#damn it was supposed to be 10k

[lucithornz]

how are the maxcar WIPs coming along? (i crave oscar written by you)

UABS sequel on the left, werewolf maxcar on the right

and Oscar is also in RH ch 9, so there's that XD (which I kind of really love him in this chapter)

[sparking-steps]

Sparking-Steps' Acquisitions Log, entry 3: Acquainting one's self with the region.

Well, it's been a little bit. I spent a couple weeks exploring more of the western half of the province. I think I walked the entire coast from Solitude to the High Rock's border. Climbed a couple mountains as well and I've walked pretty much every road in Falkreath. I don't think my legs have moved this much in my entire life before this, the things are damned sore. I suppose that's supposedly the fate of those born under the Steed, isn't it? That damned star horse demands I gallop along with it. Well, fuck it, if I'm a steed least it means I'm a good ride.

Lewd jokes aside, I have no world shattering events to report this time, just a lot of finds to catalog. My companions and I are also doing well. Yes, companions, I found another person who wanted to tag along with me. A Breton woman named Remiel, I met her in Markarth and she had an interest in the Dwemer ruin that the city was built on top of. I got the permission to enter under the pretense of dealing with a rather large spider and some Falmer littering the place and she asked to come along. Turns out she's a rather knowledgeable scholar in the field of Dwemeri automata, a good fit for me and Lucien. Quite a trio of bookworms we are, surprisingly deadly ones. She decided to join up with me after I told her about my work with the museum, deciding it would be mutually beneficial especially if we could go through more Dwemer ruins.

Besides that, you'll certainly see that I have found far, far more for the museum than my first outing. Honestly I've found a lot more artifacts than I would've expected! Besides just having been digging through a bunch of caves, I also had a genuine run in with a Daedric Prince! I'll go into it a little more later, I really did not expect that though. I suppose it was inevitable if I was dealing with historical artifacts, but still, remarkable that the Harbinger of Dawn herself would reach out like that.

On the topic of the museum itself, Auryen is thinking of starting a guild to assist with excavations. The Explorer's Guild he called it, not a bad name though a bit too the point for this province. Skyrim's guilds tend to have more fancy names calling back to the region's history, Explorer's Guild doesn't mesh that well. Regardless, we have a uniform made and a new addition to the building for the guildhall, so we're definitely going through with it.

Oh, and I suppose I should mention, I've still yet to actually bring that dragon burial site map to Whiterun's Jarl. This isn't due to any sort of distaste or dismissal of the man, it's just that Auryen wanted more time to make an accurate replica of it for display. I'll bring it over eventually, probably soon. Most likely soon at least.

ACQUISITIONS LOG #2:

Alcoholic Drinks, Various: As with last time I’ve found more of these to display, nothing too interesting to note with them though. A few examples of local alcoholic beverages. I don't drink alcohol outside of social situations, drunkenness is a tool used to ease inhibitions. It's for intentionally letting your guard down further than you'd normally allow it to be lowered. No point in drinking it alone and if I drank with companions I likely wouldn't have the concentration required to actually make notes about it. That and it would make my handwriting look like shit.

Alvaro’s Tools: An artifact that isn’t a weapon or piece of armor, in other words, an utter rarity! This artifact consists of a set of tools common for an archeologist, a small pick, a brush and a chisel. When the set is used it provides a somewhat subtle enchantment that gives the holder a keener eye for detail. I must assume this was intended to allow for close inspection of finds during excavations. It was previously owned by the one we’ve named this item after, an explorer named Alvaro, who seems to have lost the set when escaping from an excavation turned deadly in the barrow of Folgunthur. I do have to wonder if the man will show up and ask for his artifact back, however the thought of prior ownership has yet to stop me yet.

Amulets of Birthsigns: More of these little things, still found at the sites of the various standing stones dotted around Skyrim. This time featuring the Ritual, the Apprentice, and one of my own birthsign. I don't particularly subscribe to the idea that these signs define one's personality, though I have been told that the Steed suits me. I don't entirely agree with that notion. Shame the enchantment on the amulet doesn’t suit me either.

