasha's clit, rubbing it in tight circles. You watched, entranced, as Natasha's eyes rolled back in her head, her body shuddering with another orgasm. You couldn't hold back any longer, and with a roar, you went to pull out, but Natasha wrapped her legs around you tightly. You buried yourself deep within her, painting her walls white with your cum, the intensity of your release leaving you momentarily blind.

The three of you collapsed onto the bed, a tangled mess of limbs and sweat. Wanda chuckled softly, her hand caressing Natasha's cheek. "Looks like you enjoyed yourself," she said, her voice filled with satisfaction. Natasha giggled, her eyes shining with mischief. "I think we all did," she murmured, looking between you and Wanda. You couldn't help but smile, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. For the first time since Ali, you felt alive again.

Wanda looked over at you, a knowing smile on her features. "I think we found ourselves a keeper, Nat."

Natasha, still trying to catch her breath, nodded her head. "Oh, yes," she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed as you pulled out of her. She was deliciously messy, your cum spilling out of her as she lay there, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure.

This breakup wasn’t going to be so bad after all. 

READ PT 2 HERE

[willothewispwisteriadawn]

We have all spoken at length about how toxic and awful the Greek class is. So here are some sweet moments where they’re actually quite cute:

- Francis putting a blanket over Richard when he falls asleep on the couch

- Charles not ignoring animals in need: rescuing a dog about to be put down and then taking in a stray cat

- Camilla proceeding to be very good to said dog. Then both twins being devastated when it died.

- Bunny writing an “I’m sorry” note to Richard then putting it with a book and mints in his mail box

- Henry taking care of Richard after he almost freezes to death, literally being so gentle and good the whole time. (I get you could argue this was part of the psychotic master plan, but this sequence is still so soft)

- “Forgive me, for all the things I did, but mostly for the ones I did not.“

- The boys being genuinely worried about Camilla when she cut her foot and all freaking out and then helping her and talking so kindly to her

- Bunny getting described as generally very patient and nice to his chihuahua-like girlfriend and calling her “sweetie” and “honey” and wanting eight kids with her, four boys and four girls. (uh, this is before he went crazy)

- Charles and Richard musing about the Greek class all living at the farmhouse together

- Henry winking at Camilla when she did a good job reading

- Bunny genuinely being able to make Henry laugh, like by triple spacing his essay

- Distressed Richard asking Camilla to tell him a story, and her talking about the only memory of her father and how she and Charles, as babies, used to squabble over a tape measurer

- The twins hosting dinner at their apartment every Sunday even though they didn’t have much.

[just-jordie-things]

Jordie sometimes I think about Yuta dropping me off after our first date and then after saying bye and closing the door on him the doorbell would ring and as soon as it’s opened he steals a kiss help my brainrot

god LOVE bc he wants to be a gentleman and take it slow but...

as far as first dates go, it might not have been perfect, but neither of you would go home complaining. all night your heart was aflutter- from the way he opened every door for you, pulled your chair out for you, and made sure to walk on the outside of the sidewalk, you were swooning every time you turned your head.

you'd been crushing on yuuta for some time now, so this didn't come as a surprise to you. it seemed everything he did was charming or endearing. so when he got out of the car to walk you to your door, your heart rate only picked up knowing what would come next.

maybe it was just your crush taking over your brain, but you had a feeling he was a good kisser, and you really, really wanted to put the theory to the test.

"i had a really great time tonight," yuuta would say, and he'd mean every word. his smile would be bashful, his hands would be tucked in his pockets, and he would look radiant basked in the soft yellow of your porch light. "do you... think you'll let me take you out again?"

(you've already made plans for your second date after passing a cute cafe that just opened, but you think it's so cute that he asked you properly that you decide not to tease him for it)

((yet))

"i'd like that very much" you'd say, soft and sweet, your knees weakening by the second as you wait for some sort of signal. a flicker of his eyes to your lips, a lean, anything.

instead, he reaches out to squeeze your hand gently as he bids you goodnight. but just as you're about to get onto the tips of your toes, he's releasing your hand, and stepping off your porch.

for a minute, you stand there and stare at him dumbfounded as he walks back to his car. you don't know if you should feel disappointed or heart-warmed by the lack of kiss.

maybe he didn't kiss on first dates? maybe it wasn't personal? you'd made sure to pop a mint in your mouth after dinner after all- and it burned your tongue when you let it sit too long for nothing?

making your way inside, you tell yourself that there will be other chances- it's not like you absolutely had to have a kiss goodnight to mark the conclusion of a date- a really, really nice date.

but a kiss would've been nice.

you kick off your cute first-date shoes and drop your purse beside them as you move to shrug off your coat. you refuse to let disappointment cloud the rest of an otherwise lovely evening! but you can't help the slight sink of your heart every time you replay it all and come to the end.

on the fourth replay, you've hung up your coat and purse and are just about to tuck your shoes into the closet, when the ring of your doorbell startles you upright.

you answer the door almost embarrassingly fast- even though you were still standing there and there was no reason not to open it right away- but you're frozen still when you see yuuta there.

your surprise is quickly overridden by delight as you smile at him warmly, always so happy to see him, even if it has been five minutes.

was this puppy love? the honeymoon phase?

"yuuta," you greet him sweetly, tilting your head ever so slightly to display your surprise.

you don't have the opportunity to question him or invite him in or anything, because just as soon as his name falls from your lips, he's wrapping his hands around your waist and his lips are on hers and he's kissing her-

oh, he's kissing you.

the shock melts away into something more pleasant... something soft and warm and so consuming that you have to brace your hands against his collarbone to make sure you didn't get too dizzy.

it was the perfect first kiss, even with the delay. he kisses you the same way he compliments you, softly and surely, and yet again you find yourself swooning. yuuta was a charmer through and through.

it's not a long kiss by any means, but when you part, you have to gasp for air, eyes fluttering wide open with unadultered excitement, only to find yuuta already smiling down at you. his face is flushed, his tongue darts over his bottom lip to savor the hint cherry vanilla just a moment longer, and you almost dared to lean up and steal another kiss.

"couldn't leave without it, huh?" you can't help but tease this time.

yuuta chuckles, you had no idea.

"didn't even make it out of the driveway" ___

yuuta sitting in his car turning it on and off debating on if it was too forward to go up there and kiss you:

[auspicioustidings]

Devil's Trumpet

AKA the Appalachian horror brain worms would not leave me alone

Summary: You move to small town West Virginia to get your head on straight but the men in the woods start unravelling you instead.

Words: 3.5k

CWs: mild horror, vague reference to mental illness

This is best read while listening to some Southern gothic tunes 🎶 I suggest Big Dark Love by Murder by Death!

Colour leeched out of the world here. There is something almost comforting about that, something familiar. Familiar too is the way this town moves like syrup too thick to be pleasant in your mouth. It was how you moved though the world once. Not anymore though, no, now your mind is your own and not an invading force. Now you can appreciate the drab slowness as something external to yourself, just an environment around you and not a prison closing in inside your head.

There wasn’t much of a plan really. A will reading that left you with not a lot, but enough to get the hell out. Signing with a fountain pen that made your skin crawl with how it scratched. A stiff drink and a dart thrown at a map and tearing a ragged hole in the Greenbrier River as the sharp point didn’t quite sink far enough into the board and tore its way through the paper on the way down. You were never any good at darts.

You aren’t putting down roots. Those were for old growth, not for hardy weeds that broke through concrete and always found another crack through which to grow when killed. Nothing that felt too much like a home, so instead a room at the only inn.

This town is too small to warrant one, but it doubles as a watering hole come evening. It doesn’t seem to have been updated in an age, you wonder idly if the plaque upkept to a gleaming shine declaring the inn to have been opened in 1824 is somehow conveying pride at the fact. The peeling wallpaper in your room was probably pretty once, but the green now seems sick with age and the delicate floral pattern has started to wilt.

There is no routine to your days here until one slowly creeps in as it always does.

Breakfast first. You don’t know if it’s something in the air here, but you wake up with a bitter taste in your mouth and are eager to drown it in food and mint toothpaste. The inn has a small kitchenette for guest use and you make yourself toast with butter and strawberry jam. It’s a little too sweet but the tea helps, black with no sugar.

You stretch out the back of the inn and enjoy the view of the woods. You don’t call it yoga because it makes you less likely to do it, but you had learned when things were bad that quietly engaging your body in the morning was a good way to quiet your mind. There’s a little tension in the back of your neck you try to work out but it sticks there until you finish up and go back inside to shower. The hot water fixes it you think.

The first few weeks here you just sit and watch the world go by, but then you one day you decide to get up and spend some time wandering the town. It’s small, decrepit. There is the inn, a few sparse houses, one general store. The library, despite being the only venue with any chance of entertainment, is usually empty. You meet Mrs Lela Kaletaws who runs it, although she isn’t always around.

Roads here are barely holding together, but the one main road that runs out of town is at least in somewhat better condition. It runs parallel with the woods at one point, curving off just past old Mr Kleer's house. The man in question usually sits on his porch but he’s friendly enough so you don’t pay much mind to the gun.

After you’ve wandered town you make sandwiches for lunch. It isn’t much exciting, but it is routine and is filling enough that you bunker down for a nap after.

In the afternoon you go for a long walk before returning to the inn for dinner. There is a bar downstairs that opens in the evenings and serves food that while not a delicacy by any means is hot and filling. You retire to your room, read some of your book and go to sleep.

It continues that way. Breakfast, stretch, shower, wander, lunch, sleep, walk, dinner, read, sleep.

At first you only really skirt the edge of the woods, but with each passing dreary day you venture closer to the depths down the packed dirt path. The path through the woods is confusing and unmarked. Where you swore just yesterday it went to the right, today it goes to the left. Even so it must be your sense of direction, because the path always leads you past the jimsonweeds that come up to you chest before spitting you out on the road that leads to old Mr Kleer's house. The flowers are beautiful, but there is some metallic tang to their otherwise sweet scent that causes your teeth to ache.

—

More comfortable with the area now, it causes a fright when you see a man in the woods just in the corner of your eye only to snap your head around and have him vanish. You force calming breathes and keep walking. There is no such thing as ghosts in these woods.

Old man Axell calls to you from his porch as you pass, rifle butt settled on the rickety wood that you worry will collapse and left leg stretched straight out towards you like reaching for something.

“Seeing things in the woods kid?”

“I look spooked sir?”

“Like you’ve seen a Ghost I reckon.”

You give a shaky laugh at that.

“Only if ghosts come in flesh and blood and quick feet. Some man gave me a fright is all.”

“Must be out of towners” Axell says.

You do not like the way he says it. You do not like that he looks at you strangely. But you smile and nod and get on your way. He is only an old man.

—

There is someone in the woods. You feel his gaze on you, feel the dull prickle that rests on your nape from those eyes.

“We really must stop meeting like this” you say.

You have stopped trying to catch him. Now you only speak, eyes set on the dirt path in front of you. You do not think you will get a reply and when you do you shudder horribly at how much closer the voice is than you had anticipated.

“Don’t enjoy the company?”

He’s English and you frown. Out of towner. The old man must know something, but maybe you cannot begrudge him having fun at your expense. You have not made friends here.

“Enjoy company where I can see it if it’s all the same to you.”

The man laughs. It is a confusing laugh, warm and cold all at once as it bounces through the trees.

“Careful what you wish for.”

You resist the urge to turn even as his voice moves strangely, like he is swaying from one side of the path to the other.

“Must have a face like sin to keep hiding away” you say.

The next words you can feel. His breath is right at your cheek, a strand of your hair lifted by his fingers.

“Quite the opposite.”

Your heart is a prey animal running from a predator, beating wildly against your ribs as you turn to find he isn’t there. Only you certainly felt him. He leaves a sweet smell behind.

—

Sleep does not come easily that night. The rain against your window casts the moonlight strangely into your room. You spend hours watching as the creeping vines on the wallpaper seem to twist and shift beneath the moon flowers. When you finally fall asleep, it is almost as if you can smell them. Sweet and slightly metallic.

You wake up with the fading scent of damp earth and something on the edge of rot in your nose and the feel of dirt packed uncomfortably under your nails. They’re clean you find, but you spend the start of the morning cutting them down once you see the fading scratches left on your arms and legs through the night.

—

He is not the only stranger in the woods. You swore you would not go back, but routine takes you there without thought.

The Scottish man likes to walk on your right hand side, just enough steps behind you that you can only see him at the very side of your vision. You think he is handsome, but it is difficult to be sure. What you can be sure of is that he is dressed oddly. You have spoken to him for a while now, discussing yourself mostly. Perhaps it is the eerie quiet of the woods that makes you want to fill the dead space, but you tell him more about yourself than you ever would have thought yourself comfortable with.

“Are you a soldier then?” you ask.

“Sometimes, I think.”

You take a moment to chew that answer, wonder at the taste of it. There is a panic when you smell blood on the air, but it is quickly blanketed by sweetness. You have reached the jimsonweeds. It is too early, you have not walked far enough to be here already. But before you can protest the steps to your right stop and you know the man is gone.

None of them ever come farther than this.

—

You try the next day and the next to get answers from him. He seems to make a decision at one point just as the familiar smell reaches you and you think you will leave with no more information than you had before.

“I’m SAS.”

He is not there when you turn to thank him. He is not there at all when you return the next day.

—

The library run by Mrs Kaletaws is added to your routine. Breakfast, stretch, shower, library, lunch, try to sleep, walk, dinner, read, try to sleep. The small building has the peculiar addition of a cat you never quite see. You hear the skitter of claws on worn wood floor that has started to smell of sickly sweet rot, see fading scratches on the legs and arms of the chair, find hairs on your clothing, feel the prickle of eyes focused on you from the dark running up your spine to settle dully on the back of your neck. You have tried before to get a glimpse of the creature, but it only seems to exist in the very corner of your eye and retreats when your gaze tries to creep around to catch it.

Lela never talks about the cat. She told you once that it is only her and her wife that live in the basement below the library. You have never seen her wife and fear she must have some permanent sickness that stops her from being able to do much. You think they should move above ground so she can at least see the world through the windows obscured by racing raindrops, but you keep it to yourself.

The one computer here is old, the white plastic exterior now yellowed. Still, it is the only gateway to the outside world in this little town and you blow at your tea while waiting for your search results. ‘SAS military bases in West Virginia’ is a shot in the dark, but you need to start somewhere. After a sip you dump more sugar into your cup before looking at your finally loaded results.

There are none. No British military installations at all in the USA. You had hoped at least the results would bring up something about training exercises but it is just pages of useless information about bases around the world. You read about the SAS, fall down a rabbit hole of how they torture their soldiers to train them to withstand it. You go through pages and pages of search results until finally one talks about SAS soldiers in this area.

The link takes you to a dusty website that stopped being updated sometime in the late 90s. It’s some sort of conspiracy blog and you are prepared to close it, but you can’t help but get lost in the story it tells.

The details are unclear which you suppose is the hallmark of any good conspiracy. 40 years ago. There was a team of two, or maybe four or maybe seven. They set up just outside the woods with little to no explanation. There’s an interview from a local, not a name you recognise so one you think is likely long dead. She says two of the soldiers went into the woods first. She remembers something bad must have happened, because there was an argument between the five left outside. Nobody was allowed close, but she watched two more men go into the woods. After that the operation seemed to vanish entirely overnight and nobody heard anything more about it.

Whoever authored the blog has a gift with words because despite your logical mind knowing it was probably nothing but a random training exercise, the hairs on the back of your neck raise.

There is a photo of the alleged unit at the end loading slowly. You stare in fascination as line by line appears from the top. The world stops before it fully loads. At first you are confused as to why your whole body is tense, why your heart is racing. And then you figure it out. Silence. Complete and all together sudden silence. No rain hitting the windows, no scratching of the cat echoing, not even the whir of the computer.

You do not want to look away from the screen. You do not want to turn around. The prickle on your neck goes from dull to sharp.

The computer powers down.

—

He says to call him John. This man does not walk to your right like the Scottish one, or behind you like the first one you met. He walks in front of you. You can see the full expanse of his back clad in a vest. He wears a hat. He only ever turns slightly, enough to see that he has sideburns but never enough to see his face.

You are so enraptured by being able to see so much of him so clearly that it takes you a while to notice there is someone on your left. A few steps behind like the Scottish one does on your right. It takes you by surprise enough that you are about to forget the unspoken rules and turn, but John predicts your move.

“Eyes forward.”

“Sorry” you say automatically, fixing you eyes to his back and letting the other man stay as the impression of a creature just in sight of your left eye.

“They’re pretty, Captain.”

“I’m aware.”

