#and that is. compromising and cordiality

[carlyraejepsans]

look i understand that ai generated content is a controversial topic, and ultimately protecting artists' intellectual property should take moral priority, but i feel like when people say "you don't want character.ai you want to rp with someone" they're kinda missing the point because unlike a chatbot, you can't exactly look your rp partner in the eye and say "that sucked ass. do that again"

[haleswallows]

Hello, I'm wondering if you know that the collection you have on ao3 is hiding the works you are collecting there? I know some dont know that and just wonder if you could please turn that feature off? Because you're making it so no one else can see/read them and I know at least a couple are bookmarks of mine that I like to reread and I'd really hate for the authors to not get the views and such.

Yes, I am aware they are hidden. That was the purpose of making the collection.

I'm making it so no one else can see/read them. You don't have a right to my fics or my works or to me. The things I made were shared with fandom out of my good will and that good will was abused, so I took my fic back.

I would urge you to reconsider the way you interact with creators in fandom spaces. Perhaps if you had been polite or showed an ounce of empathy for me, I would have gladly downloaded copies of the fic for you.

For additional clarity: the collection is mine and the only fic included in the collection are my own. I am hiding only my own works and no one else's. No one is hiding my work.

Hales, blink twice if you are being held against your will.

Hales:

[salem-s]

FINAL ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN (18+) ── RAFE CAMERON

SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS language, flufffffffff, angst if you squint, smmmmmuuuutt (unprotected...everything so don't take after them please). 18+ mdni.

WORD COUNT 13k. legit do not say anything. this was originally 4k words but i obviously couldn't let that happen for the last chapter. so.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER the only exception by paramore

Rafe swears he hears pounding on his door.

He takes an ear bud out, trying to discern if the noise was real or a part of the song he’s currently listening to. After a moment’s silence, he moves to put the bud back in but one, two beats later, the knocks sound again, confirming someone is at his door so late into the night.

Irritation bubbles in his chest.

Rafe’s been at these stupid memorization cards for what feels like hours, getting nowhere close to being ready for his eight a.m. exam. His mind has – obviously – been elsewhere for the betterment of a week, and he'd be lying if he said the attempt in drowning himself in work has properly distracted him from the events of last week.

Spoiler alert: it hasn't, and it's only getting worse.

Especially now, as the handwriting on the paper started giving him a headache hours ago, so he begrudgingly put on his glasses that he refuses to let see the light of day. The specks, unfortunately, do assist in not making the letters blur together, especially when he’s so tired that his gaze falls in and out of focus.

However, he hates them so goddamn much that it only worsens his already sour mood.

But now they aren’t the only annoyance of his night.

The fact that someone is ferociously pounding on his door only augments his headache, his frustration, and his precariously bubbling temper. He glances at the time, nearing two in the morning, angry that someone has the audacity to not only interrupt his studying, but probably everyone’s sleep on his floor, careless to rhyme or reason or simple ethics. 

He wastes no time standing so quick his chair nearly falls over, stomping over, a long list of curses and horrific things to say are on the tip of his tongue, ready to viscerally berate this person until next Tuesday.

Rafe whips the door open. “The fuck is the–”

His words die in his throat when he sees you.

The air is momentarily knocked from his lungs.

Your hair and makeup are done, as if you've just come from somewhere, adorned in one of his favorite tank tops on you and jeans that hug you too tight to be anything holy. You peer up at him with wide eyes at his harsh words, hugging your basically bare frame in a feeble attempt to warm yourself from wherever you just came from.

God, you look beautiful.

He knows he’s supposed to be mad at you and giving you space and all that, but all of that fades in an instant when he notices your arms coated in goosebumps and your teeth slightly chattering.

Something ugly brews in his chest, discomforted by the thought of you bracing the cold all by yourself. Where is your jacket?

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” he grumbles, ushering you into his room without a second thought.

In an attempt to regain his cool, he frowns to keep up with his indifferent demeanor since he's supposed to be cordial and all, even though the mere thought of attempting small talk with you settles a kettlebell in the pit of his stomach. His heart aches looking at you, because you're simply a walking reminder of how he fucked it all up, said the wrong things and came on too strong with poor timing, a reminder of what he could've had if he was a little more patient, more calculated, less stupid in his endeavors.

Because the past week has been absolute torture for him.

He learned very quickly that almost everything around him reminds him of you: books with an aged spine and annotations adorning the wrinkled pages, simple parts of nature that resemble the color of your eyes, strangers hugging, the mere smell of eucalyptus, everything all at once. The day he got back, he went to the liquor store with Elliot in an attempt to distract himself, but it proved fruitless when he found himself wandering idly in the wine aisle, frozen in place when he found the same bottle that you snagged two of after that grueling dinner with your family.

From that point on, Rafe really only stayed in his room unless it was absolutely necessary to leave.

But it seems as though even the confinements of his room don't provide the solace he's been desperately seeking, as the knowledge of how your room shares a wall with his has been plaguing his conscience. There have been countless times where he's debated saying fuck it, knocking on your door, and begging on his knees to have you in his life again, but he knows he can't do that.

He needs to let you come to him, to not bombard you as he has before. That was what scared you off, his forwardness, so he's vowed to keep cool, keep a distance, and keep quiet as much as he can to give you the space you need.

So, he knows he needs to remain stoic, indifferent, guarded.

Reminding himself of this, Rafe hands you a hoodie off the back of his chair. “Did you lose your key again?”

The sound of his voice is so nice to hear, so refreshing, and you nearly sigh as you hug the hoodie close to your body before pulling it over your head, relishing in the way it smells like him, in its warmth as if he was just wearing it moments ago. Pathetically, you nearly sigh at how it feels adorning your body.

“I left my purse at Elliot’s,” you whisper, hugging your body. “Since when have you had glasses?”

Rafe freezes, forgetting he had them on. 

Ignoring his pink cheeks and ignoring your question, he moves on, putting his guard back up.

Quickly.

“What are you doing here?” His tone is harsh, so he reels it in. “Uh, it’s late. I have an exam.”

You frown at the considerable distance he’s put between you, but part of you really can't blame him since you were the one who orchestrated the falling out.

“I won’t…I won’t take too long. I just need to know if…” You trail off.

How on earth are you going to go about this? Especially when his stare is so piercing, as if he's looking right through your body and into your soul, brows pinched in what you assume is irritation at your stammering.

“Know what?” he drawls out.

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, gaping to try and find the words. You shiver as you recover from the chilly walk, but also at his stare that you can’t quite make out the meaning behind. Is he mad? Irritated? Relieved to see you? You hate how you can’t tell.

But you take a deep breath.

You know how he feels about you, you know all of it, despite this front he’s wearing right now. If Elliot can confirm it, it must be true. 

And as if you needed the extra push, your gaze drifts slightly beyond him, fixated on his desk and noticing the sprawl of papers, his computer open to an online textbook, and notecards that have almost perfect handwriting etched onto them. What gets you, though, are the five almost professional looking photo prints laid out side by side across the top of his desk.

All of you.

You in the distance teetering your balance on a particularly precarious rock in your private cove. You walking up the dirt path to your nonna's cottage with the mountains behind you. You holding a hand up in an attempt to block the lens as your body adorns a hideous dress you only showed him for shits and giggles. You leaning forward to do your mascara in a tiny mirror hanging on the wall, wearing the perfect beaded dress. And, finally, you sitting alone in the garden chair in your nonna's yard, the moonlight hue behind you as you read your book, unknowing to his presence from the kitchen.

Just above his desk, just hovering over the photos, is his ceramic fish hanging on the wall, one of his only pieces of decor in his entire room.

Rafe follows your gaze with confusion, and his posture stiffens when he realizes what you're looking at, what you discovered. Instantly, he frowns as he side steps just enough to block your view of the photos, of the fish. But the damage has already been done, and your breath hitches as you immediately get the confirmation you need to open your heart up.

All of a sudden, you're blurting it out. 

“Elliot told me what you said to him.” The lack of clarification has Rafe raising a brow, to which you add, “About what happened with Yara.”

Rafe’s breath hitches. 

“Is it true?” Your voice is so small that it doesn’t sound like you. 

“Which part?”

“All of it.” You take a cautious step closer, the tequila running through your bloodstream giving you the confidence. 

Rafe doesn’t answer, instead he cocks his head to the side and lets his eyes trail down your body in calculation, gears working overtime in his head as he soaks in your words, the sliver of desperation coating your tone, the way you're playing with the hem of his hoodie, your brows etched in slight worry as you anticipate his response.

Then, it clicks with him, eyes slightly widening at the realization. The reasoning behind your acute coldness towards him wasn’t out of unrequited feelings, but rather the latter.

You cared too much, felt too much. 

The thought gives him whiplash. You must've seen him and Yara in that godforsaken closet and gotten the complete wrong impression on the matter. His heart fucking lurches at your wordless confession, and no wonder you were so apprehensive about his words, about his intentions, and pushed him away at every single opportunity that presented itself because of a stupid miscommunication, because of her stupid actions.

“Is that why you were upset?” He takes it further and steps closer. “At your nonna’s, you said you were upset about something that made you tell your mom about us. You saw us? In the closet?”

Suddenly, he’s standing right in front of you. 

“Is that why?”

You can’t speak, not while he’s practically caging you in, standing so broad and tall in front of you that it renders you speechless. He faintly smells of shampoo, an intoxicating scent, and you can almost see yourself in the reflection of his thinly wired glasses, only shielding his bright blue eyes through shiny glass. His hoodie swallows you whole, and you're grateful for the extra layer that feels like it’s warding off the vulnerability you're reeking of.

All you can manage is a small nod. 

Rafe clenches his jaw, and a part of you fears you've said the wrong thing. 

But then his eyes immediately soften as he brings a hand up to hover over your jaw, almost in muscle memory, as if he's been paining him to not do so, to not touch you.

For fuck's sake, he almost looks relieved.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You nearly snort at the simplicity. For a number of reasons, really, but the biggest one comes first.

“I was embarrassed. I thought you didn’t mean what you said in the ballroom.”

Your voice is so quiet that you almost think he doesn’t hear it, especially when he gives no reaction for a few seconds.

Then his palm is pressing harder, fully allowing himself to touch you. And, god, you can't help but lean into the embrace with a long sigh through your nose, not breaking eye contact with him as his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip, over the wound that’s practically all healed with little to no remnants of the disaster that occurred in that bathroom all that time ago. 

A flicker of pain etches over his face at the reminder of the cut, of what your own mother did, but then his eyes trail back up to meet yours, now glossing with certainty.

“Nothing happened with Yara,” he reassures firmly. 

You nod, sure of yourself now. “I know.”

“All I could think about was you.”

You can’t breathe. 

Cautiously, Rafe leans down to test the waters, and once you make no move to pull away from his touch, he indulges in his endeavors to brush his lips against your cheek, pressing a chaste kiss there.

“About your pretty smile.” He pulls back to move to your other cheek. “Your pretty laugh.” To your forehead. “About how being with someone else made me sick.”

The air escapes your lungs. 

“I meant what I said.” Rafe pulls back so he can meet your eye, a flicker of worry glossing over his pretty eyes, but nonetheless filled with determination. “Every word.”

You can’t help your second nature and let a sliver of panic let up. 

“I thought you didn’t want to date in college.”

The excuse is meek, you know that, he knows that. It’s a last ditch effort for him to truly understand what he’s getting himself into. 

But he's serious. Not a fraction of uncertainty glosses over his pretty features, or give you any shroud of doubt that he didn't mean what he said on that ballroom floor. With the firmness of his palm against your burning skin, the narrowed yet softness gaze in his blue eyes, and the way his other fingers on his other hand twitch in your direction tell you all that you need to know: that he's fucking missed you as much as you've missed him.

And – normally – that thought would scare you and send you running for the hills with a heartbeat too erratic and a mind too gone, but now it only solidifies you, grounds you, keeps you tethered to the boy standing in front of you. He's handing you a proverbial knife and hoping you don't stab him with it, and you have once before, but now you don't dream of letting it happen again.

“I didn’t,” he confirms cautiously. “Not until you showed me what it could be like.”

If it’s possible, you lean further into his touch, frowning in your overwhelming blossom of emotions. The thought of being wanted by someone settles a foreign feeling in your gut, wavering between pride and uncertainty. 

“I want you, too,” you whisper, nearly sighing at how he visibly relaxes at your words, but your voice remains shy. “But I’m scared.”

Rafe pinches his brows in the slightest at your tone. “Of what, baby?”

The words die in your throat.

The list is endless, really, piling with a million excuses that only grow by the second. Where can you begin? How the idea of someone wanting more than just your body is evidently unheard of? How the concept of more implies putting up with the ugly parts of life, the parts you push deep down and never let see the light of day?

Your hands find his unoccupied one, holding onto your lifeline as if it'll fucking kill you if you let go. 

“I don’t know how to be more than just…a body.”

That makes him frown. Immediately. 

Despite it, you continue.

"All my life, I've just been..." You try and find the right words, avoiding his eyes and looking down at your connected hands instead at the weight of your upcoming words. "I've never been wanted, or yearned for, or anyone's first choice. It's really hard for me to believe that someone...that you...would want me..."

Rafe reels.

Have you really thought this entire time that he’s only here for the sex? That that’s all you're good for? All you're worthy of being loved for? 

How can you not see how much more you are? How much you mean to him? Don't you know that you occupy his mind at every waking moment? That you're the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up in the morning to the last thing he sees at night, and how he shuts his eyes when he’s alone and pretends you're right there beside him, holding his hand or scratching his back or playing with his hair.

Don't you know how much he loves you?

“Sweet girl,” Rafe murmurs gently before leaning forward, wrapping you in a bone crushing hug that makes you oof against his chest, getting pulled taut against him. “How can you say that? How can you even think–? When I can’t even–” He grips you tighter. “Fuck.”

Your confusion is through the roof at his desperation. “Rafe, are you–”

“Do you even know how much you mean to me?”

That silences you. 

“I’ve never felt like this about anyone,” he says in a wrangled breath. “Ever. I don’t know how to trust people. I don’t like to and I don’t know how. But with you, it’s never felt easier.”

A large hand comes to cradle the back of your head, and your heart lurches when you can feel a slight tremble. 

Especially when he murmurs your name so quietly, so ardently, that you can't help but just listen.

“You’re so much more than a body.” Rafe’s voice is quiet yet firm and it makes you fumble at the sincerity. “You’re smart. You remember things better than anyone I’ve ever met. You wouldn’t admit it, but you’re actually sweet. You take care of things and people you deeply appreciate. I’ve never seen someone so delicately handle a ceramic fish before.”

You shakily chuckle against his chest. 

“And the thought of not being around you anymore really scared me. And even if you...didn't feel the same," he says low, "I wouldn't have minded, as long as I could be in the same room or exist in the same friend group, it wouldn't...matter. As long as I could still see you.” 

Rafe finally relents on his grip, pulling back a fraction and taking his hand to gently grip your chin, forcing you to look up at him and face the ferocity of his words, as if they didn't just fucking crush you in a way you've never felt before. 

“I liked being with you.” His stare is piercing. “Existing together. Doing all of it.”

You hum. On instinct, you reach up to brush some hair out of his eyes.

Rafe’s heart pounds. “Tell me,” he says, voice dripping in desperation. “Tell me it was real to you.”

You nod instantly. “It was real. All of it.”

He sucks in a breath at the verity, and goes to say something else but you don't let him, instead pulling him down to kiss him. 

And, god, it’s exhilarating. 

All of your fears, all of your doubts, all of your uncertainties that plagues yours and his heart, mind, soul all fly out of the window. You can finally lean into one another without the steel weights cursing your shoulders or the cage locking in your hearts. The kiss is a wordless promise, an oath, a safety net. 

His hands are everywhere instantly: arms, waist, face. Not an inch goes unnoticed as he finally, finally can touch you again, feel you again, hear you again. Your hands trail up to the nape of his neck, holding yourself here in his arms as if to remind yourself this is real and happening. He’s here, right here, and he’s not going anywhere, nor is he letting you go anywhere. 

As much as it scares you, the tension in your shoulders slowly release. 

You slowly back him up until his knees hit his desk chair, Rafe taking the hint and sitting down and wasting no time to pull you into his lap. It's muscle memory at this point, molding yourself onto his body. You both sigh at the sensation of the familiarity.

Straddling him, you place your hands on his shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkles in his t-shirt as his hands trail up and down your side, settling under your – his – hoodie and skimpy tank top to feel the ridges of your ribcage, a connection he's been yearning to make ever since his hands left your body last. His palms are hot against your icy skin, sending a plethora of goosebumps up your spine.

Rafe simply stares at you, watching you admire the planes and grooves of his shoulder muscles, his biceps, anything you can get your hands on to make up for lost time spent pining in silence.

When you finally meet his eye, you shyly smile when you notice him already shamelessly looking right back at you. 

One of your hands cradles his jaw, fingers gently skimming over the lenses of his glasses. “I like these.”

Rafe groans, rolling his eyes and darting his gaze away. “I hate them.” 

“Why?” You nudge his cheek to force him to look at you. “I think they make you look handsome.”

“They make me look stupid.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “There’s no need to be embarrassed about it. They're glasses."

"Still stupid."

"You should wear them more often,” you demand lightly.

Rafe frowns. “No.”

“Well, don’t they help you see?”

“Obviously, but–”

You smile, and he’s having trouble focusing. “Then case closed.”

His lips twitch. “Sweet girl,” Rafe warns.

There’s no backbone to it. 

“Don’t sweet girl me,” you warn right back at him. Then, quieter, “Why didn’t you bring them?”

Instead he cocks his head to the side with a teasing smile.

“Are you really that interested in my optical choices or is this your sweet little way of getting in my pants?”

You snort. “We both know I don’t have to be sweet to get into your pants.”

Rafe laughs boyishly and you love the sound. But he’s still avoiding your question. 

“Answer.”

“Bossy.”

“Rafe.”

“Okay,” he huffs playfully, “I didn't really have to bring them. I only need them when I’m reading or writing a lot. My eyes get tired.”

You pout endearingly. “That’s, like, the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard–”

“Fuck off.”

“No.” You lean forward and press a slow chaste kiss on his lips. 

Of course, he can’t even fathom pulling away and mmrphs low into your mouth, leaning up to chase your lips again for another kiss when you lean back. You hum at his neediness, but giving in anyway and slightly parting your lips to give him all the access he wants.

Rafe wastes no time in doing so, a hand coming up to cradle the side of your neck to guide your movements as he lazily makes out with you as if he has all the time in the world to do so. The warmth of his mouth, his body, his palm nearly make you melt in your very spot, a wave of relief washing over you.

You decide that you love this spot right here on his lap. Your favorite seat. Your throne. 

When you happily hum again, Rafe kisses you harder, squeezes a little harder. 

“God,” he mumbles against your lips, “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

The possessiveness makes your stomach pool with pride. All his. All yours. No one else's but each other's.

You can’t help but tease him. “I don’t remember you asking me officially.”

“You’re still mine.”

And Rafe kisses you again. Harder. A mark of his words. 

“Say it,” he demands quietly against your lips. 

And you just fucking beam. “I’m yours.” Your fingers splay through his hair. “All yours, Rafey.”

Scoffing, he turns his head away as you chuckle at his reddening cheeks, peppering kisses on his cheek, jaw, lips, anywhere available for you to coat in markings of you, you, you.

“Stop calling me that,” Rafe murmurs, but loses all the edge in his tone because the feeling of you pressing your lips all over him sends his mind for a loop.

You simply hum. “No. You have so many names for me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but you like those.” 

“Who says I do?”

“Be so fucking for real.”

The laugh that escapes your mouth is loud and boisterous, probably waking up someone on your floor. But Rafe can care less because the sound is music to his ears, despite you jesting at his expense. Shit, you can make fun of him all you want if this is how you're gonna react, smiling and sitting pretty in his lap whilst drowning in his clothes, kissing him like he hung the stars himself. 

You playfully slap his shoulder. “Whatever. But I’m still going to call you–”

“No.”

“Yes. When you’re least expecting it.”

Rafe hums low, a warning.

Shrugging, you suppress a smile. “What? I gotta keep you on your toes somehow.”

“Shut up.” Then, softer. “C’mere.”

You laugh incredulously. “I’m already here.”

You nearly have the gall to laugh again when he ever-so-slightly pouts, but it all dies in your throat when he’s tugging you impossibly closer, resting your face in the crook of his neck as his hands splay wide and broad on your back. It takes you one, two seconds to register his actions, and you find yourself melting at the notion of Rafe Cameron hugging you.

It feels so achingly familiar that you can’t help but sigh in contentment, letting your eyes shut for a few moments as you feel his chest heave in and out with his low syncopated breaths. 

Your heart lurches at the action, pressing yourself impossibly tight against him in fear he's going to disappear if you inch back even in the slightest. He takes a particularly deep breath, one of relief almost, your chests brushing together even closer than before. It makes you hum, pressing another kiss to the soft skin on his neck.

You speak before you register it. "Thank you."

His hands gently rub up and down your back. "For what, baby?"

"For..." You swallow the lump in your throat. "For not running."

Your words make him frown, and he eases you back so he can look you in the eye, confusion glosses over his features as one of his hands reaches up to cradle your face, forcing you to look at him when you turn your head away in embarrassment.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says firmly. "Gonna take a cavalry to get rid of me."

A smile twitches at the end of your lips.

His gaze flickers down to your mouth, letting it linger there for a moment before moving back up to meet your eyes, but before he can do anything else, you're already leaning in and severing the distance.

Rafe's large hand holds you in place, reciprocating your kiss with more fervor than before that makes his breath hitch. Your hips barely – just barely – move in tandem with his that has his hand gripping your waist, stopping your moments immediately.

You lean back at his sudden apprehension, almost shy. "What?"

"Don't- Don't do that," he answers meekly.

Of course, you've never been one to listen.

You roll your hips again.

His other hand leaves your face to grab your waist, both of his palms and all of his fingers digging deep into your flesh to cease your movements. His face is uncharacteristically scrunched in pain at the reluctancy of initiating what he's been dreaming about since the last time you had him.

You notice immediately. "What's wrong?"

Rafe's eyes dart between yours, sucking in a breath as he looks at you. "I don't want to hurt you again."

The words confuse you. Tilting your head to the side, you try and rack your brain on where this sudden approach is coming from, where the sudden apprehension stems from. The expression on his face tells you that he's holding back, he's pained, haunted by something you can't conjecture.

"You haven't hurt me," you tell him earnestly, a little confused, but one-hundred percent honest.

He furrows his brows. "...The day of the wedding?"

What?

You only look at him in befuddlement, mind trailing off when you replay the course of events of the day in your head. The only thing that would pertain to his words was when he fucked you deep and rough that morning because you asked him to. It had felt good. Too good. It was when you realized you were in too deep and it scared the shit out of you.

"Rafe," you say slowly, "what are you talking about?"

He looks pained even repeating it. "You cried. After we..." He shakes the thought away. "There were teardrops on your pillow."

The confession makes your heart skip.

That's why he was so weird with you for the entire day? Why he kept himself at an arm's length and could barely look you in the eye when you lounged together on the beach? Because he thought he'd hurt you? Made you cry? When you were upset for the complete opposite reason?

You frown at his anecdote, hurt that he's had to carry this miscommunicated guilt with him for a week, unknowing to the real reason, and under the complete wrong impression of your feelings.

Before you know it, your hands are reaching up to cradle each side of his face tenderly.

"That wasn't because of you," you whisper ardently, almost pained that he's been thinking that the whole time. "Not at all."

But Rafe doesn't seem to believe that. "I was too hard."

"No," you say immediately, shaking your head to emphasize your point. "No, you were too gentle."

That makes him furrow his brows.

At his silence, you continue with a deep breath.

"I thought that if I asked for it rough, it would let me get over my feelings for you, to remind me that it had to just be sex." Your voice is impossibly quiet yet firm. "But you didn't treat me like another fuck, you made sure I had what I needed, said all of these beautiful things, treated me impossibly gentle afterward."

The pad of your thumb brushes over his cheekbone.

"I cried because I was scared," you admit gently. "Not of you. Never of you. But of my feelings. You didn't make it easy for me to try and stop liking you."

A smile twitches at the end of his lips.

"So," he says quietly after a moment, "I didn't hurt you?"

You shake your head earnestly to confirm. "No. I'm sorry that I let you believe that you did."

His eyes blink, soaking in the weight of your words with a slow nod, the gears in his head turning as he gradually lets himself understand that it wasn't his hands that orchestrated your tears. He didn't hurt you. You are fine.

"You're okay," Rafe drawls out cautiously. "Right?"

Your nod is immediate. "Yes. Always with you."

That seems to make the tension in his shoulders release bit by bit, relaxing under your touch and allowing himself to believe you, believe that it wasn't what he thought it was, believe that he didn't hurt you.

"Okay?" You ask gently, confirming that he understands what you're saying.

Now he does, nodding against your touch and letting his hands experimentally skim your waist, easing up on his grip, and letting them venture over the smoothness of your skin. He waits a beat for you to pull back, to tell him to stop, but you don't.

Instead, you press yourself down onto him, making his breath catch.

It's out of clarity, certainty, especially when you lean forward and press a chaste kiss on his lips, a confirmation of your truth. He leans up to chase your mouth, and he's successful when you close the distance, allowing his tongue access to your mouth as teeth clashes against teeth, a wave of passion emerging like a tidal wave at the notion that he didn't hurt you. He didn't hurt you. He didn't hurt you.

"Fuck," Rafe mutters against your lips when you roll your hips once more. "You're going to fucking kill me. I swear."

Experimentally, he grips your waist and moves you back and forth against his already hardening dick, and when you don't pull back or voice your discomfort, he allows himself a deep exhale, allows himself to soak into the moment, allows himself to enjoy the feel of you, you, you.

"I missed you," you nearly whisper before you can stop it, the vulnerability feeling foreign on your tongue. "Missed this."

Rafe groans against your lips. "Me too, baby." He kisses you again as you moan quietly into his mouth as he continues guiding your movements against him. "Let me show you, mhm?"

Anticipation pools in your stomach, blossoming in your gut and sending warmth down to where your body touches his.

You're barely nodding before his hands venture down to your ass, holding you taut against him as he stands, your grip tightening around his neck like a koala and wrapping your legs around his middle. In seconds, your back hits the mattress, his knee is slotting between your thighs, and his lips are on yours again.

It's so familiar, so achingly familiar that you cannot believe you went so long without it, without him.

You arch into his chest, bodies molding together as puzzle pieces connect. A hand flies to his hair, tugging the strands gently that makes him omit a low groan into your mouth, one hand shamelessly groping one of your breasts under his hoodie and the other bracing himself over your body, barely hovering.

Rafe pulls back just slightly, a flicker of irritation coating his pretty face as he leans up to take his glasses off, ones that have slid down the bridge of his nose just enough to annoy him.

But you react before you realize it.

"Wait," you say, leaning up a tad for emphasis, a hand coming up to cradle his face and gingerly skim the metal as he freezes. "Keep them on."

A teasing smile twitches at his lips. "Seriously?"

You sheepishly nod, biting your lip.

Rafe stares at you for a moment, amused gaze darting between your eyes at the request.

"Please?" You add sweetly.

The scoff that leaves his mouth makes you suppress a grin, knowing how that one word makes him feel and using it to your advantage. He shakes his head in disbelief at you, but his faux irritation proves to be fruitless as a smirk can't help but grow on his lips.

"Can't say no to that, hm, sweet girl?" He murmurs, half in playfulness and the other half in adoration.

You shake your head slowly at him, your grin fading into something shy, as if asking for what you want proved to be difficult.

But he wouldn't dream of denying you that. Ever. Especially when you asked so nicely, so sweetly, just for him. Who is he to say no? Hell, you could've asked him for a car in that same tone and he wouldn't hesitate to ask what color, make, and model.

So Rafe indulges your request, pushing the glasses up further on the bridge of his nose and leaning down to connect your lips for the umpteenth time, nearly grinning when you let out a satisfied mmrph at him letting you get what you want. His hands are everywhere they can reach, groping and mapping out the curves of your body and nearly moaning at the softness of your skin.

"Can't believe you're mine," he murmurs against your lips, sending a shockwave down your spine as his thumb brushes over your nipple. "All mine."

"Yours," you whisper sultry, needy, desperately, nearly bucking up into him.

Rafe's eyes roll back at the sound of it, pushing the hem of your – his – hoodie to reveal your chest, and you sit up to aide him in taking it off. The act is deliberately thorough, as his calloused palms smooth over your skin, gingerly pushing it up over your head. Your tank top is next. Then, your bra. Then your jeans. Before you know it, you're almost completely nude, simply left in your light blue underwear and exposed in the cool air of his room.

All he can do is stare at your bareness, letting out an appreciative hum as one hand grabs a breast, his cool ring ghosting over your nipple that causes you to sigh deeply, eyes raking from your stomach, to your chest, and eventually back up to your face, where you peer up at him in anticipation. His hand gropes you meaningfully, as if he's studying the feel of the swell in his palm, relishing in your warmth.

"You're so beautiful," Rafe admires gently, almost to himself, before leaning down and taking the other breast in his mouth.

The words make your heart skip a beat, but you shove down the feeling as you arch into his mouth that licks and bites and sucks against the soft skin, a hand in his hair to keep yourself grounded, keep yourself tethered to him. No inch of your chest goes unnoticed, untouched, ignored.

Rafe is thorough in his appreciation, and as lovely as it is, you're growing impatient with need as you writhe underneath him.

"Want you," you whine under your breath, not like he can hear you anyway as it comes out as an incoherent babble, but figuring it's better than saying his name over and over like a mantra, but it proves fruitless when he albeit hums. "Rafe?"

"Yes, baby?" He asks lazily in between kisses as if he has all the time in the world.

"I want... I..."

He etches lower and lower on your body until his mouth is ghosting over your clothed cunt, a low hum emitted from his mouth as he presses a kiss against the wet patch on your underwear, greedily inhaling and exhaling hot breath that makes you squirm. By the looks of it, he's pleased at the sight of you eager for him, ready for him, squirming for him.

Instead of responding, he licks and sucks against the cotton of your panties, against the spot he knows makes you crumble all the same. You moan raggedly, almost embarrassed at the volume given the fact that you've just started, given that he's doing this over your clothes.

"Words," Rafe mumbles teasingly, the baritone of his voice vibrating your core with such fervor that it makes your back arch and your fingers grip a little harder in his hair. "What d'ya want, hm?"

"You," you manage to say, breathless and writhing. "Need you."

His nimble fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, sliding them down achingly slow until they're fully off, discarded somewhere carelessly as he resumes his position between your legs, taking in the sight of you: so pretty looking down at him, cunt glistening with need, face flush with anticipation.

One of your legs hooks over his shoulder as his mouth ghosts over your core.

"You have me," is all he says before closing the distance.

You moan at the contact, as his tongue plunges deep where you need him and his nose brushes against your clit. The taste of you has him groaning into your heat, the rumble causing your eyes to roll back at the sensation. The sound is obscene, especially when he eats like a starved man, like he's been depraved of his favorite meal, like he's ravenous.

"Taste so good, princess," he practically moans into your heat.

It's almost unbearable. You've been so worked up this past week at the thought of him, the thought of never being able to make things right, the thought of losing something you can't help but love. The wave of relief that washes over you only augments your pleasure, because your worries dissipate and you allow yourself to enjoy this, enjoy him, enjoy what he can give you.

One of his hands venture up your body to grab a breast, as if he can't allow his hands to be unoccupied, to not feel and dote on you with every fiber of his being. The added pleasure makes your eyes roll back involuntarily.

"Oh my god, Rafe," you whisper so quietly that it's barely audible.

Your other hand covers his, gripping the back of his hand and squeezing tight to wordlessly reciprocate your want, your need, your appreciation.

His other hand comes to aide his mouth, maneuvering his body so he can both use his fingers as they glide in with ease, and his tongue that can't bear to separate just yet. It makes you whine so beautifully that his hips stutter forward against the mattress, groaning low into your cunt at the sudden sensation.