Amulets of Ancient Nordic Make: And more of these, filling out the last of the old Nord animal gods at least in terms of ones that have been recorded. Some historians have theorized that the specific animals worshiped within the Animal Cults represented the Divines (See Torhal Bjorik’s recent work, The Dragon War. By the way Bjorik, your timing is impeccable). While I don’t disagree that the figures involved did overlap with the Eight, I would say the more coherent interpretation is that they represent figures within the ancient nordic pantheon. The various gods do use these animals as representational symbols quite often, after all. To give Torhal some credit on this topic, there is some obvious overlap between the Eight and that pantheon. Two of the gods do share the names of their divine counterparts (Mara and Dibella) and Kyne is often believed to be another name for Kynareth. However, some of the gods do not fit in so cleanly. Shor, for example, is described as both creating the world and currently being dead, this makes him much more of a fit for Lorkhan than any of the Eight. To wrap this sudden lecture on ancient nordic theology up though, Bjorik, I know that the primary subject of your book was the Dragon Cult itself not its predecessor the Animal Cult, and your work in that area is good. However, if you cannot see how the offhand and uninterrogated inclusion of a faulty theory into your work harms the whole thing, I would like to grab you by the shoulders and slam you against a wall until you realize that fact!

Amulets of the Nine: More of these as well, this time venerating Akatosh, Talos and Zenithar. Once again, not exactly the gods within the Nine that I actually care about. Zenithar, while probably being the most present of the original Eight, is a god of wealth and that’s something I feel opposed to worshiping. Talos is certainly an interesting god, and yes, he is a god, that’s a blatantly obvious fact despite what the propaganda of the Thalmor might claim (And if an agent of the Thalmor is to read this journal and disagree with my statement, they are invited to have a meaningful discussion on the topic of practical theology with the tips of my horns). However, despite the interesting nature that he might have as an ascended mortal, he is also, by all historical accounts, a bit of a cunt. Akatosh is the only one of the three that I don’t have any real issues with, similar to Arkay, I have little time to worry about time. I will note that, with the current reappearance of dragons, Akatosh is likely to be relevant in the coming days. Might not be a bad time to start pretending I’m devout.

Ancient Nordic Weapons and Cuirass: More display items recovered from barrows for our exhibit on the Ancient Nordic civilization. The weapons are all in decent enough shape, I'll have to see about restoring a few of the ones that were more affected by the ravages of time. The cuirass was an interesting find, it was previously in the possession of the leader of a coven of bandit spellswords. It's a genuine piece of ancient Nordic handiwork as best as I can tell though.

Angi's Bow: A bow given to me as a gift from a rather pleasant fugitive woman up in the mountains of Falkreath. This isn't an artifact or anything, it's just a rather nice bow that I have as a momento from a rather attractive friend, I suppose. We were just hiking up that way, found her cabin, had a nice chat with her and she gave me a few lessons on archery along with a bow she no longer needed. She had quite strong arms and was handsomely rugged. I suppose that makes sense for someone living in the mountain wilderness. Maybe I'll see her again some day, I hope I do, I hope she stays safe.

“Argonian” Swords: Two blades made in what is supposedly an “Argonian” style. From my knowledge they don't fit into any traditional Saxhleel style of weaponry, nor do they have any metallurgical traits that would show that the materials used in its construction came from Argonia. These swords both have a single sided cutting edge and are entirely straight, one of them built for a two handed grip. Traditional Argonian swords, sometimes called “Kukri”, have a one sided blade with an inwards curve that is intended to assist the wielder in chopping through dense flora and are rarely built for a two handed grip. There is a two handed weapon often compared to a two handed sword, though it's more akin to a bladed club in its construction. All in all, unless these swords were made by an Argonian, there's nothing at all notably “Argonian” about them. Regardless, they are rather unique and will make a nice addition to our armory on that merit. I'll just make sure to make a note about the misleading name.