It should not make you blush but somehow it does.

“What’s you name?” you ask.

There is no way to direct it specifically to the man on your left, so you simple direct it to the back of John and hope that the trees will send it where it needs to go.

“Captain?” the man asks, not for permission but as if genuinely unsure of the answer.

“Kyle, your name’s Kyle.”

“Right. Kyle.”

You catch the movement of him touching his chest, maybe rubbing at a name tag there but you can’t be sure.

“You can call me Gaz if you like.”

John and Gaz are your company for weeks. Whenever you ask after the other two, the air turns sweet and bloody and you are left alone among the jimsonweeds.

—

“Got intae trouble for ye.”

You’re not sure where you are but you recognise the voice. Is he in your room?

“We both did. Curiosity would’ve killed you little kitten,” comes the other voice from the first man in the woods somewhere behind you.

You hazily look down at yourself. You are not in the bed at the inn, you are in another bed laid on your back. You feel your legs brush against one another, not clad in the flannel you remembered wearing. Silk, you are wearing silk. Delicate against your skin, not much of it. Were you wearing perfume? Something smells sweet.

As you stare at the bare expanse of your leg a hand sinks into your thigh, squeezes.

“Fuck LT, so soft. Fingers just sink right in.”

You fight the urge to look to the right where the hand is coming from. You can’t look, some primal part of your brain knows you cannot look.

“Stay away from the woods” the man behind you whispers into your ear like a caress as his hands settle gently around your neck.

You do not feel the snap of bone, but you hear it. You taste the blood in your mouth.

You do not manage to fall back asleep when you wake.

—

Breakfast, library, try to sleep, don’t go into the woods, dinner, try to sleep, stare at the wallpaper, try to sleep.

—

You overhear Axell and Lela once. You think they are talking about you.

“You think we’re doing the right thing?” Axell asks.

“I don’t think there is a right thing anymore.”

“It’s been a long time now. Maybe we should let them go.”

“You think we could?”

There is a silence. Neither of them thinks so. Paranoia settles over you that you haven’t felt since back when things got bad. It’s like an old vice settling into your bones, or maybe seeping out of them as if it never truly left. You cannot go back to that place again so you take some aspirin for the rhythmic pulsing behind your eyes and the dull prickle at the back of your neck and resolve to put any thoughts of conspiracy out of your mind. Lela and Axell are simply old, there is not something they know that you do not.

—

You do not mean to walk into the woods again. The man behind you is back. He feels different somehow.

“I could eat you right up” he says against your neck.

Old Mr Kleer sees the bloodied bite at your throat and says nothing as you walk by.

—

You book a bus ticket. It feels too much like there are tendrils growing from you to burrow into the ground, to fix you here. If you don’t rip them out now, it is only a matter of time until the roots are so deep you won’t be strong enough to move. You aren’t eating properly, you’ve hardly slept and when you do you wake up with a bitter taste in your mouth and covered in scratches. There is still the shape of a bite on your throat and the B&B owners in Pennsylvania look at you with pity as you check in.

The building is charming and fairly new. You stare at the neutral pink wallpaper. One corner of it has lifted ever so slightly. You fall asleep staring at the peek of green underneath.

—

It doesn’t rain as much here, the sun is out and everything seems more colourful. Weeks pass in a haze and you slowly emerge again, eating properly, sleeping through the night. The town on the Greenbrier starts to fade to an unpleasant dream.

—

There is something comforting about the old man who comes to stay and sits by you for breakfast in the mornings. He has the remnants of a Russian accent and laughs frequently and easily. The stories he tells are fantastical, but he’s non-committal about his visit to small town Pennsylvania although he at least tells you that he likes the nature around here. He whispers that his legs aren’t up for much walking anymore, so he has to take the easy paths through small patches of nature.

It takes a week or so more to work up the courage to accompany him on a walk. It seems silly, but the woods make you feel afraid. Maybe a short walk through the small area he spoke of will help you get beyond it. You rub at your neck, feeling the marks faded but still there.

—

He notices your discomfort and tries to ease it with his stories as you walk the dirt path.

“It’s the most important thing I’ve learned you know” he says, the aching grief in his voice causing you pause, “you cannot leave friends behind.”

You turn to him, intending to ask how much longer the path leads since it is getting dark now. He is not there.

“Nik?” you ask, calm at first but increasingly more frantic.

That old familiar dull prickle settles on the back of your neck as you run back down the way you came to get out of the woods. Drooping tree limbs get in your way and you push through, ignoring the scratches. As darkness falls you slow to a walk, unable to see anything in front of you. You catch the smell the sweetness of the jimsonweeds. You can smell blood.

Foot steps that are not your own surround you. A set in front of you. One behind. To the left and to the right.

“Welcome home.”

[relentlessly-tired]

Reasons for me to get skinny/rewards/plans+anti binge.

To motivate/trigger myself :)

REASONS:

To look good in all clothes

Abs

Skinny legs

Smaller boobs

Pretty face

For my (gymbro) boyfriend

To be carried easily

Bikini's in summer

Confidence

To look better than the other girls

To be happy

To be more comfortable running/working out in public

To be seen as "small" and "petite"

To be as skinny as my sister

GOALS/REWARDS:

55kg: Hair and skincare stuff

52kg: bikini

50kg: septum peircing

48kg: new clothes

PLAN:

Workout:

Do some form of intense enough cardio everyday e.g. running, cycling, stairmaster.

Keep steps up AS WELL as cardio, minimum 10k, but aim for 15k

Bodyweight workout every-push ups, planks, pull up progressions

Weight training in the gym 2-3 times weekly

NEVER eat school lunch

Avoid eating out

MEAL PREP!! (Chickpea salads, chicken breast, soup, porridge, cut up carrots, etc.)

DRINK A SHIT TON OF WATER (when I wake up, before eating, during eating, after)

Big cup of tea every after school and then after dinner.

Utilise coffee, gum, mints

No fizzy drinks

Diet:

NEVER finish dinner

NEVER eat anything after dinner

NO SWEETS OR JUNK FOOD UNLESS PLANNED IN ADVANCE (only junk acceptable is a) pastries from bakery or b) chocolate on occasion.

AVOID bread, pasta, noodles etc.

Eat breakfast and eat throughout the day TINY small portions.

OMAD on occasion

DO NOT BINGE AT ALL EVER

FOODS TO PRIORITIZE:

yogurt- especially the protein kind. Good if craving something sweet.

fruit- avoid bananas (binge food)

Vegetables- carrots as snacks, incorporate other veg throughout day e.g. salads

eggs- specifically boiled

lean meats

MEAL IDEAS:

Breakfast:

Protein yogurt (may add sprinkle of cereal and fruit if extra hungry)

Boiled eggs

Carrots and hummus

Fruit

Little bowl of cereal

Fruit smoothie

Porridge

Lunch:

Chickpea salad

Boiled eggs

Carrots and hummus

Protein yogurt

Fruit

Smoothie

Boiled veg and chicken

Snacks:

Carrots

Yogurt

Fruit- apples, oranges, berries specifically

Ham slices

Chicken slices

Mini mini bowl of cereal

DO NOT BINGE:

Think about everything. Think about how unhappy you are with your life. Think about how long you've been doing the same old shut for? Don't you want it to be over? Don't you want to finally get what you want and be happy? Don't you want to finally be able to move on? Think about how long ago you could've gotten there if you hadn't binged all those times?

Think about where you could be so soon if you just stick to it, for a short while. Food is always there. Food is around you all the time in abundance. You ALWAYS have the choice to eat. So CHOOSE not to.

Don't make excuses. NEVER make excuses. There are no reasons that you binge other than the fact you want to. You are in control. You are always in control. Every time you binge, that is your choice. Your doing. Every time you reach for that bread, you could just as easily remove yourself from the situation. Walk away.

Hunger is only temporary. You will always get to eat again. Remember your reasons. Think about your future. Think about your rewards. Not binging will always be worth it.

You have the ability to be skinny and lose the weight so do it! I know you can!!

Hw: 68kg

Sw April 2024: 60kg

Cw may 2024: 57kg

[freakassfemme]

can you pls do being fwbs with abby but it's a secret and you're struggling to keep quiet 🥺

SORRY I WENT CRAZY WITH THIS SUPER ANGSTY AND SAPPY AGHHHHHH. please I could treat her so much better than Owen, she deserves everything ***not proof read, sorry*** wc: 2.6k warnings: !Owen!, f/f, fingering, smut, dubcon if u squint rly hard, cheating, comphet, abby deserves better:(, abby does no wrongs, etc.,

good luck, babe! [smut/angst] *°:⋆ₓₒ

playlist: i wanna be your girlfriend / lacy / good luck babe

"No, 's cute," Abby had said, running her finger over the felt material. "I wish someone loved me enough to make me one."

You had watched her curiously, your head tilted. She was sat on your living room couch in your apartment, cradling the stocking of your soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend with such tender and care, you had to keep your thoughts in check, remind yourself of the situation and who you were with as your instincts tried to spill over and into her arms.

"You and Owen totally could, its not hard," you said, already planning a list of materials you could loan or give to her, knowing she would have no idea, but she was already letting out a soft laugh and shaking her head.

"No, it's okay," she said, so obviously trying to keep a cheerful tone that the thickness of her tone weighed on your heart. "It's not really his thing."

You let out a small sigh, walking back over with both of your cups of hot chocolate. It was like clockwork, the way you curled up next to your longtime best friend, resting your head on her shoulder and handing her the cup.

"He's stupid," you said, like you always did when Owen acted like he was too good to even be a decent boyfriend.

Abby took the cup gratefully, sipping on it and humming. She let the taste linger on her tongue, the staleness in her mouth disappearing with the refreshing mint and chamomile of the imported tea she had bought you for your last birthday.

"I know," she said simply, frowning and leaning her head back on to yours. ''I'll get over it."

"You shouldn't have to."

"I know."

Abby may have gotten over it, but you didn't.

As the days ticked closer to Christmas, you found yourself lingering on the idea. And when your own stupid, good-for-nothing girlfriend dumped you on your porch one snowy night, you found yourself looking for distractions. After tossing out your ex's stocking, you bundled yourself up in your coat and marched yourself down to the craft store.

It was easy to pick out the decorations for Abby's stocking -- a gold velvet stocking, and you had carefully written her name on it in a cursive red-glitter glue, adding a couple snowflakes after the y. You hung a few golden bells and silver coins from the corner, curling some metallic ribbons to add a special flare to the hook.

You were already making your way over to Abby's apartment the following day when it had finally dried, as you had been for the past few weeks, just because Abby wanted to keep checking in on you after work to make sure you were okay, help pack up some of the other girl's things or give you a shoulder to cry on if you needed it.

The fresh stocking was carefully packed into a glittery gift bag that you knew Abby would sigh at, probably complain about there being sparkles in her house for the next decade. The thought made you smile, and you knocked on her door with a gentle tap and familiar pattern that had her leaping up from her kitchen barstool, dinner for one abandoned and rushing towards the door.

"Hi," she said, smiling sweetly as she always did, though she had to speak around her food as she opened the door. Her hand covered her mouth, and she gave you an apologetic look when you jokingly grimaced,

"Hi," you chirped back, fluttering inside and letting her help you out of your coat. "I brought you something."

Abby swallowed her food quickly, smacking her chest to suppress a cough as it went down the wrong side. You only rolled your eyes and smacked her back gently once, making her snort at your attempt to help.

"For me?" She repeated, eyes wide and glimmering as she followed you like a lost puppy into her living room. She watched as you picked up Owen's coat off of a barstool between two fingers, like it grossed you out. She leaned against the doorway of her kitchen, laughing softly as you flicked it away and brushed off the stool, then sat down.

"Well, definitely not for your boyfriend," you replied, giving her a teasing smile. You plopped the bag on to the counter, folding both of your hands in your lap and giving her a knowing smile. "Don't say anything about the bag except thank you, or I might actually combust, okay?"

Abby rolled her eyes, shaking her head. She pushed herself off the doorframe and shuffled over, hands raised up in a mocking defense.

"Okay, okay," she said, sitting down on the stool next to you. She tried not to pay too close attention to the way you scooted forward, facing towards her as you dramatically handed her the bag, doing a little ta-da-esque hand gesture that made her snort.

Abby's eyes watched your excited face as her hand shifted through the bag. It brushed against something soft, and her eyebrows furrowed, half-convinced you had gifted her a ridiculous hat to wear, until she pulled it out and her heart stopped.

Bits of glitter fluttered down to the ground around her, and she would've scolded you, would've said something, if she wasn't frozen in place with her breath caught in her throat.

Her eyes wandered over the neat penmanship of her name, at the coins with holes carefully hammered into them so they could be strung on the side, at the little snowflakes at the end of her name and the shiny velvet that reminded her of all the times you complimented her blonde hair, calling it more beautiful than a golden August sunset. God, she could feel her heart aching in her chest.

"Do you like it?" You asked quietly, voice timid after her long silence and lack of response.

Abby quickly wiped at her eyes, sniffling, though she still refused to meet your gaze. She nodded, letting out a pathetic chuckle.

"Yeah, yeah, of course I do," she said, though it didn't sound as confident as she wanted it to. "Of course I do, thank you."

You took her hesitance the entirely wrong way, her reaction as negative, and instantly began rambling to cover your embarrassment.

"I just remembered you saying something about wanting one, and I had the stuff -- well, I had to make a short trip to the craft store but that's okay because I never mind going there --"

The barstool squeaked as Abby pushed herself from it, rushing towards you with hungry hands and eyes and a starving mouth that wrapped warmly around yours. Her hands cradled your face, her eyes squeezing shut as she crashed into you, tears falling down her cheeks.

You let out a small squeak, frozen for a moment before melting into her touch, hands coming down from trying to push her away to pulling her closer by the hem of her shirt.

That was the first time you kissed Abby.

The second time was on New Years, when she walked you home after you got a little too tipsy and she was eager to escape from Owen.

"What are we doing?" You had murmured against her lips, shivering as cold snowflakes fell on to your intertwined bodies, and she had only shrugged, mumbling back an I don't know as you pulled her inside and began to undress her.

You had never bothered trying to clarify things after that, letting things be as they were. You tried to convince yourself that it wasn't as bad as it was -- that you were just really close with Abby, that this was more of a friends with benefits thing that was good for Abby as she tried to figure out what the fuck was going on with her and Owen. You tried to convince yourself that it was nothing more, and that this was okay.

"'S okay, baby, it's okay, I've got you sweet girl, holy shit --"

Abby babbled nonsense as you gushed around her fingers, sprawled out in her bed and panting, bare breasts shimmering in the sweat and moonlight of her apartment window.

"Fuck, oh my god, Abby," you whined, one of your legs propped over her shoulder. She desperately bucked her hips into it, her clothed clit catching deliciously between her underwear and the soft curve of your ass, and her grinding only further pushing her fingers inside of you.

"I know, I know, fuck," she hissed back, biting down on your calf to try to quiet herself.

It was late February, and you two had continued this [un]ethical affair for far longer than you were comfortable with, but you couldn't deny that despite Abby's inexperience with girls, she was an absolute gem in the bedroom, one you just couldn't turn away so soon. At least, that was the reason you convinced yourself with.

Abby and Owen had had another argument, and she had sent him out for about the millionth time, picked up her phone and called you over for about the millionth-and-first time. You always came running when she called.

While you fought yourself over the morality of it, Abby was far beyond caring at this point. The only reason she hadn't broken up with Owen wasn't because of any fleeting feelings towards him, but because she was more concerned with the prospect of dealing with what it meant to cheat on your boyfriend with another girl,and the terms that came with admitting the reality of her predicament. So, for now, it was easier to spark arguments with her piece of shit boyfriend and send him out so she could pile-drive you into her mattress and bury her thoughts deep inside of your cunt.

"Mmpf, fuck, I'm gonna cum," You squealed out, head flopping back against the mattress and eyes rolling back as you felt your body nearing that bursting point. Abby could feel your thighs shaking, and she moaned at the sight, brushing her thumb over your clit between her sweet praises.

With a loud moan, you shattered around her fingers for what had to be the fourth or fifth time that night. Salty tears slipped down your face as you came, babbling nonsense and digging your nails into her arm in a way that had her hissing and groaning.

"Fuck," she swore under her breath, the pace of her hips increasing as she watched you. The damp patch on her boxers was near dripping capacity as she slumped over you, desperately chasing her own high. "God, you're gorgeous."

"Gonna cum for me?" You whined, legs shaking uncontrollably at the overstimulation. Abby pulled her hand away and ripped her boxers off, grunting as she nodded stupidly, rubbing her clit against your puffy cunt.