As Rafe sucks and laps and fingers you so brazenly, you let out a ragged breath at the plethora of pleasantries, suddenly hit with how nice everything feels, how the combination of his mouth, plunging fingers, and the hand fondling your breast start the familiar coil bubbling in your core.

"Fuck," you curse at the intensity, and how quickly it builds. "Please, I-I-"

Your hips writhe under his touch as you let out a particularly broken whine, chest heaving as you get closer and closer to your release.

"I know, baby," he murmurs low, almost strained.

Gasping, you momentarily lose breath at the speed of it, gripping his hand that's on your breast tighter, affirming how quickly you're approaching your high with your body language, one that he seems to understand quite well, something he's come to know better than a lot of other things in life. He's well versed in your tendencies, a pride he wears with his chest.

"Rafe," you whine as your orgasm comes closer, and closer, and closer. "I'm-"

You don't finish the sentence, and you don't even hear if he responds, because your orgasm hits you so quickly, so blindly, that your back arches off the mattress, a tidal wave of ecstasy flooding your veins and searing hot in your core. Your heartbeat is up to your ears, and he could be saying the secrets to the universe and you'd simply have no idea. It's pulsating, inebriating, because you don't hide behind a curtain of shame of how much you need him, not anymore, and that makes the release tenfold.

Despite your writhing hips, Rafe is able to lap up every drop, groaning deep into your cunt at the taste of you, of how nice you feel against his fingers, against his tongue, how pretty you sound as you let him hear you louder than ever.

Lazily, he licks and sucks you through the aftershock, nearly grinning at how your thighs tremble against his head and your ragged breaths ease from the intensity. Your thumb rubs absentminded circles on his hand, a gesture so fucking sweet that he reciprocates by placing a chaste kiss against your cunt, eyeing it for a moment as a brief goodbye before he sighs a hot breath against it.

"You did so well, sweet girl," he praises, trailing kisses up your body while turning his palm in your hand to gingerly lace his fingers through yours, squeezing once, twice, three times until his mouth is against your neck, sucking that sweet spot that makes you shiver.

You practically shake underneath him, still attempting to return to planet earth.

Rafe's nose nudges your jaw. "You okay?"

You exhale a noise that you think is affirmation, but frankly you're still trying to screw your head on straight after hearing your heartbeat in your ears, shuddering under his grounding touch that sends electricity through your already amplified veins.

"Yes," you start breathlessly, "I-I've just been– my brain– I couldn't... I need to..."

Rafe's face is suddenly inches from yours, practically beaming down at your incoherent babbling with a knowing glance, one that affirms just how nice he fucks you (your words, not his, as you've so graciously told him once). It's proving true now, as he takes in the sight of your gazed expression and bleary eyes, chest swelling with pride.

Watching you attempt to figure out your words all breathless and pouty, he can't help but let his gloating simmer into something more affectionate, something softer that he seems to only reserve for you. It's fascinating to see you like this, completely unguarded and fucked out and beautiful, nonetheless.

"Couldn't what?" He eggs on, heart blooming at the state of you.

"It doesn't matter," you mutter absentmindedly as you slip your hand out of his to paw at his chest, still recovering from the dizziness of your brain, movements sluggish as you reach down for the tent in his sweatpants while your eyesight slowly returns to normal. "C'mere, I–"

"Easy," he drawls out amusingly, taking the trembling hand that reaches for his dick and lacing his fingers through yours instead. "You're shaking."

You blink through your frustration, your vision returning (almost). "I'm not– I– You're being withholding."

His grin is impossibly wide. "I'm sorry, sweet girl." He doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest. "I'll give you another, just catch your breath, yeah?"

Your struggle is obvious, and your desperation even more, because you've missed him so fucking bad and all you want to do is feel him irrevocably, completely, ardently. The realization is pathetic, you know, but you figure that you're past the point of being shy, especially with him, who has seen you at your all.

You frown, spluttering, utterly flustered at his nonchalance, especially when his unoccupied hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, running the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth. "Wh– No, I don't want another, I want–"

"You don't want another?"

Groaning, you flush under his piercing stare. "No, I– Ugh, Rafe. I want you."

"Me?" Rafe repeats in faux surprise, brows raised playfully. "Could've just asked."

You roll your eyes so hard it only makes you a little more dizzy, trying really hard to appear angry but it goes nowhere when a hint of a smile ghosts your lips. And it only grows when he leans in, placing a long, chaste kiss on you, and you melt into it when you taste yourself, lungs wound tight. You figure you can breathe later.

He notices immediately, pulling back with a boyish chuckle that makes your chest feel funny. "Sorry. Couldn't help it."

"Do it again," you mumble shyly, eyelids heavy with desire. "Please."

And he does. Immediately.

You albeit whine into his mouth as he reciprocates the noise at the sound of it, squeezing your hand once more and the gesture nearly kills you as you practically pout into his mouth at the sweetness of it. With your mind airy and lungs breathless, all you can think about is Rafe, Rafe, Rafe, how he kisses you, how he touches you, how his voice sounds reverberated against your body.

It's incriminatingly intoxicating to be surrounded by him in all of your senses: his hand laced in your own, his breathy whimpers against your lips when your hand trails to the hem of his shirt to brush against his bare abdomen, teasing the waistline of his sweats. You're caught in a whirlwind of him, drowning in his scent and caged in by his arms.

You realize quickly, as you've noted before, that Rafe Cameron should come with a warning.

He pulls back, and you're about to protest until you see he's moving to take his shirt off in one swift motion, sick of the cotton barrier between your chests. As he begins to take his sweats and boxers off, you sit up, idly waiting for him as you tuck your legs underneath you. The sight of his cock hard and aching, dripping pre-cum off the tip, has you shamelessly staring, as you let out a small breath you didn't realize you were holding.

Rafe notices your change in position, patiently waiting all pretty and breathless and brazenly looking at his dick, and he can't help but tilt his head and stare at you with an amused gleam in his eye.

When he makes no effort to move, your eyes travel back up to meet his to see that they're already staring at you, a piercing gaze that has you biting your lip at the notion of being caught.

"What?" He asks teasingly, searching your face for any indicator of what you want.

But you're apparently good with your words now, or at least better than before.

"Wanna ride you."

The sentence makes Rafe scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head at you as he runs a hand through his hair, practically in awe of you, of your words, of how good you're being for him tonight, how you're starting to ask for things. It makes his chest swell with pride, proud that you feel comfortable enough around him to start voicing your needs, your wants, things that he'll give to you in less than a heartbeat.

Nonetheless, once he's learned how to use his brain again, he leans forward, turning his body so he's sitting up against the headboard and extending an arm for you almost immediately.

Which you graciously take, gripping his forearm as you crawl onto his lap, sucking in a breath when his dick is the only thing in between your two stomachs. You can't help but stare down at it, bringing a hand to grip his length like you've been dreaming about for days, letting out a deep sigh that makes your hot breath fan over his tip.

Rafe lets out a low moan, gripping your hips impossibly tight as he watches you spread the pre-cum off his tip with your thumb, spreading it down his length and jerking him off at a painfully slow pace that nearly has his hips bucking at the sensation of it. The sight of your hand wrapped around him nearly makes his brain shut off, dumbifying him to the point where all he can do is pathetically whine as you hold his dignity in the palm of your hand.

A particular tight squeeze makes him tense underneath you, eyes screwing shut for a moment to compose himself as one of his hands leaves your hips to wrap around your wrist, stopping your movements altogether.

Your head whips up, pouting. "What?"

Rafe just shakes his head, almost pained as he can't even get the words out.

But you understand him, and you pout. "But I want to."

"Sweet girl."

You hum, looking back down as you feel his hand push your wrist down, down, down until, with some adjusting, his cock is sliding in between your folds.

The sensation makes you both moan shamelessly, your lashes fluttering as your eyes roll shut. Your stomach pools in warmth for the anticipation, especially when your hips rock back and forth against him to coat his cock with the remnants of your previous orgasm, mixing it with the pre-cum that you graciously spread on him. The feeling, almost on command, makes him practically shudder underneath you.

Rafe whines out a curse, and if you weren't so light-headed you'd think he's begging. "Feel so nice already, making me go crazy."

Frankly, the stubborn part of you wants to elongate this as much as possible, but as you feel your prior orgasm practically dripping onto his length, it's clear that you're in no position to withhold him from experiencing the same euphoria. All you want to do is give back what he did for you, how he made you feel, to wordlessly tell him how much you appreciate him, yearn for him, want him to be taken care of.

With shaky hands, you guide his cock to your entrance, not wasting another second before you're slowly sinking down onto his length.

"Shit," he murmurs shakily against your lips, his grip iron tight on your hips – borderline, your ass – as he feels you lower inch by inch. "Oh my fucking god, holy fuck. Taking me so goddamn well."

It isn't until you feel him fully bottom out when you're letting out a ragged breath, one that you were unaware you were holding at the intensity of the feeling, of the stretch, of how much more you can feel him in this position, his cock hitting places unknown as you still on his lap, soaking in the moment of simply being full of him, relishing in the notion of how nice it is to be in your favorite spot.

Your arms sling around his neck, draped over his shoulders to impossibly taut yourself to his chest as you place a chaste kiss on his lips, one that he can't even reciprocate because he's still sharply breathing, still not over how well you're taking him and how perfect you feel around him. It's, understandably, making his brain all fuzzy, and all he can try and concentrate on is not coming in this given moment.

So, no, he doesn't kiss you back. He can't.

Instead, he shakily exhales against your lips, gently shaking his head when you cheshire-cat grin at him, attempting to roll your hips in retaliation but his grip on your hips is iron. Part of you relishes in the marks you're going to wake up to, imprinted by him, and greedily want to and move again to get him to dig deeper, to be able to feel the reminders of him in the morning.

You try. He holds you still even harder.

"Just- Fuck," Rafe groans. "Gimme a minute, wanna feel you."

You pout, ignoring the way your heart thumps at the simplicity of his words, yet find yourself obeying. Leaning back a fraction, you take a moment to take a selfish peek at him: blue eyes blown black with lust, hair falling onto his forehead in messy waves that you brush back gingerly, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose that you fix silently, lips parted and swollen from all the activity he's been engaging in with them.

He looks unequivocally fucked out. You assume you look equally as such.

Without thinking, your arms retract from their position around his neck, slithering up the sides of his neck and letting your hands cradle each side of his jaw, holding his face in place as your thumbs absentmindedly trace circles, squares, triangles on the soft skin. You simply stare at him, admire him, wait for him to give you the green light to continue moving.

And Rafe doesn't think he's ever been held like this before.

It does something irreversible in his chest, a pang of an unknown emotion jolting through his skin like electricity as he simply sits under your touch, teetering between wanting to explode with admiration and shutting down altogether to sulk in the feeling. He's sure you have no idea what you're doing to him, and whether you mean to or not, he's sure there's nothing better on the planet than this, than the feel of you wrapped around him, holding him, grounding him.

His hands move up and down your spine, tracing vertebrae bone by bone in a delicacy he never knew he possessed. As his heart pounds in his chest, his mind morphs to mush, and the only thing he can conjecture is that he is, irrevocably, yours for the rest of his life. There's frankly no doubt about it, and the thought makes his lashes flutter shut to truly soak in the physicality of it all.

He feels you place a feather-light kiss on his lips, and before you can pull back to continue to give him the moment to gather himself, he's chasing the kiss and closing the distance again.

This time, Rafe's the one moaning into your mouth, especially as you accidentally shift your hips when kissing him back. At the slight movement, his impatience is suddenly through the roof as his hands venture down to your ass, slowly starting to guide your motions up and down, back and forth, taking him in ways that has his eyes rolling back.

Your thighs aide his movements for about a minute, but soon begin to tremble as your bounces get needier, kisses become breathless, sighs turn into whimpers. Calloused palms roam the entirety of your body, groping and rolling the flesh of your ass in tandem with your movements, slithering up your ribcage to squeeze and suck on your bouncing tits, down to where your bodies connect to press a firm thumb on your clit.

That right there makes you whine so gutturally deep where his hips unexpectedly jerk into you, his cock – somehow – burying deeper inside you to a spot unreached before.

Rafe moans your name like a mantra, like it's the only word he knows.

It makes your brain fuzzy, as your neediness takes over and your conscience is on autopilot. You say something, but it comes out like an incoherent babble, something insignificant and probably pertaining to how good he feels, as you continue to shift your hips up and down to take his full length, lift up to where his tip barely pokes out, only to sink back down onto him again. Over, and over, and over.

Your arms sling back over his shoulders, lazily linking behind his neck as one of his hands snakes around your back to pull you impossibly closer while the other works your clit, thumb pressing on it so firmly that you momentarily see stars at the ferocity of it all. Nails scratching the smooth skin of his back, you almost break skin at the attempt to pull him closer, as the need for more, more, more stems from the coil beginning to rumble in your stomach.

"Rafe," you gasp, sucking in a breath as you feel the familiar sensation bubbling. "Feel so full, feels so good."

"You feel like a dream," he mumbles shakily against your lips, hips jerking up into you as you recognize that he must be close. "Never gonna– fuck. Can't believe you were– and I was– oh my god, oh m– You feel so fucking nice– I'm gonna–"

Your chest is light, core on fire. "Something's– I feel– I–"

For a second, your eyes roll back as a searing hot sensation floods your lower half, and you momentarily only see white as you feel your body practically give out and lean forward onto his, gasping into the crevice of his neck as his hips slam into you from underneath. Your nails sink into the skin of his shoulder blades as firmly as you can muster with your little-to-no strength in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. Your whines are loud and straight pornographic at the branding fire feeling in your cunt.

Did you just come?

Given the heat overwhelming your core and the bundle of nerves shooting electricity through your veins, you think you just did. With your heartbeat in your ears, the sound of Rafe's shameless moans feel like they're underwater as you're practically putty in his grasp, both of his arms bear-wrapped around you as he thruuuuusts up into you with such intensity, such fervor, that you think he just came, too.

Spots blur your vision as you moan into the hot skin of his neck as he fucks you through your orgasm, only now feeling the hot spurts of his cum gushing into you with every upwards thrust of his, and you can't deny how fucking good it feels to be full of him – to be really full of him – as the sensation is burning hot and tempestuous and everything you've needed.

Your chest heaves at the intensity, clawing at his upper back for some sort of leverage that you're not sure will do anything to aide your limp body. His hips grind up into your core, and once you gain some sort of semblance back from practically passing out from the orgasm he just gave you, you realize he's been speaking the entire time.

You happen to catch the tail end of his words.

"–ve you, I fucking– I– fuck-" Rafe whines, and the sound vibrates your lips that are pressed against his vocal cord. "It's like you're made for me, feel so fucking nice, so pretty on top of me, I– fuck. How could I– When you–? With the–? Oh my god, oh my fucking god."

All you can respond with is a low moan, overstimulated as you come down from your earth-shattering orgasm as he fucks himself using you through his, his cum leaking out of you and spilling down your thighs and onto his lower stomach. The sight of it makes your breath hitch, breathless at how much you both came at the same time.

His bucking gradually ceases, becoming less and less grandiose and eventually settling in stillness as his chest heaves against yours. You register his hands trailing up and down your back soothingly, lips pressed to your hairline and placing chaste kisses with sweet nothings riddled between them. Your eyes flutter shut, butterfly kissing the skin on his neck that makes goosebumps adorn his arms.

The two of you sit like this for a minute, mentally coming down from the daze your simultaneous orgasms put you through. Once your vision returns to normal (i.e. you're no longer seeing stars every time you open your eyes to try and look at him), you gently press the palm of your hands to his shoulders, pushing yourself up off his chest to sit up and find some semblance of independence.

Your brain is foggy, no doubt, as you hazardously sway as you blink at him, heart racing as you discover he's already looking at you.

"Holy shit," you murmur, dazed and fighting exhaustion.

He exhales shakily. "I know."

You manage a wry smile. "That was-"

"I know," he repeats bashfully, a smile twitching the corner of his mouth.

With a trembling hand, you reach up to push his glasses further up his nose, letting your fingers dwell on the metal sides before bringing it down to cup his jaw. It's as if you're a ghost in your own body, feeling airy and light yet wrecked all the same, shaking as if you've been left in the freezing cold with no amenities, shaking as if he just gave you the best orgasm you've ever had.

Noticing your frailness, you laugh in a self deprecating way. "I think I passed out."

Rafe exhales a shaky chuckle, one of disbelief, as a hand travels up to the side of your neck, keeping your head in place from all the swaying. Though a flicker of concern coats over his eyes at the hazy smile you're flashing him, eyes blinking ferociously as if they're regaining sight.

It makes him frown. "Did you? Are you okay?"

You nod, lazy yet immediate. "Uhm, did you hear me? I think our neighbors are gonna kill us."

A boyish laugh escapes his lips, and he lets himself ease into the fact that you're fine, you're smiling, you're gazing at him like he hung the goddamn stars himself.

His thumb brushes a tear from the corner of your eye, one that you didn't know you had, humming low and sure as his eyes rake over the features of your pretty face. Now, you're left in the stilled silence of your own doing, basking in the aftermath of your actions, of the words that led you to this point. Your heart skips a beat at the vulnerability, knowing it's more than sex, knowing that what you're feeling right now – the gravitational pull towards him – is reciprocated, especially as his gaze softens. It's replaced by something deeper, more raw, cut open for you to do what you please.

The intensity of his stare makes your breath hitch, and, despite literally what just occurred, a wave of shyness overcomes you, averting your gaze down to his chest.

But in your bottom peripheral, you catch a glimpse of the fucking mess.

Your eyes widen, looking down to where your bodies connect. "Oh my god."

His gaze follows lazily, glancing at the sight with nonchalance for his soaked bedsheets, suppressing a shit eating grin as he continues to see small amounts of cum still dripping out of you, as if there's an endless supply of it inside you, continuously adding to the plethora of a mess on his (freshly washed, by the way) bedsheets.

You blink stupidly, attempting to fathom the sheer amount of mere sex all over your lower bodies, all over the sheets, some of it even grazing his abdomen. How did that even get there? How could the two of you produce that much? And – oh, god – is it ever going to come out of his sheets? Fuck, is it leaking through?

But he has no qualm with the matter, and instead beams at the fact.

"That was all you, sweet girl," he teases with a hand skimming the faint bruises starting to form on your hip. "You came so hard. You squir-"

Your hand comes up to cover his mouth.

Your face scrunches up in embarrassment at the word, because you fucking hate the term, and frankly assumed it was a myth for the longest time since you've never done it before, nor have any of your friends. Yet your heart thumps at the possibility that – most of – this mess is from you.

No, it couldn't be. It can't be.

Because if it is, he is never, ever going to let you live it down, and you can count on that for a fact.

Eyeing him quickly and feeling your face flush as he stares right at you, eyes twinkling with amusement, you remove your hand from his mouth and ring your fingers together, looking back down to the sheets with a dismissive scoff.

"I did not," you argue meekly because, frankly, you have no idea if you did or not. You don't even know what that was. "This is all yours."

Rafe's grin is blinding, teasing, fucking proud. "You totally did. Went everywhere, baby."

Face flushing, you groan and throw your hands up to cover your face, hating how hot your skin feels at his laugh and complete nonchalance over the matter.

"Fuck," you murmur as you take in the sight of it. "Are you serious? But I didn't– I don't even– How could I–?"

Instead of answering, he whistles low. "Holy shit, you really did pass out, didn't you?"

You refuse to answer, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth as guilt riddles your chest for ruining his sheets. Expensive ones, at that. You're assuming it has a crazy thread-count imported from god-knows-where, as he's the person to get the best of the best of material things as long as he has the means to obtain them. You've always liked sleeping in his room on the random occurrence it would happen, partly because his bed is always so damn comfortable, the sheets definitely having something to do with it.

"I'll wash them" you offer quietly, slight panic settling in now that you're – somewhat – back to normal and coherent enough to register that this is a problem. "I'll buy you new ones-"

But, of course, Rafe simply shakes his head, pressing his palms against your spine to lure you closer, letting the words die in your throat as he tugs you against his lips. He kisses you slow yet meaningful, a wordless promise that he's not mad about something like this, he's not even concerned, barely letting his beaming smile falter at the thought of having to clean it up. He's only thinking about you, you, you.

"No need," he murmurs against your mouth, still fucking grinning. "I'm framing and putting this shit on my wall."

You groan at his words, cheeks unabashedly hot.

"Gonna time-stamp it and everything," he adds just to be a prick. "Wave it around like a flag, and shit."

You want the ground to swallow you whole. "Stop."

"Wear it like armor."

"You're insufferable."

"And you're hot. I mean it, baby. I'm gonna get you to do that every time."

"Rafe."

"What?" He says incredulously as if it isn't the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you. "You can't expect me not to go crazy over that, hm?"

You only shake your head at him, but you suppose if the roles were reversed, you'd definitely feel an inclination to drawl out the teasing to a T. After all, riling him up is one of your favorite past-times, as riling you up actually might be his number one.

Eventually, you secede. Especially when he threatens you with another orgasm.

After he cleans you up and delicately dresses you in his own clothes, with wobbly legs you attempt to help him strip the sheets (even though all he told you to do is sit at his desk and look pretty, which you wholeheartedly refused to do) and replace them with his spare set. In an effort to get your shit together, you use the communal restroom to wash up, taking one of his spare toothbrushes – because of course he has one – and using it. He goes into the restroom across the hall, stating he was bored of being alone, to freshen himself up.

When you return to his room with him hot on your tail, you slither back onto the clean sheets and settle under them as if you were made to lay there.

Getting comfortable, you quietly watch him resume his tasks of the night: organizing his notes, taking off his glasses and leaving them askew – to your utter dismay – as his shirt and sweatpants follow, leaving him in boxers, and finally turning off his desk lamp as he navigates through the dark and and climbs into bed beside you. 

It’s muscle memory the way you puzzle-piece your way into each other’s arms. Rafe tugs you impossibly close, placing a chaste kiss on your hairline as your hands splay across his bare chest, nearly sighing in relief at the familiarity. It's unfathomably inviting, it's cloud nine, it's home.

When he starts to lightly rub up and down your back, you sigh again.

“Tired?” Rafe murmurs gently. 

All you do is nod against his neck, placing a ginger kiss on his vocal cord.

He hums at your sweet gesture, nearly melting at the implication. “Okay, sweet girl. Go to sleep. I'll be up early tomorrow but you can sleep in, m'kay?”

Tomorrow. Early morning. Notes. Glasses.

Fuck. Exam.

Your eyes flutter open as you remember his night before you arrived, all the papers scattered on his desk, the reason he was wearing those godforsaken glasses in the first place, the open textbook on his computer, the entire reason he was up so late in the first place.

A kettlebell settles in your gut.

“Wait.” Rafe hums lazily in response. “What about your exam?”

With a chuckle, he nuzzles into your hair, unbothered.

“Baby, if I don’t know it by now, there’s no use.”

Part of you feels guilty. Guilty about plaguing his conscience for the betterment of a week and – no doubt – pulling his focus from his studies and all of the important shit going on in his life. Guilty about arriving at his door in the middle of the night and – again – pulling his concentration from what he needs to pay attention to in order to get the marks he needs to pass.

Guilty about everything you've put him through, him, Rafe, your Rafe, who's been so patient with you in your journey of self discovery or whatever bullshit.

“I can help,” you offer weakly, as he rubs soothing up and down your back. “I’m a good teacher.”

Rafe chuckles quietly and you nearly frown, unsure of his nonchalance. 

“Best teacher I know,” he murmurs. His voice is deep and baritone and it practically lulls you to sleep. 

Your eyes are already closed. “Let me help. Please.”

“Very sweet of you. Go to sleep.”

“‘M really smart. You said so.”

“I did.”

You yawn. “What’s the class?”

Rafe doesn’t answer for a minute, and you soon believe he falls asleep. But then, quietly, “Art history.”

Your heart flutters. “I know about that.”

A warm hand rubs up and down your back. “I’m sure you do, baby.” Then, it cradles the back of your head in brazen laziness. “Sleep.”

His voice emulates a lullaby, low and alluring and smooth. Impossibly, you nuzzle closer to him with a stupid smile on your face. Grinning against his neck, you press the lightest kiss you can muster as your hands gently skim over the hills and divots of his chest, grounding yourself, a reminder that this is real. He’s here, right here, holding you, reciprocating your love, your want, your need. 

“Stop smiling,” he says above you, but his tone is far from authoritative. Instead it’s softer, as if he’s suppressing a smile as well. “I can feel it.”

You squirm when he pinches your side, reciprocating the act and attempting to tickle him, but he doesn’t budge in the slightest.

Suddenly, Rafe grabs your wrists lightning fast and pins them high over your head, the motion forcing you on your back as he hovers over you. Despite the darkness, you can feel his face inches from yours, breath fanning over your lips. 

“I thought you wanted me to go to sleep,” you challenge. 

Rafe snorts. “You’re being a brat.”

Ah, that word. That sort of behavior has gotten you in trouble before, and the thought of annoying him makes you grin even harder. 

“Rafey, that’s hardly nice.”

The guttural groan he lets out makes you laugh quite unattractively, letting out an oof when he collapses against your body and therefore crushing you. Nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck, he shakes his head and mumbles something incoherent against your soft skin that feels like a million pin pricks to each nerve.

His hand leaves your wrists and slowly drags down your arm, settling on the top of your ribcage just under the swell of your breast, lazily rubbing his thumb over the grooves and curves of the bone with little to no shame whatsoever. 

The act gives you goosebumps. “What? Nothing to say?”

“Go to bed.”

You hum, kneading your fingers through his hair and smiling when he lets out a content sigh. “Okay, fine.”

Rafe practically clings to you, breathing in your scent and unabashedly nestling into your embrace. Your fingers through his hair feel so achingly familiar, and he doesn’t realize how much he’s missed it until now. He feels your lips gently press on the crown of his head, his heart skipping a beat as he involuntarily lets out another sigh, a wordless thank you for trusting him, believing in him, and – most importantly – letting yourself have this. Trusting him. Trusting yourself.

Exhaustion seeps through his pores, eyelids heavily shutting as his body seems to sink deeper into the mattress, deeper against your body. Your nails lightly scraping his scalp and back quickly lure him to sleep, so gentle and adorning that he’s so close to–

"Hey."

"Sweet girl, I said go to bed."

You pause for a moment, elongated the silence in the darkness as he can practically hear you thinking. After a second, he frowns as he just now analyzed your tone, which was far from teasing.

He's about to prompt you to continue when you shift slightly above him, and his heart fucking melts when he feels your lips press a kiss against his hairline.

"Those photographs are beautiful."

Despite the complete darkness, and despite the fact that even if the light was on, you wouldn't be able to see his face anyway given his position, his face flushes hot.

Because you weren't really supposed to see those. They'd been the final prints he submitted for his photography class, tasked to photograph the pleasantries of life that may emulate beauty in everyday life. And, to him, he wanted you as his everyday muse since you already occupy almost every waking thought of his.

Rafe sat on the prompt for the entire semester, never once finding a muse meaningful enough to him to make him feel like he could complete the assignment. However, once Lorenza had given him the camera, the task seemed like the easiest thing he's ever done. Plus, you made it pretty simple. You emulated effortless beauty. All day. Everyday.

"I had a pretty model," is all he responds with.

And your thanks is translated enough when you press another kiss to his forehead, ticking his soft skin with your gentle breaths, and all he can think is sweet, sweet, sweet girl. It's concerning, really, how he really only thinks of you. He thinks of you when he wakes up, when he sees something funny, when he's scribbling down notes, when he goes to sleep.

So. Yeah. You are his everyday beauty. By a longshot.

He continues to think of your pretty, of how warm you feel pressed against him, how sweet you smell. He remembers how you looked in the moonlight, the candlelight, under the Sicilian sun with a glisten he could swoon over. It lulls him to sleep. Simply the image of you, you, y–

“Rafe?”

Rafe’s pulled from his slumber, barely lifting a finger and humming in response. He can’t even open his eyes, bloodshot and tired from all the studying. 

“Do you want me to come home with you for Christmas?”

Out of all the things he expected you to say, that has to be the last topic on the list. 

All exhaustion comes to a halt as his eyes blearily blink open, unsure if he’s heard you right, as the question is so out of left field that he doubts you actually said what he thinks you said. Despite his head feeling like a million pounds, he manages to lift it so he’s looking at you in the darkness.

Rafe can just make out the outline of your face. “What?”

He hates how small his voice is. 

But your fingers continue to massage his scalp and he feels you shrug underneath him.

“I dunno, I was thinking I could do for you what you did for me." Your voice is impossibly shy, almost as if you didn't mean to bring it up but now there's no going back. "Provide some moral support, I don’t know. Just a thought.”

Yes, he wants to scream. Of course he wants you to. 

It would make life incredibly easier, not to mention he’d get to spend more time with your undivided attention and shower you in a ridiculous amount of appreciation now that you're officially his. He can show you off to his friends and family and flaunt you around, shamelessly hold you and kiss you and not have to feel the slightest bit guilty about it. 

He'd tell you to bring that beaded dress he bought you, take you out to dinner on the mainland and fuck you for the whole island to hear. There's no doubt he's going to buy you anything under the sun that you express interest in, shower you with the kind of love you've been aching for for so long. He'd have to be assertive, though, because you're exactly the girl his sisters will immediately love, and there's no way he's going to be able to share you.

Rafe needs to relax.

Instead of saying all of that, he takes a deep breath. “You’re not going to Lorenza’s?”

“No,” you respond quietly. “I was supposed to go home so she’s already going on a trip with her girlfriends. But now I'm just...” You take a breath. "No, I'm not."

He frowns at the idea of you spending winter break alone, because there’s absolutely no way you're going to go home and face your family again, and the long haul across the Atlantic feels like a chore after just recovering from doing so. 

“You can say no,” you murmur playfully. “I have a sublet lined up for December, and I’ll come back to the dorm when they open on the new year.”

That makes Rafe scoff. “You’re not doing that.”

“I’m not?”

“No,” he commands. “You’ll spend it with me.”

Suddenly you clear your throat, almost shyly. “I didn’t mean to, like, invite myself. You seriously can say no–”

Rafe is sitting up before he knows it, leaning on an elbow and finding your jaw with his other hand to navigate through the darkness, and kissing you firmly enough to let it do all the talking for him. 

You mmrph in surprise into his mouth, effectively shutting you up and assumingely shutting down any doubts you have about the entire idea. Rafe kisses you certainly yet deliberately slow, as if to reassure you of his answer, that you don't have to stress about being too much, especially around him. In fact, he wants you to be too much, yourself, unapologetically you. He craves it, utterly deprived every second you're acting shy as if he wouldn't give you anything you asked for.

Pulling away, Rafe resumes his previous position and lowers onto your body, his original position. His lips find the soft skin of your neck and place a kiss there, sucking ever so slightly to emphasize his point, to stake his claim, to wash away your doubts. 

“I want you to stay with me,” he murmurs quietly. “Okay?”

You hum shyly. “Okay.”

Rafe runs his hands over your ribcage. “I need you to know something, though."

"Yeah?"

Your tone is so fucking sweet that it makes his upcoming words difficult, understanding you can completely hold your own against a family full of narcissists yet wanting to shield you from it all anyway. He wants to hide you away from it all, but he knows you're tough, you're strong, you're too kind for your own good.

"My dad probably won’t be the friendliest.” Rafe figures that's the nicer term for Ward. "He'll be charming and inviting when you first meet him, but behind closed doors..."

He trails off, not necessarily wanting to get into the specifics of his father's tendencies right now with you, laying pretty beside him and body exhausted with earlier passion. To subject you to this all over again, it makes his chest pull, knowing that his father will probably say or do something to remind you of the obscenities of your own family, to remind you of the darkness that shrouded you a week ago.

Before he can continue, you gently massage his scalp. "I understand. I'll be alright."

It makes him nearly swoon. "You're too sweet for your own good, hm? You can be mean to him if you want."

You laugh and he swears he's never heard a prettier sound.

"I'm not doing that."

"If I asked you nicely?"

Chuckling again, your nails rake down to the nape of his neck and back up to his scalp, making him sigh low into the confinements of your hold. But it's much more than physicality, it's almost a promise, reaffirming your stance and wordlessly convincing him that you have his back. Now and always.