Armor of a Knight of Chorrol: A suit of armor made for knights of the Cyrodilic city of Chorrol. This specific one was worn by the late Ser Venric, who I had found deceased and still floating around as an angry and protective ghost in a cave in Falkreath hold. The armor itself has no notable properties, no enchantments or anything of the sort. It’ll make an interesting display piece to go with the artifact sword it was found with.

Arrows, Enchanted: A few arrows enchanted with various damage enhancing enchantments. These are a little bit of a rarity these days, enchanters have tended to find ammunition to be a difficult medium to work with and even when it was more common it has seldom been found to be a worthwhile endeavor due to ammunition's inherent disposable nature. You might as well enchant something you can reliably use more than once, you know? All of that makes these a bit of a novelty now, thus worthy of being featured in our museum’s halls.

Art Pieces of Various Types, Style and Origins: More art pieces, some of them rather nice. One of them is a replica of the bones in the hand made in gold, that one is interesting I guess. It's rather accurate, whoever made it was clearly an expert. I wonder what inspired it. The rest are okay, I suppose. Ugh, once again I do find myself a little under qualified to discuss these. Odd thing, as far back as my family goes (it's not that far back, the one end that actually bothers to trace those things hits a wall only a few generations back) they've had a tradition of pushing children to take up some art form before they reach adulthood. I picked up smithing, I'm rather competent at it. Some of the mundane weapons and armor on display are my own work. They're a bit of a source of pride, I suppose, I enjoy watching people look at them.  It's just, when I listen to my father perform or view the mosaics made by my sister, I feel very little. I know I should, everyone else does, but for some reason I can't grasp whatever it was that they were grasping. It just hurts that I couldn't enjoy their efforts like they wanted me to. Artistic works in general are like that for me. I can appreciate the craftsmanship, sure, but they don't inspire any feelings within me. I hate it.

Assassins’ Masks: So I seem to have attracted some assassins who are trying to hunt me down. Not exactly something that I expected to have happen, I will be honest. So far it has been one assassin from the Dark Brotherhood and two rather skilled fighters wearing these masks. I’m not entirely certain who is sending all of these people, but from their notes it did seem personal. Thinking more about it, perhaps they were sent by one of my old contacts back in Wayrest? I did burn a few bridges over there before leaving the province, bridges that needed burning. Back to the masks themselves, they’re rather impressively enchanted and designed, the enchantments made to suit the combat preferences of the ones who previously wore them. Not artifacts, but artfully made nonetheless. Auryen liked the looks of them and decided it would be best to keep them in the vault under the museum where we keep the more sketchy finds.

Books, Various: Plenty of new texts to add to our public library and horde of reference material! Outside of the few volumes of signed material, no books being added are too notable in themselves. A large chunk of these were purchased from Solitude's own bookstore, a pleasant little place it is. Not to mention that the owner is happy to let me buy in bulk.

The Blackwater Blade: An artifact with an interestingly hard to follow history. The first verifiable point in history in which this sword made itself known was during the Oblivion Crisis, during which it was in the hands of the captain of the Blackwater Brigands, a group of pirates off the coast of Bravil. The group was mostly wiped out when they picked a fight with the Hero of Kvatch, but it seems like the captain was able to escape with her life. While the time after that seems a bit foggy, but from what I can tell during the time between the Crisis and now it seems the people who inherited the sword reformed the Brigands and were attempting to find the resting place of a ship once captained by the legendary revolutionary and pirate, Cyrus the Restless. I then slew them in self defense when they accosted me upon investigating their camp. It could be that the sword was named after the pirates and that does seem like it would be likely, however there's a wrinkle in the history of this artifact. There are reports from the Second Era, long predating the formation of the Brigands, of an artifact of the same name. Assuming for a moment that these swords are one and the same that implies that the crew were named after the sword. Also, given that two separate people who owned this blade formed a crew of pirates, this might imply that this blade might have an hidden enchantment causing its wielders to seek to form pirate crew. I recognize that that statement is impossible to verify due to my evidence being limited to two people, both of whom were likely relatives, but it's an interesting line of research to look into. Regardless of my own theories though, the sword itself is as documented with no changes to its appearance or enchantment. It still drains the stamina of those that it strikes and grants it to its wielder, it still takes the appearance of a Cyrodilic style longsword made of steel.