"Yeah, fuck, I'm gonna -- shit -- I'm gonna c--"

The apartment walls rattled with a slam that had you jumping back some, eyes going wide. Abby's hand slapped over your mouth just as you went to scream, squeal, or whatever surprised noise was threatening to slip out and alert the drunken Owen wandering through Abby's apartment.

"Abby?" He called, just her name alone slurring so much it was barely intelligible.

"Shit," Abby groaned quietly, and both of you exchanged worried glances as Owen's voice kept growing louder, coming closer.

"Abby!" He called again, this time more clear. When his footsteps became audible, Abby's hand tightened around your mouth.

"Fuck off!" She snapped back, turning slightly so she could yell through the door.

"Come on, baby, can't we talk this out?" He slurred back through the door, coming closer.

"I swear to god, Owen, if you don't leave me the fuck alone, I'll beat your ass to a fucking pulp!" She snapped, her other hand under your knee tightening in a bruising strength.

Your stomach fluttered with panic as your eyes shifted between the unlocked bedroom door, where the shadows of Owen's feet were very much there, and the way you and Abby were tangled against each other in an extremely compromising position.

"What's your fucking problem?" He snarled back through the door, and Abby rolled her eyes.

"You are! I'm fucking serious, Owen, leave me alone!"

You knew just as much as Owen did that Abby probably would beat him if he walked in right now, though you weren't sure if it was in the hopes of short-term amnesia or just out of pure anger.

Thankfully, Owen grumbled something about Abby being a bitch (to which she scoffed) and shuffled away. There was a small thud, presumably him slumping against the couch, and then the living room TV turned on.

Abby let out a sigh of relief, turning back to you. She looked down at you, panting, and then let out a relieved chuckle.

Instinctively, you went to push her hand away, ready to pull your clothes back on and hightail it out of there, but Abby gently slapped your hand away, furrowing her eyebrows and mouthing what?

You widened your eyes in disbelief.

He's right there! You mouthed back, shaking your head as her hand snaked back down to below your thigh, resuming its previous position.

Abby only chuckled, trying to wave you off, but your eyes widened impossibly further as she began rolling her hips against you again, heavy panting filling the room. Anxiety flooded your stomach, and you tried to push her off.

"Abby!" You hissed, and she only gave you an annoyed look, like you were the one being insane right now.

"What?" She repeated, though this time it was in a much more mocking tone. Of course, she knew exactly why you were freaking out, but she couldn't help the way it further enticed her.

"He is going to hear us!" You whispered smacking her shoulder. Abby rolled her eyes, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head, holding them with such ease between just one of her hands. Her hips continued their assault against your overstimulated cunt, and you had to bite your lip to keep from letting out a broken whine.

"Not if you’re quiet," she whispered, licking her lips as she stifled her own moan.

Abby leaned over you, tucking her face into your neck as she worked herself on you, into you when her clit caught against your entrance. She chuckled when you kicked against her, squirming to escape and fighting to not make a noise, but kept herself there, grinding right into your sensitive hole until you were biting down on her shoulder to keep quiet.

"That's it, that's it," she encouraged softly, letting out a soft grunt that made you tense up, but when Owen didn't come storming into the room, screaming and threatening, you melted into her next thrust. You let out hesitant sighs of pleasure that made Abby purr against your throat.

"Shhh, just like that, baby, 'm almost done, I promise," she said, her voice breaking between the last few words. Her hand let go of your wrists, opting to grab at the mattress and use it as leverage as she pushed harder against you. The bed moved, but she was so calculated and collected about it that the headboard just barely smacked the wall, only a soft tap echoing through the room.

"I got you, I got you baby," she breathed, letting out a soft whine. Her hips stuttered as the bed rocked, and your nails dug into her back, teeth threatening to draw blood into her skin as you tried so hard not to alert the man in the living room.

"Shit, just be quiet a little longer for me, okay? Good girl, good fucking girl."

[pixelyssa]

★彡 reanswering an old ask below:

as a high r3str1cter here’s what i do:

★彡DRY F4ST!NG: 7pm-11am (i have water/meds/gum only if necessary)

It is beneficial when done for 16+ hours. and the best part is we do it in our sleep every night! 

dry means no f00d, no water. since starting this, i’ve noticed less bloating, my “morning sk1nny” lasts longer. i’ve gotten used to my dry f4st times and no longer overe@t at night, which also makes me feel good in the morning. I have acid reflux, and e@ting before bed triggers it. It also triggers, slower met@bolism, difficulty digesting and can disturb your sleep! So even if you aren’t comfortable dry f4sting before bed, atleast not having solid f00ds a couple hours before bed helps, and you will see/feel a difference.

If you tend to get cravings at night, this may be hard at first. here’s how i stopped mine:

(warning, im delulu hehe)

-i always remind myself how i feel after the fact. or the morning after. (guilty, embarrassed, weak) and eventually i was strong enough to let that feeling take over. 

-watch a mukbang or e4ting challenge for the f00d im craving and chugging water until im full lol

-i have insomnia so i have an as needed medication for sleep that knocks me out. if you also struggle to sleep, i def recommend finding ur cure. whether its rain sounds, complete darkness, shutting ur devices off, or melatonin (PRO TIP: do not buy melatonin gummies. Do not consume the 5mg or 10mg or 20mg supplements of melatonin. when our bodies lack melatonin, we only need .5mg MAX, which is sold in pill form or can be prescribed by your doctor! anything higher will just make you immune and it will stop working eventually, it also will make it difficult to get up in the morning.)

★彡COFFEE

-i drink coffee as soon as my dry fast ends. It suppresses my app3t1te for a while and it helps my bowels hehe (i also need the caffeine to get me through the day)

-i HATE black coffee, i prefer brown stevia and a splash of cream/almond milk. but whatever you like!

-i usually have 1-2 cups to start my day. 

-if you don’t like coffee, tea is also good. there are certain types that can do different things for you ofc, i like green tea for the caffeine and metabolism boost (same reason i drink coffee). but i’ve heard good things about ginger tea, mint tea, etc. (if youre a tea person i don’t need to even explain, you know.)

★彡SAVING C4L0RI3S 

-i try save them for the end of the day, that way when its dinner time and i’m hungry, I’m not feeling like i need to find something small to fit the rest of my lim1t. (the coffee helps with this step)

-i stay distracted and i really worked on self discipline to be able to get through this one lol.

★彡CHOOSE FILLING F00DS OVER FILLER F00DS

-for example, 2 oreos and juice is the same amount of c4lories as my chocolate chip pancakes r3cipe. cookies aren’t filling, you’ll just want more. theyre a filler. whereas 3 chocolate chip pancakes with berries and syrup is filling and satisfies the same craving. 

-if you like to use ur c4lories for snacks that’s completely fine, im not judging you <3 it just leads to overe@ting for me.

-i usually have 1 meal and 1-2 snacks throughout the day. I have my google doc link ready to go if anyone 18+ would like to see, comment and let me know youre of age and ill message u it (DONT DM ASKING I WONT SEE IT) <3

★彡M3TABOLISM DAYS

-by now you’ve probably heard the term “meta” or “metab” day. most people will do this once a week, it is basically where you spike your l1mit for the day. constantly lowering your intake will slow your metabolism and eventually you’ll start maintaining, or plateauing. This is to help boost your metab! Its also good for holidays, or days where you have plans involving f00d. It’s hard at first, but if you’ve been stuck at the same w3ight, its good to start doing this. 

-i do one once a week, but i’ve seen people do them in 10 day increments or even twice a month.

-a friend of mine told me metabolism days should be -200 of your bmr (you can calculate your bmr online) that would make my metab day l1mit around 800-900 c@l. (which is 300+ higher than my normal limit, incase you want to just add to your current intake instead of calculating your bmr) it should be a close to a “normal” l1mit. 

-there are chances of g4ining, of course, from metab days. don’t shy away from it if you feel too scared to g4in, this was my mistake and i was stuck at 102 for WAY TOO LONG. metab helped me break 100, and now im almost at my next goal. Metabolism days are for everyone, it’s not just sk1nny people who plateau and demolish their metabolisms. try it out, its a nice treat <3

★彡WATER INTAKE & VITAMINS

we should be drinking over 2L of water a day (you can google and calculate your specific amount needed per day, im just a girl) 

-drink your necessary amount THROUGHOUT THE DAY. it is sm water to have in one sitting so the only possible way to get it all in is to have it all day. tt’ll make you feel better too.

-this is something i struggle with, i just don’t enjoy water. I’m on and off with when i enjoy it and when i can’t get myself to drink it. If anyone else struggles, i’ve realized that ice cold water is easiest for me to drink.

-water gives the illusion of feeling full, it literally keeps you alive, and obviously sm more lol

-i take vitamin d, vitamin c, calcium and a women’s multi vitamin for metabolism every day. the water is important for helping my body absorb these. Look into other vitamins but these are what i take based on my deficiencies. 

-i take gummy vitamins, they have more c4lories than a pill, but its like a sweet treat after my meal so i’ll probably stick to gummies <3 make sure you chew them all the way through if you get these!

★彡IVE BEEN DOING THIS WAY TOO LONG Our b0dies are all different. what works for me might not work for you, and that’s fine, love! I’m sharing what i do because there is a lot of general knowledge in my routines, so i thought i’d share. 

[layraket]

"Huh?"

"I said," Legend kept a firm tone "that you should consider the option of a full-rested night"

Four understood why was he saying this, he didn't woke up the veteran last night to his shift and decided to stay more late than he should've.

In my defense, Vio tried to justify himself. that book was interesting.

"Maybe, thanks for your suggestion" He turned back to reading his book, it was too early for getting scolded by their veteran.

"It wasn't a suggestion" That firm tone didn't leave, this time stronger "This is already the fifth time! And don't act like you don't get affected by this, I've noticed how clumsly you're getting each fight we get into"

He has a point, at this rate we will really get injuried. Green was considering Legend's words.

Sure, if they took other's shifts the rest of them will be having more rest, even if it means that they will be getting more and more wore off.

"If Rulie finds out that you got yourself injured just because you decided that sleeping is for the weak, may Farore protect your soul" Legend didn't say anything else and walked away, letting the cup that he brought to Four next to them.

They grabbed it and took a sip. Oh, its chamomile tea! and with honey! That was a sweet gesture from the pink-haired hero.

He could've brought coffee, its so much better if he wants us to not be all tired during fights. Blue showed aside the warm color, not too happy with their drink.

That's true, but right now? Some tea wouldn't do harm It was a little late and camp was already set up, there will not be any problem if they just fell asleep.

Aw, but I wanted to finish that book. We can read it tomorrow! I also want to see the ending. I bet the traitor is the hunter, he seems really suspicious. 50 rupees that it is the sorcerer. Deal!. Stop doing bets with our money!. Its the musician one!. RED-

---

Wild thought that some tea would help them to relax from their last fight, a horde like that could easily take all energy from any warrior. But it wasn't the main reason that he decided to use his chamomile reserve.

Legend came to him some hours ago to talk about something, he thought that it was about something from the fight, sure he was getting too much with the throwing-almost-broken-weapons thing, but it worked!

"Listen," The vet hushed, coming closer to the champion "I'm not sure if you already noticed, but haven't you seen Four acting a little off?"

Oh, so this was about their smithy.

"Uhm, no? I mean, he's been a little more..." How was it called?

"Clumsy? Distracted? Tired-looking?" Legend gave some options.

"Tired-looking, yeah" It is more often that he finds their smallest hero nodding off while traveling. "Why the question?"

He knew Legend, he could come as cold and a little harsh, but if he was asking this it must be for a reason.

"I know why, he has been taking longer shifts more and more frequently. I want you to help me to get him rest today, the whole night without interruptions" He kept the tone down, trying to not catch anyone's attention.

So, helping the smith to sleep? An easy task, he can do some tea and it will be it.

When the camp was set he started working, putting the water to boil and preparing the chamomile that he got from Twilight's era. After half an hour he went to give each one of the chain a cup, some with extra honey and others without nothing to make it sweeter. It was weird, drinking almost plain water, but he will not judge.

For Four he prepared a cup with some extra things; some mint leafs, a little bit of linden and, of course, sweet honey that Legend gave him specifically for the smithy's cup.

He send the veteran to deliver the special cup, and then went to work on their dinner.

Broth will make their stomachs warm, they skipped lunch and something with a lot of nutriens will do well for them. When Wild went to give the last bowl of dinner he found the results of Legend's plan.

Four was calmly sleeping, resting his back on the tree that he was sitting next earlier, with an open book and his bag slighly open next to him.

It would be mean to wake him up, so he left the bowl next to the smithy with a cloth covering it to keep it warm and free of bugs, made sure that his bag was closed (Wind will take any opportunity to stick his nose in anyone's bag) and covered him with a blanked.

Wild went back with the rest of the Chain to talk and finish his own portion. The only thing that was haunting his mind now was the musician being the traitor, but he didn't know who was the one that he betrayed. He needs to ask Four to let him borrow a copy of that book tomorrow.

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 18

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: M for Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 9.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics, mentioning of pregnancy/babies, family planning, breeding kink* Flirting, sexy talk, nudity, tooth rotting fluff, Marcus has been getting buff. Summary: It's time for a White House wedding! Notes: Here it is, dears. The last chapter of Marcus Pike's soulmate story. Next week will be the epilogue, but I will be missing this beautiful family and all of its extensions like crazy. 😭😭 As always, please remember that the gif choice for each chapter does not reflect the appearance of the reader, only the tone of the chapter.

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Ch 16 ~ Ch 17

After the rehearsal dinner, you had gone separate ways. For the sake of upholding a silly little tradition, Marcus had spent some time with his parents at their hotel before going home to have a night of personal reflection. You had gone with your siblings back to the White House residence for a sort of last hurrah sibling sleepover. Both Alex and June will be moving out of the residence this month to live with their soulmates, making your parents officially empty nesters. They've promised not to get teary about it, but you can't be sure that will hold for very long.

It's after a few hours of board games with your siblings – Alex policed the hell out of Junie when she tried to cheat, as usual – that you're climbing into the bathtub of your guest bedroom. Donna Pike had gifted you a little self-care basket for tonight with your favorite bubble bath, scented candle, face mask, and several other indulgent bits, but the missing piece of this bath is at the other end of a phone call. Once you're settled in, you dial Marcus's number and put your phone on speaker to set it on a stool next to the tub.

"Hey Hummingbird." Marcus's voice is warm and soft, happy to hear from you. He had known one of you would call the other, but he hadn't wanted to interrupt any activities that might have been going on. He knew everyone was having a game night. "How is your night going? Is it sad to say I already miss you?"

"If it's sad, then we're both sad." You chuckle quietly and shake your head, wishing he was beside you instead of on the phone. "Remind me why we agreed to sleeping apart tonight?"

"Something about 'tradition'." He scoffs playfully. "But I don't think that I can sneak into the White House." He laughs. "Something tells me that it wouldn't go over so well."

"You wouldn't have to sneak," you remind him. Calling him was the best decision you could have made under the circumstances. You're feeling more relaxed already. "The Secret Service loves you. You could drive right up to the place and they'd wave happily to see you."

"Only because they don't have to background check me." He jokes, hearing a small splash and smiling. "Are you in the bath?" He asks.

"Of course I am." Another laugh, from both of you this time, and you splash more loudly for him to hear. "Aren't you?"

"Not yet." He pouts, jumping up off the couch and grabbing his beer bottle to rush towards your shared bathroom. "Give me two minutes though and I will be."

"Your Mom made me a little bath basket." It's still the single sweetest gesture you can imagine from your mother-in-law. She must have poked around your bathroom last time she was here to find out your favorites. "I'm going to be so relaxed when I crawl into that giant bed."

"And cold." He chuckles, turning on the water and immediately starting to strip after he puts his own phone on speaker and sets it on the edge. "You always want to snuggle close when you want to warm up."

"I'm not sorry to tell you." The guiltless grin in your voice is obvious. "That that has less to do with warmth and more to do with the sexy naked man."

"Is that why we always end up having sex?" He chuckles quietly as he finishes stripping down to climb into the bath. "It's sneaky and I like it."

"It's not really sneaky," you defend half-heartedly. But both of you are laughing and it doesn't matter. "I just get so distracted by my naked fiancé. But I bet my naked husband will be even more distracting."

"Maybe." He groans as he starts to slips into the water and reaches for his phone again. "How was your game night? Did Junie try to cheat again?"

"Of course she did. For a girl who is so upright about pretty much anything else, she is a ruthless cheat when it comes to board games. I almost wish she'd take up poker and make us all a fortune." The soft groans and splashing sounds of Marcus climbing into your large, sunken bathtub make you smile all over again. "Comfy, handsome?"