"Still no," you murmur, and by the tone of it he swears you're smiling. "You're the one who said I'm incapable of being evil."

Rafe snorts. "I did."

You hum happily, content with 'winning' the conversation as you continue to massage absentmindedly. "Besides, I’m great with parents.”

This conversation feels all too familiar, full circle, echoing his words that he spoke to you all the time ago when your mother stormed into your dorm room, the catalyst for all of this, the start of the spiral to where you lay now with limbs entangled and hearts out in the open.

Shaking his head slightly and allowing himself to shut his eyes, Rafe murmurs in agreement, almost tauntingly.

“I’m sure you are, sweet girl.” Then, quieter, “Sleep.”

The words are like a command, and despite every effort to not do so, you find yourself babbling something incoherently, words soon dying in your throat as you fall asleep, but not without being lulled by the sound of his syncopated breaths, and that, somehow, his hand has found yours in the darkness, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gentle enough for it to be a long lasting reminder: he's here, and he's not going anywhere.

You let yourself succumb to that. You let yourself deserve it.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work without permission. mdni

notes holy shit???????? i have a few (more like a hundred) things to say. legit where do I begin.

thank you for 900 followers FIRST OF ALL i only started posting laaaaaate march (practically april) so this is absolutely incredible, thank you for all the support it's been so overwhelming in the best way. half of the comments genuinely make me lol and the other half make me legit spiral bc huh???? you like my stuff??? anyway.

for those who have sent me inbox messages: I SEE YOU!!! I APPRECIATE YOU!! I HAVE NOT IGNORED YOU!!! i'm gonna try to get around to answering them but trust i see y'all!!!!

on the topic of inbox messages, a few of you have been asking about if i'm open to blurbs, and i 100% am. i cannot guarantee i will be able to answer all of them (i started a full-time job??? crazy) but i would love to try and provide that.

okay i think that's it from me. again. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT i'm legit sad this is ending but, again, im open to blurbs about them so TRUST this def won't be the last time we read about them. GODSPEED!

[pboogerswbb]

TOO LOST IN YOU - epilogue pt 1

Paige Bueckers x bartender!oc Warnings: paige going back to old habits, arguing, nasty smut (slight CNC), language etc etc Wordcount: 5.3K A/N: happy draft day to those who missed valerie and paige!! you'll be getting a second part to this soon :) I DID NOT PROOFREAD THIS YALL

-

“My baby!” I squeal, running to Paige and wrapping my arms around her neck tightly. She’s smiling from ear to ear, leaning against the side of the car in her draft outfit - a navy suit so dark you would almost think it was black from first glance. In the evening light the blue tint was concealed though, like a secret. The colour was significant, Paige’s homage to the UConn colours. Adding red and white would’ve been too on the nose, but the tasteful navy just felt right. The blonde lets out an oomph as my body crashes into hers.

“I’m so proud of you,” I mumble against her chest, careful not to get makeup on the matching button up underneath the oversized suit jacket.

“God I missed you ma,” Paige groans, hand rubbing up and down my back, squeezing tightly. We had barely been apart for six hours but they had been excruciatingly long and tiresome to both of us.

“Baby,” I hum, pulling back my head and tilting it up to look at my girlfriend’s face. “You’re a Dallas Wing!”

Paige’s eyes are heavy as she gazes down at me, long lashes dark with mascara. Her makeup is done to perfection, light shimmer and a light gloss on her lips, diamond studs decorating her ears, hair in a low ponytail, strands carefully curled to frame her face. She looks stunning, although, when did she not.

“Goddamn you look sexy,” she says in a husky voice, blue eyes checking me out like she wants to devour me. Knowing her, she likely did. “Let’s get inside.”

I laugh, Paige’s lips finding their home in the crook of my neck, kissing intensely. I look around at the people walking by, blushing furiously.

“P, stop,” I giggle, pushing her off. “The afterparty.”

The blonde groans, throwing her head back in frustration. “Right, I guess we gotta go.”

I had wanted nothing more than to be at the draft with Paige, but we both agreed that a relationship of a few weeks was still too fresh to be made so public (though the clips of me and her kissing after her win had blown up everywhere). So as a compromise we made a deal for me to join her at the afterparty.

“Hollup gorgeous,” I stop her, letting my eyes really roam her all over. God truly spent his time on her, sculpted her with careful hands. She was stunning as always, but the circumstances were making me emotional - for a year I had watched her battle the other teams but most of all herself, to finally win the ultimate prize. She deserved it but most importantly she earned it. “You look so fine.”

“I look sexy, right?” She grins, smoothing over her jawline with her big hands. I roll my eyes, pulling on the car door behind her to open it. Paige slaps my hand away, hard enough to sting.

“Ow!” I yelp, pulling it away. Cordially she opens the car door for me, but I only grunt as a thank you.

“Oh c’mon, it did not hurt that bad.”

“I think you’ve been grumpy ever since we made you take that net around your neck off,” I groan, making myself comfortable on the leather seats of the car, soothing over my short dress. 

“Y’all are no fun, woulda been fire with this fit,” she complains, climbing in after me. Indeed Paige had worn the net for six days straight since winning. Honestly I wouldn’t have been surprised to find her showering with it, but I was too afraid to ask. After a long debate me and Britt had convinced her to take it off for her fitting.

“Yeah, because you never made any insane fashion choices,” I mumble to myself, looking out the tinted window. Paige’s ring covered fingers grab my thigh, thumb brushing the inside causing sparks to shoot up my leg.

“Shut up, it’s my day,” the blonde smiles, pressing a kiss onto my temple. Immediately I swoon, leaning my head against her shoulder.

“Really, I’m so fucking proud of you P,” I whisper, entangling my fingers with hers. The blonde hums, her arm wrapping around my shoulders.

“Couldn’t have done it without you Val.”

-

The afterparty is buzzing with people, people with sticky skin and cold drinks bumping into one another. It’s overwhelming for someone like me who’s not used to being surrounded by stars like this, familiar faces all around the room. Paige is sitting with the Wings, immersed in a lively conversation with NaLyssa sipping on her dirty shirley (which didn’t even come close to the ones I made for her at Ted’s according to her) while I push through all the tall people, returning from the bathroom. My chest felt like it might burst as I watched her in the dark suits and the silver chains, sitting with her new team. With her future. Far away from Storrs, from Connecticut, from me.

Before I have time to freak myself out over the long-distance, I see a girl, a gorgeous girl, sitting on the other side of Paige, hand on her shoulder, feeling up her biceps. She’s fluttering her long lashes at the blonde, smiling widely, leaning into her to talk to her. What the fuck?

Anger bubbles to the surface quickly, my skin boiling as I make my way to the seats quickly, shamelessly plotting myself down onto Paige’s lap. The conversation comes to a halt, my girlfriend’s eyes widening in surprise but hands holding my waist out of habit. 

“What’s going on here?” I ask, eyeing the strange girl up and down. She backs up the tiniest bit, challenging my gaze. I don’t move my brown eyes from hers, Who does she think she is? Trying to hit on my girl right in front of me? 

“Oh, uh, this is Kiara, she works for Overtime,” Paige introduces the girl, either oblivious or choosing to ignore the obvious flirting. “This is Valerie, she’s my uh, my friend.”

Friend? I feel my heart drop, anger and anxiety building within me. The blonde looks a little uncomfortable, sipping on her drink. I guess she had in fact enjoyed the flirting, maybe even entertained it. I knew being in a relationship was hard for her. And I knew it was all new. But calling me her friend in front of a girl who was looking at her like she wants to devour her? Paige knew better. She had to.

“Oh, right,” I say coldly. Paige is avoiding my gaze, looking everywhere but my eyes. “Well, as your friend you should probably find another room to sleep in.”

With those words I stand back up, beginning to rush out of the party. The blonde is following close behind, pushing through crowds of people to get to me. I make it out quicker, walking into the night, a cool breeze in my blow dried hair. Paige is held behind, everyone wanting a word with the star of the night. Good. I don’t want to talk to her. How could we ever make long-distance work when we were already struggling - no, not we. Paige.

The front of the club is lined with cars, ready for any drunk passengers to simply hop in and get home. As I reach for the door, a pale hand grabs my arm harshly.

“Val…” Paige mumbles, her voice soft and slurred from the alcohol.

“Don’t,” I tell the girl sternly, pulling my hand away without looking at her. “I’m going to bed, go have a fun night.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.”

I scoff, turning to the blonde. “You got some nerve telling me that after introducing me as your friend to some girl who was trying to fuck you. Why was that? You wanted to fuck her too?”

Paige looks around nervously, my voice growing loud and echoing off the tall buildings surrounding us. I knew she didn’t want anyone to hear, and for some reason this infuriated me even more.

“What? You scared I’m causing a scene?”

Paige sighs, opening the car door for me. “Just get in the car Val.”

“You’re embarrassed of your frie-”

“Get in the fucking car.”

-

The drive to the hotel is quiet, not the comfortable type that we often sat in. Valerie’s staring out the window, her knees pointing to the door away from me as a protest. She always did that when I had screwed up, which seemed to be all the time. Great. Even as a National Champion I can’t keep my girl happy. 

I could feel myself getting angry too, but not at Valerie. At myself. I just kept screwing up over and over and over. I kept telling myself everything would be okay if I just won the Natty. After that I could be the perfect girlfriend - except I wasn’t. And I kept hurting her all the time. I didn’t deserve her.

I close the door a little too hard behind us, Val scoffing loudly in response as she kicks her heels off, back to her usual, short self.

“I don’t know where you’re planning to sleep but I don’t want you in my bed,” Valerie mumbles sitting on the edge of the white sheets. I fight the urge to roll my eyes at her dramatics.

“C’mon, let’s just talk this through,” I say, taking off the suit jacket, leaving me in a black sports bra and the suit pants I’d been wearing.

“No.”

“Val,” I warn her, but she merely crosses her arms, turning her head away from me. It made me want to fuck the hell out of her.

“Look I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” I start, a little unsure what to say. The truth was I knew she was flirting with me, and perhaps I had entertained it. Because that’s what I was used to. I suppose that part wasn’t okay in a relationship. “I didn’t mean to call you my friend.” That part was true.

She’s quiet, refusing to look me in the eye.

Taking a deep breath I continue. “You know I’m not good at this girlfriend stuff, but I wanna learn. For you, ma. Wanna do better.” Carefully I walk over to her, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at me. Valerie’s lips are turned down in a pout, brows furrowed annoyedly. There was only one thing that got her out of a mood like this.

“Talk to me,” I command her, my grip on her chin tight.

“Don’t wanna,” she argues, rolling her eyes. My large hand grabs onto her cheeks tighter, Valerie’s brown eyes widening.

“Don’t be a brat.”

She lets out a trembling breath, defiantly looking at me. It was a game we played often, to distract ourselves from the real problems. Turning fights into play allowed us to ignore the underlying issues, allowed me to direct my focus elsewhere instead of inward. I wasn’t ready to face the array of things I needed to work on.

“Take that dress off,” I demand, pushing the thin strap off Valerie’s shoulder. She huffs, pulling it back up. 

“Now. Be a good girl for daddy.”

Suddenly her mood switches, thighs pressing against one another as she looks up at me with those round doe eyes that I could look into forever. Goosebumps rise up her arms as she slowly stands up, chest to chest with me. Reaching back, Valerie unzips her own dress, letting it fall to the floor with ease. There she is, in a matching red lace lingerie, and suddenly my boxers are soaked - all the frustration turning into pure lust.

Valerie’s pout too has turned to something much more needy, her brows raised softly as she stares up at me. 

“Goddamn,” I mumble to myself, my big hand easily snaking around her and flipping her over so her back faces me. She’s breathing heavy, her skin flushing as my fingers travel from her breasts down her stomach, toying with the band of her panties. Pressing my nose against her ear, I whisper: “You really think I want some other bitch when I got you? Bet you’re fucking soaked right now.”

And as I dip my fingers into her underwear, her cunt immediately dripping all over my fingers, I know I was correct. Satisfied, I smirk, running my middle finger along her slit, Valerie’s legs immediately trembling. 

“Yeah, this is my pussy, right ma?”

Val whimpers in response, throwing her head back against my chest.

“Answer,” I repeat, yanking on the girl’s hair. She gasps, looking at me over her shoulder with that helpless, hungry look I would die for.

“Yes,” she mumbles.

“Yes what?”

“Yes daddy,” Valerie whimpers, the burn in my core nearly unbearable over the nickname.

I push Valerie stomach down on the bed by her long golden brown hair, leaving her ass in the air for my own pleasure. I needed her so bad, needed the distraction her gorgeous body and desperate moans provided.

-

“No, no more, no more,” Valerie’s shaking on the bed, her face buried in the pillow, my face covered in her wetness. 

“Nah ma, I get what I want tonight,” I answer in a gravelly voice, trying my best to catch my breath. The fourth round had blonde hair falling out of my bun, makeup running down both our faces. The white duvet of the hotel bed was a pile on the floor, Val’s perfect blowout now a messy nest of hair at the top of her head. She was trembling desperately, her pretty moans had turned into high-pitched whimpers and cries. I was pushing her to her edge, but I couldn’t stop. I don’t know how I ever could?

“P-paige pl-”

I yank the girl’s hair, making her look at me with those brown doe eyes now bloodshot and mascara flaking under her lower lashes. “Whatchu call me?” I ask sternly, the pleading look on her face making my core drip all over my thighs, throbbing from just touching and playing with her.

“I’m sorry,” she whines, staring into my eyes obediently. “Daddy, please.”

“That’s a good girl,” I hum, the flutters of my heart sending jolts all over my body. In a moment of tenderness I lean down and press a kiss on the top of her head. Maybe I should be done, maybe she was too sensitive to take more. But the ache in my core wouldn’t let me stop. I needed to get mine too.

In a rush, I kick off my white boxers, flipping the girl onto her back. Her back arches automatically, perky breasts covered on goosebumps, her nipples hard as she runs her fingers over them, letting out a content sigh. I could’ve come at the sight, my eyes moving down her body to between her legs that are spread. Her pussy’s red and swollen from how long and hard I’ve been going at it. I can’t help myself when my long fingers spread her lips apart, watching the sticky mess glistening all over her puffy clit. Fuck this, I’m not even close to done.

“One more,” I grunt, lifting her leg over my shoulder.

“No, no no no- oh fuck,” Valerie’s defiance is interrupted with a trembling moan as I slot my dripping cunt on hers, our clits brushing against each other as I hold her lips apart to get as close as possible. 

“Fucking shit,” I hiss, immediately throwing my head back at the contact sending waves of pleasure all over me. After four rounds I was sure I’d cum untouched, the puddle in my boxers dripping out of me proof of how turned on I was. I lived to get Valerie off.

The girl starts to moan fast as I roll my hips into hers, watching the way she’s squirming underneath me. I bite on my lower lip to try to control the whimpers threatening to spill out as I place my hands on her hips to keep her still, gripping hard enough to leave bruises for tomorrow. She doesn’t seem to mind, her back arching as the squelching sound of our dripping pussies slip against each other. 

“Such a good fucking girl,” I cuss, panting loudly. The burn deep in my abdomen is already building, but I won’t move my blue eyes from her. Every part of her is making it harder not to cum, her scrunched up face, perfect tits bouncing with every roll of my hips, our pussies slipping against each other. It’s driving me insane.

“Daddy,” Valerie whimpers, her long nails scratching at my biceps desperately. I take it as a sign to speed up, placing a sloppy kiss on her leg resting on my wide shoulder.

“Perfect fucking pussy, feel so good ma,” I groan, the girl’s eyes rolling back at my words. “Prettiest pussy I ever saw.”

“‘S too much,” she whimpers, a single tear rolling down her cheek - it makes me want to go even faster, my abs burning as I speed up.

“You can take it,” I moan, my cunt gushing all over hers. “Fuckin’ take it baby.”

“N-need to cum,” she cries out, her body shivering beneath me, back arching, nails digging deeper into my skin.

“Ohh sh- you’re such a slut,” I whimper, rambling as I was getting closer and closer. “Daddy’s slut.”

“Yes I am,” she gasps, opening her eyes and meeting my gaze, willing to say or do anything just to feel that ecstasy only I could give her. Only me. No one else. “I’m your slut.”

“Fuck yea you are,” I hiss, my head lulling back and forth as I rut my hips into the girl, teetering on the edge of my orgasm. “Gonna make daddy cum.”

“Cum with me daddy,” she whimpers, brows in a deep furrow as she watches my face, mouth in a perfect o as I fuck her harder. It’s enough to see her like that, to hear the squelching of our pussies that I can’t fight it anymore.

“Fuuuuuck, I’ma cum,” I groan, my moans joining Valerie’s as we both finally roll over that edge, the hotel room filling with high pitched gasps and curses. I struggle to keep my eyes on the girl underneath me, shaking and trembling in ecstasy. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I crash on top of her, rolling over and taking her with me to feel her body on top of mine. We take a while to come back, both of us riding it out. The rays of the sunrise shine in through the clumsily shut blinds, illuminating Valerie’s hair in a way that make the tones of gold sparkle.

“The sun’s coming up,” she murmurs against my neck. I chuckle, my fingertips brushing through the strands carefully.

“We were at it for a while,” I chuckle weakly, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Are you okay?”

“Mm, perfect,” she hums happily, nuzzling her sweet little nose into the crook of my neck. “But goddamn you wore me out.”

“Just wanted to make my girl feel good,” I whisper, drawing patterns on her soft back along her spine. “Think I succeeded, yeah?”

“Man, shut up,” she giggles, finally lifting her head. She looks like a mess, yet still the most gorgeous girl in the world. Clumsily Valerie leans over and slots her lips on mine, kissing me contently. 

“Oh it’s like that huh? You wanna go again?” I tease, slipping my tongue into her mouth. Valerie laughs, shaking her head. 

“If we go again you’ll break me.”

“Mm, wanna try?” I grin, unaware of how exhausted my body felt after the past week of partying, let alone tonight.

“Paige!” She groans, pulling back, brushing a strand of blonde hair away from my eyes.

Suddenly the mood shifts, I feel it in the way Val’s brown eyes move from me to the wall, the way she’s chewing on the skin of her plump bottom lip. She’s overthinking, I can tell.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper. The girl exhales heavily.

“Were you, um, really flirting with that girl earlier?”

I swallow, my heart pounding in my chest. It was out of habit, but I couldn’t lie my way out of this one.

“‘M sorry Val, it was just a joke. Just outta habit,” I admit. The girl nods slowly, clearly disapproving of my answer. But I had to be truthful. “Y’know I’m not good at this relationship stuff.”

“I know,” she mumbles, her voice quiet and gentle. “But you can’t just keep messing up and keep saying that. You gotta start doing something about it.”

I contemplate for a moment, her words frustrating me a little. Did she think I wasn’t trying? I did so much for her, bent all my rules for her, sacrificed so much for her. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm myself down. It was okay for her to be upset, even if it hurt my ego.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I’ma do better.” I mean it.

“Would you ever go to therapy? You ever thought about it?”

I scoff. “Why? You think I need it?” I ask slightly annoyed.

“Doesn’t everybody?”

-

“A beer yeah? Alright, let me get that for you,” I smile at the older man, walking to the beer tap, holding a pint against it so it won’t foam badly. I had picked up a summer job at a bar in town while the campus was empty and dead. Connecticut felt cold and brutal ever since Paige left, taking all the joy she brought with her to Dallas. 

“And the Dallas Wings rookie Bueckers hits the mid-range jump shot with ease. Look at that body control, wow! Very impressive for someone her age.”

I glance up from the beer to the TV displayed in the corner of the pub, the Wings game against Chicago Sky illuminating the screen. The camera pushes in on Paige’s focused face, glistening with sweat in her jersey with the number 5 written on the back. She had filled out a lot in only a couple months, the league challenging her to gain more muscle quickly. Maybe that’s why she had been too busy to call me in the past couple weeks. 

Heading out to the weight room! Miss you I’ma call you tonight

i miss you too i hope you have a nice day baby! can’t wait to talk to you later

Hey baby just got out of practice gonna go grab sumn to eat with Arike and Lyss

okay call me when you get home 

baby you still out?

i gotta leave for my shift in an hour

paige?

k i gotta go text me when ur home i’m worried

goodnight p, i just got home from work. hope ur okay.

Holy shit ma I’m so sorry

I got home and knocked asleep

I love you I’m sorry

This had become a nearly daily routine. I could feel her pulling away from me. I knew long-distance would be hard but never thought it would be this hard. She wouldn’t communicate with me, I was lucky if she sent a text telling me she loved me once a day. I could feel that familiar dread taking over, the one that consumed me a lot this past year whenever I thought of the blonde. Still, I couldn’t help myself when I smile as she celebrates her short with Nai on the court.

Tomorrow I’d be flying to Dallas for the first time. I had refused at first, said I needed to save everything I earned this summer to make it through this upcoming year. But Paige had insisted she pays and insisted I fly out tomorrow. Honestly, I had a strange bubbling deep in my gut, eating away at me. Telling me to be scared, to prepare for the worst. Everything was pointing to my biggest fear becoming true. That I’m losing her forever.

I glance at the golden number 5 charm on my bracelet, dangling against my wrist. God, I missed her. I just wish she missed me.

“Uh, miss?” The man catches me daydreaming, pointing at the pint that was now overflowing with beer.

“Oh shoot,” I gasp, chuckling in embarrassment. “Let me pour you another, I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright,” the man chuckles, glancing at the television showcasing Paige’s best plays of the night. “She’s quite something huh? She played for UConn did you know?”

“Oh really?” I humour him, carefully pouring another pint.

“They say she’s the best in the country.”

“Oh I bet she’d love that,” I reply, grinning to myself as I hand the beer to the gentleman.

-

I swing back and forth on the heels of my feet, holding the bouquet of roses tight in my hands. My stomach is filling with butterflies as the clock continues to tick, people pushing past me with their suitcases, the announcement for a flight after another echoing around the airport. Any minute now and I’d get to hold her again, my world, my love, my life.

My heart nearly bursts when she turns the corner, her small figure dressed in a white matching sweats and cropped hoodie, pulling a tiny suitcase behind her. Involuntarily a wide grin spreads across my face as I hurry towards Valerie, nearly skipping. 

“Oh my gosh,” I sigh as I crash into her, wrapping my arms around the shorter girl. “Fuck ma I missed you so bad.”

“Me too,” she mumbles against my chest, her hands stroking up and down my back gently to soothe me. I nearly cry at how good it feels to see her, to feel her, to smell her. The time apart was torture, we were constantly off. This felt right, how it should always be.

“I’m kissing the shit outta you in that car,” I mumble into her ear, shamelessly inhaling the scent of her hair. Coconut. I could’ve died. Valerie giggles, melting into my body. 

“We should go before your fans show up,” she laughs, pulling back from me. Ever since I came to Dallas I’ve quickly acquired a group of old and new basketball fans who were left with a void ever since Luka got traded. Fine by me.

“Hollup,” I sigh, grabbing both the girl’s shoulders to look at her - to really look at her. To soak in her button nose and round eyes. Feeling the intensity of my gaze Valerie looks to the side, the apples of her cheeks turning redder.

“Gimmie dat,” I murmur, grabbing the bag before she could resist and practically shoving the flowers into her hands. Val rolls her eyes, but leans in to sniff the flowers as we walk hand in hand to my car in my new home.

-

“Oh Paige,” she gasps as I let her into my apartment. The couple months I had spent here had given me the chance to get settled, the open concept apartment decorated in a way that was mature yet still me. Seeing her in my space, in my home made all this wait worth it.

The living room was filled with white balloons, more flowers and a pile of presents waiting for her on my glass coffee table. Val tiptoes to them, squealing with excitement as I follow her, glad to be there with her (and air conditioning, Dallas summers were no joke).

“You did all this for me, P?” Valerie asks in amazement. I walk up to her, my front pressing to her back and hands wrapping around her waist. 

“All for you mama,” I whisper into her ear, pressing sloppy kisses down her neck. “I fucking love you so bad.”

For a second I think she’s giggling at my words, so I continue nibbling at her neck. But as she inhales I hear the sniffling sound coming out of her nose. No, she’s crying. Suddenly I spin her around to see her eyes pooling with tears.

“Whoa, what’s wrong ma?”

She wipes away a tear, looking everywhere but into my eyes. For a moment I think she’s done something, something bad.

“Talk to me,” I tell her gently, anxiety rushing through my veins.

“It’s just, I dunno,” she sobs, looking at the floor. “I thought you wanted me here because you wanted to break up.”

“What?” Why would she think that? Why would I ever want that?

Valerie merely shrugs, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“No, hell no,” I reassure her, grabbing hold of her chin to make her look up at me. She pouts her lower lip, meeting my gaze. “Why would I ever wanna do that?”

“You’ve just been so distant.”

“There’s been a lot to do.”

“You barely text me, and never call me-”

“I’m literally hooping and getting to know my teammates most of the time. I’ve just been busy ma.”

“Nah because this isn’t how long-distance should work,” she whines, taking a step back from me, nearly tripping over the coffee table. I hold my hands to steady her but she only pushes them away stubbornly, acting like she didn’t almost eat shit in my living room. I would’ve laughed, but nothing was funny with the topic at hand. 

“It’s just, you’re working all the time when I’m off,” I complain, sitting on the couch and patting the spot next to me. Valerie however just rolls her eyes and keeps standing stubbornly next to the table.

“No, you’re the one that’s always busy! Don’t pin this on me!” Valerie shouts in frustration, waving her hands around. Leaning back on the couch, I rub my jaw and face. I definitely was not prepared for our reunion to be like this.

“I just dunno why you don’t move here for the summer,” I shrug, manspreading as I watch her pace around my living room. Even though I was angry it still warmed my heart to see her in my home. She belonged here, made it all seem brighter, warmer, perfect - or as perfect as Dallas, Texas could get.

“Ugh, you’re so,” she groans, throwing her head back. “Some of us have to work.”

“Like I don’t?” I chuckle frustratedly. “I’ve said it so many times ma, just quit your job.”

“Oh you’re funny,” Valerie laughs sarcastically, wide eyes looking at me. But I don’t join in.

“I’m serious,” I argue, sitting back up and leaning on my grey sweatpants. “You don’t gotta be working. Don’t needa pay for a thing here.”

She looks at me for a while, before refusing. “Dude, no! I need to save for next year if I wanna make it through-”

“I’ma pay your rent. And groceries. That good?”

“Stop, Paige, this isn’t a joke.”

“I’m not joking,” I reach my hands to her hips and pull her close, tilting my head up to look at her as she stands between my legs, brows furrowed in worry. “I’m not Val, swear on my fucking life. Lemme take care of you.”

“B-but what if we like, break up or sumn happens and then I’m just fucked all year,” she mumbles, but brings her hands to my shoulders as her tone softens.

I press a kiss on her lower abdomen, sliver of skin bare right above the band of the sweatpants. Valerie hums contently, petting my hair.

“We won’t,” I murmur, my blue eyes looking at her pleadingly. “N even if we do, I’m not leavin’ you hangin’. Y’know that ma.”

Valerie sighs, biting on her lower lip. All this time apart just had me wanting to devour her. I couldn’t believe this was the start of our time in Dallas together.

“Please Val,” I beg, pressing sloppy kisses on her stomach, my fingertips teasing on the band of her sweats. “Just for the summer. Lemme take care of my girl.”

“Paige-”

“Say yes,” I hum.

“Baby,” Val sighs as my hands knead her perfect round ass. 

“Say yes mama.”

“Fine.”

-

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THE PRICE OF DUTY ⋆✦⋆ kuchiki byakuya

synopsis ➸ they agreed on a marriage without love. too bad neither of them could keep their hearts out of it. now, pride and desire are the only things standing in the way.

tags ➸ marriage of convenience, power imbalance, verbal aggression, angst, hurt/comfort, masturbation, handjob, nipple play, dirty talk, heavy breeding kink, cunnilingus, unprotécted séx, creampie, praise kink

wc ➸ 17.6k (apologies in advance)

The bedroom was cloaked in stillness, the only sound the faint whisper of your steady breathing. Byakuya couldn't tear his eyes away from you, lying there fast asleep beside him. Even in slumber, you radiated an almost regal poise - back straightened by years of disciplined nobility, features composed into a serene mask of quiet confidence.

Just looking at you was enough to stir that familiar ache in Byakuya's chest. The one he tried so hard to suppress these days, burying it beneath the responsibilities and traditions he clung to like anchors in a stormy sea. But the truth was becoming harder and harder to ignore with each passing night spent at your side.

He was in love with you. Hopelessly, painfully, desperately in love.

The realization would have been terrifying enough on its own. But the true fracture in Byakuya's stolid facade came from the fact that after nearly a century of sharing this marriage bed and household with you...he remained utterly uncertain whether you returned even a shred of those feelings.

Your union had been one of pure pragmatism from the very start, after all - a business arrangement between the Kuchiki and your clan, nothing more. Two proud noble houses joined by political motivations rather than any sense of romantic affection or sentimentality. You had both agreed to those terms readily, never wavering in upholding the boundaries of polite cordiality between married partners.

No consummation or intimacy beyond the bare minimum required for public appearance's sake. Only the singular, chaste kiss exchanged during the ceremonial binding of your vows all those decades ago. An unspoken acknowledgment that this convenient partnership held no deeper meaning.

At least, that was what Byakuya had believed when you had first agreed to the arrangement. He would be lying if he claimed the idea hadn't stung a bit back then, still haunted by the ghost of his beloved Hisana even years after her passing. But you had been his dearest friend since childhood, his confidante and the one person who understood the heavy mantle of duty both of you carried.

If this rational partnership was the way to honor your family obligations while still retaining that precious bond...well, Byakuya had accepted it as a worthwhile compromise.

Until now, that was.

Now, as he stared at the delicate rise and fall of your chest with each quiet inhalation...as he drank in the elegant line of your throat and the slightly parted serenity of your lips...Byakuya found his carefully constructed walls of restraint crumbling like sodden papier-mâché in the deluge.

He ached to reach out and caress the soft skin of your cheek with the barest whisper of his fingertips. To bestow the kind of tender, adoring touch two people intimately bound were supposed to share without condition or self-imposed barriers. Most of all, he burned with the need to finally, finally lean across that maddening divide and capture your lips with his own in a searing release of all the wanting he’d silently endured for decades.

The thought caused a familiar flare of heat to spread through Byakuya's core, settling like molten embers in his loins as his eyes raked shamelessly across your sleeping form. How many times had he lain awake just like this, jaw clenched and fists knotted in the sheets as his tortured mind supplied increasingly vivid fantasies of what your body might feel like pressed against his? Of the breathy gasps and unraveling expressions he could tease from your features with each doting caress and sinuous shift of intimate, tangled limbs?

Countless. The answer was countless, relentless iterations - each more depraved and indulgent than the last.

Sometimes, in his most lascivious reveries, Byakuya allowed himself to picture taking you fully and completely as his wedded wife in truth. Of burying his aching length within your welcoming heat over and over until your hoarse cries painted the very air itself with ecstasy. Of feeling your nails scoring fire along the straining cords of his back as he devoted every ounce of himself to mapping your body's every secret erogenous plateau with fervent, open-mouthed worship.

He fantasized about losing himself so deeply in the throes of your shared passions that even coherent thought became an impossibility. About giving himself over to that feral, primal part of his soul that sang for nothing more than to claim you, ravish you, seed you with his issue in the most profane yet somehow sacred of acts.

Byakuya's breath caught in his throat as he felt the telltale stirrings of arousal needling at his groin, precipitated by those wanton daydreams that always seemed to slither in unannounced. He clenched his jaw hard enough for the tendons to strain in his neck, fighting off the growing urge to reach down and alleviate the steadily blooming ache with his own hand.

Because he knew that would only be a temporary balm, one that failed to come anywhere close to satiating the true source of this fevered, all-consuming hunger. The one solution that remained stubbornly, infuriatingly out of his reach due to years and years of accepted boundaries and ingrained propriety between you both.

In the end, Byakuya settled for clenching the bedsheets in a white-knuckled grip until his quickened breaths evened out and the lancing jolts of desire settled into a steady, smoldering thrum. All the while, his eyes remained resolutely trained on your sleeping figure, hungrily cataloging every detail as if it were the first and final time he would be permitted such an unguarded view.