Cheeses of Various Kinds: More cheese for my private collection. Once again, do not ask. Honestly, I wouldn't have a satisfying answer as to why I'm collecting cheeses even if I was asked.

Cleaver of Saint Felms: A rather historied artifact taking the form of a rather ornate axe. This axe was both named after and first used by the Dumner patron saint of butchers and fishmongers, Felms the Bold. Felms himself is a rather interesting historical figure by all accounts, going from an illiterate soldier fighting Nords on Morrowind's border to receiving the direct word of Amalexia into his mind. According to some second era records, he might have been given a life after death in one of Sotha Sil's automata, though that part of his extended existence doesn't involve the cleaver so it's not important here. As to what happened after its time in the hands of a saint. This cleaver was in the hands of the Buoyant Armigers, an order of the Tribunal Temple answering directly to Vivec, likely the axe was something he gave to them. It was used in a failed assault on Dagoth Ur's ash vampires and later recovered by the Nerevarine, who returned it to the Tribunal Temple. After that its history gets a little foggy, but it seems that in the lead up to the eruption of Red Mountain it was taken away from Vvardenfell and kept in the collection of an anonymous wealthy benefactor of our museum. Said benefactor decided to donate it to us so that we may add it to our collection. Quite kind of them.

Cloaks and Amulet of Dwemer Origin: Just a few minor finds from Markarth’s own Dwemer ruin. Intact Dwemer clothing is something of a rare find, so Auryen wants the cloak that's in better shape and the amulet. I might see if I can restore the other on my own time, it'd make a nice gift for Remiel.

Cloak, Guard of Kvatch: Why a cloak denoting the wearer as a member of the guard from the Cyrodilic city of Kvatch made it to Skyrim is a bit of a mystery. I found this on the body of a deceased prisoner in a den of vampires, so it likely belonged to them. The question is why they came into Skyrim, they were Khajiit so likely not to visit relatives. The den was on Skyrim's side of the Jeralls, so it's possible she was in the area of Bruma and got abducted from there. I suppose it could also be possible for this soul to have been taking inspiration from the Hero of Kvatch. Regardless of that, the cloak is in good condition despite being on a dead body, so it's an interesting find even ignoring the mystery.

Coinage of Various Origins: More coins, four of them this time from a few different civilizations and eras. These were mostly found within a few of the ruins I explored. The only ones from within this province were a Nordic coin from Potema's reign and a Dwemer coin made from platinum. The most notable one in my mind was a coin made by the Akaviri, either brought here from Akavir itself or minted during their reign in Tamriel. Either way, it's very old, possibly First Era.

Collar and Pack for Small Animals: A few items for an exhibit on Skyrim's various native domesticated animals. Auryen wants to have a space for a few of the actual animals, though I'm not certain where exactly we'd keep them. The Natural History hall doesn't have space to accommodate them. Outside of the new guildhall perhaps?

Collar of a Death Hound: The collar of one of the undead hounds often found alongside vampire covens. The hounds themselves are already ugly as sin and these rough metal things do them no favors. They look like they'd hurt to wear too, a shame. As to why the museum wants one of these, death hounds, despite being undead, were creations of a vampire coven native to Skyrim. Meaning that death hounds are technically a domesticated animal native to Skyrim, and thus they have a place in our exhibit on that subject.