"I am, but I have to admit...this tub is a little big without you in it with me." He reaches for his beer bottle and smiles as he remembers another time he was drinking the bath. "I guess I'll just have to imagine it like we did when I was in London the first time we took a bath together over the phone."

"Oh, I'm definitely imagining it." You lean back in the clawfoot tub you're in and reach for the face mask to really indulge. "I have to say, this tub is very definitely one person-sized. No hanky panky in the Lincoln bedroom's bathtub."

"I bet we could make it work." Marcus chuckles. "I can't believe you're staying in the Lincoln bedroom without me." He huffs playfully.

"Yeah? Mr. I'm getting ready for the wedding in the Oval Office?" Blowing a raspberry at him over the phone makes you laugh because you can perfectly picture the exact face he is making in response. "I can't believe you talked my mom into letting you do that. Talk about bragging rights."

He laughs, shrugging even if you aren't there to see it and wearing a smug grin. "It's going to make for one hell of a photo though." He brags.

"History books, baby," you hum as you apply the jelly-like face mask to your skin and sigh at the cool contrast to the hot water surrounding the rest of your body. "It's going to be in history books."

He hadn't really thought of it in those terms, but you're right. "You aren't getting cold feet, are you?" He asks, smirking slightly because he knows you are just as eager as he is for tomorrow. "It would be pretty embarrassing if you didn't show up when the wedding is in your parent's backyard."

"The only thing I'm going to have cold feet over is magazines and papers and the internet having their hands on our wedding photos." It is what it is. And you know that. If you truly had objected, you could have easily eloped, or elected to hold off on getting married until your mother is out of office. This is the way you're doing it and that's fine. "No, my love, I'll be there with bells on. Maybe even literally," you tease. "After all, I never told you what my something blue is."

"Are you going to tell me now, or do I have to wait to find out until tomorrow?" There is something so comforting in knowing that you are less than twenty-four hours away from being his wife.

"Oh no, you absolutely have to wait." A fact which makes you giggle mischievously. The shimmering blue nipple covers that will be safely tucked into your white shapewear are just for his eyes. Sydney had suggested tiny blue panties, but you wanted to do something a little more creative for Marcus.

“Evil.” He hisses, but there’s no heat behind his words. “I think you just want me to drag you out of the reception early.”

"The very idea that we wouldn't leave the reception early is laughable," you tease. "I've seen the suit you're wearing, baby. You're gonna look like a whole three-damn-course meal."

“And I haven’t even gotten a glimpse of your dress.” He pouts.

"Which is exactly how it's supposed to be. Tradition, remember?" The two of you had gone along with almost all of them. You did, however, opt out of the garter toss at tomorrow's reception. There will be none of that.

“Much to my dismay. I’m rethinking this tradition shit.” He huffs. “Not sleeping next to you when I’m not on another continent seems like a crime.”

"You'll get to see my dress in..." You glance up at the clock on the wall. "A little less than twenty-one hours."

“I know, I can’t wait.” It’s easy to admit, he’s looking forward to this. He has been for his entire life if he’s honest with himself. You are his soulmate.

"Me either." The broad grin on your face is audible, which only makes you smile even wider. "I love you so much."

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He hums quietly.

That particular sound is so comforting that you practically purr in response. "And I can't wait to be your wife."

“Mrs. Pike.” He coos softly. “Are you ready for all the annoying paperwork changes?”

"Oh, absolutely." Just because he can't see you nod doesn't mean you aren't doing it. "It's all already printed out, filled out, and sitting in a folder in the office at home. My dad promised to file it for me while we're on our honeymoon. I just have to sign everything and bring him the folder at Constance's birthday party."

He should have known. “You’re perfect.” He promises. “You are just….perfect.”

"I'm excited to be your wife." Something you always knew you would be able to say to the partner you chose to stay with forever. You just never imagined anyone as wonderful as Marcus.

“Twenty hours and thirteen minutes left.” He muses. “But now I’m thinking we should have had a morning wedding.”

"That would have been a good idea." It was an idea that was bandied about, but you had ultimately decided against it. Though you can't remember why at the moment.

“Yep. By lunchtime we could be back in our hotel room. Or back home.” Marcus smirks at the small sound of protest you give.

"I'm extremely excited that your parents aren't starting their housesitting until after our wedding night." Matthew and Donna will be taking care of your place, collecting your mail, watering your houseplants, and generally looking after things for the two weeks you're in Scotland. But tonight and tomorrow night they are staying in the inn so you can have some privacy for your wedding night.

“Yes. I would be very unhappy to have them sleeping right next door.” Marcus snorts. “Because they would hear things.”

"And your parents do not need to hear things." Especially not when Marcus gets you going and you can't keep your volume down. "Just like my parents do not need to hear things. And we will not need to hear things when our kids are grown."

“Our little girl is going to be a good girl.” He teases. You’ve had the conversation about when your children are older and are both on the same page. There’s not going to be separate rules for girls versus boys. That’s not fair.

"Need I remind you that you routinely call me a 'good girl' while fucking me into oblivion?" You laugh, though, knowing that this is very much a non-issue at the moment. "Good girl is a relative term."

Marcus chokes on the mouthful of beer he had been about to swallow. “No. No. Please don’t remind me of that.”

“Daddy and good girl can stay sexy for now.” Your laugh turns soft and you lean back in your bath again, imagining how red his face must be.

“You’re such a brat.” He growls, shaking his head. “Do you want me to spank you tomorrow?” The two of you have ventured into spanking and light bondage, finding it a fun new expansion of your sexual experience.

“Oh, I absolutely want you to spank me tomorrow. I thought that was a given.” And as much as the thought is tantalizing, you’ve already promised yourself you won’t masturbate yourself to sleep tonight. Somehow the idea of Lincoln’s ghost watching over that is too creepy.

“Already needy.” He teases, having snorted out loud when someone asked about traditional roles in marriage during the sit down interview. Both you and Marcus believe that traditional roles have to be fitted to modern times and there have been several private jokes about that.

“Always needy.” The correction doesn’t really mean anything, but you hum it softly like a coo in his ear.

“Fuck.” Marcus groans, loving when you drop your voice into that pitch. It makes him shiver and his already hard cock twitches. “You’re making it hard to keep my promise to myself.”

That actually has you laughing so hard that you snort and you pick up your phone with your dry hand to bring it closer. “Did you make a no masturbating promise to yourself, too?”

“Of course, because what is one night?” He asks sarcastically.

“One night is nothing,” you huff, giggling that you both had the same idea.

“And now you’re talking about me spanking you?” He growls, shaking his head. “Baby, you know what that does to me.”

“I believe the phrase ’Spank me, Daddy’ almost made you cum in your jeans last week.” A fact which you fully intend to exploit at a future date. At many future dates.

“Fuck.” He hisses, pressing his thighs together to apply slight pressure to his balls. “You’re not being nice. How would you like it if I didn’t let you cum tomorrow as punishment?”

“On our wedding night?” You laugh in utter disbelief, knowing he’s bluffing but finding it amusing that he’s trying. “You wouldn’t.”

He wouldn’t and both of you know it. “No.” He admits with a chuckle. “You’ve got me there.”

A soft, warm silence settles between you, and you look at your phone screen as tenderly as if it was his face. “We should get some sleep, my love,” you hum quietly. Even though you’d rather stay up and talk to him all night. There is a lot to do tomorrow.

“Do you want to go to sleep with the phone on, or should I let you go?” There have been a couple of times where you’ve slept with the phone still connected and he smiles as he remembers you snoring softly through the line.

“Are you going to tease me for snoring?” Like you can read his mind, you set the phone down again and start washing off the gently abrasive face mask.

Marcus laughs quietly. “No, I promise I won’t make fun of you.” He swears. “I think it’s cute.”

“You snore too, ya know,” you huff. But there’s no heat in it. Just soft affection from and for you both.

“I know. You don’t think I know that? With this nose?” He jokes, laughing at himself.

“I love your nose.” And if he were here with you, you would kiss it to make your point. The number of kisses you’ve left on the prominent, proud bridge is numerous. “I hope all our babies look exactly like you.”

“God no.” He groans. “I don’t want that. I would not look good as a girl.”

"Pike genetics are full-proof," you counter, washing off the last of your face mask and lifting yourself out of the bath carefully so as not to splash too much water. "All of your cousins are fantastic looking. I have no concerns for our kids."

He grumbles, unable to really articulate a rebuttal when it’s the truth that his cousins are all attractive. “I want our kids to look like you.” He murmurs.

"For better or for worse, I don't think we get to pick." Your bathrobe is nearby, and you slip it on to stay warm as you climb out of the bath. Marcus does have a point. You're always cold after a nice hot bath.

He sighs softly and smiles as he finishes his beer and hits the drain for the tub. “I hear they have those 3D ultrasounds now. Where you get a clearer picture of the baby? You think you would want to do that?”

"I'm on board if you are." The sound of both tubs draining in unison takes over for a few seconds but you step away from the tub to dry off and moisturize. "It might be kind of weird at first, but seeing more of the baby doesn't sound like a bad thing."

“Did you take a test tonight?” It’s silly but he had shoved a test into your bag in case. It’s still way too early, but he’s excited.

"I had my period less than two weeks ago," you remind him, although you grin at the idea and look over to see the small, wrapped test sticking out of your overnight bag. "It would be way too soon to show up on a test."

“Yeah.” He exhales in disappointment and sighs at his impatience. “Damnit.”

"Do you want me to keep taking tests during our honeymoon?" The lotion that Donna packed in your bath basket is the same scent as the bubble bath was and the whole bathroom smells perfumed and beautiful. "Or do you want to hold off until we get home again?"

“That’s up to you.” He doesn’t want you to feel pressured or have it take away from the trip.

"I think..." Once you're dry, moisturized, and wrapped up again, you pick up your phone to go back into the bedroom you'll be sleeping in tonight. "I honestly think if we test negative on our honeymoon it will upset us both. And we'll pretend not to be upset, which will make one or both of us pouty. Let's leave the tests at home, love."

“Agreed.” Marcus easily accepts that. “I don’t want anything but for us to enjoy our trip and not worry about anything. Not even your uterus.” He snorts. “Except when it comes to making sure it’s filled up.”

You hum in agreement. "And that is not a worry, it's a pleasure."

“Yes it is.” He agrees, wrapping the towel around his waist and padding into the bedroom to crawl into an empty bed. Hating how you aren’t waiting for cuddles already.

The sound of him getting into bed is comfortable and familiar, though you wish the mattress beside you was dipping with his weight. Unable to stifle a yawn, you clap your hand over your mouth to cover the sound and ask, “What time are you getting here tomorrow?”

“I’m just going to pretend like you don’t know I’m going to be there as soon as I can.” Marcus laughs. “Is there anything you need me to bring? Anything you’ve forgotten?”

“Just my husband.” Words that will be perfectly true in less than twenty hours. “I was very silly to leave him behind tonight.”

“Yes you were.” Marcus teases, folding his hand behind his head and laying with the phone on his chest. “Don’t worry, he won’t let you leave him behind again for a very long time.”

“Never.” You promise him without hesitation. “I’m never going to be that foolish ever again.”

“Are you curled up under the blankets?” He asks softly, imagining your nightly routine since he’s seen it enough.

“Mmhmm.” The stack of plush pillows doesn’t quite make up for his absence, though, so you tease. “It doesn’t smell like you. I might have to count sheep or something to get that rhythmic snore going for you to fall asleep to.”

“I just imagine you sprawled out here on my chest.” He admits. “Cold feet on my legs.”

“Cold feet, warm heart,” you tell him with a drowsy giggle, though that isn’t quite the traditional saying.

“The warmest heart imaginable.” Marcus agrees, knowing you are getting tired. “I love you, sweetheart. Close your eyes, I’m still right here.”

“I love you.” You have from the beginning, you came to terms with that a long time ago. And by this time tomorrow, you’ll be his wife. It’s almost the day you’ve been working so hard for, and you can’t wait.

Marcus is up early, his sleep is brief, but he feels rested. Energized because the day that has been planned for so long is here. He’s going to marry you. The phone is still connected and he smiles when he hears you start to stir.

It probably shouldn’t surprise you at all to wake up and find the call to Marcus still connected, but you smile sleepily and hum when your eyes fully open to show you how many hours you and your soulmate have been on the phone together just sleeping. “Good morning, my love.”

“Good morning.” He smiles as he sips on his coffee. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mmmm…” Another hum, but this one comes with a small grumble as you stretch and sit up in bed. “How long have you been awake?”

He snorts. “Two hours.” He admits, grinning when you huff in annoyance at him not waking you. “I couldn’t sleep anymore knowing that today is the day.”

“Our kids are going to be early risers like you, aren’t they?” You grumble in a playfully accusatory tone. “I tossed and turned all night because I was impatient for today.”

“I just kept waking up and looking at the clock.” Marcus admits. “I’m excited. Must be something interesting happening today.”

“Must be.” Before you can say more, a soft knock on your door announces that the day has officially begun. “That’s my wake up call,” you tell him, and the energy in your voice lightens noticeably. “I love you, Marcus Pike. Get your cute butt over here so we can at least be in the same building again.”

“Do you want to exchange gifts before you need to get dressed?” He asks. “Or wait until we are alone tonight?”

“Let’s save it for tonight.” His technically doesn’t exist yet, for that matter, but you’ll be able to explain better at the house. The shed that you’re having built for him behind the house will be whatever he wants it to be, but when you return for Scotland it will be filled with paints, tools, other accoutrements of whatever hobbies he is enjoying at the time – and enough space for kids or a dog to come and visit him.

“That works for me.” He chuckles quietly. “Just needed to make sure I was going to bring it or leave it.”

“It can be a sweet, private moment,” you suggest, and giggle quietly when the knocking outside comes again and more loudly. “Right before you put a baby in me.”

“Birdie.” The nickname is growled out, his thoughts immediately on peeling you out of your dress.

“Love you, baby, see you later!” You cackle into the phone, making a smacking kiss sound before hanging up and jumping out of bed to throw your robe on over your nightgown. “I’m up!”

The door is thrown open and Junie, Sydney and Selena flood the room with happy squeals. Sydney carrying coffee cups which she picked up on her way to the White House. “Happy wedding day!!!!!”

“Ohhhh, thank you loves!” The cup from your favorite coffee shop even says the same, with hearts and well wishes written out by the baristas this morning — which only attests to how often you go there and how well they know you. “Everybody feeling bright eyed and bushy tailed?”

“We have been waiting until a reasonably decent hour. What are you still doing in bed?” Selena huffs. “I know Marcus has been up since before dawn.”

“Your cousin is well known for his ridiculously early rising.” You huff, with a teasing roll of your eyes. “I tossed and turned all night. Thank god nerves don’t make me nauseous because I am very excited for food tonight.” The grin you toss at the other three is devilish. “Along with other things.”

“I don’t want to hear about that.” Selena shoves her fingers into her ears playfully.

“She acts like I haven’t been fucking her cousin practically every day since we got together,” you snort, sipping the coffee Sydney brought you.

“La la la. I can’t hear you.” She singsongs playfully before she shoots you a grin. “How does it feel to be hours away from being Mrs. Marcus Pike?”

“And how is Clark Kent stacking up to the task of being a Pike soulmate?” Sydney asks, knowing full well that the teasing is a mandatory topic this morning.

All of you giggle at the way conversations are rapid fire and merging. Everyone boisterous and playful. “He’s amazing. Especially when he takes off the glasses.” Selena teases, shooting finger guns back at Syd. “Now…Mrs. Almost Pike?”

"I'm going to become a Victorian lady and only respond to Mrs. Pike for at least the next month," you inform them with an unrepentant grin. "Just so you know."

“As you should.” Junie snorts. “You’ve waited a whole year for this day.” Making sure that she doesn’t spill her own coffee, she flops down on the bed with you. “Ready to get pretty?”

“We are all already ravishing.” Holding up your paper coffee cup, you tap it against Junie’s, Sydney’s, and Selena’s in salute. “But it will be fun to play dress up.”

“The dress is already out. Mom had the protection detail bring it in.” Junie cackles. “The Secret Service was protecting your wedding dress!”

“Our wedding dress,” you remind your sister, reaching out to gently tap her nose like you’re punctuating a point. The alterations had gone perfectly, of course, and Alex’s vest will be stunning when he marries David next year.

“Right now, it’s your wedding dress.” She counters with a grin. “And mom has ordered another box to have it preserved in for after the dry cleaning.” She wrinkles her nose. “Because I know you are going to have sex while wearing the dress. That has to be some kind of fantasy for you two.”