Like every night preceding this one, Byakuya would persevere in silent, aching torment rather than risk shattering the delicately restrained dynamic you had both sworn yourselves to upholding. No matter how corrosive the fires of ardor raging within him might become.

He was the head of the Kuchiki Clan, after all, steeped in honor and tradition down to his very marrow. To act on these deviant urges, to forsake the promise you had made and the boundaries you both tacitly agreed to all those years ago...it would be an unforgivable, disgraceful surrender to weakness.

No matter how much his soul screamed for the exquisite release of reciprocated intimacy and desire, he would remain steadfast. Even if it meant suffering the agonizing pangs of perpetual, unrequited yearning until his dying breath.

At least, those were the maudlin affirmations Byakuya kept repeating in a desperate internal mantra as his eyes finally drifted closed, immense weariness settling over him like a shroud. Tomorrow, he would bury these tumultuous cravings once more, as he had every single day preceding this ill-fated descent into torturous infatuation.

But tonight...tonight, he would allow himself to indulge in the exquisite agony of loving you from afar for just a little while longer. To burn with smoldering embers of infinite wanting that may very well consume him entirely if left to their own insatiable devices much longer.

Byakuya's eyes fluttered open to the pale light of dawn filtering through the bedroom window. He blinked a few times, momentarily disoriented, before the soft sounds of movement from the adjoining bathroom brought everything sharply into focus.

You were awake already, no doubt freshening up and preparing for the day ahead like the steadfastly disciplined woman you were. Just the thought of you sent a flicker of heat stirring low in Byakuya's belly.

Almost of its own volition, his gaze drifted down to the tent his morning wood had pitched beneath the sheets pooled around his waist. He bit back a groan, simultaneously aroused and dismayed by his body's instinctive reaction.

For nearly a century, he'd been waking up like this more often than not - cock straining eagerly against the fabric restraints, aching and full just from the promise of another day spent in your maddening proximity. At this point, Byakuya had lost count of how many times he'd been forced to silently take himself in hand and reduce the swollen, throbbing length to a pitiful, dribbling spent mess while imagining it was your tight clenching heat milking him instead of his calloused palm.

Lost track of the mornings where he'd emerged from heated fantasies of pinning you beneath him and driving into that welcoming slick over and over, relishing your desperate whimpers and pleas for more echoing off the bedroom walls. Or the ones where he bent you over the closest surface and took you from behind like a lust-crazed beast, savoring the sight of his cock disappearing into that perfect, dripping cunt again and again.

Byakuya shuddered hard, gripping the sheets until his knuckles turned white. Even now, those filthy thoughts and scenarios were playing out in vivid detail in his mind's eye, stoking his desire into an insistent throbbing demand.

The soft click of the bathroom door sliding open jolted him from his indecent reverie. You stepped out, already dressed and regarding him with that carefully neutral expression you always wore.

"Good morning," you greeted him simply, as if he wasn't lying there with a painfully obvious erection tenting the sheets. As if the two of you were little more than casual acquaintances rather than husband and wife.

"Good morning," Byakuya replied stiffly, voice rougher than usual with pent-up arousal. He watched, throat tightening, as your gaze pointedly dropped to his lap before you arched one brow delicately.

"Need a hand taking care of that?" You nodded towards his straining arousal. "I am your wife, after all, even if only in name. Assisting with such...needs...falls within the parameters of our arrangement."

The clinical way you referred to what could be an incredibly intimate physical connection made something twist viciously in Byakuya's gut. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground together.

"That won't be necessary," he bit out, shoving the sheets aside to rise from the bed - utterly uncaring about putting his prominent erection on display. Let you get an eyeful of what you'd spent decades neglecting despite calling yourself his wife. "I'm more than capable of taking care of this on my own as usual."

Your lips pressed into a thin line at his rebuff, eyes following the rigid length jutting obscenely from the nest of dark curls as he brushed past you towards the bathroom. There was a flicker of something in your gaze - curiosity, perhaps, or fleeting interest quickly smothered.

Just before he slid the door shut behind himself, Byakuya paused and glanced back at you over his shoulder. "Though I appreciate the courtesy of looking after my basic needs, you needn't feel obligated on that front," he stated gruffly. "I have no expectations of you as a wife beyond maintaining the appearances of our political union."

The words were a lie, and you both knew it based on how your eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Byakuya didn't give you a chance to respond. He shut himself in the bathroom, turning the lock with a decisive click as he leaned back against the door and shoved his hakama the rest of the way down his hips.

His cock sprang free, achingly hard and leaking at the tip already from his frustrated arousal. Byakuya wasted no time in wrapping a firm hand around the throbbing shaft, biting back a groan as he started to stroke himself with harsh, efficient tugs.

Closing his eyes, he instantly conjured vivid fantasies to chase his release. Of bending you over the bathroom vanity and driving into that tight, dripping heat from behind with punishing thrusts. Of your cries of pleasure echoing off the tile walls as you begged him to fuck you harder, deeper, to fill you with his seed over and over.

Byakuya's pace sped up as the scenarios played out in excruciating detail in his mind. He could almost feel your nails scoring down his back, hear your gasping moans right against his ear as he claimed you with carnal, undignified abandon.

All these decades, he'd been starving for you. Craving the feeling of his cock stretching you open on that first delicious thrust, of your feminine heat convulsing so perfectly around his rigid length as you came apart beneath his relentless pursuit of release.

With a harsh grunt, Byakuya's hips stuttered forward as he spilled his release over his pumping fist and dripping onto the polished wood below. Orgasm ripped through him in searing waves, so intense yet still pitifully unsatisfying without the real thing to chase.

When the last tremors subsided, Byakuya opened his eyes and stared numbly at the sticky mess rapidly cooling on his skin and the floor. As always, the brief moment of physical relief brought with it a crushing loneliness as he was reminded that no matter how vivid his imagination, it would never compare to the transcendent bliss of experiencing those intimate acts with his actual wife.

With you, his best friend, his equal and confidante in every sense of the word. The only person who knew him more intimately than he knew himself.

The one person eternally off limits due to the terms of the loveless marriage you had both so willingly entered into a century ago.

Byakuya cleaned himself up quickly, shoving the aching tangle of desires back into their solitary cell for the time being. When he finally emerged, you were waiting in the hallway. Likely having heard his muffled sounds of self-pleasure and aware of exactly what he'd been doing behind that closed door.

There was no judgment or recrimination in your expression, though. Just the same measured indifference he'd come to expect regarding the personal boundaries between you two.

"I'm heading to the dining hall for breakfast," you stated calmly, as if nothing untoward had occurred. "Would you care to join me?"

Byakuya stared at you for a long moment, searching for any hint of softness or deeper emotion in your carefully neutral features. As always, he found nothing save his own warped yearnings staring back at him.

"Of course," he replied tonelessly. "Let's not keep Rukia waiting."

Side by side, you fell into step towards the dining hall - closer than mere acquaintances yet separated by impenetrable walls built by years of restraint and propriety.

Byakuya couldn't help stealing sidelong glances at you as you walked, fantasies and urges already stirring anew, ravenous and insatiable as always.

Perhaps one day, when his desire overwhelmed him entirely and his noble resolve crumbled to dust, he would finally succumb to the relentless longings you so effortlessly provoked. But until that day came, he would persevere - waging a silent, never-ending war against his own unrequited needs behind the ever-present mask of indifference.

Even if he burned from the inside out holding true to the boundaries you'd sworn yourselves to so very long ago.

The dining hall was its usual stately quiet when you and Byakuya arrived, the only sounds the soft clink of porcelain and hushed voices of the staff serving the morning meal. You led the way to the head of the long table, back ramrod straight and expression composed into its typical serene mask.

Byakuya followed half a step behind, eyes tracing the elegant line of your neck before flickering away guiltily. He couldn't stop replaying the image of you from earlier, standing there so coolly offering to pleasure him out of some bizarre sense of wifely duty. The thought still made his jaw clench with a confusing swirl of arousal and irritation.

You took your customary seat at the head of the table, back facing the ornate family shrines and ancestral portraits lining the walls. Byakuya settled across from you, stealing another sidelong glance as you delicately arranged your napkin across your lap.

For a few minutes, the only sound was the soft scrape of chopsticks against porcelain as you ate in your usual refined, unhurried manner. Byakuya found himself unable to look away, absently pushing the food around his plate as he studied the slope of your nose, the fan of dark lashes brushing your cheeks with every deliberate blink.

"Is the meal not to your liking this morning, dear?" you murmured without looking up, using the affectionate term for 'husband' out of propriety despite the distinct lack of warmth behind it.

Byakuya started slightly at being addressed so directly. "No...the meal is fine," he replied gruffly. "My mind was simply...elsewhere."

Your lips curved in the barest hint of a knowing smile before you returned your attention to your half-empty bowl of rice. "I see. Well, do try to join me in the present for at least a few moments. I wish to discuss some matters pertaining to the upcoming council meeting with the elders."

And just like that, the veneer of the poised noblewoman and clan leader was firmly back in place. You launched into a succinct overview of the agenda items and your proposed positions, speaking in that same clipped, matter-of-fact tone that always made Byakuya's chest ache for reasons he could never put words to.

It was so eerily reminiscent of how his grandfather used to strategize and plan, never allowing anything as frivolous as emotional attachments or indulgent fancies to cloud his judgment regarding the clan's best interests. An echo of the same pragmatic adherence to duty and custom above all else that the Kuchiki advisors had no doubt admired in you so ardently when suggesting this marriage all those decades ago.

You were the ideal partner from their skewed perspective - unflinchingly devoted to preserving the clan's power and noble heritage with the same ruthless single-mindedness as the most stringent of the elders. No distractions, no silly romantic dalliances to clutter your focus or judgment when it came to the matters that truly mattered.

Byakuya swallowed thickly at the realization, fighting a wave of bitterness. Was that all he would ever be to you? Another piece on the chessboard of responsibilities and lineage maintenance rather than an equal partner to share your life with? The thought settled like a leaden knot in the pit of his stomach.

He was roused from his brooding reverie by the sound of the dining room door sliding open. Rukia bustled in, the youthful glow of her features at odds with the weary lines of strain carved between her brows.

"Pardon my tardiness, nii-sama, [Y/N]-dono," she said by way of greeting, bowing slightly as she hurried to take her usual seat beside Byakuya. "I was finishing up some paperwork for Captain Ukitake."

"It's quite alright, Rukia," you replied, the barest hint of maternal warmth tingeing your tone in a way Byakuya had only ever witnessed when addressing his adopted sister. "Please, help yourself. We were just discussing the upcoming clan affairs."

Byakuya watched in guarded silence as the two most important women in his world interacted with far more open affection than he had ever experienced from you. Despite your composed decorum, there was an unmistakable softness suffusing your features as you guided Rukia through the meeting notes with the same patient attentiveness he always admired about you.

It only served to reinforce the ugly, thorny resentment taking root in his chest over the detached, clinical treatment you reserved solely for him by comparison. Even now, after so many years walking in the minutely inhabited sphere of your marriage, you remained this untouchable, unknowable enigma behind an impenetrable wall of propriety. A cold, regal mystery that seemed destined to forever elude his ability to breach it no matter how fervently he yearned to.

"Speaking of important clan affairs," Rukia ventured after swallowing a bite of egg. "When do you two intend to begin the process of securing the next Kuchiki heir?"

Her innocent query hung in the air like a lead balloon as the temperature in the room seemed to plummet ten degrees instantaneously. Byakuya felt his spine stiffen, heart pounding as he cut his eyes towards you guardedly.

Your features betrayed not a single flicker of discomfort, perfectly smooth and implacable as you gathered your words to deliver the expected politic non-answer with surgical precision.

"There are no immediate plans to address providing a successor within our marriage, Rukia," you stated, each syllable clipped with familiar indifference. "Should the clan elders deem it relevant in the future, Byakuya and I will of course uphold our duties. But for now, it remains a non-issue."

The icy formality with which you brushed aside such a deeply personal matter grated on Byakuya's nerves. He could practically feel the gnashing, clawing hunger inside him rearing up in protest.

'It's always just "duties" and "obligations" with her. As if the thought of lying with me, making a child together, doesn't stir even a flicker of longing beyond cold calculations...'

He carefully schooled his features into an imperious mask as he turned his attention to Rukia, not quite able to mask the edge of rebuke in his tone. "You heard my wife. We will address the matter of an heir when the clan leadership sees fit to make it a priority for us."

'My gorgeous, maddening wife who remains as untouchable as a desert mirage no matter how feverishly I burn for her touch...'

Rukia shrank back slightly at the undercurrent of tension she could no doubt sense thickening the air between her brother and sister-in-law. She opened her mouth, perhaps to protest or simply ask another ill-advised question.

But you smoothly cut her off, ever the picture of aristocratic poise despite the hint of challenge flickering behind your gaze as it locked with Byakuya's.

"There's no need to make too much on the subject any further this morning, Rukia," you said evenly, perfectly level save for the barest undercurrent of steel woven through each syllable. "We have larger matters of importance regarding the clan's future to focus our discussion on."

'Once again, she deflects—just as she always does when the conversation nears the unspoken voids in our marriage. The empty spaces I long to fill with the genuine intimacy of a true partnership in every sense.'

The unspoken challenge simmered between you, charging the atmosphere with an electric tang that seemed to crackle along Byakuya's heated skin. He opened his mouth, some part of him aching to cut through the dense fog of pretense and avoidance and lay everything bare in that moment—

'I want her so badly it feels like there's a roaring furnace consuming me from the inside out at all times. My own wife, and yet she remains the singular source of torment and unfulfilled desire that may very well raze me to ashes before I draw my next breath—'

"Well!" Rukia's overly-bright tone sliced through the fraught silence like a klaxon blast. She was already half-risen from her seat, gaze pinging uncertainly between the two of you. "I can see this is a...rather delicate conversation I've stumbled into. I'll just go ahead and give you two some space to discuss things...privately."

She paused as if awaiting either an agreement or dismissal, but your attention remained utterly arrowed upon Byakuya. He held your stare levelly, hoping his eyes at least betrayed a fraction of the rawness currently scorching through his veins.

'Look at me, damn you—see the wretched, lust-crazed state you’ve left me in after decades of relentless yearning. The unraveling of every noble restraint I’ve forced upon myself in the name of restraint and duty.'

There was no retreat or softening in your inscrutable mask as the weighted seconds ticked by in suffocating stillness. Finally, Rukia made a small noise of surrender and simply excused herself, the shoji door sliding shut behind her in a dissonant clap of finality.

You and Byakuya were finally alone with the inexorable gauntlet lying between you thrumming with all the pent-up intensity of embers slowly fanning to life. A conflagration they both knew could either be extinguished with cold resolution once more...or finally permitted to immolate every fragile, artificial barrier separating you in one searing, cataclysmic release.

The weighted silence stretched between you, palpable and loaded like a tripwire primed for detonation at the slightest provocation. Byakuya's grip tightened fractionally on the edge of the table, jaw flexing as he struggled to maintain his veneer of implacable stoicism.

Inwardly, he felt like a treacherous inferno was raging barely restrained – one he'd been ruthlessly fighting to smother for decades upon decades. The searing licks of unanswered desire and unrequited ardor scalding through his veins each time you so much as met his stare, reminding him of every scorching fantasy he'd indulged regarding his wife.

His beautiful, untouchable wife who remained irritatingly oblivious to the all-consuming obsession slowly unraveling him from the inside out.

You arched one elegant brow, the picture of regal poise and control despite the fraught undercurrents swirling around you. "Is there a problem, dear?" you asked coolly, each syllable clipped with that familiar indifference.

Byakuya felt his throat constrict at the clinical detachment in your tone. A large part of him – the darkly primal, starved facet he'd been denying for far too long – ached to shed every last shred of pretense in that moment. To unburden himself of the ravenous truth gnawing away at the very foundations of his sanity like a relentless psychic parasite.

That he loved you, truly and desperately in spite of the pragmatic circumstances binding your marriage. That every fiber of his being howled to sear the boundaries you'd sworn between you into ash so he could finally slake his depraved thirst upon your flesh. To kiss you, take you as his wife in actuality, to make you cry out his name in rapture as he buried himself to the hilt over and over in that welcoming, scalding heat reserved only for him.

In the end, what emerged past Byakuya's gritted teeth was a mere fraction of that roiling, consuming truth.

"None, wife." He fought not to let his voice betray the barest tremor, but couldn't quite keep the roughened edges from scraping against each word. “Simply… reflecting on this morning’s discussion.”

You regarded him through narrowed eyes for a long beat, clearly sensing the evasive dishonesty behind his clipped reply. When you spoke again, a hint of that same challenge he'd glimpsed earlier bled through the deceptively mild lilt of your words.

"I see," you murmured, lips pursing in a subtle moue that Byakuya tried desperately not to fixate upon. "Well, should you need to...reflect anything further, you know where to find me, dear."

The blatant undercurrent of suggestion in that final endearment was like a lightning strike directly to Byakuya's groin. He shifted unconsciously on the cushion, fighting a full-body shudder as a shockwave of white-hot arousal detonated through his core. The mere thought of you extending such a brazen overture, of allowing him to indulge those perverse compulsions he'd kept on a punishingly tight leash for over a century.

It took every ounce of Byakuya's legendary self-restraint not to surge across the short distance separating you and seize your smaller frame against his body right then and there. He could practically envision it – the delicious give of those curves molding against the painfully rigid planes of his torso...your sharp inhalations of surprise quickly melting into pliant acceptance as his hands cupped the soft weight of your jaw, tilting your mouth up to finally meet his in a searing, devouring kiss.

The first of countless such shattering embraces he fully intended to worship every inch of your body with before the night was through, untold lifetimes' worth of bottled cravings finally attaining sweet, rapturous release in the most intimate joining of—

"As it happens..."

Byakuya grated out the demurral through a clenched jaw, the sharp consonants punctuated by audible strain. He ruthlessly banished the vivid fantasies, shoving them back into the shadowed recesses of his psyche before they could completely upend his tarnished control like a towering tsunami.

When he lifted his gaze back to yours, the full intensity of his longing had been masked once more behind those impenetrable walls of frigid civility. But the subtle tightening at the corners of his eyes betrayed the staggering effort it took to keep those virulent compulsions leashed.

"I just realized I have a few matters requiring my attention in the clan archives this afternoon," he continued tonelessly. "But I will see you again later this evening, [Y/N]."

The words held a pregnant pause, unspoken but no less palpable for the weight carried between them. They both knew the undercurrents simmering below the surface could only be ignored or avoided for so long before the dam finally ruptured in spectacular fashion.

Tonight may very well be when those relentless, rising tides finally crested and swept away every carefully constructed barrier fortifying the hollows between your souls.

You seemed to grasp the implications as well from the minute tightening around your eyes and the measured rise of your chest. But you simply inclined your head in a regal, understated acknowledgment.

"Very well. Don't let me keep you from those...pressing archive matters, my love." The intimate endearment seemed to drip from your tongue with heavier insinuation this time, rife with unspoken challenges and the potential for upheavals to come. "I'll be...keeping myself equally occupied until then."

With that final subtle barb lancing straight through his composure, you turned and swept from the dining hall in a billow of silk and unshakable poise. Byakuya watched your departure through a creeping haze of spiraling arousal and quietly simmering outrage.

Tonight, the shattering culmination of this exquisite torture between you would finally reach its tipping point – one way or another.

For both your sakes, he prayed fervently that you would choose the path of brutal honesty and passion when you inevitably collided once more. For he wasn't certain his beleaguered restraints could withstand another evening of needless, self-inflicted torment at your measured hands.

Not without snapping completely and simply...taking what he'd starved for all along, propriety be damned.

Night had long since fallen over the Kuchiki estate, blanketing the ornate gardens and walkways in velvety darkness. Byakuya made his way through the winding corridors towards the bedroom he shared with you, footsteps muffled against the woven tatami.

As he approached the carved wooden door, he couldn't help but slow his gait infinitesimally. Each measured step seemed to carry a strange, leaden weight - like he was being pulled along by an inexorable gravitational force rather than propelling himself by conscious will.

The soft sounds of movement filtering through the door only intensified that sensation, raising the fine hairs along the back of Byakuya's neck in a rippling wave of heightened awareness. He knew without needing to be told that you were inside, likely preparing for bed or some other nightly routine.

Just the thought of you undressed or partially disrobed in those private chambers you shared was enough to spark a dull, insistent flare of heat coiling low in Byakuya's belly. He grit his teeth against the reflexive rush, silently cursing the towering lack of restraint chipping away at his noble reserves with each passing year.

This was his wife - his childhood friend, his respected equal through every twist and tribulation life had thrown their way over the decades. Under no circumstances should he allow his thoughts to linger on such depravities and urges unfitting for the partner fate had inexplicably bound him to.

And yet, as Byakuya's hand finally wrapped around the polished wooden latch, he couldn't quite smother the vivid images scorching through his consciousness. Of you standing there disheveled and deliciously rumpled from slumber...loose sleeping yukata slipping invitingly off one shoulder to bare tantalizing hints of the feminine curves lying just beneath...

He shook his head sharply, irritation flaring as he ruthlessly banished the inappropriate fantasies. This pointless internal struggle against his baser impulses was quickly becoming exhausting in the most demoralizing sense of the word. Steeling himself, Byakuya slid the door open and stepped across the threshold with his usual implacable confidence.

You stood beside the ornate vanity, hands resting against the lacquered surface as your head turned fractionally at his entrance. Your lips parted as if to speak but whatever greeting might have tumbled forth stilled on your tongue as you took in Byakuya's rigid, almost brittle poise standing there.

For several suspended heartbeats, the two of you simply appraised one another in thick, weighty silence. Byakuya's jaw clenched hard enough for his molars to grind as his eyes traced the artfully tousled tumble of your soft tresses...the plush swell of those lips still parted in a delicious moue of surprise...the exquisite cut of bare collarbones teasing at the shadowed hints of cleavage peeking through the loose drape of your robe.

You were the very picture of artless, slumberous beauty in that moment. And Byakuya felt the ravenous ache of deprivation howling through him at the mere thought of reaching out to caress so much of that inoxicatingly soft, warm skin as had been steadfastly denied him for decades upon decades of their hollow union.

That single, maddening compulsion threatened to shatter the last tattered threads holding his civilized veneer together in one reckless surge of motion. He nearly staggered beneath the crushing tides of wanting, of pure visceral need clawing up from where he'd ruthlessly shoved it down for far too long.

"Byakuya?" Your voice cut through the thick, heated haze swirling in his mind - low and slightly rough from disuse. "Is...everything alright?"

He blinked sluggishly, realizing that in his momentary lapse of control, he hadn't so much as shifted from where he stood frozen on the threshold. Simply remained there, gripped motionless in the throes of that overwhelming flood of longing like a man stumbling across a poisonous serpent mid-coil.

When Byakuya finally found his voice, it emerged with slightly more strain laced around the edges than he would have preferred.

"Yes," he bit out tersely, still rooted there as if held in place by the forbidding gravity well of your presence alone. "I simply...was not expecting you to still be awake at this hour."

It wasn't quite an apology or excuse for his unseemly lapse, but it was enough to prompt you into action. You turned more fully towards him, clasping the sumptuous folds of your sleeping robe tighter like shielding armor against his searching eyes.

"To be honest, I wasn't expecting you anytime soon tonight," you countered evenly, that same subtle edge of challenge gilding each word like a barely-there blade's caress. "But since you're here now..."

You trailed off, the lingering unspoken invitation hanging pregnant between you like a looming storm front. Byakuya felt his fingers curl into fists at his sides, nails biting half-moons into his palms as his body reacted with visceral sensitivity to even the barest implications from your lips.

"I did not mean to keep you waiting," he murmured after another fraught pause. "Merely...following your earlier suggestion regarding matters requiring further processing between us, that's all."

The corners of your lips quirked upwards for the span of a solitary breath, infinitely knowing and dripping with unsubtle implication. Your tongue darted out to graze across that full lower swell for a scant second, the entirely unconscious motion searing itself across Byakuya's retinas like a brand.

"I see," you hummed lightly, gaze flicking deliberately up and down the rigid lines of Byakuya's form in a leisurely, measuring perusal. “Well, don’t let me keep you from unpacking those heavy thoughts any longer, dear. If I remember correctly, I did say I’d be available if you need any further processing.”

The taut, loaded silence stretched between you like a tightrope pulled to its breaking point. Byakuya felt the insistent thrum of his heartbeat thundering in his ears as he appraised you – still achingly tempting despite the guarded set of your shoulders.

He allowed his gaze to deliberately roam the elegant lines of your robe-draped figure one more time. Drinking in the visual splendor of soft, silken fabric pooling in artful disarray to reveal teasing flashes of skin. The delicate hollow at the base of your throat where your pulse fluttered with each subtle inhalation. The careless tangle of tresses he longed to rake his fingers through and thoroughly dishevel.

When his silver-eyed stare at last found yours again, the hunger simmering in those smoldering depths must have been plain for you to discern. Because you visibly stilled, lips parting around a nearly imperceptible hitch of breath as color bloomed high on your cheekbones.

Byakuya didn't miss the way your eyes cut away, unable to fully meet the unguarded intensity blazing in his own. A flicker of something like uncertainty crossed your features before the impassive mask slipped seamlessly back into place. But that single infinitesimal crack in your unflappable poise was all it took for the first tiny ember to ignite deep in his chest.

"You're right," he stated, the low rasp of his voice tinged with an uncharacteristic roughness that caused your lashes to flutter involuntarily. "There are...significant matters still requiring discussion between us. Issues that demand brutal honesty if there's to be any hope of processing them properly."

Moving with an unhurried, measured gait, Byakuya crossed the polished floor until mere feet separated you. At this proximity, he could detect the clean floral notes of your favorite soaps mingling with that subtle feminine musk unique to you alone. Headier and more intoxicating than any finely aged sake he'd ever indulged in.

You watched his slow approach with guarded attentiveness, throat bobbing convulsively as you fought not to retreat further. When he halted just shy of your personal space, you finally found your voice again.

"And what sorts of brutally honest discussions did you have in mind?" You arched one shapely brow, feigning nonchalance despite the sharp edges now gilding your words. "Nothing too untoward or...unbecoming for a noble lady such as myself, I should hope."

Byakuya didn't take the bait, refusing to be drawn into your familiar dance of evasion and veiled deflections. He simply canted his head slightly, cataloguing the minute shifts in your expression as he let the weighted silence drag out between you once more.

This was the closest they'd stood since that night, decades ago, when they had tentatively exchanged the customary ceremonial kiss to bind their vows in front of the clan elders. He could still remember the barest ghost of friction from your lips brushing his in that clinical, detached facsimile of greater intimacies to come.

The recollection sparked a sudden visceral pang in Byakuya's chest, like lancing open an old suture left to fester for far too long. He frowned, unable to suppress the melancholy ache bleeding into his tone.

"Do you remember the first time we embraced as children?" The words slipped out unbidden, scarcely above a murmur yet somehow carrying the crushing weight of ages across the limited distance separating your bodies. “Not just a casual gesture for appearance’s sake, but a genuine, heartfelt expression of familial affection, freely given?”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off balance by the seeming non-sequitur. But when you spoke again, it was with a calculated indifference cloaking whatever genuine emotion may have flickered beneath.

"If I'm meant to recall some specific childhood incident, you'll have to be more clear." You tilted your chin up a fraction, holding Byakuya's searching stare levelly. "My memories are not necessarily as adept at trifling nostalgic reminiscences."

The bald dismissal felt like a slap, uncoiling the first lashes of frustrated irritation across Byakuya's composure. His expression hardened further as he stepped fully into your personal space, the heat radiating from your proximities suddenly suffocating rather than tempting.

"Don't play coy, [Y/N]," he bit out, each consonant ground out through gritted teeth. "You remember as well as I the intimacies we used to share – meaningless trivialities in your estimation, perhaps, but cherished moments to my recollection."

He paused, gaze raking hungrily over the delicate fan of your lashes, the subtle part of those lush lips as they parted around a sudden inhalation of breath. Seemingly despite yourself, you had leaned infinitesimally closer as he spoke, drawn in by either his proximity or the naked emotion lacing his words.

"Back then, you were not simply my dearest friend," Byakuya continued, voice lowering to an intimate rumble thick with layered history and complex longing. "You were my other half, the twin flame to my own restless spirit. We shared every precious childhood intimacy two souls could experience together – long embraces, whispered secrets, all those small yet infinitely meaningful expressions of vulnerability and trust between kindred beings."

He lifted a hand as if to reach out and cradle the elegant line of your jaw. To forge that physical connection he suddenly ached for with an intensity that stole what little air remained between you. But at the last second, rigid self-restraint locked his muscles, leaving his fingertips hovering just shy of actually making contact.

"And now..." His voice caught minutely on the hushed syllable, lashes dipping as he marshaled his next words through a tangle of tangled regrets and denied yearnings. "After nearly a century of keeping our marriage bound solely by hollow ceremony and obligation...I can scarcely recall the last time we even indulged a simple, meaningless human touch between us outside of obligation."

Byakuya's eyes slitted open again, finding yours with heated focus like answering a siren's call. The anguish and naked vulnerability burning in those mercurial depths very nearly stole your breath completely.

"Tell me, wife..." His fingertips finally skimmed the slope of your jaw in a scarcely-there caress, coaxing an audible hitch from your lips. "When did we become such utter, desolate strangers to one another?"

Your expression shifted almost imperceptibly at Byakuya's hushed accusation, lips pressing into a thin line as you visibly bristled. When you spoke again, the bald undercurrent of challenge lashing through each syllable nearly stung with its sudden force.

"Don't you dare try laying this at my feet," you stated in a low, clipped tone that brooked no argument. "Need I remind you who approached me with the suggestion of a political marriage all those years ago?"

Byakuya felt his own jaw tighten at the barb, even as a niggling sense of rightful chastisement niggled beneath the knee-jerk defensiveness flaring in his chest. You weren't wrong - he had been the one to initially float the idea of binding your ancient bloodlines through marriage, albeit couched in pragmatic inevitability rather than the least hint of amorous intent.

Your eyes narrowed, no doubt catching the fractional tells betraying his momentary concession. "That's right, I didn't think so," you continued coolly. "If I recall, the proposal involved an explicitly loveless arrangement focused solely on satisfying our family obligations through a legitimate legal partnership."

You paused, sweeping an imperious look up and down Byakuya's increasingly taut form. The full curve of your lips twisted in a wry moue, somehow both condescending and undeniably enticing all at once.

"An arrangement to which I readily agreed in good faith, never once expressing any...unreasonable expectations of deeper intimacies being involved." The final words carried an undercurrent of acidic rebuke that felt like the silk cords binding your marital pact tightening to noose-point around Byakuya's windpipe. "Unlike some, it seems."

The implication lanced straight through the last vestiges of Byakuya's carefully crafted affectations of stoicism like a red-hot branding iron. He recoiled slightly at the unveiled slight, shoulders squaring in blatant affront.

"Do not presume to cast my perspective as 'unreasonable expectations', wife," he growled, using the archaic title like a challenge rather than a term of endearment. "I have done nothing if not honor our agreement to the absolute letter these past decades, no matter how..."

He trailed off, fighting a sudden upswing of emotion clogging his throat like an iron fist. When he spoke again, the words emerged ragged and whetted against the sandpaper grind of barely restrained frustration.

"No matter how infinitely empty that hollow, affectionless existence has left me feeling inside," Byakuya rasped. “You claim to have fulfilled our ‘arrangement’ to the letter. Yet, I must take issue with such blatant dishonesty regarding the implicit matters you have so grievously neglected in your duties as my spouse!”

It was your turn to visibly bristle at his implied slight. You straightened infinitesimally, chin tilting up in blatant affront as a flash of genuine anger sparked behind the impassive facade.

"Duties?" you parroted with blistering sarcasm. "Please, elaborate further about which of my daily responsibilities running this entire household and clan I've allowed to fall so woefully short."

Byakuya crossed the final distance between you in a few heated strides, stopping just shy of your personal space and pinning you in place with the sheer barely-restrained force of his towering presence. Close enough to feel the coiled heat smoldering between your bodies, yet still maintaining that hair's breadth of respect keeping you from true physical contact.