Cyrus’ Clothing: An outfit that was stored along with the sabre the man owned that matches the one that he was depicted wearing. While it's impossible to confirm if these were THE clothes worn by the man himself, they certainly are old enough to fit the time period in which he was active. I find it a little odd that this is the only outfit that he was ever depicted wearing. Was there some sort of symbolism in this outfit that I am missing? Was a red vest a visual shorthand? If not, I really do wonder why he only wore these. Cyrus was a legend in a few respects and had friends with Hammerfell's royalty, why only these clothes? He certainly could've gotten nicer clothing, definitely could've gotten something enchanted.

Cyrus’ Sabre: An artifact taking the form of a sabre, the blade of the Redguard hero Cyrus (the most iconic blade of his at least, he also used the Soul Sword but that artifact is more often associated with Hammerfell's monarchs). The sword was recovered from within the now haunted Dead Man's Dread along with a few other items related to the man. Cyrus’ exploits are something of a legend amongst the people of Hammerfell. I'm not going to go into detail about it here, that's what the museum’s exhibit on him will be for, but I might as well give some highlights. Cyrus slew both the Sload necromancer N'Gasta and Nafaalilargus, one of the few active dragons in his age. He killed the Imperial Governor of Stros M'Kai, allowing the local monarch to take power back and paving the way for Hammerfell to make a treaty with the Empire that allowed it to exist within it on its own terms. He also dueled with Vivec. Needless to say, the man is a legendary figure. Onto the sword itself though, while it certainly is provably the historic weapon itself, this weapon was not known to be an artifact during its time in Cyrus’ hands. Though there are no changes in its appearance, it was an unenchanted sabre back then. The sabre now holds an enchantment that causes it to seek out vital areas in the target when swung. This means one of two things happened. The first possibility is that the sword was enchanted the traditional way at some point, either during Cyrus’ less documented years or after he parted with it. The second is that this sabre had been supernaturally imbued with the traits of an artifact due to its proximity to a legendary figure. While the former is possibly, the later isn't an unheard of event by any stretch of the imagination. It isn't an unpopular theory that the creation of artifacts is often more likely when they're in or going to be in the hands of historically important people. Even for conventionally created artifacts, the steps to making them have never been replicated with any consistency.  To add to that theory, there is some belief that Cyrus might have been an incarnation of HoonDing, a Yokukan god who “makes way” for the Redguard people. If that belief is factual, this connection to a divine entity could easily explain the sudden creation of an artifact!

Dawnbreaker: By the Hist themselves, a Daedric Artifact! The very first Daedric artifact that I've ever seen in person! This artifact blade was given to me by Meridia herself after assisting her with the destruction of a necromancer defiling one of her holy sites. I'll be honest in not sure why she didn't just send in a few Aurorans to deal with the issue. Perhaps she saw it as beneath her? Meridia does seem like the type of Daedra to have that sort of an ego. I suppose I should just say in case she's somehow reading what I write, I appreciate Meridia. While she's not a deity that I worship personally, I appreciate her. She's one of the few gods I think I could empathize with on a personal level, like the Hist (although my opinions on the deific status of the Hist is a bit nonstandard for my kind. Probably heretically so). While I may genuinely worship figures like Dibella and Magnus, they feel far away, Meridia does not. Back to the actual item to be catalogued. As a Daedric artifact, the historical record for this artifact is going to be hard to pin down no matter what. Many of this weapon’s users were either daedra themselves, members of secretive cults or simply didn't wish to have that aspect of their lives written down for the sake of their reputation. The most extensive records on it were from the Second Era, in which the weapon was used by various members of Fighters Guild in order to fight against Molag Bal's incursion into Mundas. I have to assume the leaders of the guild at the time made a deal with Meridia to allow for that. Also in the Second Era, there were some records that mention a theft of the sword by the Daedric Prince Nocturnal. After which it was called the “Duskbringer” (no mention on how it was changed, if at all) until it was recovered by Meridia’s cult. Onto the sword itself, visually speaking, it hasn't changed at all from its previous incarnations. It has a blade made of unusually bright ebony, almost golden as opposed to the natural black. The crossguard is circular, containing a brightly glowing gemstone at its center which I assume is a source of its power. As for that power, the sword has a very unique enchantment. When striking foes, it will only burn them a little and, for most foes that's it. However, when used to slay an undead it will cause that creature to explode into flames that cause other undead to panic and flee.