You really can’t help it, you just sort of snort and burst out into giggles at the genuinely disbelieving and slightly horrified expression in June’s face. “I promise I will take it off first,” you assure her when you can breathe again. “That’s the dress you and I and maybe even our kids will get married in, I promise not to have sex while I’m still wearing it.”

“I don’t believe you.” She huffs, grinning at herself and taking another sip of her coffee. “I don’t believe you at all. Not when Marcus is going to want to throw you over his shoulder immediately.”

“Oh he’s definitely going to want to.” There’s no denying that. June has a point, it’s practically a kink for Marcus to see you do anything wedding related. “But the dress is an heirloom. We’re not taking any chances with it.”

Junie snorts and Syd grins. “Hey….don’t knock it.” She warns your younger sibling. “You might change your mind about wedding dress sex when it comes time for you to dance with the incredibly sexy soulmate you’ve just pledged to spend your life with.” She grins. “Wearing a tux.” That makes Junie bite her bottom lip and bury her face behind her drink as her brain suddenly completely flips.

“I think we hit a nerve,” you giggle, on the absolute verge of delight to see Junie just as flustered as can be.

“Shut up.” She huffs and rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning when you all cackle at her. “This is your day. Not mine.”

“Sure is.” A reminder which has you bouncing up out of bed and stretching delightedly. The sun is shining, the day is young, and soon enough Marcus and the boys will be downstairs getting ready, too. “Which is why I get to tease you with this big bright smile on my face.”

“So I…made you something.” Junie admits, looking slightly embarrassed as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out some hair combs. Some of the extra beading that had come from the extra material of the wedding dress had been too good to waste and she had also made a tie clasp for Alex.

“Oh my god, June.” The gasp from your lips comes all the way up from the pit of your stomach, as your sister pulls out a piece of cloth tied up in ribbon like she’s walked straight out of a Jane Austen novel to give it to you. “Honey, you didn’t have to do anything, but thank you.” She’s always been a bit craftier than you or Alex. Good with her hands. With visualizing a project and executing it well even when things inevitably weren’t perfect somewhere in the middle. When you take the little parcel from her and unwrap it, tears spring to your eyes almost immediately. “Junie…” The two little hair combs are perfect, and of course she would know that since she sat with you during your hair and makeup trial a mere two weeks ago. “They’re beautiful honey. You made these yourself?”

“Yeah.” She smiles softly, happy you like them, even if you’ve never been the type to dismiss the thought behind any gift. “There was extra material from the dress that couldn’t be used, but the beads were too gorgeous to let go to waste.”

"I can't believe you made an heirloom." Selena sighs, barely tracing her fingertips over the delicate combs when you put them down to hug your sister fiercely. "Have you ever thought about selling the things you make? The jewelry you made me for my birthday is gorgeous."

“Not really.” She admits with a slightly self-conscious shrug. “I don’t know if anyone would want to buy them.”

"Then we'll all be the very happy recipients of your beautiful handmade gifts," you promise your sister proudly. "But if you ever wanted to try your own small business, every single one of us would do whatever we could to help."

“It’s something to think about.” Sydney offers with an encouraging smile. “I think you would do really well.”

"You never know what the future will bring." Selena adds, and she aims a wink at June before judging you toward the door. "Except for today. We have two hours until the hair and makeup artists get here, which means we need to get the bride down to breakfast."

“Breakfast!” Selena moans happily. “Breakfast at the White House!”

“Nervous yet?” Juan smooths one hand down the front of his tuxedo and nudges Marcus’s side with a teasing grin. He knows that nervous isn’t quite the word for what Marcus is feeling now that it’s time for guests to start arriving and the evening to really begin, but his friend has been contemplatively quiet for the last ten minutes or so and a check-in seems the most minor of courtesies.

“Impatient.” Marcus is normally calm and collected, patience for days. Now, now his skin feels jittery, like he had three pots of coffee instead of the small glass of bourbon in the Oval Office about fifteen minutes ago.

“Like you’re about to crawl out of your skin, or like a kid the night before Christmas?” Juan asks, one eyebrow ticking up in Interest. The difference is important, though neither one is bad.

Giving a small laugh, Marcus’s shoulders roll back. “Both. It’s both.” He admits, looking over at Juan with a grin. “I don’t know how to even describe it. Except I wish this day could last forever and I want it to be over already.”

“Yeah.” The other man lets out a small bark of a laugh and shakes his head. There are some times when Juan is devastated to remember that there was many years when he and Marcus had lost contact. Marcus wasn’t even at his wedding despite Juan now being present for both of Marcus Pike’s. For as deep a bond as the men share, it seems like Marcus always should have been there. His emotional brother for so many years. “Come on,” he says, instead of voicing any of those thoughts. There is no need to make today bittersweet. “Let’s go greet your guests as they arrive. It’ll make the time go by faster and give you something to focus on.”

A task, something to do. That’s exactly what Marcus needs right now, because he really wants to go up to the residence and see you. The tradition is all that’s keeping him outside and he wants to keep from rehearsing his vows for a hundredth time. “Sounds good.”

“Alright, guys.” Juan turns to the others — to the other groomsmen in the Oval Office — and waves one hand toward the doors that lead the Rose Garden with a flourish. “Let’s get the night started.”

There is a knock on the door and it opens a bare inch. “May I come in?” Marcus almost laughs when the person the office belongs to is called in. Your mother is elegant in her mother of the bride gown and her smile is bright when she walks in. “I was hoping to speak with you a moment.” She admits and Marcus nods.

“We’ll be outside.” Juan offers, shuffling towards the Rose Garden door.

“I won’t keep you long,” she promises, smoothing the skirt of her satin gown as she slips into the room. She and the other parents had agreed on wearing formal black with accents of navy and gold to suit the wedding party and it had ended up looking quite elegant.

“Yes ma’am.” He won’t insult you by asking her if you’ve changed your mind, he knows that isn’t possible. He waits and moves over to the couch when she indicates a less formal audience than it would be if she sat behind the desk. Which every single one of the groomsmen did, including Marcus, and took pictures. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

“I wanted to check in on you earlier,” she admits, the pinched smile pulling at her lips having nothing to do with him. “Unfortunately the world at large does not particularly care that it is my daughter’s wedding day and I had to take a call. How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Great.” Marcus laughs, wondering if she thinks he has cold feet. “Honestly, I’ve been wondering why we didn’t have a morning wedding all day.” He admits. “I love your daughter and I am humbled to be her soulmate and have her choose me.”

"I don't doubt the two of you for a moment," she assures him easily. "No one who has seen the two of you together could ever have any doubts."

Sitting down, he smiles at his future mother-in-law. “That makes me happy.” He admits. “All I want is to be a good husband and man.”

"You are a good man, Marcus." She might have voiced concern far before this if he was not, but as far as this man's relationship with her daughter goes, she has been that most rare thing: a contented and approving mother. "But you know as well as anyone does, that things won't always be perfect. Sometimes things won't even be good. You've been through a lot as a couple already, and I applaud the mature and methodical way you tackle your problems together."

“You’ve raised a remarkable woman.” Marcus hums, proud of the stamp of approval. “All of your children.” He looks around the office in admiration. “This— holding this office, having this job is amazing and something to be proud of, but I believe your greatest achievement is the caliber of children you’ve raised for the next generations.”

"I've held them to a high standard," your mother admits, unashamed of that fact even as some might have looked at it from the outside and thought her unfair or asking too much at times. And maybe she was, but it never stopped you, Alex, or June from rising to the occasion. In fact, her three children have repeatedly met an ever-rising bar of expectation for their entire lives. "So I have to say both 'thank you', and agree with you. If the only thing I ever accomplished in my life was raising the three of them, I would still consider myself a remarkably accomplished person." She smiles at Marcus, resting a hand on his arm in that same reassuring and gently proud gesture she has shown to each of her children throughout their lives. "For what it's worth? The two of you are going to be a beautiful example of love and support for your own kids. All of those tough times will only bring you closer together. And when you need your family, we'll be here for you. All of us." If there is a bit of water behind her eyes, she isn't ashamed of it. It is an emotional day, after all. "I'm very proud to count you among my children, Marcus."

It’s not surprising that her profoundly emotional words makes him tear up slightly. Today will be a day where both of you will have moments where the emotions of the day, the love, get the best of you. “Thank you.” He covers her hand with his one and squeezes the back of it. “They say that when you get married, you also marry your spouse’s family, and this is one family I am proud to be counted among.”

"I think there is something to be said for finding friends within your family." She smiles, returning the gentle squeeze from him before she rises from the sofa. "But friends who are chosen family might be ever dearer. We're always here for you. Both of you. Birdie's father and I couldn't possibly be prouder of the two of you."

“Thank you.” He smiles. “Any words of wisdom?” He asks, always willing to listen to those who have succeeded for as long as your parents have. He would be a fool not to.

"Keep talking to each other." She knows that the conversations happen. Sometimes she hears about them and sometimes she just sees the fruits of the emotional labor, but keeping up with them is sometimes the hardest part regardless of how rewarding and healthy it is. "You're going to reach a place where you feel like you should be able to read each other's minds and you might start to just assume you're thinking or feeling the same things. Instead, the second you find yourself assuming, that should be your clue to check in with each other." Her hand on his shoulder is steady, and she offers him a reassuring smile. "Especially when it comes to your kids. They're going to surprise you every single day."

“Wise words.” Marcus smiles at the happy thought. “Did Birdie tell you?” He can only assume you have, since your core group of people know, but he wants to make sure.

“This morning at breakfast.” She beams happily. News of an impending first grandchild had brought her to near tears at the table. “We’ll be proud as peacocks when you’re ready to deliver the news. Until then, there is already plenty to be proud of.”

“Good.” He grins even broader at the idea of announcing the newest edition to the family soon enough. “First, we have some vows to say though.”

“You absolutely do.” Just one glance out the window shows both of them that guests are beginning to arrive full force, and her smile softens even more. “Go and say your hellos, honey. Let yourself be excited. It’s your day together.”

“Thank you….mom.” He tried the new title out as he leans in to kiss your mother’s cheek and then stands quickly.

“Go on.” She chuckles a little, smile brightening as Marcus heads for the door. “Oh! Marcus. One more thing.” When he turns like an excitable deer in headlights, she smirks. “You did get a picture at my desk, right? It’s going to be great in the wedding album.”

His grin is guilty, and he looks over at the desk. “Absolutely.” He admits with a chuckle. “Who wouldn’t?”

Waiting has been the hardest part. Waiting just inside the confines of the White House to be signaled out by Miss Sharma. Two by two, your wedding party goes down the aisle toward the rose-covered archway where Marcus is waiting, with Malachi carrying Constance and her little basket of petals making the most fuss at the head of the line until it’s only you and your father waiting just out of view to make your approach.

“I know you’re ready, pumpkin.” With a tone that has nothing but love dripping from his words, your father tucks your hand around his arm proudly. “You look beautiful. Too beautiful to be on my arm, but I think you’ll find the man who compliments you perfectly at the end of this short walk.”

“Right now it seems like the longest walk in the world.” But you look over at your father — beam at him, really — and don’t even bother to stifle the boundless, giddy giggle that bubbles out of you. “You set a very high standard for how I expect the men in my life to treat me, Dad. I hope you know that. Marcus is the only person I’ve ever met who could surpass it.”

“He’s a good man.” He has spent time with Marcus and there is no one else he would want to be by your side. “He will be your partner in life and love, and make you stronger when you need his strength.”

“He’s more than I dreamed of.” Your fingers squeeze your father’s arm gently as the music changes, the quartet of musicians in the garden moving into a classic arrangement of Etta James’ At Last as your cue to start walking.

Marcus shuffles slightly, unable to stand completely still as the pre-determined music starts. It’s perfect for the moment and everyone in the audience turns to watch as you and your father step into view.

If anyone had thought you wouldn't be holding back tears already, they would be desperately incorrect. Thankfully, your family and friends know you well enough that when you sniffle slightly at the top of the aisle, with your eyes brimming in unshed tears of joy, it's only smiles and nods of understanding from those you walk past. Not that you notice. Not that you're looking at a single person other than Marcus. Not that you could ever tear your gaze away from the matching water that has risen in his eyes, the two of you brimming over with tangible joy that almost makes you want to break away and simply bolt right into his arms.

The second he sees you, it’s like the air has been sucked out of his lungs. The moment barrels over him and leaves him breathless as the stunning vision of you captures his full attention. He can look at nothing but you, his heart pounding in his chest and his eyes filled with unshed tears that this stunning creature, beautiful and wonderful in every sense, wants to marry him. He can’t even help himself, “I love you” is mouthed as you walk slowly towards him to the romantic song.

Love. Love hardly seems like a strong enough word right now. You mouth back to him, “I love you,” beaming as tears leak from the corners of your eyes, and when you finally put your hand in his at the end of the aisle it feels like your pounding heart grows wings.

Marcus nods at your father, but his eyes are on you, unable to believe how breathtaking you are. “You’re stunning.” He coos, making a ripple of adoration for the couple run through the wedding guests.

“So are you.” His family necklace hangs at your throat and your grandmother’s altered wedding dress hugs your figure, enormous symbols of the coming together that your wedding means for your families. The very real judge standing before you in the Rose Garden as friends, family, world leaders, and everyone in between watching on fade into the background for just one more second while you look up at Marcus. “Ready?”

Both of you manage to project the biggest grins towards each other. "Absolutely." He promises. He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your skin gently. Nervous giddiness settles into his stomach and makes his entire body shiver in anticipation. Wanting this moment to be the perfect realization of the last year of planning.

However brief the formal ceremony might be, It’s stumbling tearfully through your vows that you know you’ll remember after today. The soft giggles from you and Marcus and the laughter and sniffles that ripple through the crowd as an echo of your happiness.

Marcus doesn't hear most of what the judge is saying, although he heard every word last night at the rehearsal. It was true what Juan said, once you see your bride, everything else fades away. The beautiful speech about soulmates and love is not even registering as he stares into your beautiful eyes.

"I," saying your full name almost sounds foreign for how much you want it to end in Pike already, "take you, Marcus Pike, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow, as long as we both shall live." The traditional vows were good for both of you, but you had agreed to add a little personal touch of your own to them. Something that made your vows yours alone. "I promise to keep your hand in mine through the parts of life we have never navigated before just as steadily as the parts that we have. I promise to love you in the big ways as well as the little ones, whether it's planning vacations and birthdays, or fixing your coffee in the morning so you can have that extra second to breathe before work. I promise to be the best wife and partner that I can be to you. To love you as an equal and to nurture the life we have together just as much as I will nurture any children we have." Through tears, you can't help but laugh softly as you look into Marcus's eyes. "No matter how many sets of twins we have." His family, and yours too, you're sure, laugh at that inevitability and there may even be some applause. "You love me and complete me in ways that I never knew possible, and I will spend my whole life loving you the same. Your love has made me a better woman, and I will not stop choosing you. My soulmate, my husband, my true love, and my very best friend."

He has to take a moment. Choked up and threatening to break down into the tears that are surely going to be present in the video, not that he gives a damn if the entire world sees how emotional your vows make him. Swallowing harshly and clearing his throat, the family and friends gather chuckle when he has to clear his throat and he shakes his head. "How can I beat that?" He asks, grinning at you before he straightens slightly. "I, Marcus Pike, take you –" he says your name in the warmest tone, "to be my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, in joy and sorrow, as long as we both shall live." He vows proudly. "From the moment I met you, I was drawn to you. My heart already knew what my mind had not yet figured out. You are my match. My mate in life and love. The perfect balance that completes me." He smiles at you, pulling your hands up to lay joined over his heart. "More than my soulmate, you are a wonderful, vibrant woman. One that I choose every day. I choose to love you, to build a life with you that we will look back on years down the road with pride." Squeezing your hands, he hums. "I promise to listen when you need an ear to talk to, to hold you when you need a shoulder to cry on. I promise that I will stand beside you when times are tough and celebrate with you when they are good. To find joy in waking up beside you every day and thanking the universe for placing us together. To protect the life that we build, the children that we have and put you and our family first before anything else." He says your name again. "I am the luckiest man in the world to have your love and your marks on my body. I will always choose you, my one true love. My wife. My soulmate."

In that moment, you could care less about protocols or order of events, and instinctually close the small gap separating you and Marcus to kiss him. There is a smattering of laughter and a little more applause, but the kiss doesn’t last long enough for the judge to do more than raise an eyebrow at you as if to disapprove. “I couldn’t resist,” you admit sheepishly, taking Marcus’s hands again as another wave of laughter rises out of your guests.