"Your role as noble matron of this clan may be perfect," he rumbled lowly, unable to fully keep an edge of bitter ire from leeching into the words. "But your performance as my wife leaves everything to be desired, if we're speaking with such brutal honesty."

Tension coiled and crackled between you at the unveiled slight - the first volley fired across the bow of what rapidly felt like an inevitable descent into the uglier side of marital confrontation. You bristled even further, eyes flashing in a way that should not have set off such visceral sparks of perverse interest ricocheting through Byakuya's core.

"How dare you question my devotion to upholding this marriage!" The words finally detonated from your lips in a low growl, lush and vibrating with barely leashed outrage. "I have remained a consummate and steadfast partner to you in every way we agreed upon from the very start—"

"Except where it counts most, or so it would seem!"

The retort burst forth from Byakuya before he could fully leash it, reverberation through the hushed air between you with enough resonant impact to finally silence your heated tirade. His chest heaved with increasingly ragged pants as the blistering splinters of accusation began spilling unchecked past his lips - the first cracks in centuries' worth of emotional artifice and restraint finally fracturing past the breaking point.

“You behave as though hiding this loveless charade behind empty ceremony and detachment absolves you of any responsibility for the intimacy that one should rightly expect from a wife!” He snarled, raking you with a look of such heated hunger and repressed ardor, it very nearly singed your exposed skin. “As if a few meaningless gestures here and there could somehow absolve you of the responsibility to offer genuine emotional sustenance and vulnerability to the man whose name you bear!”

Silence swelled in the wake of his harsh accusations, ripe and viscous enough to scald. Byakuya realized distantly that you had both crossed into uncharted territory - stumbling into the precipice of an argument fueled by long-overdue confrontation in a way he could scarcely recall from your lifetimes shared together.

Part of him felt awash in the foreign exhilaration of finally breaching those banked emotional bulwarks you had both so rigidly maintained over the centuries. Another, smaller voice buried deep within quietly lamented the loss of equilibrium you had strived to preserve no matter the personal cost to your individual souls...

But the expression searing across your features in that suspended moment utterly scattered those introspective whispers to the seven winds. You stared back at Byakuya with an amalgam of shock, indignation, and something else infinitely more complex simmering behind your depthless irises. The sight of which catalyzed a firestorm roaring back to searing life in the deepest chambers of his psyche.

This simmering new crucible awaiting you both...this trial by fire and unleashed anguish and unslaked rapture suddenly coalescing between your mirrored souls...

You were going to burn together with Byakuya at its merciless epicenter, whether you welcomed the cleansing immolation or not. The deciding crucible was whether you both emerged from this transformative conflagration as heartbroken embers or twin flames reforged into something unbreakable and new.

Byakuya's eyes fluttered open, blinking groggily against the pale morning light filtering through the bedroom. Awareness came back in increments - the soft, rumpled bedding tangled around his legs, the subtle floral notes of your shampoo still clinging to the sheets.

And you, lying there mere inches away with your back turned towards him.

Memories of last night's confrontation slammed into Byakuya like a physical blow as he studied the elegant curve of your spine rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. He could still hear the words echoing like shards of sharpened obsidian between them.

His bitter accusations that you were failing as a true wife by withholding any semblance of deeper intimacy or vulnerability in their marriage. Your enraged retorts branding him as entitled and unreasonable for expecting you to indulge those unspoken yearnings that he'd sworn from the beginning were never part of your practical agreement.

The knot of residual tension coiled fresh in Byakuya's gut as those echoes ricocheted through his consciousness again. Part of him still simmered with righteous indignation at how swiftly you'd dismissed his anguished confessions as nothing more than petulant whining.

After all, what gave you the right to judge the validity of his starvation for a genuine intimate connection in your marriage? One you continually denied him time and time again through your detached aloofness and steadfast refusal to acknowledge anything beyond cold, impersonal obligation between you?

Still, another part of Byakuya felt a pang of remorse as his gaze traced the delicate hills and valleys of your sleeping form. He knew the anger clouding his perceptions last night had been equal parts years' worth of repressed longing boiling over and sheer, virulent desperation to finally breach the icy walls you'd so skillfully constructed around yourself.

Perhaps he had been too rash, too heated in flinging those recriminations at you. Not that the central truth behind them was any less valid or raw after finally being given voice. But now, in the stark sobriety of morning after, some of the barbs and more scathing denouncements rang with an ugliness that Byakuya couldn't help feeling a flicker of regret over.

You began to stir, shoulders rolling back in a slow, languid stretch that momentarily bared the elegant sweep of your neck and collarbones to his rapt stare. Byakuya tried not to fixate too brazenly on the ephemeral glimpses of soft feminine skin emerging and vanishing beneath the shifting fabric.

He really did intend to avert his eyes with some sense of decorum once you'd fully roused. But then your torso twisted, yukata parting wider to afford him an unobstructed vignette of the lush curves barely concealed beneath – the swells of your breasts cradled in silken folds, the shadowed promise of flushed nipple peeking between sheer layers of fabric.

Byakuya's next inhalation stuttered harshly in his throat, every primal instinct searing straight to full readiness. He felt the first telltale stirrings between his thighs as his groin tightened with dull, pulsating interest. The thin bedding rapidly grew stifling, clinging snugly against the burgeoning swell claiming territory there with alarming swiftness.

As if sensing the raw undercurrent of attention suddenly searing you from behind, you turned over fully to face Byakuya with those same heavy-lidded eyes. For a breathless few heartbeats, you simply regarded one another across the scant divide separating your bodies. Byakuya's gaze was instantly, helplessly, snared by the newly exposed swell of cleavage cupped in delicate silk, your breasts rising and falling in tandem with each slow inhalation.

Your head canted infinitesimally, chin dipping in a subtle motion that allowed the yukata to drape lower with each passing second. When your gaze at last lifted and locked onto Byakuya's, there was no mistaking the sultry intensity reflected there – or the fact you had undoubtedly noticed precisely where his attentions were so raptly fixated.

He could have sworn your lips twitched towards the barest ghost of a smirk before your expression smoothed into studied neutrality once more. It was at that precise moment the rumpled bedding chose to further betray Byakuya's state. An unmistakable ridge had pitched itself into stark relief, proudly tenting the cotton in the general vicinity of his increasingly interested groin as his stiffening arousal continued taking form.

The knowing look you slanted his way made it abundantly clear you'd noticed that particular development as well. Byakuya instinctively shifted as if to conceal the obscene display, but your eyes had already traced a molten path down to the disheveled sheets before flickering back up to meet his increasingly flustered stare.

"Need some assistance this morning, husband?" you purred, raw challenge dripping from each perfectly modulated syllable.

Instantly, Byakuya felt his hackles rising at the unblushing acknowledgment of his body's state as well as the brazen implication lacing your words. Of course, on some level this blatant goading shouldn't have necessarily come as a shock – not after the no-holds-barred confrontation last night that felt like a point of no return in stripping away pretenses between you.

Still, your utter ease at addressing such deeply intimate matters so unsubtly sent a complicated slurry of emotions roiling through him. Indignation, carnal intrigue, residual resentment from your earlier dismissals...they all crashed together in a turbulent riptide that very nearly drowned out the capacity for coherent speech entirely.

In the end, what emerged past Byakuya's gritted teeth carried more growl than question.

"And just what sort of 'assistance' did you have in mind, wife?" he bit out tightly.

You didn't so much as flinch at the belligerent edge gilding his words. Simply regarded Byakuya through lowered lashes that framed you in an entrancing play of light and shadow across your delicate features. An infinitesimal pause stretched out before you wet your lips with a slow, deliberate sweep of your tongue, seemingly savoring the effect the unhurried motion had on Byakuya's locked stare.

"Perhaps..." you began, voice a low, throaty purr that immediately stoked fresh vitality blazing up his spine. "A more...hands-on approach would suffice to meet your needs this morning?"

The thinly veiled overture hung in the air like a lead weight, coaxing Byakuya's breath to stutter anew as you smoothly untucked one hand from beneath the disheveled bedding. His features remained a stolid mask, but you seemed to read the roiling tides of emotion and want churning behind his eyes with unsettling accuracy.

Without preamble, you reached down and firmly grasped the sheets tenting over Byakuya's prominent erection. Your fingers curled around the swollen length, squeezing with just enough pressure to drag a harsh grunt from between his clenched teeth.

"[Y/N]..." he rasped in a low warning, silver eyes blazing. "What do you think you’re doing?"

Rather than answer directly, you simply met his searing stare and began sliding your fist up and down his trapped cock in slow, purposeful strokes. Each languid caress over the rumpled fabric had Byakuya's abdomen clenching, thick shafts of arousal lancing through him with undeniable intensity.

"Isn't this what you accused me of failing at?" you murmured, voice tinged with dark challenge as you twisted your wrist on the next firm upstroke. "Being an attentive, dutiful wife?"

Byakuya's nostrils flared as he fought for composure, every tendon straining against the urge to rut shamelessly into your snug channel of a fist. When he remained stubbornly silent, you leaned in until the suggestion of cleavage peeked from your loosened robe - close enough for him to smell the first faint wafts of your clean, feminine musk.

"Don't try to play coy with me now, dear," you breathed, lips brushing tantalizingly along the sharp ridge of his jaw. "We both know this is exactly what you've been starving for all these years..."

To punctuate the taunting words, you slowed your strokes to an agonizing grind - just the slightest bit of delicious friction to keep Byakuya teetering right on the maddening edge of release and denial. A ragged rumble vibrated up from the depths of his chest as his hips jerked uselessly, chasing that infinitesimal amount of relief.

"I'm waiting for an answer, husband," you husked against the thrumming pulse at his throat. "Is this level of wifely care and attention up to your...standards at last?"

The mockery bled through with clear insinuation, stoking the smoldering embers of Byakuya's restraint into a roaring bonfire. Before he could fully process the action, he had snarled and caught you by the nape - bodily yanking you forward until you collided against his heaving chest.

You gasped at the sudden impact, lips parting in shock as Byakuya crushed your smaller form flush against the unyielding planes of his torso. He glared down at you through heavy-lidded eyes, chest heaving with each ragged inhalation as he struggled to marshal his words.

"Don't think for one second..." He bit out the gravelly syllables like serrated blades. "That I don't see right through this pathetic little tantrum of yours, woman."

Byakuya's hand spanned the curve of your throat, fingertips digging in with unspoken warning as you swallowed audibly against the grip. Your gazes remained locked in pointed challenge, bodies thrumming with every unvoiced slight and bitter grievance still rippling between you in the aftermath of your confrontation.

"If you truly believed indulging me with empty carnal comforts alone was enough to absolve you of being such a useless, frigid wife-" He broke off in a strangled growl as you deliberately ground yourself down against his aching erection. "-then you're even more depraved and clueless than I previously gave you credit for."

There, he'd said it - flung the full brunt of pent-up frustration and accusation straight into your face with nothing left to mince. Let you retaliate or storm away in a huff, he didn't particularly care at this stage. Anything to disrupt this maddening spiral you seemed determined to plunge them both into once and for—

The thought withered in his throat as you abruptly surged forward, claiming Byakuya's parted lips in a punishing kiss that obliterated every shred of higher reasoning from his consciousness. His muffled noise of surprise quickly morphed into a guttural groan as your lithe tongue slid past his slack defenses, exploring the scalding velvet of his mouth with unrestrained ardor.

Then it was his turn to gasp as your hand snaked down underneath the sheets, fisting around the base of his cock and squeezing hard enough to send lightning bolts of rapture searing along every nerve ending. Byakuya bucked mindlessly against you as your tongue and roving palm set an unforgiving rhythm of slick heat and friction designed to thoroughly undo him, piece by agonizing piece.

Through the haze of spiraling ecstasy and bewilderment, he was dimly aware of your other hand tangling in the tumbled lengths of his hair - nails scraping deliciously against his scalp as you held him immobile against the ferocity of your mouth's onslaught. Byakuya simply surrendered himself to the maelstrom, hands roaming across every lush curve he could reach in desperation as you both finally, irrevocably shed every last pretense and barrier fortifying your union.

After what felt like an eternity had lapsed and still was nowhere near fucking enough, you finally tore your lips from Byakuya's with a harsh gasp. Hazy eyes sharpened to glittering diamonds of sheer, unfettered want as you stared into his ravaged expression like a woman beholding her next great conquest splayed out before her.

"Shut up and just take what you've been craving all this time," you husked against his swollen mouth, accent thickened with exertion and challenge. "And maybe I'll consider making an honest man out of you yet..."

The words had barely faded when you wrenched the bedding out of the way, freeing his flushed erection from its confines. The head wept a thin rivulet of pre-come that smeared against your thigh as Byakuya's hips rocked upwards, searching for some semblance of friction to relieve the excruciating need coursing through him.

He groaned deep in his throat when your palm encircled his throbbing shaft, stroking the heated length from tip to base with torturous deliberation. You watched the effect of your ministrations play across his features like a master sculptor studying the progress of her greatest masterpiece - an artistry crafted by the sensual friction of your palm and fingertips and the subtle squeeze of your thumb rolling against his swollen cockhead.

Byakuya could no longer tell how long the exquisite torture lasted. Each languid upstroke had his spine bowing in supplication, the downstroke dragging a guttural cry from somewhere deep within the caverns of his chest. Your touch was an irresistible torment - just the right balance of pressure and friction, a firm twist of your wrist as you reached the base, and the subtle scrape of your blunt nails on the way back up to the sensitive glans.

It was only after his vision began swimming that Byakuya realized his eyes had slipped shut against the deluge of sensation. The moment he forced them open again, you were there, close enough to feel the heat radiating from your naked breasts. Close enough for him to easily lunge forward and catch one plump nipple between his teeth.

Your answering moan reverberated through Byakuya's whole frame, sparking a visceral triumph that he'd finally found something to throw you off balance. He lathed the rosy peak with his tongue, suckling and nibbling until the sensitive bud hardened into a stiff pebble beneath his attention. You whimpered brokenly when he switched his attentions to the other neglected peak, your grip weakening just as the first true shivers of climax began to rack his frame.

The loss of contact dragged a guttural whine from Byakuya, muffled by his lips still fastened around your swollen nipple as his hips bucked up futilely as he searched for your hand or lips or tongue to bring him over the edge. You seemed intent on prolonging the torment, though - fingers sliding down to cradle his aching balls, nails scraping gently against the taut sac.

Byakuya's vision flashed white, entire body jerking as the first surge of release crashed through him. He came with a harsh groan, hot spurts painting his stomach and chest before your hand moved to milk the final drops from his pulsing length, inadvertently gathering the last few, pathetic remnants of his seed onto your hand.

The two of you lay there in the aftermath, chests heaving as the last tremors of release ebbed away. The heated tension that had been simmering between you both for decades evaporated into the heavy, musk-laden air.

You slowly extracted your hand from where it had been firmly gripping Byakuya's spent cock, letting the sticky evidence of his undoing streak across your palm. He watched with hooded eyes as you glanced at the pearly streaks almost distastefully before using the rumpled sheets to wipe it away.

An awkward silence descended as the post-orgasmic haze lifted and you both seemed to fully register what had just transpired between you. After nearly a century of stubbornly denying any deeper intimacies, you had just engaged in unambiguously carnal acts with the sole intent of bringing Byakuya to shattering climax.

And from the way his silver gaze kept roving over the pebbled peak of your breast - slightly reddened and slick from where his mouth had suckled with ravenous intensity - he had indulged just as greedily in whatever flesh you offered up.

Now, in the quiet stillness that followed, you seemed unable to meet Byakuya's eyes as you carefully rearranged your sleep robe over your disheveled form. He could see the faint blush tingeing your cheeks, the tension knotting your shoulders as if bracing for scathing recriminations.

But Byakuya found himself utterly bereft of the capacity for further anger or hostility in that moment. All he felt was a profound sense of...of what exactly? Satiety? Confusion? A complex snarl of emotions too tangled to fully parse in the wake of the cataclysmic shift that had just reshaped their relationship forever.

Eventually, you cleared your throat and slid off the bed, bare feet whispering against the tatami mats as you moved towards the bathroom door.

"I'm going to bathe," you stated simply, voice tightly controlled as you refused to meet his weighted gaze. "We...we can discuss...this...later."

You gestured vaguely with one hand, as if that single ambiguous wave could somehow encapsulate the entirety of what had just occurred between you both. Byakuya watched you slip through the doorway without another word, limbs feeling unaccountably heavy as the silence resettled around him.

Now alone in the aftermath's quiet stillness, he slumped back against the disheveled bedding with a ragged exhalation. His eyes drifted shut as he attempted to process the whirlwind that had just ransacked every carefully constructed barrier and unspoken agreement in their marriage.

The brutally honest confrontation triggered by years of simmering resentments and unvoiced desires...the way you had so deliberately, undeniably provoked him with those lascivious acts in retaliatory challenge...the searing, unraveling rapture of finally indulging in the intimate connection he had starved for from you throughout their union after holding back for so impossibly long...

It had all happened with such cascading swiftness, crashing over them both in a tsunami of unchecked passion that continuing to deny or ignore the fundamental seismic shift between them simply wasn't an option anymore. Not after the boundaries keeping you both so rigidly bound behind those frigid walls had been obliterated so irreparably.

The mocking, heated accusation you'd hurled at Byakuya in between each deftly skilled caress still echoed like smoke-tinged rasp in his mind.

"Shut up and just take what you've been craving all this time...maybe I'll consider making an honest man out of you yet..."

Even in the raw, blistering throes of that confrontation - and the subsequent shattering of every remaining constraint between you - he had never managed to put words to the raging, all-consuming yearning scalding through him. Not in any way that could accurately encapsulate the countless unfulfilled cravings and fevered imaginings he'd harbored deep in his most guarded recesses regarding you.

But now, with the undeniable taste of your skin still clinging to his tongue like a shameless brand...now that the walls restraining your union had crumbled to ash and the foundations left to be rebuilt upon smoldering rubble...

Byakuya could no longer avoid naming the ugly, visceral truth underlying every gnarled facet of his existence as your husband in cold, stark clarity.

He loved you. Utterly, irrevocably, with every fiber of his wretched being in a way that utterly defied the conventions of blood relation or the hollow pretenses you'd both sworn to uphold so rigidly over the years. The realization felt like a physical blow - undoing intricate ribbons of delusion that had kept him stumbling through their union in wretched half-measures and self-denial for far too long.

Byakuya opened his eyes again, throat growing viscously tight as a thousand half-formed recollections began playing out in disjointed succession across his memory. Subtle moments and infinitesimal details that now took on heightened significance in retrospect - illuminating how the towering edifice of his hubris and pride had kept him walled off from acknowledging the deeper truth flourishing beneath even as it festered like an untreated cancer.

Your rare, fleeting smiles that had always unknotted something deep and unreachable within his core...the elegant poise and unshakable pride you carried at all times that never failed to provoke stirrings of perverse, maddening desire in him...the banked spark of keen intelligence glinting behind those depthless russet irises anytime you saw straight through to the core truths he tried so desperately to conceal from the world.

It was all part and parcel to the tumultuous, passionate infatuation - no, the feverish embodiment of love itself - that had snaked its tendrils through the framework of his soul so inextricably that he could no more uproot it than rip out his own throbbing heart.

As for whether those same treacherous undercurrents flowed both ways between your entwined existences? Byakuya no longer felt certain enough in his previous delusions to discount that terrifying possibility out of hand either...not after you had so forcefully, irrefutably demonstrated your capacity to match his darkest hungers in kind mere moments ago.

A decade ago, even a year ago, Byakuya would have scoffed at such foolishly naive romantic notions about the true essence undergirding your joined fates in utter disdain. But now, as his seed dried in rapidly cooling streaks across your discarded sheets and the final ashen fragments of composure crumbled away around his raw, naked nerves...

Now, Byakuya faced the terrifyingly inescapable truth that he had always loved you, even when neither of your fractured souls could bear the weight of admitting it for what it truly was. And with the irrevocable upheaval of cataclysmic intimacy now binding you in ways you had both fought tooth and nail to avoid over the decades...there was simply no running from that ugly, all-consuming reality any longer.

Byakuya remained lying in the disheveled bedding long after the sounds of running water ceased, staring up at the ornate wooden beams spanning the ceiling above in contemplative stillness. Part of him anticipated your eventual re-emergence after finishing your bathing rituals, steeling himself for whatever terse conversation or emotional confrontation might be looming on the other side of that closed door.

Yet the shadows gradually shifted across the room's layout, morning light trickling away into the dimmer hues of late afternoon...and still you didn't return to face him. A knot of unease began unfurling low in Byakuya's belly as the weighted silence stretched on interminably, broken only by the occasional muted sounds of the manor's daily operations filtering in from beyond their private sanctuary.

When night had finally fallen in earnest over the Kuchiki grounds once more, he could no longer ignore the stark truth sinking its hooks into his resolute defenses - you were quite deliberately avoiding crossing paths with him after your earlier...indiscretion together. An ugly, all-too-familiar sense of roiling anguish stirred in Byakuya's chest as his mind immediately leapt to assume the worst possible implications.

You regretted the escalated passion that had flared so violently between you, the way your bodies had betrayed that dark, gnarled undercurrent of unfulfilled hunger in such an obscene manner. More than that, you no doubt reviled Byakuya himself for being the one to provoke you into casting propriety and restraint aside so recklessly. The disgust and recriminations you must be wallowing in at having permitted such a lapse in control, in having sunk to his depraved level even briefly.

He couldn’t help but regret installing that connecting door to the adjoining room—the one you might have used as an escape route.

Byakuya could practically envision the self-loathing and righteous indignation painting your lovely features into a rictus sneer, condemning your own moment of weakness as well as the vile man who had catalyzed it so shamelessly. He raked a hand through his disheveled hair, squeezing his eyes shut against the barrage of visions and harsh realities he had only just begun bracing himself to confront.

Still, some defiant kernel of determination flared hot and brilliant in Byakuya's core as his hand fisted in the mussed bedding. No, he wouldn't simply resign himself to wilting in the wake of your retreat and rejection - hadn't he sworn to himself that he would persist in laying his truth bare no matter the consequences? This tipping point had been years...decades...lifetimes in the making between your fractured souls. To simply allow it to wither and dissipate without being given the chance to finally bloom into its full, radiant potential.

Well, he would be forsaking his fundamental identity as a man who stared down damnation without flinching from the abyss glaring back. So Byakuya rose with unhurried grace, already tugging his rumpled yukata into order and fastening his obi with sharp, precise movements. If you refused to seek him out and confront this pivotal event head-on, then he would come to you and force the issue into the blistering light of day whether you welcomed his presence or not.

It didn't take much effort to pinpoint your location thanks to the ingrained spiritual awareness thrumming between your soul strands like a richly textured vibration Byakuya could follow with eyes closed. You had retreated into one of the private studies nearer the rear private gardens, no doubt seeking solitary refuge from the intrusive reminders of your...lapse throughout the rest of the manor's confines.

Though he made no particular effort to mask his presence, Byakuya still swept through the veiled doorway like a specter born from twilight's ominous womb. You sat with your back angled towards him in a regal sprawl across one of the plush zabutons tucked into a quiet alcove. The motionless line of your shoulders betrayed no hint of having registered his arrival despite the absolute stillness enveloping the chamber around you.

Still, Byakuya knew you had felt the faintest whisper of his reiatsu sliding across your metaphysical senses like an insistent lover's caress the moment he crossed the threshold into your sanctuary. He allowed the weighted pause to fully permeate the space between you as he crossed the inlaid wood in unhurried strides, barely daring to draw an unnecessary breath.

Finally, he halted a few scant paces behind you, near enough to detect the subtle notes of your preferred jasmine oil wafting up from the elegant tumble of your hair. Byakuya felt his next inhale rasp with visceral longing to simply surge forward and draw that rich fragrance deep into his core through means more intimately satisfying than filtered air.

"You've been avoiding me," he said at last, refusing to couch the blunt statement in any veneer of pretense. They had both crossed too far over the precipice earlier to retreat back into vapid niceties and propriety at this juncture.

Your shoulders stiffened minutely at the flat declaration, though you otherwise remained facing away from him in rigid silence. Byakuya allowed the lingering beats to draw out into a fraught pause before continuing in that same measured, unhurried timbre.

“Was what transpired between us this morning truly so vile that it warrants treating me like an outcast within the walls of my own home, [Y/N]?”

There it was - the undisguised hint of challenge woven through his softly uttered words like dull razors' edges catching flesh. Your sharp inhalation was the only audible tell, but Byakuya easily detected the full-body shudder ghosting across your shoulders in the wake of his barbed implication.

"Don't be ridiculous, Byakuya," you parried at last, equally stripped of the archaic verbal niceties you typically shrouded yourselves in. "You know precisely why I require...space after the events of this morning."

Your voice hitched with the faintest waver on that last word, immediately firing a pulse of dark satisfaction lancing through Byakuya's vitals. So his earlier suspicions regarding the origins of your abrupt withdrawal and subsequent retreat appeared to have been well-founded.

"And just how long do you intend to continue deluding yourself with such hollow deflections, I wonder?" he rumbled, relishing the sharp edge lacing each acidic syllable.

You whipped around to face him fully, Back stiffening as that familiar spark of challenge flickered to life in your eyes. "Deflections?" you echoed with a derisive snort. "Rich words coming from you of all people, Byakuya."

He arched one brow cooly, undeterred by your opening volley. "Am I wrong? Or have you simply become so accustomed to your own lies that you've forgotten what emotional honesty even looks like anymore?"

The barb hit its mark, visibly ruffling your composure if only for an instant before the icy mask slammed back into place. You lifted your chin in that subtly arrogant tilt Byakuya knew so infuriatingly well.

"Why don't you just come out and say what's really eating at you already?" You took a few pointed steps across the study until you could glare up at him directly. "This self-righteous hostility of yours is getting quite old, dear husband."

Byakuya felt his jaw tighten fractionally at the thinly veiled insinuation lacing your words. That you thought him simply lashing out blindly out of bitterness or spite rather than addressing the real, scathingly painful truth festering between you.

"What's really 'eating at me', [Y/N]?" he ground out, leaning in until your noses were nearly brushing. “I’ll tell you—it’s the endless, damnable pretense we’ve both been dancing around for decades. This pathetic farce of empty rituals and unfulfilling obligations we bound ourselves to, all according to everyone else’s terms but our own.”

You bristled like an affronted cat, color heightening across those sharp cheekbones he'd spent many a furtive hour admiring from afar. "You make it sound as if we entered this arrangement under coercion!" you hissed, voice lowering to a throaty rasp. "Need I remind you who initially proposed our practical partnership to begin with?"

"Hardly," Byakuya fired back without missing a beat. “I distinctly remember proposing a pragmatic political union that met the bare minimum requirements, while still sparing us from the messier entanglements that would be unbecoming of our stations.”

His lips twisted into a cutting smirk, daring to dig a little deeper under your defenses. "What I don't recall is swearing any vows about outright neglecting even the most perfunctory of marital obligations, wife."

As expected, the implication regarding your wifely "failings" hit enough of a raw nerve to earn him an outraged snarl of breath as your fingers clenched at your sides. "How dare you attempt to frame this entire situation as me being negligent! You arrogant, entitled—"

"Entitled?!" Byakuya cut you off with a harsh bark of laughter that was anything but humorous. "You're calling me entitled for wanting more than scraps of acknowledgment and empty gestures from the woman whose name I've carried on my soul alongside every particle of my existence? Do you have any idea how that sounds leaving your lips?"

Your eyes flashed pure venom at the unsubtle dig. "So sorry to disappoint you if I haven't properly stroked your ego and fragile male pride during our several lifetimes together," you shot back with biting sarcasm. "But I wouldn't exactly consider succumbing to meaningless romantic frivolities to be one of my sworn 'wifely duties' either!"

The sound of Byakuya's teeth grinding together audibly filled the sudden stillness as you both froze in the wake of your words. He searched your indignant expression hungrily, feeling that same maddening kernel of yearning beginning to pulse with heated vitality once more.

"Meaningless frivolities..." he echoed with a slow shake of his head, relishing the way your throat worked on a tight swallow as he leaned incrementally closer. “You truly want to sit there and try to convince me that’s all you see intimacy between us as? Just empty, meaningless fluff unworthy of your precious emotional investment?”

Byakuya watched in smoldering silence as the first hairline fractures began splintering across your icy veneer of composure. You licked your lips in what seemed like an unconscious tell of discomfort before regaining yourself with visible effort.

"I'm not going to justify such a ridiculous line of inquiry with any further response," you stated, each word enunciated with utmost precision. "Especially not from someone so incapable of viewing such deeply personal matters through any lens beyond their own selfishness."

Before the words even finished leaving your lips, Byakuya had closed what little distance remained separating your bodies, his chest hovering a hairsbreadth from yours. You sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden proximity, those quicksilver eyes of yours widening a fraction before narrowing in obvious challenge at his unspoken provocation.

"Selfish?" he rumbled, the words vibrating between you like a livewire set to combust. "Maybe if you repeat the same bitter delusions often enough, you'll eventually convince even that dark, shriveled thing you call a heart that I'm the one poisoning everything between us with my indulgent selfishness."

You seemed to swell with indignant fury at the blasphemous insinuations scoring so close to bone. Byakuya could practically taste the sparks of vicious heat flaring off you in waves.

"I will not be spoken to in such a disrespectful manner!" you hissed in a low rasp of warning. "Especially not by you, Byakuya. Not after everything I've endured, everything I've sacrificed to uphold the sacred integrity of this family!"

His chuckle emerged low and ominous, teetering on the knife-edge of mockery in a way he knew would enrage you even further. "Do go on, by all means. Tell me more tall tales about all the terrible suffering you've endured at married to a man burning with obsessive passion for you."

Byakuya trailed off with a pointed look that left no illusions about his meaning. He watched your throat work convulsively around what was either denial or revulsion at the blatant overture.

“As if your painfully unrequited infatuations somehow undermine every bit of my integrity and sense of duty to this household,” you countered with naked disdain. "Just because you've become so blinded by the pitiful compulsions poisoning your perspective..."

Your next inhalation wavered audibly as Byakuya slid that final few millimeters forward until your bodies meshed seamlessly together from shoulder to knee - achingly intimate in a way you both recognized with dawning horror. Still, there was no use retreating or separating now - not after so much raw, scalding truth had been unleashed between you.

"You can keep deluding yourself with those tired old self-deceptions, wife," he growled, mouth practically grazing your own. "Or you can finally release that bitter, ugly pride for just this once and admit that you feel the same sick, gnawing hunger to finally unmake every single lie between us. The choice is yours..."

The gauntlet he laid at your feet seemed to ring with all the momentous impact of shattering glass against frozen steel. You stood there, breath mingling with Byakuya's in that razor-thin span of space as the last tortured seconds separating your joint fates stretched out precipitously.

He could practically taste the vortex of indecision and teetering control swirling between your dueling spirits in that viscous, electrically charged pause. As if the entire cosmos itself held its infinite breath awaiting your answer, silently screaming for you to grab the final threads of this elaborate fictional web binding you both in misery...and simply burn it all to exquisitely smoldering purification once and for all.

The silence stretched out between you, laden with decades of repressed tension and unvoiced yearnings. Byakuya watched you intently, silver eyes blazing with challenge as he awaited your response.

Finally, you inhaled a shuddering breath, squaring your shoulders as if bracing yourself.

"You want the truth?" you asked, voice low and raspy with pent-up emotion. "Fine. The truth is, I've been holding myself back from you for years, Byakuya. Holding back every urge, every desire, because I was too much of a coward to face what was happening between us."

Byakuya felt his breath catch at your frank admission, but remained silent, letting you continue uninterrupted.

"Do you know what it's been like?" you pressed on, taking a step closer until you were nearly chest-to-chest. "Waking up beside you every morning, body aching to be touched...to be held by you? Having to leave the bed and pretend like I didn't notice your...problem...when all I really wanted was for you to take me right then and there?"