"You don't ever have to resist with me." Marcus promises with a happy little giggle of his own. Both of you turn back towards the judge. He shrugs slightly, "Proceed." He tells the man, unwilling to say sorry for that candid moment.

"The rings?" The judge asks, looking to the wedding party to move the end of the ceremony along. Malachi pops up with Constance still strapped to his chest in his impeccably tailored suit. The nearly identical wedding bands are distributed to you and Marcus and the judge nods. "Repeat after me, please. This ring I give in token and in pledge, as a sign of my devotion. With this ring, I thee wed."

"This ring I give in token and in pledge, as a sign of my devotion." You have to take a breath as you place the band on Marcus's finger and finish the promise with a shaky voice that is filled with more happy tears. "With this ring, I thee wed."

Marcus stares down at his hand as you slowly push the ring onto his finger. Humming when it is in place and feels perfect on his hand. The rings that he has already given you are stacked on your finger, the promise ring, the engagement ring and now ready for the last piece. "This ring I give in token and in pledge, as a sign of my devotion." He turns the ring to show you the engraving on the inside of the band right before he slides it onto your finger to complete the set. "With this ring, I thee wed."

Two hands, one heart says the inside of your wedding band, and as the judge is finally pronouncing you man and wife, you barely manage to tear your eyes away from the place where he has added this band to the others that he has given you. It's his eyes you're staring into again when the judge has his last words on the matter: "You may now seal your union with a kiss."

It's only fitting that the kiss that joins you together in holy matrimony include the infamous dip that had been photographed and talked about before your soulmate status was even known. His lips are curved against yours as he holds you dipped down low to the ground, the guests clapping and cheering as the clicks of the cameras go wild.

If he’s showing off just a touch, you’ll forgive him easily. After all, it is the perfect full circle moment for the two of you, a year and half after that first dance.

Pulling you upright, Marcus kisses you again, happiness making him giggle against your lips. “Mrs. Pike.”

“Finally.” You breathe, giggling right along with him, and clinging to his arms for support. “Finally.”

“Finally.” It’s almost a crime to have to break away from you so that the two of you can face your guests and walk back up the aisle. Sydney hands you your bouquet and shamelessly wipes the tears from her eyes, ready to follow after you on her own husband’s arm. The ceremony was perfect, and now everyone is ready to cut loose.

Walking you back up the aisle, Marcus is beaming, his smile lighting up his face and there isn’t anyone there who can deny that he is happy. He kisses your hand and squeezes it when you look over at him. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Flowers and all else disregarded, you throw your arms around his neck once you’re back inside the White House and pull him into a kiss. The judge, Juan, and Sydney will follow in a minute to sign the marriage certificate with you but right now you’re all alone.

“I can’t believe that we made it through the ceremony.” Marcus admits with a small laugh as he goes in for another kiss.

“Barely did.” Your giggles bubble over, pouring into kiss after kiss. “I’m sure the one story that will get told over and over is that I kissed you during the ceremony.”

“I was about to kiss you, so I wasn’t upset at all.” He admits with a grin.

With your arms around his neck and his own around your waist, the sparkling shine and shimmer in your eyes is endless. “We’re married.”

“Technically not yet.” He teases. “We have to sign on the dotted line and make it official.” Still, that’s just paperwork to him. Not important and those vows you just exchanged.

“Paperwork.” The derisive noise you make comes with a wave of your hand. “It will be filed in no time. The vows are the important parts.” You hum softly, warmed through with bubbling joy. “And the I do’s, of course.”

“The I do’s are the most important part.” Marcus agrees, feeling like he could move mountains and conquer the world. Anything is possible with you by his side. “And you look amazing in that dress.”

"Me?" You practically blow a raspberry at him and run your hands down the lapels of his tuxedo, careful not to muss his boutonniere or the square of gold fabric in his breast pocket. "What about you? I'm over the moon that my Dad convinced you to go to his tailor because you look drop dead gorgeous."

“You like that, huh?” There’s a slightly smug edge to his smile, preening at how your eyes light up as you stroke his chest. The workouts have been helping and he had actually found he didn’t fit into his old tux anymore. His chest and shoulders were too broad now.

"Oh yeah." And if it weren't for seeing your friends approaching through the window, you might just show him how much. Instead, you hum a promise for later. "I'm going to have fun peeling this off of you tonight."

“We don’t have to go right to the reception.” He smirks.

"There are already two Secret Service agents who have probably heard us have sex," you remind him, smirking as men of the same agency open the door from the garden to let your wedding party into the Oval Office. "We don't need to add more to the list."

He rolls his eyes playfully but he doesn’t protest, knowing that now is not the time to sneak away. Everyone will be waiting for pictures to be taken and then for your entrance into the reception.

The decision to have a live band rather than a deejay means that the band leader is the one introducing members of your wedding party as they filter into the ballroom. Juan's mother has whisked baby Constance away for the rest of the night and Malachi leads the rest of the party into entering the ballroom, but it is the announcement of Mr. and Mrs. Marcus Pike that has you nearly floating into the room with your hand in Marcus's.

“I like the sound of that, don’t you?” Marcus asks, knowing that instead of a receiving line, the first order of the night is your dance as husband and wife.

“I think it’s perfect.” You agree, hand in his as the two of you move into the center of the dance floor. You’ll have your formal dances and then dinner can be served, leaving the rest of the night to be a wonderful party for everyone to enjoy. At whatever point the head table moves to make speeches, you will grin and bear the embarrassment. For now, you get to dance with your husband.

The sweet strains of your song start to play and Marcus hums with a loving gaze directed towards you. “You’re perfect.” He corrects you gently, pulling you closer to him. “And you’re my wife.”

“I’ve been waiting to hear this new verse again since my bridal shower.” The gentle reminder of his exquisite stunt that day makes both of you smile as you start to dance together.

He chuckles and listens to the song as it plays to match up the time. “As you love me, the world turns round. The birds sing, with songs of joy. My heart and soul are always yours. And life will be, La vie en rose.” He croons to you softly.

“I love you.” Holding him close in the dance seems like such a small thing to do, but keeping each other in your arms as you move around the floor is a beautiful kind of ecstasy tonight.

“I don’t think love is enough to describe what I feel for you.” Marcus admits. “Worship is closer. But it’s still not quite there.”

“Just don’t put me on a pedestal.” It’s something you have to remember not to do with him sometimes — not let yourself get carried away as thinking of him as perfect or worshipping him as your ideal partner. You’re both human, and fallible, and while your communication has been good it has to be maintained. Now, dancing with him, you look up and find his eyes watching you. “But today has been…perfect so far. More perfect than I could ever imagine.”

“We are going to have our ups and downs.” Marcus doesn’t have any illusions of perfection. “But there is no one I’d rather weather a storm with.”

His hand presses to the small of your back, spread out over the tattoo that marks you so decidedly as belonging together. Being meant for each other. Being two halves of one complete heart. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” You murmur, and squeeze his other hand gently in the dance, swirling through the crowd of family and friends, and listen to the last lyrics as they ring out loud and clear.

Give your heart and soul to me And life will always be La vie en rose

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog@haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime@vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers @missladym1981 @babeincolor @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

My Masterlist!

[cozage]

Could I request a female s/o who's a witch that's missing a special ingredient for a potion and Sanji brings it to her without realizing and she's so excited she gives him a big ol smooch?

Eeeek this is so cute I hope you enjoy!

Characters: female reader x Sanji Word Count: 780

Missing Ingredient

Mint.

Of course you were missing the easiest and most attainable ingredient the world had to offer. But some village brats had burned down your garden last week, and you hadn’t gotten back around to replanting and enchanting the herbs. 

And now you were halfway through this recipe for a very important potion, and you just couldn’t stop stirring to go grab some from the village. The last time you stopped mid recipe, the sky held a pink hue for two weeks straight. Most of the townspeople had not been thrilled about that mishap, and you certainly couldn't let it happen again so soon after you had fixed the last one.

There was a knock at the door, which slightly startled you. You weren’t expecting company, but it wasn’t uncommon for random people to approach your door. You were a witch after all, people came to you for all kinds of help. Perhaps you could convince whoever was outside to run an errand for you. You flicked your hand at the door, and it swung open to reveal an unfamiliar tall, blonde man. 

“Can I help you?” you asked, still stirring your mini cauldron with perfect precision. 

“So the rumors were true!” the man cried. 

He looked lovestricken, and you got a bad feeling about his intentions. 

“Look, I don’t do any kind of love potion or-”

“I’m not here for a potion,” the man said as he stepped through the door. “I’m here for the beautiful young lady who lives here.”

“And what do you want with me?” you asked, eyebrows raised. 

“My name is Sanji,” he said. “All I want is to cook dinner for you.”

You stopped stirring for a moment in shock of his response. People only did things for you to get something back in return, but you sensed no ill-intention or desire for exchange within his soul. He genuinely did only want to cook dinner for you, and had no plan to ask you for anything in return. In all your years of living, nobody had ever asked to do something for you without getting something back. This Sanji was quite remarkable. 

The smell of burning flower petals snapped your attention back to your task at hand, and you began stirring your cauldron again. 

“Fine,” you agreed. 

“Thank you! You won’t regret it!” He rushed over to the free counter and began unloading the ingredients he brought with him.

“But only if you-” 

You saw the flash of dark green leaves with small, serrated edges. “Mint!” you shouted. 

Sanji looked at you, confused. His eyes darted down to the bundle of mint he had collected earlier. 

“Sanji!” you squealed, absolutely ecstatic at the way the universe played in your favor. You rushed over to him and squeezed his face between your hands, staring straight into his crystal blue eyes. 

Before you even knew what you were doing, your lips crashed into his. He smelled and tasted like cigarette smoke, which was foreign and familiar all at once. You wanted to stay longer, but you knew you couldn’t afford to. 

You quickly pulled away, plucking three mint leaves from his bundle, and rushed back to your potion. You prayed that being away from the mixture for such a short time hadn’t caused any major catastrophes, but everything in the room still appeared normal. 

You said a quick enchantment over the leaves and tossed them into the brew, finally able to turn the potion down to a simmer and rest for a few minutes. 

“You’re a lifesaver,” you said, turning around to speak to the man who had gotten you out of your predicament. 

He was sprawled out on the ground, seemingly unconscious. Your heart stopped for a moment as you tried to recall if you had put on your poisonous lipstick today, or if there had been a poison gas as a side effect of the potion. It would be an issue if you happened to kill the one person who had been able to help you today. 

You bent down and checked his pulse, which was quickened. At least you hadn’t killed him. You gently shook his shoulder, trying to bring him back to reality. 

“Sanji,” You crooned softly. “Wake up.”

His eyes flicked open and scanned the room. When his gaze landed on your face, he gasped. 

He bolted into an upright position and grabbed your shoulders. “You kissed me!” he screamed, shaking your shoulders. “Do it again! Please!”

You giggled, gently prying his hands off you. “How about you cook me dinner first, lover boy? And then we’ll see if you’re deserving of another one.”

[jjksblackgf]

champagne & suds | pjm (m)

pairing — park jimin x reader summary — a romantic trip is only complete with a nice bottle of champagne and the comfort of a bathtub. genre — smut, pwp, established relationship rate — 18+ word count — 1.2k warnings — explicit sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), facial.

“How are you feeling?”

“The pressure is amazing,” you answered the masseuse, though your voice was a bit muffled by the padded table underneath you. You didn’t care if they didn’t hear you. It was hard to care about anything when you were this relaxed.

The sound of the waves crashing into the shoreline of the beach made you sink deeper into relaxation. The smell of the ocean complemented the mint scented oil the masseuse used to work on your back, the knots left by the lengthy airplane travel were long gone. 

Underneath the shading of your private balcony, you felt like Jimin crafted nirvana on earth just for you. You had to thank him somehow.

One hour passed way too quickly, and after the massage was done, you sat quietly and enjoyed the view for a few minutes. The palm trees, the sandy beach that felt like velvet, the almost crystal-clear blue water, the pink hues as they announced the sunset… Fiji was spectacular.

“Homesick already?” Jimin called from the doorframe. You turned to look at his angelic face. His smile was too lovely for a man that had a body like his. He tied his robe loosely, so it was easy for you to see his defined muscles. Your eyes traveled his torso, salivating at the sight of his navel. “Eyes up here,” he joked, taking you out of your fantasies.

You made no comments, just hurried to his side and hugged his neck.

“Thank you,” you said earnestly. “You’re the most amazing boyfriend,” you said, placing a kiss on his lips.

“Wow, and the day isn’t even done yet,” he said with an eager grin. “Close your eyes,” he requested.

“For what?”

“For the rest of your relaxing day,” he said exasperated. “Get with the schedule, babe!”

“Fine, fine!” You finally agreed and closed your eyes.

“Don’t peek,” he commanded, pulling you around the room. You were extra curious now. What was he planning? The room was already romantic as it was, with a canopy bed and a loveseat close to a fireplace. How was he supposed to take that to the next level? “Just a few more steps. Now turn to your left a little… Okay, there. Stop.” He instructed. Wherever you were, there was the scent of vanilla, and maybe… roses? You weren’t sure.

Jimin finally let you open your eyes, and the sight made you want to cry. The bathtub was surrounded by candles — scented, you guessed — and filled with rose petals. The light was turned off, but the room was lit by the sunset, being showcased by the floor to ceiling window. 

“I thought you might want to take a bath before our dinner reservations,” he said, hugging you from behind, letting you soak in the view of his romantic gesture. 

“You’re not proposing to me, are you?” you whispered, a little panicked, a little excited. Maybe he was… The honeymoon would have to be here, that’s one thing you knew.

But Jimin laughed. “Not today,” he answered, turning your body so you’d face him. “How are you liking your trip so far?” he asked, already trailing kissed down your neck.

“It’s no wedding proposal,” you joked, “but it’s not too shabby either.”

“Good,” he said, now biting your earlobe. The butterflies in your stomach were nothing compared to the beat of your heart. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his lips against your jaw and neck. “I think we had too much fabric in between us,” he mused in between kisses.

“I think so too,” you managed to whisper. Your hands were surprisingly graceful, untying his robe as he untied yours. Robes down and you were free to caress his torso, tracing his abdomen with the tip of your fingers. 

His hand went to your neck, and the kiss he initiated was tender. The flutter was no longer only on your stomach, and you wanted to feel his hands all over your body.

“Let me take care of you,” you were heartbroken to stop his caresses, but there was a more pressing matter that needed your attention.

Jimin was confused, but curious, so he went along with your demands with your directions. Inside the bathtub, you cleared a seat for him at the edge, where the rose petals could almost touch his knees.

“Can you tell me what’s happening?” he asked, puzzled. But when you fell to your knees before him, and trailed kisses on his inner thighs, his chuckle was seductive. He still took care of you, caressing your back with warm water as best he could.

He wouldn’t have time to focus on that for longer. Your lips enveloped his length, and a throaty hiss came out of his lips. You massaged him with your tongue, enjoying the feel of his dick growing inside of you.

His palm pressed against the back of your neck, guiding your movements to the speed of his liking. And you were all for pleasing him. You pressed your tongue to his tip, tasting his precum, and he grunted.

That sound, almost animalistic, sent shivers down your spine. With the help of one hand, you went back to massaging his length, enjoying the sounds he made when you pressed his base with your fingers.

You retrieved your lips very slowly, and with a loud pop, your mouth was out entirely. Using only the tip of your tongue, you circled the tip of his cock again while massaging his length with one hand. 

“Oh, my God.” he groaned, running his hands through his face. You licked him from base to tip and when he was enveloped in your mouth again, he tried his best to thrust his hips. “Shit,” he hissed.

He was close, and it didn’t seem like he wanted to delay the sensation. He continued to grunt and moan your name, in a big jumbled mess. You paid attention to the speed and pressure he liked, now moaning too. Before you knew, he yanked himself out of your mouth and finished himself off, climaxing on your face. 

Thank heavens you had easy access to water.

“I love you so much,” he panted. His cheeks were flushed and some hair strands were stuck to his sweaty forehead.

“I love you too,” you said, planting a kiss on his inner thigh.

He helped you get up from your knees and seated you down in the bath, before taking his place behind you. He hugged you tightly, and you could feel his heartbeat through your back. He was trailing kisses along your shoulder when you spotted a bucket of ice with an open champagne bottle and two empty glasses, alongside some chocolates.

“Is there an engagement ring hidden in one of these?” you joked, garnering his attention. 

“Now I feel like there should be one, but it’s just the regular kind. You know, the ones without expensive jewelry inside,” he quipped. 

“Oh, so my ring is expensive,” you commented and he laughed out loud. “Well, at least the champagne is expensive.”

“We were truly made for each other.”

[gurugirl]

Mint Chocolate Chip | Check-in 9*

Summary: Based on this ask. You and Harry take a much needed vacation.

A/N: Enjoy this smutty fun beach vaca featuring a bit of jealousrry. 6k words (went a little overboard).

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, this is kidnapper!harry x reader and so this might not be your thing, smut, possessiveness and jealousy, punishment, and plenty of fluff.

Mint Chocolate Chip Masterlist

Harry had gotten spooked pretty badly when you were recognized at the restaurant and then when you both saw your face on the news on your birthday. He knew you would just tell anyone who questioned you that you were with him willingly. But that didn’t make him feel a whole lot better about it. He didn’t like the questions or the prying. You two had been in your little bubble in his house for long enough that you’d both gotten used to the way things were.

But he couldn’t keep you trapped inside forever.

Well, actually he could if he wanted. He had all the means to do it and he had your complicity. Your loyalty.

And in many ways that all appealed to him. Locking you inside and never letting you out again after that disaster of a dinner outing and knowing your face had been on the news and people were looking for you.

Making you happy, though, was also important to him. You’d proven your devotion to him. You weren’t going anywhere. You had many chances to break free and run away during the random days when he was not in the house for hours at a time. You were allowed in the backyard and could even simply unlock the front door and walk away. But you were always there waiting for him when he returned.

Which was why he wanted to show you his gratitude.

It was time to take you on a vacation. To a place somewhere you could both be out in the open and where no one would recognize you.

He’d researched places and vacation types. States with pretty mountains and cabin retreats. Beaches in California and Florida.

“What do you like better? Going to the beach? Or like a big city? Mountains?”

You looked up from the book you were reading. You had her legs draped over Harry’s thighs as you rested on the couch after dinner. He had been intently looking at something on his phone.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean for vacation. You and me. I was thinking we could go somewhere for a week. What do you like best for a vacation?” Harry reworded.

You put your book down and slid your legs off Harry, sitting up straight as youx` faced him, “You want to take me on a vacation?”

“Of course, I do. Think it would be good for us both.”

The idea of going on a vacation with Harry worried you a little. You definitely would have enjoyed laying on a beach somewhere with him and eating seafood under a palapa but you were worried about being spotted. About Harry getting upset or nervous. Honestly, you worried more about him than you did yourself, which was crazy when you thought about that with a rational mind.

“Um… I would love to go to a beach. See the ocean. But how can we do that?”

Harry knew you couldn’t fly anywhere. He was certain the moment you got to the airport and checked in your name would be flagged in the system and the police would be called. He considered getting you a fake ID and passport but the vacation idea had been spontaneous and he didn’t have that much time to put something together like that.

“We’d take a road trip. Rent a small beach house or something.”

“A road trip. To a beach somewhere. Okay. I like the sound of that.”

.           .           .

Between you and Harry, you both found a beautiful small beach in Northern California and picked a one-bedroom beach house on Airbnb, not right on the beach, but across the street and up a path. It was an eight-hour drive away, but it would be fun, and you two planned on stopping at the small diners and antique shops along the way.

You had it all mapped out. The spots you’d stop at if you had time, the route that took you to a mom-and-pop hamburger spot that had glowing reviews, a nearby small-town museum you could pop into, and a lake with hiking trails to stretch your legs.

When you arrived in Cloverdale the first stop was the hamburger dive. It was cute. You both stretched as you climbed out of the vehicle and Harry looked so… young… unbothered. You hadn’t seen him look like this ever. Perhaps it was the fact that he could be out with you and not have to worry at all. That he wasn’t keeping you in his house as his captive. It was as if something had been lifted. He’d been unburdened.

You slid your hand into his and stood on your tiptoes to kiss his chin, “I’m hungry. How about you?”

The burgers were good but the tater tots were the star of the meal. Both you and Harry agreed. You got a vanilla milkshake with strawberry topping stirred in and Harry got an iced coffee.

You skipped the museum but decided on a quick peek at the park with the lake and the trails.

It felt nice to be on your feet and walking around outside. The town was beautiful and the little park hidden at the center was cute and maybe even nicer than the photos you’d seen online.

The last few hours to the beach house were peaceful. The traffic was nearly nonexistent. You could feel the last bits of stress and anxiety fall away and Harry’s sudden demeanor lightened even more.

The house was cute. It was in a small neighborhood with a handful of other small houses. A trail at the end of the road led you down to the beach and the ocean could be seen from the living room window.

But before you could really get into vacation mode it was necessary to get some groceries. The house had all the basics already. Coffee, salt, oil, water, and even a bottle of wine from one of the nearby vineyards, courtesy of the host.

The small shop up the road had everything you needed. You perused the wines while Harry loaded the basket with food you two might want during your week. You’d planned on going out to eat as well, but much of your time would be spent lounging on the beach and sleeping in, according to Harry.

“That’s my favorite one. It’s a good price too,” you heard a voice from behind you as you were looking down at a bottle of a red blend. You turned to find a young man looking over your shoulder.

You lifted the bottle up, “Really? Well, then I guess I’ll add this to the basket,” you said with a smile as you placed it in your small cart.

“Lots of good wineries around here. We’re pretty proud of the grapes that come from this area. You new here or just passing through?”

“Oh, just sort of passing through. Staying for a week just a few blocks away. Small beach vacation.”

“Interesting. Not many people choose this town for a beach vacation. What made you choose it?”

“Um… well it just seemed so quant and nice. Plus all the vineyards nearby and trails.”

“You’ll be around for a week? Where are you staying?”

You shot your gaze toward Harry who was already looking at you from the other side of the small shop with an unreadable expression, “Yeah. A week. Just got in today. And, uh, me and my boyfriend are staying not too far from here. Rented an Airbnb close to the beach.”

The young man’s brows raised, “Ahh… I wasn’t sure if he was a boyfriend or uncle…” he laughed quietly. You frowned.

Harry was a bit older than you but you didn’t imagine he looked like an uncle. And you were already losing your patience with the guy. He hadn’t done anything wrong but you weren’t used to small talk with strangers anymore. The guy was grating.

Suddenly Harry’s warm hand was on your shoulder as he pulled you into himself. His other arm reached around your frame and held it out to the young man, “I’m Harry, this is my girlfriend, Y/n. You are?”

The guy grinned and reached out to grasp Harry’s hand in a shake that seemed far too aggressive and you weren’t sure if the jostle of the shake came from Harry’s end or the other’s.

“Chris. Nice to meet you both,” his hand fell back down to his side as Harry brought his other palm up to your arm, holding you a bit possessively, “I was just sharing with Y/n here about the great wineries we’ve got nearby. Some of the best wine in the world comes from this region.”

“Is that so? We’ll be sure to enjoy some of the best wines during our stay here then. But, we do have to be going so… It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Harry pulled you away and guided you to the register to buy everything. You hadn’t experienced Harry being jealous before. You’d never had the opportunity. And you weren’t sure that that was what that was just now but you also weren’t dumb. You knew Harry was very possessive of you.

On the car ride back you picked a radio station and pulled a bottle of wine from the bag, “Can’t wait to crack this one open. Says it’s reminiscent of strawberries straight off the vine,” you read from the label.

Harry smiled at you and nodded, “Yeah that does sound good. We can drink it on the beach if you want. I’m ready to get my toes in the sand.”

So that’s just what you did. You put your bathing suits on and stuffed a bag with towels and the bottle of wine before walking up the trail to the lovely sandy beach and finding a spot to toss your towels and uncork the bottle.

The sun was already beginning to set and the wind had picked up but it was still nice and balmy. The backdrop of the waves crashing and birds soaring above, the smell of the ocean, and a few stragglers walking in the distance felt very much like you were living in a romantic movie.

Harry handed you the bottle of wine and you laughed, realizing you both forgot cups or glasses but also just tossing aside concern for that small detail. You brought the bottle up to your lips and took a drink of the red blend, which turned out, your pallet was not quite sensitive enough to pick up a single strawberry-from-the-vine note the label boasted.

You looked back down at the bottle as you gulped the red liquid down your throat and pointed at the label, “Tastes nothing like strawberry. But it’s good.” You smiled as you handed the bottle to Harry who mimicked you in putting the bottle to his lips to take a drink.

He laughed as he brought the bottle down and shook his head, “It’s like those wine tasters who put in notes of pencil shaving and charred almonds. I never taste those sorts of things. Just tastes like…” you both grinned and said the word “wine!” in unison as you laughed.

Despite the lack of strawberry flavor the bottle of wine, Harry’s company, and the sand under your toes felt incredible.

Harry pulled you into his chest so you were sitting between his legs and had your back against him. The whole scene was romantic. You were outside on the beach with a bottle of wine in your lover’s arms as you watched the sunset slowly until the sky was pink and purple and orange on the horizon.

Harry nipped at your neck and sighed making you giggle and pull away but he held you tight and laughed into your neck, “So, Chris was awfully friendly. What did he say to you before I got there?”

You rolled your eyes but kept the grin on your face, “He was just talking about the vineyards and the wine. Recommended this one,” you said as you tapped the empty bottle, “Asked why we chose this spot for vacation. That was it really.”

“So he’s nosey. And he has questionable taste in wine.”

You snickered and shook your head to turn and look at him, “Were you jealous?”

Harry squinted his eyes at you and licked his lips before looking out toward the ocean, “Of course not.”

You leaned back into him and smiled. He definitely was.

.           .           .

When you walked back to the little house up the trail Harry kept hold of your hand. You hadn’t had many moments with him away from his house. Having him holding your hand and keeping you steady as you stepped carefully over the small rocks and the sand along the dark trail made you feel like you did when you were a kid. It was fun and the darkness was exciting. But it also gave you a sense of safety with his hand wrapped around yours as he led you carefully through the path. But there was also the fact that you’d had half a bottle of wine.

“I’m already having so much fun, Harry,” you said as you entered the house and Harry sat the bag down next to the door.

Harry smirked and locked the door, grabbing your hips and pulling you in, his wine-stained mouth connected to yours in haste. You hadn’t expected it at all. He had been quiet the whole way back, which wasn’t out of the norm for him. Harry wasn’t much of a talker, you did well to fill in the silence with your near-constant rambling. But still, you hadn’t thought he’d be all over you the moment you stepped into the door.

“Let’s go test out that bed,” he spoke quietly and turned you around to walk you toward the bedroom.

Now, the thing was that your sex drive was high. For Harry it was. You were sure that no one else could make you feel the way he did. Obviously, you were a virgin before you met him but he was so good at what he did and the way he made you feel, the way you’d get wet for him in an instant, just the way he trained you, you were usually begging him for his come every night. He liked to act as if he was aloof or didn’t need it because he loved to watch you squirm, hear you beg…

But tonight was different. He wanted you and he was being quite handsy suddenly. Needy even, you’d say. He was already hard in his shorts when he put you on the bed and pulled your bathing suit off.

He gave you little preamble before pasting his lips to your cunt and bringing you to your first orgasm for the night. He made it messy and noisy too. His moans vibrated off your body and sounded through the room as he fed from your pussy. His fingers and hand were drenched and he wiped his face through your folds until he was coated in your arousal from the bridge of his nose to the bottom of his chin. You were breathless and shivering as you called his name.

And you had no time to recover before he was wrecking your insides with his long cock. The bed rocked under his thrusts and his dirty words were whispered into the room, “My pussy, my girl… no one gets to have this. You’re mine, aren’t you?”

You gasped and nodded, unable to form words when your lungs were searching for air from the way he pounded into you, punching into your guts and rendering you a breathy mess under him.

“S’right. My little girl. All these holes are mine to come inside.”

You weren’t in the head space to think about what he was saying. You just knew that yes, you were his. Your holes were his.

But Harry was making a point. He knew he didn’t need to but his jealousy and possessiveness got the best of him when he thought about the way Chris tried talking to you. And he saw the way the guy looked at you. Harry wasn’t dumb. He knows the look.

“Tell me pup,” Harry spoke his words in gasps as he moved in and out of your beautifully tight and warm pussy, “Who do you belong to?”

Your words came out in punched breaths, “You! Harry! I… only you!”

The way Harry was dipping in deep and fast felt so yummy. You loved how he felt when he was connected to you. You imagined that his cock inside of you was like some kind of Lego piece to your little Lego piece. As odd as that sounded – it made sense in your brain. Every time he was inside of you the pieces fit together so nicely and made something even better than they were before. Something bigger. Something complete.

“Fuck, pup! You’re so good. So fucking sweet and you’re all mine. Gonna breed you, baby. Want my babies, pup?”

Harry had been hinting a bit lately. More often than not lately. You didn’t know if it was a heat of the moment kind of thing or if he really wanted to knock you up. But you would happily be a mother to his children if he wanted. And while he was railing you deep with his big cock making you braindead you especially loved that idea.

“Yeah… uhghhh! Yes! Fuck!!” His pounding didn’t let up and the bed underneath only got louder as the springs danced under your back. The thud of Harry’s heavy balls to your skin was wet and you could feel them pressing into you each time he bottomed out.

“M’gonna make you a mommy. Fuck my come into your womb and no one can have you when they see you pregnant with my babies.”

You panted and felt sweat at your temple. Harry’s words were tight and grunted as he spoke between heavy thrusts.

“It’s so deep! Harry!!” It was deep. It felt especially sharp and achy with the way he was punishing your pussy with his cock. But you could handle it. You’d handled him going in harder many times.

Every plunge and smack of skin, the squeak of the mattress, and panted words and gasps only got louder as Harry neared his end. His moans were beautiful. You loved making him feel good like this. Loved when he came inside of you and orgasmed because your pussy felt so good. Because he loved you so much.

“Better feel your pussy squeezing around me again, pup. Come on, baby. Fucking come all over me,” Harry clenched his jaw as he spoke, holding himself back. He wanted one more from you. Selfishly he liked knowing he could make you come over and over again so you knew how good he could take care of you in the way no one else could. And also because he loved how you felt when your pussy spasmed around his cock as he came, the way you milked him and his balls drained into his cock and poured into your body as you shivered and pulsed around his throbbing dick.

Your ears began to ring as you started to come again. Harry’s thick tip was continuously poking into your little spot on the inside that made your toes curl and that did you in. The stretch and the deep thrusts into your soft aching little part on the inside had you shaking and shouting his name in orgasm.

Harry saw stars as he finally allowed himself to drain into you, fucking himself in as deep as possible so his come would stick and get in deep, his wide crown pushing it up into your guts. Your slick, hot walls wrung his cock out like a rag, making all of her sperm drip into you with each pulse and contraction from your little muscle. He was rendered silent as he felt himself being siphoned by you. His mouth hung open and he trembled over you, his arms barely holding himself up, his thighs quivering… he hadn’t realized he’d been so on edge. He was responding to your pussy the way you responded to his cock.

And of course, the rest of the night was sweet and soft. Harry helped you clean up and doted on you. You both lay together on the couch and watched TV as you faced Harry so you could watch him. You loved looking at him and rubbing your hands over his tattooed chest and upward to the scruff on his neck and face. You kissed his nipples and sighed to yourself about how lucky you felt as you fell asleep in his arms.

The next few days were all spent in the dizzying heat on the sand and splashing around in the ocean a little. The waves were strong so you didn’t go in too deep, at Harry’s urging, “Don’t want you to get hurt, pup. Stay close to the shallow parts.”

You visited a vineyard attached to a winery and bought a case of wine that you both loved to bring back home with you. And every night the sex was filled with lots of dirty talk of getting you knocked up and making you a mommy.

But last night, Harry had gone easy on you. He didn’t pound into you or make you sore all over like he often did. No spankings or hair pulling. He fucked you sweet and slow and kept his cock stuffed inside of you until he’d long softened in order to make it stick. Make the come stay inside and get you where he wanted you.

So that meant that today you were feeling extra spicy. A soft fucking sometimes meant you turned into a bit of a brat afterward or the following day. There was something in you that needed the brutal fuckings in order to keep you subdued.

You were on the towel and pulled your bikini top off as you laid flat on your tummy so you could get a tan on your back but Harry swatted your bottom as he hovered over you possessively, “What the fuck are you doing, pup? Want everyone to see your tits?”

You giggled and looked up at the man, “Just needed a nice tan. Don’t worry. You’re the only one that gets to see the front, Harry. Don’t be so boring.”

Harry scoffed. He was anything but boring and you knew it. But he knew the game you were playing.

He looked around and the beach was mostly empty. There were some people in the distance but no one would see what he was about to do.