Your eyes shone with a mixture of bitterness and naked longing. "I've thought about it. Dreamed about you kissing me, really kissing me. About us taking baths together and washing each other's bodies. Falling asleep tangled up, skin on skin, after making love all night long..."

You exhaled a shaky breath, reaching up to trace the sharp line of Byakuya's jaw. "But I could never let myself give in. Not when I knew you were still holding on to memories of Hisana. I didn't want to ruin that for you with my selfish desires."

The anguish in your words was unmistakable. Byakuya felt his throat constrict at the realization that some part of you had harbored insecurities about his feelings all this time. Before he could voice a response, you barreled onwards.

"I kept telling myself that whatever you were feeling for me, it was just physical," you said bitterly. "Lust born from decades of sexual frustration, nothing more. That if I gave in, let myself fall into bed with you, it would just ruin everything between us eventually."

You shook your head, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But God, Byakuya...I'm so tired of fighting this constant war inside me. Tired of denying how badly I want you, crave your touch, your kisses, your—"

Byakuya surged forward without warning, capturing your mouth in a searing, all-consuming kiss that obliterated whatever confession was about to tumble from your lips. You made a muffled sound of surprise against his mouth before melting into the embrace with a desperate whimper.

His arms came around you, crushing your body flush against his as he kissed you with every ounce of the repressed passion that had been steadily unraveling him for decades. This was no chaste brushing of lips - this was a man staking an undeniable claim on the one person his entire universe revolved around.

When you finally parted, gasping for air, Byakuya leaned his forehead against yours. His eyes bored into you with an intensity that made you shiver.

"Listen to me," he rasped, thumbs stroking your flushed cheeks. "Whatever lingering ghosts you think still bind me to my past with Hisana...let them go, my love. You are my present, my future, the only person I've truly allowed to take up permanent residence in my heart and soul."

His words seemed to steal whatever breath you'd regained. You stared up at him with naked vulnerability shining in your eyes as he continued.

"I love you," Byakuya stated simply. "Every part of you - your strength, your pride, your beauty, and yes...even your maddening stubbornness. I have loved you for longer than I can remember, and I will continue loving you until the stars burn out in the endless sky."

A solitary tear traced down your cheek as you tried to process his declaration. Byakuya caught it with the pad of his thumb, lips quirking into the barest hint of a smile.

"So please," he murmured, dipping his head to trail kisses along the curve of your jaw. "No more pushing me away out of some misguided sense of honor or duty, beloved. Let me worship you the way my soul has longed to for eternity. Let me love you the way you deserve..."

The rest of his words faded into a heated brush of mouths and shared breaths as you surged up to recapture his lips in a desperate, needy kiss. Byakuya groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your mouth as he walked you backwards until your back hit the nearest wall with a gentle thud.

His hands roamed over every inch of you hungrily, bunching the fabric of your clothing as he sought to eliminate any remaining barriers between your heated bodies. You gasped into the searing kiss when his palm found the soft swell of your breast, kneading and tweaking the hardened peak until you arched shamelessly into his touch.

"Fuck, [Y/N]..." Byakuya panted against the scorching skin of your neck as his mouth blazed a path of open-mouthed kisses downward. "You have no idea how many times I've imagined this, dreamed of having you like this."

His teeth scraped along your racing pulse before soothing the sting with an ardent sweep of his tongue. You fisted your hands in his hair, tugging sharply in a silent plea for more as you rolled your hips against the insistent ridge of his cock.

"Tell me," you rasped, voice already wrecked with need. "Tell me what dark, filthy fantasies you've been entertaining about me all these years, Byakuya."

His answering growl vibrated against the swell of your breast as his mouth found the exposed flesh there, lips and tongue lavishing devout attention until you were keening softly. One broad hand slid possessively down your body to hitch your thigh over his hip, grinding his clothed erection against your core.

"I've thought about bending you over every available surface and fucking you until you couldn't walk straight," he rasped, punctuating each crude word with a sharp roll of his hips that had you both panting harshly. "About spreading those gorgeous thighs and feasting on your cunt until you're a sobbing, incoherent mess beneath my tongue..."

You whimpered at the lewd confessions, nails scoring down Byakuya's back as the delicious friction against your rapidly dampening sex left you nearly delirious. He captured your mouth again in a punishing kiss, all heat and slick desperation as you ground together frantically.

"But most of all," he growled when you finally parted for air. Stormy silver eyes bored into yours, pupils blown wide with lust and something deeper...something primal and proprietary you'd never seen in their depths before. "I've burned for the chance to make you truly mine in every sense. To bury myself so deep inside this perfect little cunt and pump you full of my seed over and over until you're round with my child."

The guttural cadence of his words punched the air from your lungs in a harsh gasp. Byakuya took full advantage, mouth and hands growing rougher, more demanding as he scented the first hints of your arousal sharpening in the charged air between you.

"That's what you want too, isn't it?" he husked against the swollen curve of your lips, tongue flicking out to taste the desperate whimpers spilling past them. "You want me to breed you properly, the way a husband should stake his claim on his wife...don't you, my beloved?"

The only response you could formulate was a strangled keen of sheer ecstasy as Byakuya seized your other thigh, bodily lifting you until your legs were wrapped around his narrow hips. He rolled his pelvis against your molten core again, savoring the way your head tipped back shamelessly at the promise of that delicious friction.

"Yes..." you finally rasped, arms looping around his neck as your lust-glazed eyes met his burning stare pleadingly. "God, yes, Byakuya! Take me, breed me, do whatever you want. I'm fucking yours, always have been..."

His lips crashed back onto yours in a searing, utterly possessive kiss that seared you all the way down to your bones. Byakuya's hands cupped your ass firmly, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh there while he walked the two of you further into the room, intent on laying claim to his wife at long last.

You barely registered the moment the backs of your thighs hit the edge of the desk until you were sprawled back onto the polished wood, legs splayed wantonly and chest heaving with rapid breaths. Byakuya stood there for a few moments, drinking in the sight of you spread out like a decadent feast before his ravenous gaze.

"My beautiful, infuriating wife," he growled, palming his aching cock through the strained fabric of his pants. "What have you done to me..."

You moaned, squirming impatiently as you watched him strip the rest of his clothes off in quick, efficient motions. Every inch of his pale, lithely muscular body was pure perfection - from the elegant sweep of his neck and chiseled planes of his chest, down to the proud jut of his erection, thick and leaking against his lower belly.

Your core clenched involuntarily at the thought of having all that glorious manhood buried inside you to the hilt. You couldn't recall ever feeling this needy and desperate for another person in your entire existence, let alone centuries worth of memories.

"Byakuya..." you panted, reaching out a hand to beckon him closer. "Come here. Please, I need—"

The rest of your sentence dissolved into a high pitched squeal as your husband all but lunged forward, hauling you back up against him by the waist. His mouth claimed yours in a bruising, hungry kiss while his fingers worked furiously at the fastenings of your clothing, clearly beyond the point of patience and finesse.

You tugged off the loose silk robe and top, leaving you clad in nothing but your undergarments. Byakuya's palms ran over the newly exposed skin reverently, lips trailing hot, wet kisses across the tops of your breasts before tugging the straps down to expose them fully.

He thumbed one pert, aching nipple, rolling and pinching the hardened bud until you were writhing helplessly against his chest. You cried out at the first wet, scorching suckle, spine bowing with pleasure as he worshipped your sensitive breasts with a thoroughness that bordered on obscene.

"Mmmm, I wanted to do so much more to you this morning," he husked, laving his tongue across the pebbled nub before giving it a firm, sharp suck that had you keening. "Wanted to see how long it would take me to make you cum, just from worshipping these gorgeous tits..."

Your breath hitched audibly at the erotic admission. The mental image of waking up to this version of Byakuya, all sleepy-eyed and ravenous, laving his wicked mouth and clever fingers all over your breasts was so intoxicating, you couldn't stop the broken whimper from slipping past your lips.

Byakuya smirked against your skin, seeming to sense the effect his words were having on you. "I know," he crooned, fingers pinching and pulling at the other nipple. "I've spent a good portion of our marriage imagining how many times I could get you to cum on my tongue alone before begging me for my cock."

You whimpered at the vulgar picture those words painted, hips arching off the desk in a silent plea for relief. Byakuya's palms glided down the slope of your abdomen, thumbs stroking the tender skin of your inner thighs.

"You can’t blame me," he continued, mouth descending lower, leaving a hot, wet trail of open-mouthed kisses and teasing nips across the sensitive flesh. "You never even gave me a chance to see what this tight little hole looks like stretched around my cock. To taste your honey as you gush for me over and over..."

The last of his words dissolved into a filthy groan as his teeth latched around the lacy band of your panties, tugging them down and off in one swift motion. You could barely contain the breathless cry of shock as Byakuya's lips and tongue immediately found the slick juncture between your thighs.

He lapped at you hungrily, broad hands holding your hips pinned against the desk as he ate your cunt like a man starved. You cried out, fisting a hand in his hair while the other grasped desperately at the edge of the desk for purchase.

Byakuya groaned low in his throat as the musky, earthy taste of you flooded his mouth. He could have spent hours between your thighs, just drinking in the honeyed sweetness of your desire and reveling in the desperate little whimpers you made each time he dragged his tongue across your throbbing clit.

He settled into a relentless rhythm, alternating between firm, flat-tongued licks and sucking your swollen bud until you were a writhing, babbling mess atop the desk. When he finally slipped two long, slender fingers into your dripping core, you nearly sobbed at the delicious fullness.

"I don’t think I can wait any longer," Byakuya growled, curling the digits inside you just so until you were practically drooling with pleasure. "Not when you're this hot, and wet, and eager for me. Not after you kept me waiting so long..."

His thumb circled the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of your slit, watching the way your eyes fluttered and your thighs trembled with the telltale signs of a rapidly approaching climax. "Do you think you're ready for me, sweet wife?"

You managed a weak nod, still reeling from the mind-melting pleasure his fingers and mouth were wreaking on your body. Byakuya leaned in, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss as he withdrew his digits and guided his straining cock towards your entrance.

A ragged moan slipped past his lips as the swollen, leaking head brushed the soaked, molten heat of your core. It took every ounce of his iron will to keep from slamming home with a single brutal thrust. Instead, he teased your entrance with shallow, gentle strokes, watching the way his length glistened each time it emerged coated with your essence.

"Byakuya, please!" you begged, nails scoring down his back. "Fuck me already, I'm dying—"

He silenced the rest of your desperate pleading with a savage, searing kiss, hips jerking forward just enough for the swollen tip to slip past the fluttering rim of your cunt. Byakuya savored the way you moaned brokenly into his mouth at the sensation, the way your body instinctively arched up to seek out more.

He broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours and meeting your heated, half-lidded gaze with an intensity that seemed to pierce straight through to your soul. "I want you to look at me," he murmured, the words little more than a growl as he began to slowly, inexorably sink into the tight, slick heaven of your body. "Look at me as I take you for the first time, make you mine in the most primal, sacred way possible. Don't look away..."

The command was issued as much to himself as to you. He couldn't recall ever seeing anything more exquisite than the sight of you taking him inch by agonizing inch - flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, eyes blazing with need and desire and an emotion far more profound than he could possibly name.

"I love you," you choked out, tears streaking down your cheeks at the sheer rightness of being connected to him this way. "Oh God, Byakuya...I love you so much!"

His heart stuttered at the declaration, and it took every last vestige of his fraying control not to slam home with a single, savage thrust. Byakuya paused halfway, giving your body a chance to adjust to his considerable size as he brushed a lock of hair away from your tear-stained face.

"I love you too, my darling," he husked, kissing you with aching gentleness. "More than I could ever find the words to say."

With that, he surged forward, sheathing himself completely within the scorching, slick confines of your cunt until you were both gasping for air. You clutched at him, arms and legs locking around his torso as if desperate to hold him in place, to keep him buried inside the molten depths of your core forever.

"B-Byakuya," you stuttered, the syllables dissolving into a high, needy whine as he began to withdraw slowly. The drag of his thick, hard length against your inner walls was enough to make your eyes roll back with ecstasy.

When only the flared crown remained buried within you, Byakuya snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt once again. He set a punishing pace, fucking you hard and fast against the polished wood, until the only sounds filling the air were the slap of sweat-slick skin and your combined moans and cries of pleasure.

"God, you feel amazing," he rasped against your mouth, hands cupping the supple curve of your ass, tilting your hips at just the right angle for him to hammer against that perfect, spongy spot deep within. "Like you were made just for me."

You whimpered, unable to form coherent words as you met each thrust eagerly, rolling your pelvis and matching him stroke for stroke. Every nerve ending in your body felt like it was on fire, coiling tighter and tighter as the friction and pressure of his thick, unyielding cock began to unravel you.

Byakuya felt the familiar, molten tension coiling in his lower belly as well, his orgasm racing towards the breaking point despite his best efforts. He didn't want this to end, didn't want to leave the paradise of your tight, welcoming cunt even for a moment, but he knew there was no way he could hold out much longer.

He reached down, finding the swollen bundle of nerves above where your bodies were joined and circling it with his thumb. "Cum for me, my beloved," he growled, angling his thrusts until he was hitting that spot inside you over and over. "Show me how beautiful you look when you fall apart for me."

Your body obeyed his command immediately, back arching and head tossing wildly as your core clenched around his throbbing length. A scream ripped free from your lungs as the dam broke, and the pleasure washed over you like a tidal wave, stealing the very breath from your lungs.

Byakuya cursed hoarsely at the exquisite feeling of your slick, molten cunt fluttering and pulsing around him, nearly bringing him over the edge himself. He rode out the waves of your release, groaning when the hot, sticky flood of your honey began dripping down his balls.

It took all the willpower he could muster to resist the urge to spill his seed right then and there. With a ragged breath, Byakuya slowed his movements, gently rolling his hips as your shudders subsided. He peppered the soft skin of your neck and collarbone with light, worshipful kisses, murmuring his adoration as you slowly came back to reality.

"My beloved wife," he crooned, the possessive timbre of his voice making you shiver. "I've dreamed about the sight of you cumming around my cock, but the reality was a thousand times better than anything my mind could ever conjure up."

Your face flushed at the erotic confession, eyes fluttering shut when he pressed a gentle kiss against the corner of your mouth. You could still feel the thick length of his erection pulsing inside you, the subtle twitches and jerks telling you just how badly he needed release.

"Please, I need more," you whimpered, clenching around him. "I want you to fill me up, make me yours..."

The words were like a shot of pure lust straight to Byakuya's brain. His control snapped, and suddenly you were on your back, legs splayed wantonly over the edge of the desk. Your husband braced his palms against the wood, fingers tangling with yours as he loomed over you.

"Look at me," he demanded, hissing as the new angle allowed him to go even deeper. "Keep looking at me, no matter what."

You barely had a chance to process the command before Byakuya began to move again. This time, there was nothing slow or gentle about the way he drove into you. It was fast, and deep, and rough - his thick cock pistoning in and out of your dripping cunt with the singular purpose of breeding you, making you his and his alone.

Each powerful stroke hit that spot inside you perfectly, the head of his cock dragging across the sensitive bundle of nerves with a force that had you nearly sobbing with ecstasy. You struggled to keep your eyes open, watching the way his muscles rippled and flexed with each thrust, the way his eyes burned with a possessive, primal light as he claimed you in the most basic, visceral way imaginable.

Byakuya was utterly lost, drunk on the feeling of your velvety walls clamping down around him and the knowledge that he was the first and only man to have you like this. That you had waited all these years, just as he had, for this moment. He could feel his orgasm threatening to shatter him at any moment, the molten heat pooling in his abdomen, but there was no way he was going to let go before bringing you over the edge again.

He slipped a hand between your writhing bodies, pinching and rubbing the swollen, hypersensitive bundle of nerves. Your cry was near-hysterical, nails scoring down his back and legs trembling as he pushed you ever closer to the edge.

"Byakuya! I—I'm going to—"

Your breathless warning was cut off by his mouth, devouring the keening wail of your release as the tension in your belly snapped and the waves of pleasure crashed over you again. The feeling of your slick cunt fluttering and convulsing around him was enough to shatter what was left of Byakuya's fraying control.

He buried himself as deep as possible, the head of his cock grinding against the deepest, most intimate parts of your body as his climax tore through him. He groaned brokenly against your mouth, hips jerking reflexively with each spurt of cum, painting your womb with his seed.

The two of you remained locked together, sharing shuddering, gasping breaths as the aftershocks rippled through you. Byakuya nuzzled into the crook of your neck, inhaling the intoxicating, uniquely you scent while he tried to convince his body to move.

"Don't," you whispered, arms tightening around his waist as if sensing his intent. "Just stay like this, please."

He chuckled, pressing a tender kiss against your throat. "Believe me, I would love nothing more, my sweet. But I‘d rather we continue this in the comfort of our bed, preferably before any of the servants return and catch us in such a compromising position."

Your face flamed at the reminder that your husband had, in fact, fucked you within an inch of your life atop his desk, with the door wide open. "Good point," you mumbled sheepishly.

Byakuya finally pulled out, both of you groaning at the sudden sense of emptiness. He scooped you into his arms, pressing another kiss against your temple. "Besides, we're not even close to finished yet, my love. I have centuries worth of fantasies to make a reality, and a whole lifetime to breed you properly. We're just getting started..."

[pisceangirl666]

°•𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐒/𝐎•°

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐒/𝐎 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞. 𝐈𝐌𝐎.

𝑁𝑂𝑇𝐸: 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡, 𝑠𝑜 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑟𝑠!

𝑊𝐴𝑅𝑁𝐼𝑁𝐺𝑆: 𝑁𝑜𝑛𝑒.

  °༺♡༻°°༺♡༻°°༺♡༻°°༺♡༻°°༺♡༻°

  °༺♡༻°°༺♡༻°°༺♡༻°°༺♡༻°°༺♡༻°

𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬:

Michael has seen plenty of impetuous and neglectful people in his life (One of them being his sister, whom he does not regret stabbing in the slightest) and seeks someone diligent and dutiful. He would be lying if he said he didn't admire those qualities. A person who is well aware of their responsibilities and sincere is something that would make Michael gain respect and a soft spot, even if a little, for them.

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 (𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲/𝐒𝐭𝐮/𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲):

Ghostface has his priorities straight. The man enjoys toying with his victims and catching them off guard, though if he finds someone witty enough to have a comeback for all his taunts and is quick on their toes to keep up with his shenanigans energy, he will be instantly intrigued by them. Initially, his interest would be there just for the fact that he has finally found someone interesting and challenging enough, but later on, he'd be completely whipped. 

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐕𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬:

The only form of love Jason has received in his life is from his mother, Pamela. He is naturally inclined towards people with a gentle demeanor and comforting aura. He requires someone considerate, who doesn't judge him and is able to provide him with the love and care he has always lacked. He doesn't care for anything else as long as they are a kind soul, and needless to say, he will reciprocate their love cordially. 

𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐋𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫:

Hannibal has a clear set of requirements that he won't compromise on. You are free to blame it on his nature or age, but that's how he is. Whomsoever catches his attention needs to be smart, not necessarily cunning, but enough to share his tastes and understand him on a mental level. They MUST be respectful and well-mannered. He despises discourteous, ill-mannered, and unthoughtful people; he won't tolerate them. Apart from this, he also expects a certain level of honesty from them. After all, lying can also be considered rude in certain cases, can it not?

𝐁𝐨 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐫:

Bo is a sucker for pretty faces, he won't deny the fact, but that doesn't mean having one gives someone the ticket to get away with anything; it's quite the opposite, actually. While Bo may get attracted to someone based on their appearance at first glance, he won't hesitate to hand them to Vincent or take matters into his own hands if they are disrespectful. Looks aside, he prefers someone with a more docile nature, not a pushover, simply calmer and more agreeable to avoid unnecessary clashes given his unstable and domineering personality. 

𝐕𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐫:

Vincent is not picky when it comes to matters like these. If someone is genuinely nice and willing to accept him for who he is, that's more than enough for this man. Unlike his twin brother, he doesn't care for appearances but rather values the inner skills of an individual. He will be highly supportive of their hobbies, finding ways to incorporate activities that allow both of them to spend time together while doing what they love. 

𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐫:

Lester's childhood has been scarce from an attention perspective, not deliberately, but his older brothers had special needs that, by default, took his rightful share. He yearns for someone who listens to him and showers him with the love and attention he has lacked. He's drawn towards someone easygoing with an optimistic outlook and enjoys the little things in life like him. 

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐡𝐦𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞:

Brahms' human interaction is non-existent, so he is easily attached to whoever takes care of him (or rather, his doll), but yes, he is very much looking for someone loyal who wouldn't leave him no matter how dire the circumstances become and patient enough to bear his temper tantrums when he has them, which are more frequent that one would like to imagine since he gets grumpy over the most minuscule mistakes. 

𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔, ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦𝑒𝑑!

[yuesya]

Aventurine drums his fingers restlessly upon the table.

It’s not the thrill or rush of getting ready to make another gamble, to take on another of the IPC’s deals. No, this is a very different sort of restlessness that he’s feeling right now –one that’s mixed with a distinct unease, almost. Aventurine wouldn’t say that he’s nervous, because he isn’t, but…

… But Aventurine is a realist who’s always acutely self-aware of his own worth. A worth that can only be measured in terms of what value he is able to provide to those around him.

Any relationships are weighed and calculated, always. Everyone makes use of others in some manner, but at the same time that you’re using others, you have to be prepared for being used in return. Because that’s the way things work in this world, isn’t it?

Assess one’s value, establish your own worth, then extend a hand in friendship. That’s the way to cultivate a healthy, cordial relationship.

Look at me. I can be useful to you.

“Aventurine?”

A smile curls over his lips at the sound of her voice, before her figure has even crossed into view. “Hello, Lyra. How have you been doing these days?”

“I was in your apartment last week,” the obtuse Halovian girl responds, once again failing to recognize and partake in the common ritual of social niceties that most people observe.

A faint hint of something more genuine enters Aventurine’s smile, even though he can’t help but be exasperated by her response. “… Do you realize how misleading that sounds?”

Lyra blinks, blue eyes wide and clueless. “But it’s the truth?”

Someone save this oblivious girl. And Aventurine too, preferably.

He lets out a light cough, “Well. At any rate –I’m here with a gift!”

With Lyra, it’s always better to be direct.

Aventurine reaches to his side and brings out the newly-acquired gift he’d brought for his friend. It’s something that had taken quite a bit of effort to get his hands on –a finely-crafted blade, rumored to have been forged using ores mined from Izumo, prior to the world being subsumed in IX’s shadow. Izumo had once been known for the quality of the blades born from their forges. It was impossible to get your hands on an authentic Izumo blade nowadays, though, so Aventurine had to compromise–

The restless sensation in his chest finally eases, when Lyra curiously draws the sword, and her eyes widen. Only slightly, but Aventurine is familiar enough with the girl to clearly see the hint of wonder and delight that she makes no effort to hide in front of him.

“This is an excellent blade.”

It had better be, considering the minor fortune that Aventurine spent on it. “I’m glad you’re happy with it! I thought it might be something that you’d like when I came across it.”

Lyra’s gaze flickers towards him, arching an eyebrow. “You ‘came across it?’”

Aventurine shrugs, doing his best to seem casual about things. So maybe he’d specifically searched for a weapon that would be worthy of her and spent no small amount of effort on the endeavor… but for some reason, with Lyra looking at him like this, he–

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” the words blurt out from his mouth automatically, and Aventurine pauses at the strange feeling that her simple ‘thank you’ elicits in him.

… It’s normal to offer valuable presents to friends. Because that’s how you maintain friendships, right? Reaffirm and prove to them your own value?

So why does he–

“Thank you for the sword,” Lyra says, “And thank you for thinking of me. When you ‘came across it.’”

“Of course,” Aventurine murmurs. “We’re… friends, aren’t we?”

He glances up towards her. There’s no particular reason for it –it’s just a casual look in her direction– but in this moment, Aventurine suddenly sees it. The way her wings flutter slightly, the way the light overhead catches her eyes like jewels beneath the firelight–

The way that her lips curve faintly and he gets the impression that she smiles, just a little bit.

[springseasonie]

Auralism Pt4 | PJS + ZCL (M)

Jisung x reader x Chenle

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Summary: Immediately after your interesting introduction to your long time favorite voice actor, you walk to the back of your place of employment and see someone you weren't expecting.

Warming: sexual content, dom Jisung, sub Chenle, switch-ish reader, voyeurism, a little gay tension ???

Word count: 4,8k

A/N: had to write this like 3 times to finish it then I deleted it immediately after finishing on accident but then we got the doc back 🎉🎉 trials and tribulations my friends but it's finally done!! Very sorry for making promises I couldn't keep but I hope you all like it

Something told you to check the back room for your charger but you didn't expect to see the man you just said bye to 5 minutes ago with his dick in his hands. It's like time froze, the way you and Chenle stared at each other in that room. His eyes wide and your hand gripping the door knob. It was like a silent war being fought. Who would say something first, who would make the first move. Chenle glanced at your feet while watching you stare at the cameras. There was one pointing directly at the back of the counter like always.

It shouldn't have taken you this long to put two and two together, but it did and now alarms are going good in your head. You turned your head, looking away from him for a split second, but in that second, Chenle stood up and grabbed you. Your body instantly froze, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as the door slammed behind you, leaving you in the room with him.

“I know this looks bad but-”

“Looks bad,” you said, brows scrunched in confusion. “Your dick is out.”

Chenle looked down, realizing he was still in a very compromising position. Quickly, he turned and fixed himself, face as pale as ever. He's ever been so embarrassed in his life. Chenle wouldn't say he's the best at bidding his perverted thoughts, but he does a damn good job. But this time, he has no idea how he let himself slip up.

“Were you watching me?” You already knew the answer to the question, mouth becoming dry with each second that passed.

Chenle turned around, empty eyes staring at your bizzare expression. He wanted to say something badly, but he couldn't help himself but let his mind wander under your gaze of scrutiny. The fiery look in your eyes made him hot, the anger in your voice made him sweat.

“I-I was,” he admitted.

You gulped, taking deep breaths to try and stop yourself from becoming angrier than you already were. You never took him to be that kind of person but looks can clearly be deceiving. You and Chenle have always kept things on a very normal note, friendly conversation and brief contact outside of work, so to you, all of this was completely left field. But to him, he would think about it all the time. Chenle is good at hiding his feelings. He can keep it cordial with you if need be, playing the character of the nice reliable male coworker. But once he's clocked out, all he can think of is your pretty lips, the leggings you wear to work, the way you talk. He's obsessed with you and there's only one way to get you off his mind.

“That's a really fucked up thing to do,” you said, voice raising a bit. “That's a creep thing to do. You're a fucking creep.” For a moment, Jisung's presence in the building was completely forgotten. The only thing you could do is focus on your anger, trying to bite your tongue in the best way possible. A shiver shot up your spine watching him stare at your lips, the frown on your mouth not deterring him from his sinful thoughts. For some reason you kind of liked it.

“I'm really sorry,” he said. “I just…I don't know.”

“You're joking right? Instead of actually talking to me you watch me like a fucking weirdo.”

Your words travel right to his dick, degrading giving him a sense of gratification. The annoyance and anger you have for the current situation blinds the clear lustful expression on the man's face. Chenle can't speak knowing he has absolutely no rebuttal to anything you're saying, nodding at every word that comes out of your mouth.

“Fucking sick perverted freak,” you groan, reaching for your jacket and bag. You picked it up swiftly, leaving Chenle to stare at you with longing in his eyes.

Opening the door, you stared at your feet, not seeing the figure that stood in front of you, walking right into him.

“Did I scare you?” Jisung's deep voice snapped your chin up, looking at him with wide eyes after completely forgetting about him. Chenle stood and watched, a hint of jealousy starting to brew in him but also curiosity. He watched you fuck him on camera but would it be different in front of him? Would you be more shy and timid or would you turn it up a notch? Chenle wouldn't describe himself as a voyeur, but he's tempted to take on that label full time.

Jisung is an attractive guy, tall, deep voice, nice lips. Of course you're into him, he's practically perfect. Chenle doesn't think he's inferior to him, just a little different. Regardless, you're still attracted to him so it doesn't matter who you have sex with, he'll still have a chance.

“I'm sorry I forgot you were out there,” you said in a panic, only for Jisung to shrug his shoulders.

“Well I see that,” he says. He looks up from you, facing the man who stood across the room. “And who is this?”

Jisung eyes him closely, eyes moving up and down to size him up. You look at him nervously, gulping at the unwanted interaction. You didn't want this to end your chances of ever seeing him again, wanting for Chenle to go home as quickly as possible. But every time you looked at him he was hoping he didn't have to leave. He stood there silent as he allowed his hard on to grow more and more slowly. Was he thinking about fucking you and Jisung watches or the other around? Or was he thinking about Jisung and himself fucking you at the same time?

“Chenle.” You answer. “He was…”

“Watching us?” Jisung looks at you, brow raised when your brows furrow.

“I-I was not-”

“Don't lie,” Jisung said. Deep voice filled the room. “you're a creep.” Chenle watched Jisung sneak his hand around your waist, pulling you to his body. He pressed your hips against his groin, burying his face in your neck. A smirk slid across his face watching Chenle’s eyes widen at the sight, staring at Jisung's hands sliding down your hips and between your legs.

Chenle takes the scene in, your small gasp tickling his ears as he watches the man rub you between your leggings. He can feel the blood moving right to his dick making it harder and harder. He watches Jisung take his other hand off your hip and place it on your neck, holding your jaw firmly.

“Look at him Y/N, he looks like he's gonna explode,” Jisung says in your ear.

You look at Chenle whose cheeks are like tomatoes. Mouth slightly open, lips dry as he watches you get felt up steps away from him. He wants to touch you too, to feel you, hear you. You were beginning to enjoy this, Jisung touching you like he owned you and Chenle being forced to watch like a sad puppy. Jisung rubbed your clothes clit, smirking as you let out soft moans. 

“You're so pretty. Right Chenle? Isn't she pretty?” 

He gulped, breath hitching when the younger male suddenly turned his attention to him. “Y-yes of course.” 

“Prove it.” 

Chenle gave him a blank stare. “W-what?” 

“Show her how pretty you think she is.”

Chenle watches Jisung reach into your pants, your hands wrapped around his wrist as he begins to toy with your body, moans pouring from your lips. Mindlessly, Chenle's hands reach into his own as well, wrapping his palm around his cock, pumping it slowly.

“Fuck,” you whine softly, pushing your body against Jisung's hand more. Your eyes were closed, but there was no doubt Chenle's eyes were on you. Jisung kissed your forehead, circling his fingers in your soaked cunt while you grind, a scene that played in Chenle's mind for a long time. 

The male across the room kept pumping himself as slow as possible, not wanting to cum too fast from watching you. “Shit,” he mumbled.

“Tell her what you like about her,” Jisung ordered, blinking slowly at the man in front of him. 

“I..uh..” he could barely think straight. All he could think about was pushing the guy away and taking you right there. Feeling your tight pretty pussy around him, making you scream his name. “I like her eyes..”

Jisung scoffed, his gaze on you permanent as he slowly pushed two fingers into your wet hole. 

“J-Jisung, fuck,” you whines softly, knees feeling like jelly when he begins to move them in you. 

“I know baby, I know,” he mumbles. 

Chenle hadn't realized how fast he was pulling himself, hand constantly moving like it had a mind of its own. His heavy breathing was heard all over the room, so much so it caught your attention. You opened your eyes, staring right at him. His flushed cheeks, furrowed brows, pretty lips. You're loving this more and more as the seconds go by, wanting to torture him a little bit more. 

“Her eyes can't be the only thing you like.” 

Chenle opens his mouth, but can barely focus with the way you're grinding on Jisung's fingers, desperate for more as you maintain eye contact with him. “I-I like her lips. The way she says my name. I like her..fuck..her nice ass..” 

Your lips curve into a smirk hearing him speak, begging him to keep speaking. 

“Prettiest voice, prettiest moans..” 

Chenle is breathless at this point, mouth dry watching you bite your lip, furrowing your brows at the combination of Jisung's fingers and Chenle's praise. The sweat glistening on your forehead under the dim lighting made you even prettier. The boy's soft pants were turning into moans, hand quickly pumping himself as Jisung speeds up his fingers inside of you.

“Ji, oh fuck,” you whimpered, legs clamping around his hand.

“Gonna come for me, hm? Cum all over yourself like a dirty little slut?” 

He watches you, lips between his teeth as you nod fast, not daring to tear your eyes from him. His fingers continue pounding into your sloppy wet hole, the sound of your pussy filling the room. Your eyes roll back, pressure building in your stomach faster and faster. Your walls are getting tighter and tighter around his fingers, mouth open as you moan over and over again. 

“I-Im cumming, fuck Jisung,” you moan, head falling on his shoulder, body shaking at the feeling. Your cream all over his hand, hips pushing on his fingers more and more as you reached your high. 

The both of you completely forgot about the other body across the room, lost in each other's touch and feeling. Chenle didn't even realize he came until he removed his hand from his pants, the sticky liquid all over his hand making him cringe. He's never been in a situation like this before, watching someone have sex right in front of him, being caught watching someone. It's a turn on, a sensation he never knew existed. 

“Chenle,” Jisung stated, “get on your knees.”

“W-what?” 

“Get down.” 

Chenle felt his stomach erupt in nerves, carefully falling to his knees on the other side of the room. He watches you walk up to him carefully, the prettiest glow in your skin that he's ever seen. The man is silent as he watches you undress in front of him, shoes go first, your leggings come down painfully slow. He needed you so badly he could practically taste you already, already seeing how much you came through your panties.

“You don't get to touch her till I say so,” Jisung says, coming behind you placing his hands on your hips. 

Chenle gulped, still watching you from his lashes. You hadn't said a word, allowing Jisung to take the lead on the entire situation and for some reason that scared him. 

“What do you want from her right now?” 

Chenle gazed at you, a dreamy expression in his eyes while watching your hand trail done to your panties. “I want to taste her.” 

“I'll let you if you apologize,” you respond, a shaky breath falling from your lips when your finger grazes your swollen clit. 

“I-Im sorry.” 

“For?”

The man looked like a puppy below you, brows knit, faint whines coming from him. If he had a tail, it would be wagging off the charts. His hands are grabbing at his pants, his hard on so clearly visible. He's nervous, not sure what to say and it's making him sweat but he has to say something. 

“For…uh…”

“For being a creep,” you finish, tone a bit stern. He nods, making you raise your brow slightly. “Say it.” 

“I'm sorry for being a creep.” 

“And?”

He gulps. The back and forth is beginning to frustrate him, just wanting to move your ruined panties to the side and give you what you've been dying for. But he knows he needs to do whatever you ask. After all, he is in the wrong. 

“And watching you in secret.” 

“Good boy,” you mumbled with a soft smile. Jisung rubbed circles in your hips, watching you pull your soaked underwear to the side. Chenle didn't wait for a single second before letting his mouth attach to your core. He ate you like a starved man, sucking and licking any part of you he could. Chenle's sweaty palms grabbed your legs, squeezing your thighs as if they were stress balls. 

“Fuck he's really going at you baby,” Jisung's raspy voice spoke in your ear, hands slipping under your shirt massaging your breasts. Jisung kisses your neck softly and slowly, grinding his clothed cock on your ass. 

“Fuck Chenle,” you whimper softly. He sucks your clit nice and hard, slurping noises filling the room. “Just like that.” 

He looks at you through his lashes, big brown eyes staring at you for approval as he flicks his tongue on your sensitive bud. Chenle keeps going, unable to hold back making you begin to shiver. Chenle feels your legs getting weak, but the other male behind you holds you up. He starts to groan, feeling you grind on his mouth, wanting to feel more of him. Chenle sticks his tongue out, allowing you to grind on his face more. 

“You look so pretty, baby. Keep fucking his face, just like that,” Jisung whispers in your ear, instantly giving you butterflies. 

“Oh fuck,” you whine, grabbing Chenle's hair pulling him closer to you. He flicked his tongue on your sensitive bud faster, his groans turning you on more and more. He sucks your clit hard, your eyes rolling back at the feeling, getting closer and closer to your orgasm. “Shit.. you're such a good boy..” 

“Are you gonna cum in his mouth,” Jisung whispers. 

You nod, moans getting louder and louder by the second. Your grip on his hair got stronger, making the boy whine in pain and pleasure. You could feel him melt in your hands when you came, legs trembling when his tongue lapped up your juices, eyes never breaking from your pretty face. 

But before Chenle could get too carried away, Jisung pulls your hand off his head, pulling his face from your legs. He was a mess, his hair disheveled, lips pink and plump, face wet with your cum. He's never been this desperate for a girl in his life, but you bring it out in him in the most embarrassing way possible. 

“You had your fun,” Jisung mumbled, pulling your body from the man on the ground. “Now I'll have mine, and you're gonna stay there and watch.” 

Without a word of protest, the man pulled you to the small couch that was on the wall behind you, plopping into it. He watches you, eyes never leaving your body as you climb on top of him. You hadn't had sex in ages, the sheer anticipation of feeling him inside you sending you off your rocker. The location of the sinful act didn't even cross your mind, your place of employment now feeling like a second home in a way. 

Chenle almost immediately took his cock from his pants, pumping it to the sight of you on top of the other man, watching you grind and kiss him. He couldn't see your face, but he didn't need to, not when your ass was perfectly fine. His eyes traced the lines of your back, hand squeezing his shaft as he wished it was himself you were on top of. 

Jisung kisses you in the sloppiest way possible. Tongue and saliva everywhere, his hands all over your body. You put your hands on his shoulders, lips still locked to each other's as you feel his hands rubbing your thighs, snaking to your ass. His big hands squeeze you, pushing you on his hard cock for more stimulation. 

“I wanna sit on your cock,” you mumble on his lips, peppering kisses on his jawline. 

Jisung says nothing, just reaches down into his shorts, pulling out his rock hard cock. You straddled his lap, knees sinking into either side of him. The male underneath you, pulls your panties to the side, pressing his tip into you. From how much you struggled to get him into your mouth, you knew getting him inside you was going to be a challenge. 

“Fuck,” you sighed, brows knitting when you felt a slight stretch. 

“You can do it baby.” Jisung's breathe hitches the moment he feels your walls engulf his tip, squeezing around him him. It was taking everything in him not to just ram into you at the moment. His head falls back, your eyes still on his face. Chenle watched you, eyes burning into your back as he watched you grind on the man, taking in every inch of your body in. 

With every move you made, Chenle matched in his hands, stroking himself as you grind slowly, speeding up when you sped up. Your moans made him shiver, groaning softly as he squeezed himself in his palms. Chenle nearly came when you looked over your shoulder, staring right at him as you moved the scene feeling like it came right out a porno. 

Jisung held onto your hips, fingertips pressing into your sides tight. He couldn't stop thinking about how you probably dreamt of this moment, thought about fucking him all the time, riding him till you cried. He could tell by your face that you were completely lost in the movements. So wet, he could slip out of you at any time. “Fuck baby, you feel so good,” he groaned, brows furrowed. 

Jisung smirked, eyes looking over your shoulder to see the other man jerking himself at an embarrassingly fast pace watching you ride him. Jisung held your hips tight, taking in your whimpering as you began to move faster. “Fuck, so big,” you whine, holding his shoulders tight. Your body shivers in his hands, hot skin making his palms sweat.

The sounds from your lips almost sent Chenle into overdrive, your sweet soft voice crying out and begging for more making him harder and harder. Chenle shivered when his fingertips dragged over his sensitive tip, the action making his hips buck into his hand. All he could do was imagine it was your tight pussy around his throbbing cock, imagine you were riding the life out of him. Chenle watches the way Jisung digs his fingers into your flesh, drinking every indent the man makes in your skin. He just wants to touch you, fuck you, make you feel good, but you won't let him. He doesn't mind, at least you didn't smack him and kick him out. 

Jisung slides his hands to your ass, squeezing tight as he begins to groan softly. “Just like that baby girl,” he said, a raspy voice filling your ears. “You wanna cum on my cock?” 

“Y-yes..” A gasp flies out your lips when Jisung lifts  you off his lap, laying you down on the couch. The man threw your leg in the air, sitting it on his shoulder as he stuffed his cock back inside you. You could barely catch your breath when he began drilling into you, your moans turning into whines and cries of pleasure all while lying there staring at Chenle who was still watching in awe. 

Chenle pumped his cock faster, watching the way your chest rose as you breathed. Your face fell on the dirty fabric, eyes fluttering open to look directly into his. A smile pulled your lips as you reached your hand between your legs, rubbing your clit as you watched him. Seeing him absolutely lost in you, helpless and desperate, wanting to feel you and be inside you, made you feel powerful. Chenle's moans were music to your ears, Jisung's hands all over your body, your senses heightened. 

“Fuck..I'm gonna cum,” you moaned breathlessly. 

“Yeah,” Chenle, sucking in his breath fast when he started to feel himself getting close. You watched him watch you moan uncontrollably, your lust taking over your senses seeing how fucked out he already was with just his hand. 

“Chenle,” you whimper, making the boy's eyes go wide. “Chenle, I'm so fucking close.”

Jisung didn't bat an eyelash, smirking as he continued to fuck the life out of you. His lip slipped between his teeth watching you rub your sensitive clit faster, pounding into you harder. “That's my girl,” he grunted. “Keep playing with yourself, cum all over me.” 

Your fingers kept rubbing, eye contact never breaking with Chenle while Jisung kept going as if he wasn't even there. The teary look on your face sent the man into overdrive, just that one look making him spill out all over his hand with a loud moan. Chenle couldn’t bear to look away from you, so pretty and sweaty, eyes wet with lust and desire. He's pathetic and he knows it, but if it makes you happy he'll live with it.

Jisung's grip on your leg tightens, his climax closer and closer. You can recognize those moans and grunts from anywhere, knowing he was about to cum. 

“Cum Jisung, cum in me,” you whimpered, mascara covering your cheeks. “Shit, shit..” Your orgasm hit you like a car, your whimpers turning into loud cries, body jerking underneath the man on top of you. Jisung still continued to pound into you, practically fucking the breath out of your body. With every gasp that left your lips, he went harder. Your trembling hands reached up, grabbing at his chest as you whined loudly. 

“I'm almost there, baby girl..” you were so tight around him, he was surprised he could even move. Jisung pounded into you until he came deep inside you, holding his breath as he released inside of you. “Fuck,” he groaned. 

A calm silence fell over the room, nothing but breathing bouncing off the walls and into your ears. You're hot, sweaty and completely delirious to the events that have just taken place within the past 30 minutes. Having sex with your favorite voice actor in front of your hot perverted coworker was not in your plans for the night, but you definitely cannot complain. 

“I can cross that off my bucket list,” Jisung chuckled, breaking the silence. “Jesus, that was fucking crazy..” 

“Yeah,” you agreed. But that was the only thing you could say. You couldn't even look at Jisung, let alone Chenle who still sat on the floor in front of you two. That's when you and Jisung hear shuffling, turning your heads to look at the man standing up in a hurry, shoving his now flaccid cock back into his pants. 

“I-I uh… I have to go.” Chenle grabbed his things hastily, bolting for the door without sparing either of you a second glance. 

Before you protest, the door slams, leaving you and Jisung alone. You look up at the man, mouth open in shock. 

“Wasn't that fun,” he says, beaming a tired smile at you. Jisung pulls out, his cum slowly dripping out of you onto the black couch. 

“That was…something else.” You're still shell shocked, the events not yet setting in. Jisung shuffles from between your legs, fixing up his pants and clothes. That's when you notice just how naked you actually were. “Fuck,” you mumbled. 

Putting your clothes back on, your legs felt sore from holding them in position for too long. A small hiss left your lips, making Jisung chuckle softly. “I did a bit much, didn't I,” he questioned. 

“Nothing I didn't like.” 

You stand up, slipping your shoes on while he towers over you, watching you silently with a smirk on his face. “Give me your number.” 

Your eyebrows shoot to your forehead, somewhat confused and surprised at his request. “My number?”

“Did you think I was gonna fuck you and never speak to you again? Especially when you're such a devoted fan?”

There it goes, your stomach erupting into butterflies like earlier. “You always know the right things to say,” you laugh. You're trying to keep it together, but unfortunately you're easy to read. 

“So, can I have it?” He licks his lips, eyeing you down like he's going to devour you. 

You gulp, nodding at his request. 

“Good girl. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

~

Walking into work the next day made your head rattle. All you could focus on were the sinful acts that took place behind that very counter your coworker Lily stood. You try to keep it normal, saying hi to everyone before walking into the back. 

Your body tenses when you see Chenle putting his things in his locker, the man turning around hearing your footsteps. You were expecting him to ice you out, but he gave you a small smile, nodding his head at you. 

“Hey,” he greeted, completely monotone. 

“Hey..” you put your things in your locker, gulping as he stood there, trying to not make it obvious that he was staring at you. But the awkward energy was eating away at your insides so you had to say something. “About yesterday I-”

“I'm sorry I stormed out. I was completely overwhelmed and embarrassed,” he interrupted. 

Your brows scrunch, head cocked to the side in confusion. “Embarrassed? Why were you-”

“I shouldn't have watched you like that. I'm sorry,” he admitted, avoiding eye contact. 

Your expression was blank, trying to compute his words. “Chenle, I don't care about any of that.” 

“Oh…”

“I wanted to tell you that yesterday was fun. I had fun and I hope you did too,” you said looking up at him sheepishly. “I hope this doesn't make things awkward between us.”

“I-it’s not awkward!” 

“Are you sure?? It seems awkward now,” you chuckle. 

Chenle takes a deep breath, before turning to you, his fingers toying with the sleeve of his jacket. “Listen, I really like you and yesterday was… an enigma. I want to get to know you on more of a personal note.” 

“Yesterday was personal.”

Chenle sighed, closing his eyes to try and rephrase his words. You stood there watching him struggle in amusement as he faced the ground. “Not personal in that way, personal in less of a coworker way,” he says. “A friendly way.” 

The reality of having options weighs on you all of sudden. You're very much attracted to both Jisung and Chenle. Chenle is cute, and wants to know you on more than a sexual level. Jisung has been your wet dream for years and seems like a pretty cool guy, not to mention the sexual chemistry with both of them is out of this world. There's no way they'd let you have your cake and eat it too. But you wouldn't know unless you try. 

You took a deep breath before speaking, biting your tongue as you stared at him through your lashes. “Jisung and I are hanging out later if you want to come,” you say quietly. 

“Oh,” he says. Chenle's mouth goes dry looking at your face. “I-I could hang out with you guys.” 

“Only if you want to,” you add. 

“I-I want to.” 

“Are you sure?” You sense a bit of doubt in his answer but that feeling immediately goes away when you watch his jaw clench and his eyes harden. 

He nods, his staring only intensifying as the clatter in the cafe plays in your ears as back noise. He wants you so badly at the moment, to just shove you in the lockers and show you a good time, but he won't and he can't, so for now all he can do is agree to hang out with you. 

“Then um.. I'll see you later.” Your body is hot as you scurry away from the man, his unintentional hungry gaze making you feel small, but you liked it. 

“Yeah, bye.” His words faded out as the door shut behind you, leaving him with nothing but his thoughts and his hard on. Chenle would never describe himself as a cuck but after the events that transpired the night before, watching the girl who isn't his girl but still his girl gets fucked by a handsome man wasn't all that bad. 

And he can't wait to do it again. 

[saitoakirachan-fangirls]

Obsessed with the idea of a lowkey unethical scientist Wakaba who experimented on Akechi and the complicated feelings generated from this within Futaba and Akechi.

Akechi and Wakaba's relationship was surprisingly cordial. If anything, he quite liked her because she was the smartest of the bunch and also the nicest to him. I mean, he still killed her, but. You know. She would talk about her young daughter and about Featherman, knowing that he's a fan of the show. She would ask how he felt after the experiments and gave him more grace than the others when he couldn't generate the result they were hoping for. (This is both because she's kinder and because she doesn't mind not "getting results." As far as she's concerned, any data is "results.") And yet.

And yet she didn't stop doing horrible experiments on him. Akechi was a child-shaped resource to her. Like a video game child, where you want to be nicer because it's cute and it looks like the real thing, but when it comes down to it, it's not really a person. She won't push as much as the others, and she always asks if he's okay. But, well, that's not her child. So if he says it's fine and the experiment isn't compromised, then who is she to doubt him? Isn't the knowledge obtained through these experiments more precious than the feelings of a teen she barely knew, and who insisted he was fine anyway? Yes, a palace collapsing kills the people inside (they made sure that to double check). Yes, this kid can cause psychotic breakdowns (it proved her hypothesis right). Yes, killing a shadow kills the person. But can't you see? This is all in the name of science. It's bigger than her or him or all of them.

Akechi's feelings about her flip-flops a lot depending on his mental state. Sometimes, he tries to justify killing her because she deserves it for what she did to him (the others wanted to do worse before she stopped them), it was her own fault for researching something so dangerous without knowing how to protect herself (how could she have predicted her team turning on her?) and he was just following orders anyway (a lot of corrupt adults are also "just following orders"), but more often, he settles on her being innocent. Since it was his decision to participate in the experiments, he needs to shoulder all the responsibility for his own pain. It was his choice, because he was obviously in control this whole time. He's a free agent. He's manipulating the adults here, don't you see? He wasn't a child anymore.

When Futaba learned about her human experiments, especially the ones on Akechi, she was shocked and horrified. "My mom was a fucking monster!" And Akechi is like, "Yeah the experiments sucked but I consented to everything." "You were 14-15???" And for a long time she is unable to really reconcile the image of her workaholic but loving mother with an obsessive scientist willing to turn a blind eye to the ethically bankrupt act of using a teen as a brain magic lab rat.

Idk, I just thought it would be funny and depressing if Futaba started thinking her mother was a horrible monster while Akechi has to defend Wakaba cause the truth is that she was kind of horrible but also like, a person. She was Futaba's loving mother, Sojiro's best friend, and an advocate for women in STEM. To her experiment subjects (because Akechi wasn't the only one, let's be real), she was a demon, but to other, she was a genuinely good person. Morally grey Wakaba Isshiki my beloved.

Also also, every adult who was involved with Akechi in any significant way pre-series dehumanized him :3c

[anime-in-new-albion]

Perfect Partners ~ Lilia Vanrouge

Summary: You have proven yourself as a capable and strategic warrior to the Queen of Briar Valley. But Lilia needs more convincing...

Pairing: Lilia Vanrouge X Fem!Reader

Genre: Angstyish Oneshote

Word Count: 1029

Warning: Hurt to comfort

Masterlist

It was Malleus’s mother who suggested you join the royal guard. She had seen your potential as a capable and strategic warrior growing up in Briar Valley. Her husband wasn’t sure at first, but upon seeing the skills you put out, he relented and allowed you to join. After training for ages, it was finally time for you to join a team, and Malleus’s mother put you with Lilia Vanrouge’s regiment, as he is the best warrior in the royal guard. 

Sure he was the Commander of the regiment, Malleus’s mother believed your skills would be a great help as his right hand. At first, Lilia was none too keen about working with you. He liked his small, tight-knit team just the way it was. He didn’t need someone like you on his team. Despite the fact that he didn’t seem to like you all that much, at least he was cordial as you worked.

Until Briar Valley was under attack.

You were on the frontlines, taking down every attacker from every angle. You were desperately outnumbered and you were getting backed into a corner, but you would yield. You couldn’t. You would not see harm to the glorious kingdom built by the Draconia family. You would not be the cause of their downfall.

A large blast of magic slammed into you, causing you to pitch to the side and fall to the ground. You exposed your weak point and they were closing in on you. Cursing under your breath, you went from offense to defense, desperately trying to keep from falling and allowing your line to break. 

“Y/N!” You heard Lilia shout from somewhere in front of you, behind your assailants. “We’ve been compromised! We need to get out of here right now!”

You shook your hand, continuing to fight off the incoming attackers. “No! I can’t!”

He found his way to you, slicing all of the enemies in his way. He tried to grab onto your arm, but you pushed him away. “I’m serious! We need to get to a safer ground. We need to save the others. Now let’s go!”

“I can’t!” You wailed, your voice cracking with desperation. “I have to protect this kingdom along with all of its citizens just like they saved me years ago! I can’t give up on this kingdom! I can’t give up on the Draconia’s! And I will die trying if I have to, just so they don’t fall!”

There was a pause, and for a second you thought he would leave you where you were. That was until you heard him swear under his breath and faced your attackers. With his sword raised, he began to charge. The tiniest smile tugged at your lips as you fought side by side. You thought it would be you alone trying to save Briar Valley. But you were grateful he was here beside you.

It felt like hours before things started to slow down and you could give your aching bones some reprieve. You slumped back onto the ground as the last of the attacks dispersed. With a sigh, you leaned back against a tree and closed your eyes, trying not to think about the pain in your joints.

“Hey, c’mon.” You opened your eyes to see Lilia holding a hand out to you while avoiding eye contact. “We should get you to the infirmary so they can relieve your injuries and your pain.”

You nodded and followed him through the forest to the infirmary wing of the Draconia castle. Occasionally he would stop to talk to other guards walking in the same direction as the two of you, asking them if they needed anything. Each one thanked the two of you for helping keep the kingdom safe for all of the citizens in the Valley. Lilia had a hard time accepting the compliments, so you thanked them in return for their kind words.

Eventually you were in the infirmary covered in bandages and drinking a special medicinal tea. The pain was easing slowly and the nurse told you to refrain from overexerting your body for a while. As you laid in the bed, Lilia sat next to you, twiddling his thumbs.

The Queen appeared and gave you a proud smile. “I’m so glad the two of you are okay! I was so worried when I didn’t see you with the other members of your regiment. I decided to come and see if you were resting after your valiant efforts on the battlefield.”

“It was all them. They did most of the work.” Lilia mumbled. “I was trying to help.”

The Queen simply said, “Well, I’m glad the two of you are alright. And the whole Briar Valley owes you its gratitude. Without you, we would have lost everything. Everything is safe and sound. So thank you, so much, for everything you did today. The King will be so pleased to hear of your heroism.”

You smiled. “Thank you, your Majesty. That means a lot.”

“You’re very welcome.” She nodded her head. “Now, I have to go double check the rest of the royal guards and make sure all of the citizens are alright. You two deserve some rest, so take your time before coming back to the guards. You know, I am so glad I assigned the two of you to be on the same team. You both work excellently together like perfect partners.”

As she left, you glanced at Lilia and saw a pink dusting on his pale cheeks. You couldn’t help but giggle which caused him to pout.

“Stop! I’m not very good with compliments. I don’t need you mocking me.” He muttered.

“I’m not mocking you. I just think you’re cute when you blush.” You softly say.

“Oh.”

“Thank you, by the way.” You added. “I don’t think I could have held off all those enemies by myself. You really helped me out a lot.”

He fidgeted in his seat some more as the blush on his cheeks got darker. “You’re welcome. And you know, I think the Queen was right. We do make a pretty good team.”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. We’re the perfect partners.”

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Enforcers - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Dirty compromises and dead dreams...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"What about the Firelights?" Sevika asks. "Old Giz was their nexus. Now he's dead. But there's still a double-agent somewhere in our network. They've stolen from our warehouses before. Now that we're on the ropes, they'll try again."

"It won't happen."

"Sir—"

"Every single warehouse, silo, and strongroom will be under heavy guard. Not the conventional blackguards, either. Enforcers."

In the glass, Sevika's reflection falls still. The way a corpse would, in the final moments of rigor mortis.

"Enforcers?"

Silco nods. "The Council are pacified by our projected profit margins on medicinal Shimmer. With the Safeguard Act signed, they're content to believe Zaun will play nice. But with a disaster of this scale—and their investments so close to the ground—they'll need reassurance." He keeps breathing: in and out. The pressure in his lungs intensifies. The Monster gnashing at the bars of its cage. "For Topside, the only surety more sacred than a contract is an officer of the law."

Sevika says nothing. He'd expected a hot surge of rage, and refutations that would ricochet off the walls, before she cut a sweeping retreat. But she isn't angry; she seems unable to muster the willpower.

As if, after everything last night, her well of anger is dry.

"Enforcers," she says again. "On our turf?"

"The crisis-management troops. Not the standard-issue."

"It doesn't matter. We can't trust them."

"Which is why we won't give them free rein. They'll be housed in barracks aboveground. They'll be assigned to patrol specific locations. They'll be answerable directly to the Captain of the blackguards, and the Captain will report to you. Any infractions will be handled internally. They will be supervised at every step."

Sevika shakes her head. "We can't trust them," she repeats, with sharper emphasis. "You know that."

"Trust isn't a concern."

"Isn't it?"

Silco's stare cuts crooked as a guillotine's blade. "They will not be given leeway. They will be treated as guests: welcome, and cordially, but only for a set period of time. We'll not give them reason to linger. But while they are here, we will make use of them. They'll be assigned to territories where the Firelights are known to frequent. Their presence will sow panic. The Firelights will think twice before risking a full-frontal attack." He keeps breathing: the pressure is a bolus in his throat. The Monster's ire, a slush-pit of acid. "Until the Shimmer is harvested, and the fresh crop is ready for export, we'll need our goods protected at every stage of the process. No break-ins, losses, or theft. The Council needs to see Zaun as stable. Otherwise they'll reconsider their investment. Others will follow. We cannot let their cowardice be our downfall."

"But—"

"This is not a luxury, Sevika. It's a last resort." The bolus grows bigger, and the Monster is frothing in the darkness. Gods, how he loathes himself for pleading impotence when he'd like nothing more than to throttle every single one of them. It's a prostitution of principle, and his pride cannot sanction it. But his city's backed into a corner, and the only way out is through. "I know that Enforcers are the enemy. I know they've been the enemy, and they always will be. But we are on the verge of collapse, and there's no other recourse. If the Firelights take advantage of the instability, or if the Council's doubts turn into full-fledged panic... then everything will have been for nothing." He exhales: hard and slow. "We must make the best of the cards dealt."

"Sir—"

"I want you to personally oversee the Enforcers' deployment. Establish their routes, and ensure their discipline. I will not abide a reprise of the past." 

"And if there is?"

"Then we'll see the bastards gutted like fish."

The way they should've been on Bloody Sunday.

He hadn't kickstarted the slaughter that night. But it was still his fault. It was his wiles, his weapons, and his callow wargames that had tipped Topside off. They'd gotten a whiff of blood and descended into a feeding frenzy. And the bodies had piled up until there were none left to bury.

Nandi among them.

He'd sworn, that if Enforcers ever set foot again on Fissure soil, he'd tear them apart, bit by bit. That if Zaun was free, it would be free in every sense. Free from Topside's predations, free from their meddling and their murdering. Free to choose a better path, one unstained by the sins of the past.

Now here he is. Making his bed with the bastards that butchered his folk.

What a fucking joke.

In the glass, Sevika's reflected visage is grave. She can sense the unshackled darkness in him now. Sense, more keenly, that unlike last night, it won't be as easy to mitigate. But she doesn't shy away. Doesn't balk at his callousness, or the price he's demanding—from her and the city.

Her bedrock pragmatism is too well-entrenched for that.

She's always known that Silco is not a good man. But it's strange to see her look so cored-out by the knowledge.

I'm sorry, he could say.

Except the sheer inadequacy of the phrase is laughable. Sorry doesn't begin to touch the carnage of past and present. She'd never accept it, either. And, deep down, neither would he. He's not a man who apologizes: not for his ambitions, or the means that drive him to see them through. He's never owned a white horse, or waved a white flag, and he never will. Because there's no such thing as a fair fight; no justice in letting the enemy draw the first blow. Speed and necessity are his only edge: an edge that'll kill, and keep killing until he's the last man standing.

That's the only way to make amends to the dead. To make sure that the living don't join them.

"It will be a nightmare," he says. "But not the end."

Sevika meets his eyes in the glass, and nods.

"Understood, sir."

It's not an endorsement. It's not even a concession. But it's the acknowledgment he needs.

[salem-s]

11 ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN ── RAFE CAMERON

SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. SERIES MASTERLIST | LAST PART

WARNINGS language, angst, fluff if you squint. 18+ mdni.

WORD COUNT 4.4k. i think this is my shortest one yet?

SONG OF THE CHAPTER japanese denim by daniel caesar

The long run doesn’t feel so nice. 

It’s finals week, and its implications do nothing to aide the dull ache that’s weighing in your gut. The grueling hours spent studying and hunched over desks only pile onto your list of problems, and that’s only the physicality of your issues. Besides the permanent kink in your shoulder from your poor posture, your body is depleting due to the emotional stress that strains your heart.

Even though he’s right next door, you don't see or hear Rafe since his cold departure.

You want to believe it’s a good thing, it’s what you wanted, it’s quite literally what you asked for. But you can’t help but long for him, knowing he’s just on the other side of the wall, wondering if he’s feeling just as awful as you.

But there’s nothing.

You only heard him once while you were studying, and the second you heard another girl’s voice with him, you bolted out of the dorm and beelined to the library. 

So you don't study in your room anymore. 

Not that it changes much, because you don’t even spot him on campus or lounging on the quad with friends. There are no late night texts, no loud music blasting through the thin walls, no presence at Elliot’s house. Nothing. For such a tall person, you’re shocked at his ability to lay low.

Because you’re certain that he purposefully avoids you.

You know he knows your schedule since he used to coincidentally be walking home from class at the same time, even though he never had classes in the same building as you. He used to just happen to open his door at the same time as you with a backpack slung over his shoulder, simply stating he’s going to the library but the company on his walk would be nice. Once he even loitered outside your academic building after you had had a tough exam, claiming the grassy patch adjacent to the building is the best place to lay.

Now Rafe does none of that. He’s a ghost. 

The only time you caught a glimpse of him was at a nearby coffee shop. Seeing him nearly kills you.

You'd been stopping in to refuel to cram study for a final later that day, nearly spilling your espresso infused drink on his nice white shirt on your way out. Bumping into him sent a shiver down your spine, the physical contact a pure shock to both of you as you stood motionless in the crowded cafe, eyes only trained on each other.

It was hard to even find words at the sight of his pretty eyes, ones that looked tired despite the surprise look on his face.

But the shock came and went as Rafe had been cordial, offering a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and side-stepping out of your way without his usual Rafe-like banter. He was walking away from you before you could really say anything to him, the only word in the entire exchange being a meek, “Sorry,” on your end that was said too late, as he was already out of earshot by the time you found the words.

You weren’t sure what you were sorry for this time.

Almost spilling your drink on him. Accidentally elbowing him in the ribs. Shutting him out. Putting him through an emotional wringer. Pushing him away at every opportunity you can.

Needless to say, you've been spiraling. 

Especially when Lorenza gives you a call a few hours before your coding exam, mainly to check in and make sure your cut is healing alright (it's practically gone, but the reminder still stays). You converse as normal, lamenting about all the projects and finals you have going on and that you're seeing your friends later.

Lorenza asks if that includes Rafe.

And hearing his name makes you go quiet. And she takes that as the hint to continue talking about him, asking if you've talked to him since the day you got back. When you tell her that, no, you haven't had time to talk to him about anything, she hums over the phone, almost scolding you wordlessly for letting it get this far.

"Probabilmente anche sta soffrendo," Lorenza tells you, stating it like a fact.

You respond that, no, he's not hurting. That he's probably fine, and that you're fine too. You're both just busy with schoolwork and personal lives and everything on top of that.

"Hai parlato con lui?"

No, you tell her, you haven't talked to him.

"Allora come lo sapresti?"

You offer no response. Because you don't know how he is. You wouldn't know if he's hurt or not because you haven't talk to him, nor can you find the gall to do so.

Her incessant pestering makes your face flush and your heart slump to your gut, settling some uneasy feeling there for the remainder of the day. Because she's right: you know you need to talk to him, even if it's just to check in and see how he is, because he deserves, at the least, an apology for how you've treated him.

It's all you can think about during your exam.

Yet finally, after day and night of burying your head in textbooks and nearly crawling through your computer screen to figure out your codes, it's your last final, and it comes and goes regardless of how much you think about Rafe during it.

It's the last Thursday before everyone’s forced to leave for winter break, one of the last few days you'll get to see your friends before the New Year, so despite your aching shoulders and pounding headache, you accept the invitation to drink and party at Elliot’s off campus house. 