“Boring?” He said as he yanked you up by your arm, your tits out. He pulled you into his lap and draped you across his thighs as he pulled your bikini bottoms down just enough that he could spank you hard.

You grinned as you yelped at each of his rough smacks and felt your backside burn from the sensitive skin of your bottom getting a beating. You kicked your legs and turned to look at Harry, “Hey! I don’t deser-“Your back talk was cut short when he issued you another spanking.

“You deserve exactly what I give you,” another strike to the exposed flesh of your ass, “Went too soft last night and now you’re acting like a little terror.”

You put your face into the crook of your arm as Harry continued punishing you right there on the beach with your tits bare against the towel, small granules of sand covering your damp skin.

When he felt you were finally somewhat mellowed he lifted you up and handed you your bikini top.

“Put this back on right now or we’re going back to the house.”

As if that were a punishment for you. He’d only gotten you even more worked up with the spankings and now your nipples were hard and your pussy was wet. You bit your lip and gave him a look of challenge but you put your bikini top on. Your ass couldn’t handle another swat. You were sure of it.

But now the problem was you couldn’t sit on your bottom at all over the towel and the small bits of sand were irritating your rear.

“I’ve got to go get into the water for just a bit. Come with me.” You stood up and gave Harry your sweetest puppy dog eyes.

Harry shook his head, “Gonna stay right here. You go on. But don’t go in too deep.”

As you walked away Harry became very aware of how red your ass and your thighs were. Your bikini bottoms covered the most severe markings but the parts that were exposed were very obviously red and spanked. He rolled his eyes, hoping no one saw what he had.

Once you got into the ocean and let the cool water soothe your bottom you turned to look back at Harry and waved at him and then stuck your tongue out. You didn’t know why you’d done it. You were just in a mood. You needed him to obliterate you since it was your last full day. Something about being on vacation and being in public with him really did something to you. Made you feel naughty and liberated all at once. You were having a really good time on your little getaway. It was just what you both had needed.

“Water’s great today!” You heard a familiar voice and turned your head to see Chris.

“It really is! The waves aren’t too crazy either. Haven’t really been able to get in too deep.”

Chris walked into the water toward you with a grin on his face, “Oh no? Are you not used to swimming in the ocean? There’s a technique you know.”

You shook your head, “No. Haven’t swum much in the ocean. The waves are so strong that they pull me under,” you laughed as you lowered your bottom half down to let the water submerge up to your rib cage.

“I could teach you. It’s not too difficult. Just some basic rules for when the waves are coming at you. It’ll make you safer in the water too.”

“Oh… well. Okay!” You looked out to where Harry was and realized he was lying flat on his back. He hadn’t even noticed that Chris was talking to you. You smiled to yourself just knowing that when he realized you were out here with him he’d probably come out into the water with you finally.

Chris gave you an example as a small wave came ashore jumping into it as it neared and explained how the timing was important. He held your hand to help you jump into the waves so you got the feel for how you should be moving into the water.

“Okay, now let’s do it a little more in the shallow so the waves feel stronger. You’ll see.”

You followed him closer toward the shore and you could feel the waves more intensely.

Suddenly Chris’s chattering stopped, “Are you… okay? Did you get dragged on your butt in the sand from the waves?” He seemed genuinely worried about the state of your bottom.

You laughed and nodded. Actually, that was a great excuse. You kind of wanted to tell him that your lover had just spanked you for being a brat but you were sure Harry would hate that, “Yes. Like I said. I am not a strong swimmer so I got taken down in the water to the sand on my butt.” You laughed.

Chris squinted and you realized he was inspecting your bottom a bit too closely when suddenly you heard Harry, both of you turning to see the tall man with broad shoulders stomping his way toward you. Uh oh.

“Let’s go. We need to get some lunch.” Harry fumed.

“Oh, but Chris is just showing me how to swim in the ocean properly. He’s just trying to help me stay safe.”

Harry did not like this one bit. He didn’t like that Chris had been ogling your backside with his red handprints all over, or that he was near you in the ocean at all. And that he was acting as if he was trying to protect you somehow. That was Harry’s job.

“Is he now? And what’s the best way to go about that, Chris?” Harry said as he began to slosh into the water nearing you until he was at your side in the water, “Because from what I just saw you were more so staring at her bottom. Is that how you show her to stay safe?”

Chris’s eyes got wide as he shook his head, “No! Of course not! She told me that she’d gotten taken down by a wave and that her butt hit the sand. I was just concerned because that’s really a lot,” he cleared his throat keeping his eyes on Harry.

“Your concern is noted. Now,” he looked back down at you, putting his hands at your shoulders and leading you out of the water, “Let’s get going before the waves take you down again, pup.”

You smiled and waved at Chris, “Bye! Thank you so much for trying to help keep me safe,” twisting the proverbial knife in just a bit more. You knew Harry would be fuming by the time you two got back into the house.

And he was. But fuming might have been an understatement. It was the first time Harry’d had to deal with such a thing with you.

When the door was locked, Harry kept his hands at your shoulders as he spoke into your ear with seething wrath, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why don’t you behave when I fuck you softly? Hmm? You need to be treated like a slutty brat when I fuck you don’t you? Need to be smacked around a little?”

Harry let go of you as he pushed you down to your knees and lowered his swim trunks just enough that his cock was out.

“Suck til I’m hard then I’m gonna treat you like you the way you seem to want.”

You nodded and smirked as you began working on his cock, spitting and licking and sucking all around him. He grew hard in your mouth and hands fast. His length was always a shock to you when you saw it up close. Harry’s dick was big. But that was part of what made you love having him fuck you. You loved being wrecked by him.

When you began to bob over him, spit covering his cock to his base he gathered your hair up and pushed you down on him, holding you in place with both hands, “Mouth needs bruised just like your bottom,” he groaned as he filled your tight throat, causing your eyes to water with your nose brushing into his pelvis.

You grabbed onto his thighs as he began to slowly roll his hips into you. He bit his lip and closed his eyes to just feel you. He didn’t want to give you the pleasure of hearing him moan.

The way he was fucking your mouth wasn’t too out of the ordinary. Though he normally was a bit more vocal you figured it was part of the punishment you knew you deserved. You gurgled and gagged around him as he continued stuffing himself into you and you knew to just take it.

When he pulled out you gasped and swallowed but then leaned forward to put him back in your mouth but he only pulled your hair harder to keep your lips off of him. He pulled you up by your hair and then pushed you against the couch, so you were bent over the arm with your red bottom facing up.

The sudden movements were unexpected but the moment he buried himself into your pussy, splitting you in half you sighed and cooed at him, “Fuck me. God yes!”

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. You were incorrigible. Impossible to correct at times. But fuck if he didn’t love you and the way you took him.

He gave you no mercy as he began railing you deep, the couch being pushed the slightest and banging into the wall, “You don’t get to come. You’re only here to hold my sperm and take your punishment. Maybe then you’ll turn into a good girl.”

His hand held you down by the back of your head into the cushion as he continued bucking into your pussy, reaching deep into your tummy. The delicious sound of wet cunt being fucked and stuffed repeatedly had your head spinning. You could record the sound of yourself getting railed and get off on that alone.

Harry pushed his fingers into your hair to grip harder and put his other hand at your low back to keep you down as you kept arching your back and trying to push yourself onto him harder. You wanted it harder.

Harry finally let out a choked groan as he felt you clench hard and watched his cock fuck into you. He would never grow tired of fucking your little pussy and watching your soft skin turn red from his fingers and spankings. Your face was smushed into the couch but he could see your mouth was wide open and your eyes were shut. He loved that you loved it.

Suddenly he lifted you up by your hair so he could speak filth into your ear, “Little slutty wet hole all f’me. Puppy wants my come and my cock all the fucking time. Isn’t that right?”

You tried nodding but his grip was tight as his chest was pressed into your back, his hips rolling into you in punishing thrusts.

“Gonna come inside of your cunt and over and over again until we leave tomorrow. Teach you a lesson about being needy and slutty. Always soaked for me and begging to be stuffed full,” his words came out in gasps and you could tell he was about to come.

You sighed and licked your lips as you let him use you for his pleasure, happy to take whatever he gave you.

When his grip tightened harshly at your hair and his wet lips licked your ear he moaned and jerked his hips into you, his balls pressed against you tightly as he throbbed and pumped his come into your tummy.

He breathed hard and pulled his other arm around your middle as he held you close to his chest, filling you to the brim with his sperm.

You hissed when his cock reached into you so deep and he kept himself submerged in that achy spot, never letting up pushing into you. It felt as if he was going to tear your pussy in two for a moment.

As he came down, his harsh grip on your hair and around your middle loosened as he lowered you back to the couch and finally pulled himself out.

You lay quietly and sweetly as you caught your breath. You hadn’t come, of course, but you were certainly feeling the flow of endorphins from making Harry come.

And just like always, he tenderly helped you clean up, kissed you, and spoke to you as if you were the best thing he’d ever had, “Took it like a good girl. Such a soft little pussy, but even better is that I get you and your pretty eyes and these beautiful lips. What would I do without you? Huh?”

“I love you, Harry.”

Harry grinned as he smoothed his hands over your naked body, “I know pup. I love you too.”

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[sseastar]

✶ dream lover; kim seungmin.

info. seungmin x afab!reader. slight angst, fluff. brother’s best friend to ??? au. 1.6k words. warnings. mentions of food, reader eats fish and meat. listen to. 爽風 by tomofumi tanizawa.

[✧] — Seungmin could say he knew a lot about you. 

He knew how you always closed your door to your room because you didn’t want it to smell like food in case someone cooked. He knew how you could never bring yourself to watch full k-dramas and opted to watch clips of them on your for you page. Seungmin knew of your love for mint-chocolate (the two of you really bonded over that) and how Star Wars Rebels became your comfort show after you had watched all three seasons during quarantine. 

Hell, Seungmin even knew so many personal things about you, especially after having witnessed you grow up alongside your brother Jisung. Although you were two years younger, he still felt like he knew you well enough to call you his friend if it weren’t for his title of ‘brother’s best friend.’ Seungmin knew your shoe size, who your first dance was, even when you got your first period (he was the one to have noticed the small stain on the back of your jeans and the one to rush into his sister’s bathroom to grab you a pad the one time you had come with Jisung to his home).

And yet in the eleven years he had known you, Seungmin would have never painted you as a hopeless romantic. As far as he could tell, you never seemed the type to save your receipts in a box under your bed, never seemed the type to make playlists for your crushes with vague names so people couldn’t guess who they were for. Not once had Jisung mentioned a thing about his little sister having a crush on someone, nor had an overprotective Jisung ever mentioned his concern for you when you went out with friends (Jisung was an awfully protective brother, so Seungmin could imagine how his friend would react were you to ever go out on a date). 

Hence, Kim Seungmin had come to the conclusion that you were genuinely not interested in dating at this time in your life. Nothing he found weird, of course. He knew how serious you were about your studies - there were many times that Seungmin and his friends had invited you along with Jisung to join in on their plans to get boba or go bowling on a Friday, but you would politely decline with a smile and mention some assignment or project you wanted to get a head start on. 

So imagine his surprise when he found you out on your backyard’s porch one night when he, Felix, and Hyunjin were over, curled up with a knitted sweater and volume six of Kimi Ni Todoke in your hands. Jisung had asked him to come get you before you all headed out for dinner.

It was such an odd sight to see. The mug half filled with lukewarm green tea on the table next to you, the abandoned pair of fluffy bear slippers under the bench, the throw blanket that he swore hung on the arm of the couch in the family room when he first arrived. Your fingertips were gently covering your lips, an enchanted look in your eyes as if you had just witnessed such a heart-fluttering scene.

Seungmin thought it was such an odd sight to see. You had never once initiated a hug with him no matter how happy or ecstatic you were (even when you had gone to a baseball game with your family and invited him, and you had thrown your arms around your brother when your favorite player hit a grand slam…then opted to high five him excitedly). He was so used to your annoyed sighs whenever you saw any form of PDA, or your pursed lips whenever your brother would somehow connect his girlfriend to the topic of conversation, that he couldn't even fathom why you were out there reading a shoujo manga of all things despite the entirely possible reason that you just wanted to.

Yet Seungmin’s eyes softened as he watched you from the door frame, waiting until you finally realized his presence. When he realized you wouldn’t be getting your nose out of the story any time soon, he cleared his throat, smiling at you when you looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Hey,” you mouthed, for some reason unable to let anything audible out of your mouth. 

Despite your lack of an actual greeting, Seungmin answered back “hey,” watching as you marked your page with a photostrip of you, Jisung, and him that he remembers taking in the rusty old photo booth at the pier the last time you three went. Another thing Seungmin was surprised at – he always thought you were the type to dog ear your page or use a sticky note to mark your spot. “We’re heading out in a couple of minutes for dinner. Jimmie’s,” he clarifies, mentioning that the four of them would be heading to the diner they frequented and ordered to-go for you from. “Want the usual?”

A tuna sandwich with a side of french fries and a small vanilla milkshake. That was your usual. 

Your usual was staying at home to read or to get a head start on work you had to do. Your usual was catching up on sleep or accompanying your parents to the supermarket when you really did have nothing to do. And when those things didn’t need to be done, your usual would be spending time rearranging or redecorating your room, or reading romance novels, manga, and stories you find on the internet to replace your lack thereof in your own life.

Your usual was hoping that one day you would be loved, or even secretly loved - that someday, all your ideal date ideas would no longer be locked up in the diary you kept hidden in your sock drawer. Your usual was hoping that your firsts wouldn’t have to wait until after college - that someone would love you enough so that you no longer sighed at the cute couples you would see on dates when you were out with your parents.

Your usual was speaking only briefly to Seungmin in hopes that all the feelings you had for your older brother’s best friend would die down by itself. Your usual was silently hoping that those feelings would be returned. Your usual was making up scenarios that maybe one day, you would stop trying to find someone exactly like him. 

Your usual was getting boring. Your usual was getting you nowhere you wanted to be.

Seungmin watched as you swung the blanket off your lap, folding it roughly in your arms as you slipped your sock clad feet back into your slippers. “If it’s okay, can I come with you guys tonight?” 

Seungmin watched as you slid into the seat across from him. You usually opted to sit next to your brother on the end to avoid being in the way of any conversations, but you sat right in the middle of Felix and Hyunjin tonight. Seungmin watched as you excitedly answered Hyunjin’s questions about how your research has been and as you thoughtfully told Felix about your input on his new baking idea. Seungmin didn’t miss the warm smile on Jisung’s face when he realized how you were getting along with his friends (maybe he didn’t show it often, but your brother was often concerned for you - you never seemed to enjoy hanging out with people you knew, after all, and Jisung would hate for you to regret not allowing yourself to be more carefree in college). 

Seungmin watched as you agreed to go to his baseball game even when your brother couldn’t go and as you shyly laughed at the look of surprise on his face. Seungmin watched as you picked up the menu despite him knowing you already knew exactly what you wanted to eat.

Seungmin could say he knew a lot about you. 

He knew what your topic for your required research project was. He knew you couldn’t stand leaving your major even after you cried through the required classes that had nothing to do with your concentration. He knew that you always liked to eat the first slice of a peach and that you hated peeling tangerines. He knew how you couldn’t answer ‘what’s your favorite color?’ with a single-worded answer. He knew that you never put your left shoe on before your right and that you always muttered “keys, phone, wallet” every time you left your house.

Seungmin could say he knew a lot about you, but he was missing some of the most important things.

Seungmin didn’t know how you felt after you passed those classes you hated, or why you had so many unique habits when eating fruits. He didn’t know why you sighed when you saw a couple your age on a date the night you tagged along with your brother and his friends to the boardwalk. Seungmin sure as hell didn’t know why you decided to come with them tonight, but it was nice to see you interacting with everyone.

You smiled briefly when his eyes landed on yours, averting your gaze before he could even attempt to read what emotion was swirling through them. But Seungmin could tell that what swam through them was something more than what you wanted to let on. It was something you’d always held back so that you wouldn’t allow yourself to be vulnerable (you had done that enough). But your eyes weren’t enough to conceal it – what you felt was far too powerful for you to hide and parts of you began to filter into the room of people that loved having you around. Seungmin could tell something was there, but he would wait for you to embrace all that you were. He’d already waited this long after all.

So for now, Seungmin watched as you ordered a cheeseburger with a side of garlic fries and a Sprite.

⌕.  author’s note ;     something i most definitely wrote on a whim. the style is a little different from how i usually write and i like it a little more, but it was ngl extremely hard to do. haven’t posted much about seungmin in a while despite him being my ult, but i’m glad to be back hehe.

⌕. taglist ; @enhacolor @soobin-chois @koishua @chrysbibi