Lorenza's words echo in your head all afternoon. He's probably hurting, too. You hope that isn't true, you hope he's just been burying himself in schoolwork and being distracted in a good way to keep himself busy. You hope he doesn't have any sleepless nights. You hope he's seeing other people to get back to a sense of normalcy.

You think about the possibility of seeing him at Elliot's, since they're best friends and all. You think about all the things you could say to him, how many I'm sorrys you can utter before he'll believe it. But you know yourself, and you'd probably never get the words out at the sight of him. Part of you really doesn't want to do it tonight.

But the other part of you also hopes Rafe's there. Maybe force him into a room so you can apologize to him (that is, if you can find the words).

When you arrive, your friends embrace you endearingly. First come the congratulations for finishing all of your finals, then the drinks are immediately second.

Marianne doesn’t waste time pushing a cocktail in your hand and throwing an arm over your shoulder, guiding you deeper into the party where your closest friends (amongst a lot of others you don't care for) mingle and laugh and sing. 

Although your mind drifts for the better part of it. You can’t help but continuously scan the crowd in search of him, feeling that stupid nagging pull in your chest the longer the party goes by without him. The nagging eventually morphs into guilt.

Did he know you were coming and that’s why he’s not here? Are you driving a wedge between your friend group because of your blatant insecurities?

"Hey," Marianne whispers to you after an hour. “You’re goat-staring.”

“Hm?” You snaps out of your trance, unaware you've been staring at that same speck on the wall for ages. “Oh.”

Your friend doesn’t let the act go unnoticed, darting her gaze around you cautiously before leaning in close. “Are you sure you’re alright? I mean you’ve barely spoken about the–”

“I’m fine,” you reassure, giving it your all to fake a smile. “Honest. I don’t want to think about it tonight.”

I can't not think about it, you want to say. Especially because he's not here.

Marianne simply raises her eyebrows, wordlessly prompting you for more. 

But you don't give into her instigation. “I’ll tell you about it soon, I promise. Just…not tonight.”

That’s all it takes for now. 

Because no shit the whole Rafe situation has been a damper to your conscience ever since your last morning together, no debates there, but the thought of rehashing it from the start makes your head spin. You try and blink away flashes of him: his pained expression on the dance floor, the image of him and Yara in the closet, his pretty face inches from yours coaxed in sunlight. He’s a plague in your mind, infesting your every waking thought. It’s draining. It’s emotionally exhausting. You forget how to not let your mind drift back to him, him, him.

To make your head spin further, you attempt to rise from your zombie-like state and join the party. You take a shot, open another drink, dance with Marianne and catch up with your friends.

For the most part, it serves as a nice distraction, even if you can't really get drunk.

But there’s a big gaping hole in your heart: the guilt that he, Rafe, is nowhere to be seen.

It’s odd without him, the room feeling incomplete without his presence, his laughter, his jabby one liners. It’s rare for him to miss a party, let alone one this big and festive, and there’s a harsh pull in your chest, because you feel responsible for his absence. Maybe you being here made him uncomfortable, so he opted to stay back. 

“Hey, Bear.”

Elliot is suddenly at your side, beaming and using your inside-joke nickname (you debate the semantics of why Paddington's marmalade sandwiches don't seem to mold once), after finding yourself staring at another indent on the wall. Your eyes glance at your watch, frowning at the time passed.

Have you really been sitting and sulking and thinking about Rafe for that long?

“How’d your coding sesh go?”

You shake the sulking demeanor away and take a large sip of your drink. “I’m just happy it’s over.”

“Couldn’t have been that bad?”

You wince. It could’ve, and it was. Throughout the entirety of it, your thoughts kept lingering back to a certain someone. 

“Ah,” Elliot says, waving it off nonchalantly after you don't respond. “T’s all bullshit, anyway. Besides, it couldn’t have been worse than my statistics final. I think I left three questions blank.”

You quirk a brow. “Didn’t you say it was open note?”

Elliot simply shrugs, and you laugh, rolling your eyes at your friend. 

“I stand corrected, then.”

The two of you fall into easy conversation, Elliot being the friend you clicked with the best out of all of Rafe’s friends. He’s like the mayor, knowing everyone and being friends with everyone, making sure to chat with every single person who comes to his house even if he doesn’t know them. He’s a great guy to have in your corner, because despite being beloved by everyone, he’s especially protective and appreciative of his favorites. 

He makes time for you and Marianne despite the line of people out the door waiting to say hello to him. Elliot has his priorities set. For now. 

“So, what gives?”

The two of you sit on the stairs twenty minutes later, tucked away from the crowds but still immersed in the pounding bass and echoed laughter. Your backs rest on opposite walls, you sitting one step above him.

Partially, you came here in the first place to stand guard so randoms don’t walk upstairs (as that has happened once, where a guy in a frat down the street mistook this for his house and slept in Elliot's bed without anyone noticing him walk in). But the estrangement from the chaos is nice, and you rarely get to be with Elliot one on one without someone needing him for something, so you stay. 

Yet your conversation was going so well, lighthearted about something your other friend Sydney said to him the other day. But not anymore, as now he's looking to you expectantly for answers, answers you're not ready to give.

You frown. “What?”

Elliot gives you a pointed look. “Bear,” he deadpans as if it’s obvious, scoffing at your deflection.

All you can do is shrug, prompting him to say more.

“You go to Italy with my best friend for a week and neither of you are saying anything about it?” He throws his hand up. “What the hell happened?”

How much time does he have? Because there is a lot of ground to cover on the simplicity of what happened. What happened was you underestimated his best friend to the point where your real feelings clashed with your fake feelings and the concept of instigating something more made you experience symptoms of a heart attack.

Right. As if it’s easy.

So you settle for the safe response.

“Nothing…happened.”

“Yeah,” he snorts. “Try and convince me next time.”

You rolls your eyes and dismiss his comment by taking a sip of your drink. The tequila feels stronger than before, now that you have the partial liquid courage to spill the truth. 

To your knowledge, your friends don’t know about your arrangement, or at least you don't think they know. Sometimes you and Rafe wouldn’t be subtle with your lingering touches and glances at parties, sometimes disappearing together for about ten minutes and coming back as if nothing happened, sometimes your bickering banter would turn flirty with toothy grins and prolonged eye contact. 

It wouldn’t be the end of the world if they figured it out. But it’s not like it’s happening anymore. 

“Clearly something happened,” he sing-songs, taking a sip of his drink, almost instigating you. "You're sulking."

You're not falling for it. "Well, it already seems like you know."

He narrows his eyes. "I may know...some things." Then he adds quickly, "Why? What do you know?"

"Elliot."

"Bear. We can play this game all night."

You let out a sigh so gutturally deep that it elongates the silence between you.

Based on the faux quizzical brow and the slightly knowing gleam in his eye, Rafe must've told Elliot the bare minimum of the story, probably eager to hear your side of the coin and play his favorite role: therapist. This wouldn't be the first time you've lamented to him about your problems, and vice versa.

But this is different. This is his best friend. Rafe and Elliot. Elliot and Rafe. Conjoined at the hip since freshmen year when they were randomly assigned roommates. Under any circumstance, it feels wrong to essentially shit-talk that person's best friend, regardless if you need to get it off your chest or not.

You can't. Not right now.

So instead, you opt for a simple shake of your head, wordlessly pleading for him to drop it.

For a moment, Elliot secedes begrudgingly, but also with understanding. The two of you sit in your manual silence, quietly sipping your drinks and letting the attempt to story-tell sit idly in the air. Frankly, you'd love to get his input, but you already know what he'll say to you, what he'll suggest you do.

And right now, you're not sure you can stomach the thought of running back into Rafe's arms, not when you're absolutely sure he wants nothing to do with you anymore.

After a moment of silence, he bites. “He told me about you two.”

Your heart skips.

Well, that confirms your earlier suspicions.

He continues quietly, more direct. “Before you went on the trip. How you’d see each other sometimes.”

Sometimes doesn’t even cut it. There’d be times you'd see each other everyday, other times you'd go a week or two with nothing. It felt like everything and nothing all at once. 

You look down at your friend, unable to find words. 

But Elliot’s always been chatty, always knows how to fill a silence. “I don’t want to know…everything,” he grimaces at the insinuation. “But I just want you two to be alright. You’re both stubborn as fuck and your miscommunication tendencies drive me insane, but you guys will figure it out. Whatever it is.”

Your mouth reacts before your mind. “Doesn’t matter what it was. I fucked it up.”

“I doubt that.”

“I do,” you say softly, dejected. “All I do is push people away.”

Elliot shrugs. “Well, that might be true. But some people need a shove.”

You snort unattractively. “What? Like you and Sydney?”

The blush that rises to his face makes him nudge you with his knee, turning away as a sheepish grin rises on his lips.

“Stop trying to change the subject. I’m charging by the hour, so get it all out now.”

You find it in yourself to chuckle, “Shut up.”

But it quickly simmers into silence, a raw ache settling in your throat at the verity of it all. There's nothing to fix, nothing to heal, minimal things to mend. Well, if anyone's good at a pep talk, it would be Elliot, and frankly the tequila feels hot in your chest, hot enough for you to talk about it only for a little bit.

Playing with the loose hem on your shirt, you avoid his awaiting eyes, heart heavy with the burden of the last few weeks. It feels like it hasn't been light in forever, hasn't been full or bright. Whenever it gets soft enough, flashes of events that happened under the Sicilian sun come to your mind at the simplest reminders: the color lilac, any mentions of red wine, whiffs of cologne that smell like his.

Sometimes when you see the same shade of blue as his eyes, it makes your heart skip.

You blink away the image of Rafe in your mind.

“It wouldn’t have worked between us anyway. He’s already seeing new people and I can’t–”

“Woah,” Elliot sits up and looks up at you in disbelief. “Where’d you hear that?”

You frown at his sudden seriousness. “Uh, I heard him Monday night with a girl in his room. Not to mention he was letting this girl at the wedding cop a feel–”

“You mean Yara?”

The name makes your heart sink. 

Last week’s mishap flashes in your mind, and the thought of Elliot knowing makes your skin crawl.

Rafe really told Elliot about her? About it all? The image of them together in the closet burns fresh in your memory, and you hate the way your skin feels like it's on fire at the reminder.

Not trusting your words, you nod, both confused and hurt. 

But instead of confirming your worst fears and indulging the horrors of your conscience, Elliot simply scoffs with a chuckle and slaps a hand to his forehead, almost in disbelief and frustration at the same time, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling. 

“My god, Bear,” he all but laughs in your face. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Your face runs hot. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me."

Normally, you'd tell someone off if they blatantly called you an idiot, especially right to your face. But this is Elliot— who rarely ever bullshits anything and always speaks from the truth of his heart, no matter how brutal it may be. You know that he knows something you don't.

When you don't respond, he snorts again. "You’re an idiot. You really think he’s bumming around with other girls?”

The question makes your jaw slack. 

“Uh, yeah?”

Elliot’s mocking laugh only pisses you off further. 

You slap his leg. “What the fuck are you laughing at?”

It takes him a moment to come down, for his voice to return back to normal, and he even has the audacity to wipe a tear away from the corner of his eye, taking a long, calculated sip from his beer to prolong your impatience. 

A hand raises to slap him again and he quickly stops messing around. “Elliot.”

Elliot shakes his head again in disbelief and lets out a long breath. “Alright, alright, easy.”

“Tell me.”

“You’re awfully bossy for someone who was literally sulking two minutes ago.”

You raise a hand to slap his leg again, and Elliot wheezes a laugh.

“I yield,” he jests. “I can confirm the Monday girl was Adriana, she’s a good friend of mine. She’s in his photography class and was dropping off his prints he left in lecture by accident. I know because we talked about it literally yesterday. Apparently, she’s in the same dorm as you guys.”

You reel. Photography class? Prints? 

“A lesbian, by the way,” Elliot adds pointedly. 

You hate how considerably lighter your shoulders feel, but mask the relief with a scowl. “Whatever. He still was shacking up with Yara.”

Elliot rolls his eyes so hard you can see the whites of his eyes as his lashes flutter from the intensity of it. “He was looking for you.”

You freeze, but shake it off. 

Her hand on his tie, eyes peering up to him. His hand ghosting over her bicep as if about to touch her. The mere centimeters between their bodies.

Swallowing the image, you frown with a flicker of irritation. “They were in a closet together, so he wasn’t doing a very good job.”

“No, he wasn’t,” he admits gently. “But in his defense, she told him she knew where you were. Apparently he was desperate to follow.”

Your heart skips at the thought of Rafe running around trying to find you after rejecting his proposition. Perhaps if things went differently - as in, you didn't go into that bathroom and instead went somewhere where he could find you - you can't help but wonder what he would've said to you. If he would've apologized for alarming you, or telling you it was a prank, or whatever else he might've done.

But that's a fairytale. It isn't what happened.

"You didn't see them," you say quietly before you can take it back, hating how jealous it makes you seem. "They were-

“He pulled away the moment he could think straight. Said it felt wrong.”

That makes your chest pull. 

“What felt wrong?” You whisper brokenly. 

Elliot shrugs, as if he’s not saying the most heartwrenching antidote. “She wasn’t you.”

I want you.

The words echo in your head, the same words that have been playing on repeat on the back burner of your mind, words that have plagued you because you thought them to be deceitful. They only make your chest ache at the reminder of what happened right after, hearing the words while seeing the image of the two of them together in that closet. The two separate images contradicted each other so heavily, only made the sting of it all worse. 

Only you.

But now it’s different, hearing the side of his story from his closest friend makes all of the pain fade away.

Why would Rafe lie to his best friend?

“For Rafe, it’s different with you,” Elliot says, quieter but firm. “Before he told me you were fucking, he found ways to talk about you, like, all the time. Obviously it didn’t take long for me to put two and two together, but I figured I’d wait for him to tell me.” Then he grins up at you. “Believe me when I say all the time. It was actually infuriating. He even found a way to bring you up during Fortnite, once.”

You manage a ragged laugh. 

Because the anecdote nearly kills you.

You think back to all that time spent silently pining over him, waiting to express your blatant admiration for him until you were both under cotton sheets and able to indulge in vulnerability without any alarm bells ringing. You remember all of the parties you went to and spent a considerable amount of time stealing glances of him across the room, hoping your selfish looks weren’t too obvious. You think about all that time you spent thinking he’d never feel the same about you, about anyone, ever.

“But,” Elliot adds cautiously, more seriously, “we both know how he feels about you. So all that’s left is how you feel.”

Oh, how you want to punch him.

Leave it to Elliot to worm his way into the conversation to gradually get to the real juicy details. He does this: loosens you up, gets you laughing, then hits the million dollar question that, really, is unavoidable. He’s good. 

“I can’t,” is all you say. 

Obviously, Elliot doesn’t allow that. “You can’t what?”

There’s a million answers to that question. “I can’t be who he wants.”

“And what does he want?”

I want you.

You groan. 

Only you. 

There’s no way you can put that into words. “I’m not the kind of person people date, Elliot. I don’t turn heads or make jaws drop. I’m the person you fuck when you’re a little drunk and bored, that’s all. I can’t do more than that. That's all I know.”

“Well, I would argue not,” Elliot responds. “Dating doesn’t exist on this cookie-cutter template, which is what you’re making it out to seem like. Sure, chemistry in bed obviously helps, which you have, yuck–”

You roll your eyes.

“—but it coexists in everything else.” He takes a sip of his drink, calculating his next words. “Rafe told me you guys went on a date.”

Your cheeks flush at the memory, how nice it was, how easy the conversation felt despite dipping into personal territory, how handsome he looked in the moon and candle light, how perfect he was later in bed. It makes you flush.

You cover it with a cough.

“It was for show. It was my birthday and he wanted to impress my nonna.”

“Was your nonna there too?”

Words die in your throat. 

“Well, no–”

“So?” Elliot looks like he’s seconds away from crashing out. “What gives? You’ve been on dates, you hang out all the time–”

“—With other people—”

“Sure, but you’re still in the same room. You bicker like an old married couple and always have to play together in pong. You guys are friends... who like to fuck. Dating is all of that.” Elliot then smacks his lips. “Well, plus the exclusiveness. But everyone basically knows, anyway.”

You hate how easy he makes it sound, as if the days and weeks of doubt meant nothing.

Although as much as you want to keep arguing, keep defending your case, you're getting tired. Your heart fucking aches.

All you can think about when you go to bed nowadays is how much you miss being in his arms, miss his sweet praises and how his hands roam all over your body, practically owning it at this point. The singularity, the possessiveness, it makes you both ache and quiver, the feelings pushing and pulling like a phantom ache in your heart. 

“No one has ever wanted me like this.” Your voice wavers. “It scares the shit out of me.”

Elliot frowns. “If you felt nothing for him, it wouldn’t scare you.”

You straighten your posture. 

The urge to detach yourself from the situation is strong, but the compulsion to run to him is stronger now that you know the truth, the real truth, and can only hope that his offer still stands, can only hope that a meek apology will be enough for him to come out of his radio silent hole. 

Elliot senses your brain clicking its gears into place, a suppressed smile failing to be subtle. "You getting it now?"

You look to him, brows furrowed and eyes glossed with worry. "How can he even forgive me? I-I- He was nothing but nice to me and I..."

Trailing off, your heart pounds as your mind races. The whole trip, Rafe was more than accommodating to fit the role you needed him to fill, even going above and beyond to make sure you had what you needed in times where you were rendered speechless. He bought you a plethora of beautiful things that he absolutely didn't need to do. He checked in on you when you shut down and tried to shield you from the horror that is your family.

I want you.

And you pushed him away. You told him that you didn't feel the same, that you could never feel the same, hoping that would be enough to deter him. But, no, he came back time and time again, and helped you when you needed it the most. He didn't need to. He didn't have to. But he did.

Only you.

"I'm sure if you just talk to him," he says slowly, as if he's on the verge of crashing out, "everything will make sense."

“Is he coming tonight?” You try really hard not to sound desperate, heart pounding.

But Elliot sees right through you, grinning and shaking his head. “He’s in his room. I think he’s the only one on campus with an exam tomorrow morning.”

It doesn’t matter. He could be in another state and frankly you think you'd still find a way to see him. 

“Go.” 

Panic rises like bile in your throat. “But what if he doesn’t–”

“He does,” Elliot reassures gently. Then, he nods towards the door. “Go.”

That green light is more than convincing, rising to your feet on wobbly legs as you clumsily step over his body, barely hearing Elliot’s whoops behind you over the sound of your bass-thumping heart beat.

You have no plan. No onset motion of what you’re going to say to him besides an apology. No guarantee that he still feels the same way or would even want you anymore. No idea how the interaction will go.

But, for once, the excitement outweighs the fear. And for you, that’s more than enough reason to listen to your gut, to go get him.

Without hesitation, a glance to your friends, or your jacket, you race out of his house and into the cold.

Ready to make it right.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work without permission. mdni.

notes next chapter is the last one LMFAO sorry for the blue balls.

[hanakou-often]

Rating TBHK AUs based on how much Hanakou potential there is! Part 2/?

Bakeneko Ryokan Hanakotei AU

As the name suggests, this AU is centered around an ryokan that’s ran by a bunch of supernatural cat people called bakeneko and rumored to turn guests into cats. The main story involves the Minamoto Supernatural Detective agency investigating mysterious events and disappearances tied to the ryokan whilst simultaneously trying to enjoy their vacation there. In this case, Kou is a reporter trying to investigate where his coworker Mitsuba went and Hanako is a bakeneko innkeeper for the ryokan.

Already, I'm seeing potential for a two faced summer fling type relationship. For one, Kou is only staying at the inn to find more info on Mitsuba's disappearance and with Hanako being a key part of the staff, he can obviously provide that. So Kou will either 1. Be distrustful of the staff and try to be sneaky with his snooping or 2. Try to get closer to the staff in order to see the inner workings of the ryokan. Given that Teru has no problem with the staff pictured bellow, I'm going to assume Kou will have no problem 'getting along' with the staff either and will attempt strategy 2 in combination with strategy 1.

For two, Hanako's intro card and the ryokan entrance sequence both openly describe how he is currently searching for a tasty human to eat. Being a face of the ryokan, he's likely suited to entertain, flirt and charm guests for whatever reason he needs including luring them to be eaten later on. With this in mind, I can imagine Hanako getting friendly with Kou in order to secure a meal and Kou going along with it in order to investigate the ryokan further. While they remain very cordial in the beginning, as the two of them become more involved with each other, it'll get harder and harder to stick to their ulterior motives.

For a fun addition to the AU, Hanako can turn into his cat form at will and Kou is a big cat magnet if his splash art is anything to go by. This leads to a number of fun possibilities like Hanako spying on Kou as a cat and discovering Kou's ulterior motive as a member of the Minamoto supernatural detective agency.

On both sides, there is a high possibility of conflict and betrayal if either of them get too close. If Hanako discovers Kou's motive, he'll likely hide Mitsuba away or use him as bait to lure Kou alone and eat him. If Kou discovers Hanako has been deliberately hiding or lying about Mitsuba, he's going to attempt to run away with Mitsuba and expose everything in a highly explosive fashion. It's just a hunch though.

All this to say, I honestly think in this AU, they're both very hard set on their goals. I mean, with Mitsuba's life on the line, will Kou really compromise his morals for Hanako? And with Nene by Hanako's side to remind him of their hunger for humans, will Hanako really let this one human escape unscathed? These sort of questions really add onto whatever potential the duo have and I'm constantly bouncing between 'oh yeah they'd make such a weird situationship' and 'they're not gonna make it far enough to be a situationship.' Regardless, they are still fun to think about all things considered.

8.1/10

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Hello,

Here's the basics. Me (30s,M) and my wife May (30s,F) have been together for 5+ years now. I've been dealing with issues in my family for most of them and I want to stay close by for support. May has been wanting to go back to school to get her graduate degree but to do that we would best case have to move to a city at least a few hours away from my family. More than likely it would be farther.

Right now I only see my family every other week, often times less than that. May has issues with my family due to past experiences and refuses to spend quality time with them. She will be cordial but that's it. It's been difficult for me to maintain my relationship with my family. A few years back when I was dealing with seriously ill family members May agreed to stop talking about her grad school aspirations. This was only after I had to tell her to stop talking about it since she was bringing it up so often it was stressing me out on top of dealing with everything going on with my family. Since my family issues have calmed down in the past year she's brought it up again.

I don't think now is a good time for a few reasons:

I would be away from my family and unable to support them. I barely see them enough as it is and the distance would only make things difficult.

I do not want to live in a city for many reasons. Overcrowded. Expensive. Everyone is rude. Etc etc.

May has a decent job and is our main source of income. We're not rich by any means but we're able to save money. We're comfortable. I would have to get a minimum wage job to support both of us in a much more expensive area for the next 3+ years at least.

We recently got into another argument about it and she's been withdrawn since. I told her directly she's not taking me into consideration. Since then she's been saying things are pointless and that I don't listen to her. This is completely ridiculous and untrue. She usually gets moody when we have these conversations but this has lasted longer than usual. I've tried to encourage her to pursue some of her other interests but she doesn't even want to do that.

I love my wife and I do support her and I want her to be happy. I'm willing to find some middle ground. I just don't want to have to give up my whole life for hers.

AITA for trying to compromise?

What are these acronyms?

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

hi, i have a miguel request! love your writing and thank you so much for taking on all these requests ♥️

miguel knows reader has a crush on them because he can hear their heart picking up everytime they're close and he likes them to. they're cordial and friendly with each other because the reader wants ro respect miguel's boundaries and miguel's not sure reader would want to be with someone that has his baggage. however he can't help but be a little touchy with them somtimes (little things - like moving them out of his way with a gentle hand on the waist, webbing their chair and pulling them closer to show them something, standing a little too close when they talk or picking something from a higher shelf from RIGHT behind them) he feels guilty and like an ass too because he knows the effect he has on reader but isn't (planning on) acting on it. (reader is also quite professional, except for the occasional blush there's no other indication that they like miguel, no one would really know if it wasn't for their superpowers) they are also not a spiderperson so miguel is extra hesitant to get involved with a regular human.

this is until reader and him are in a compromising situation where they're hiding or sneaking around for some mission and miguel puts his hand over reader's mouth on instinct in the middle of them talking when he senses someone nearby and hisses something vaguely authorative (maybe like quiet down now or shut up works too) and they're already pressed together agains a wall (miguel's protecting reader in case things go south) he not only hears their heart pick up but senses that they're aroused too and he can't really stay professional anymore :))

I'm so sorry this is so long!! please forgive me 😭

love you and hope you're taking care of yourself in the midst of being so damn talented and dedicated to all this writing!

hii!! this so effing cute!?? and the ideas you gave- just mwah. you’re so incredibly sweet, thank you and love you!! thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

will they, won’t they

miguel o’hara x fem!reader

wc || 688

・₊✧ masterlist + taglist

There was an unspoken thing between you and Miguel, a feeling of uncertainty as if there's something often left unsaid. You and Miguel had a professional yet, flirtatious dynamic— a connection filled with friction, tension and longing.

You liked Miguel, you liked him a lot, but you were proficient. You knew better than to give into a silly little work crush, especially one that is unlikely to be reciprocated. You hid your desire for him well, concealed every reaction when he'd enter a room, every giggle when he'd ask you about your day. It wasn't always easy to disguise your feelings, sometimes your body would betray you, and you'd blush or smile when he looked your way. 

Miguel was often an enigma to you. He could be so distant and cold, yet so tender and sweet. He would show little gestures and remarks that were tricky not to overthink. He would frequently lay a gentle hand on your lower back to get past you or web your chair to bring you to him. Moments when Miguel stood so close behind you, his torso would be flush to your back as he'd help you reach from a high shelf, or times when his gaze would flicker to your lips in the midst of conversation. He'd do seemingly little and harmless things that often confounded you. It felt like he was battling his feelings and instincts, which ultimately made it confusing for you. 

You were unsure where you stood with him. Some days he'd be touchy and flirty and on others, bitter and uninterested. You knew Miguel had a troublesome past, so you were patient. You were aware of the struggles he had gone through, and you understood why he was so hesitant when initiating something new. 

So today, when you two were assigned to go on a mission to another dimension, you were naturally wary about the situation. You and Miguel have never been on a task together, so you were uncertain how he would act when it was just the pair of you, what version of himself he would be. 

Unfortunately for you, he was back to his cold self. Frankly, you were sick of being left astray and you wanted to express it.

"What is your problem?" you ask, emphasising your frustration. "You won't even say two words to me— Miguel?" you frown, chasing after his long strides. "What's your issue with me?" you ask, eyes squinting.

He avoids your questioning, continuing his quickened pace down the dark streets of Brooklynn. "I haven't got one," he mumbles, looking over his shoulder to you before resuming his visual assessment of the area.

"Miguel," you repeat, speaking louder and more agitated, tugging on his arm, trying to halt him. "There clearly is,"

"Can you not talk for a second," he murmurs, keeping his eyes glued ahead. 

"Don't tell me to shut up,"

"I didn't. I told you to stop talking," Miguel's features pull together in annoyance, stalking towards you, gripping your arm. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Shut up," he repeats, his eyes firm as he pulls you into the nearby alley, immediately caging you against the wall. "Just— quiet, please," he says softly. He covers your mouth, holding his palm over your chin, muffling your words as he stares down at you. His eyes are vigilant and gallant, almost like he's trying to protect you. "Just shush one second," he whispers, leaning to your ear. 

At that moment, you knew your gag was up. Your heart was wildly thumping in your chest, and you knew Miguel was aware of the effect he had on you. He didn't need to say anything— his cocky expression told you all you had to know.

"They gone?" you muffle in his palm, looking up at him eagerly.

He nods once, keeping his hand over your mouth, gazing down at you with lustful eyes. "They're gone," he whispers, slowly sliding his hand to your jaw, cupping your face upwards. "They're gone, querida." (darling) Miguel says quietly, his voice hoarse as he leans in, hesitantly brushing your lips with his like he was debating with himself.

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

@sunshiines-stuff @queerponcho @selfryed @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser

[1yyyyyy1]

I found this article and I couldn’t help but relate this to what you talk about. Everything you said is so right. The paper says that women who see wife beating as positive are more likely to experience IPV. And women who view wife beating as negative are less likely to experience it in their relationships. That is so full circle! I also noticed the high illiteracy rate but aside from that the paper tried to explain it as cultural norms. Nope those women have wicked intentions for other women and as a result experience their karma in the form of their male partner. Wishing harm on others apparently comes back to you. This might be why some many occult practices speak against cursing people etc. Another thing I noticed is how small the percentage of sexual violence is. I know it’s inaccurate because domestic violence is almost always followed by sexual violence. The only thing that can help women is if women help themselves. Anyways what are some of your daily practices that help keep you in alignment with your higher purpose? How do you hide your disgust towards others actions? These days I find myself displeased with most women. I have a hard time faking empathy for their self inflicted sob stories. Still I don’t want to be a social pariah so I need to figure out how to be cordial with them. Maybe pretty privilege isn’t so bad if I remain surface level then I can coast by. It’s a hard act to maintain though and I hate dumbing myself down which is why I’m not that social. It’s hard to talk when we live completely different lifestyles. I also just hate not being myself. I just want to find a middle ground but it’s hard to stomach the things going on in this world. Coming across as self righteous and judgmental makes you a target. I want to avoid that. I guess my question is how do I blend in and look normal when I’m not normal? I’m not there yet financially to where I have F you money. I have to interact with the world.

https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC11002416/#:~:text=Worldwide%2C%20nearly%2030%25%20of%20women,lifetime%20by%20their%20intimate%20partners.&text=A%20study%20conducted%20in%20Afghanistan,negative%20health%20outcomes%20in%20women.

Thank you for the message :) The concept of karma might seem too harsh to some people, especially considering the severity of what women go through with men, but there are objective reasons to women experiencing hardship in relationships if the woman is mean-spirited and is up to no good in how she treats other people. I find that, by and large, women who are psychologically dysfunctional enough to see harming other women as a means to an end tend to be drawn to troubled men and enjoy dysfunctional relationships themselves; the most blatant example being misogynists whom women pursue out of the misguided idea that being an exception to such a man would prove how exceptional she is to herself. Women's pursuit of superiority and dominion is what puts them in these compromising positions, or, prompts them to get involved with men they are likely to get victimized by in return, e.g. a racist man might also believe in a social hierarchy within his own family and view his racist wife as inferior. Evil people are adept at making poor decisions that have the potential to ruin their own life and the universe simply does not prevent said decisions and their consequences from happening.

I cannot give you a straightforward answer on how to blend in in terms of behavior because it comes naturally to me, although not wanting to end up getting financially ostracized is a decent reason to keep a low profile in public and something I was primarily motivated by while learning to keep my mental composure around women. Looking back, my frustration with women had to do with how helpless their actions and refusal to work towards female safety made me feel, as well as the responsibility I felt I was obligated to carry for their conditions and circumstances despite women routinely proving that they cared about neither or being outright malicious to myself. Back then I believed that there was always something I could do to help women or make them want to improve the state of the world, like framing them as the victim to understand where they were coming from, which made interactions with women difficult as I was, essentially, forcing myself to be understanding of people I deep down perceived to be abusive. Over time, my frustration continued to fester until I discovered the concept of karma and the fact that everyone both bears responsibility for their living conditions and will be presented with the right tools to improve them should they choose to do it. Truthfully, the knowledge that everyone will be getting exactly what they deserve no matter what lies they tell themselves and the world has been the most relieving of them all, and nowadays I find myself handling social interactions with women with ease even if I dislike said women, as I no longer believe that their behavior has much bearing on my life at all or feel responsible for the consequences of their actions.

The thing that keeps me in alignment with my purpose is reminding myself that there is nothing abnormal about my antagonistic attitude towards people and their behavior; I cut off anyone and anything that somehow disturbs my peace as well, which I have learned to do after years of making unpleasant exceptions for things and people. Other than that, I engage in my hobbies, which I have plenty of, and balance the need to be cordial with women I would otherwise not choose to engage with by talking with like-minded female friends — I find that people are way easier to tolerate when you have had a friendly chat with somebody who understands you prior.