Deceiver's Finery: An artifact taking the form of a rather fancy black and burgundy outfit. It's rare that you see an artifact that's genuinely this fashionable, it even fits in with the current trends for Skyrim's nobility. However, something about it makes me find it oddly off putting for some reason. This outfit was found and liberated from the basement of the Radiant Raiment, Solitude's resident clothing store and home to a rather rude duo who I'm sure won't be missing this. My petty nonsense aside, there was a note alongside this that mentioned them buying it from a source in Cyrodiil and also feeling off when around it. Historically, I can find very little on this artifact, though not nothing. The Penitus Oculatus had a few records from the Third Era in which there were sightings of a suspected member of Cyrodiil’s branch of the Dark Brotherhood who was wearing a similar enchanted outfit to this one. To go with that, the colors of the outfit match the normal color scheme worn by members of that cult. Now I can't prove that this outfit has origins in the Brotherhood, I'm no Shadowscale so I have very little interaction with them (besides the one that tried to kill me). However, if I had to place a bet it wouldn't have bad odds. As for the enchantment, it fortifies the wearer's ability to persuade others, specifically providing inspiration when haggling. Not an enchantment I'd expect from an outfit I'd otherwise associate with a cult devoted to Sithis, to be fair.

Dragon Claw Key, Ivory: A dragon claw key found within the barrow of Folgunthur. The material is an interesting one given its contrast with the other key I found in this round of acquisitions. Ivory is a material used almost purely for aesthetic purposes, while steel is used in far more utilitarian ways.

Dragon Claw Key, Steel: Another of the honestly fascinating dragon claw keys made by the Dragon Cult. This specific key was used to seal the area in which the blade Mournbringer (the entry for which is later in this list) resided. I wonder about the significance of using steel rather than a more valuable material, that could imply a few different things, I think. First possibility, there was a lack of funds to justify the use of more costly materials and instead they used more common metals. Second possibility, this key was meant to be hidden and the door sealed as long as possible, thus a more valuable metal was not required (though at that point why not just cave in the structure?). Thirdly, I might just be overthinking this, this key might just be steel because they felt like using steel for aesthetic or symbolic reasons similarly to the rest of these keys.

Dolls, Enchanted: A couple more for these little things. One dressed up like a chef and one like an Imperial Legion soldier. The chef improves one's ability to cook, the soldier improves the rate at which one's body heals from wounds. Finding more of them certainly does fit with Auryen’s belief that they are part of a wider set. In fact, given that one of them was in the possession of a high ranking officer in the Imperial Legion, I'd say that whoever made these might have been rather notable, though that does again beg the question of why in Oblivion I can't find any information about them.

Dwarves: The Lost Race of Tamriel Volumes 1-3, Signed by Author: The aforementioned Calcelmo’s published works on the subject of the Dwemer and the things that they built, signed by the man himself. Auryen asked for a few books like these as he likes the idea of a section of our library to be used to honor the works of Skyrim’s active authors. not a bad idea honestly.  As for my opinion on the volumes themselves, based on my understanding of the Dwemer (and some consulting with Remiel) I can say that the books are a largely accurate, if a bit dry, documentation on our understanding of what the Dwemer have left behind. However, I do take some issue with the third volume for a few reasons. Firstly, why act like the theory that the disappearance of the Dwemer was sudden is any more unproven than the theory that it happened over the course of years? It would line up far better with Yagrum Bagarn’s statements on the disappearance if it was sudden. Secondly, the idea that the disappearance was caused by something as mundane as mass deaths or a plague is patently ridiculous. The event had to be magickal in some way, there's no other way to explain the sudden disappearance of an entire race in such a short time. Even if we are assuming this happened over the course of years, pandemics on a multiprovincial scale couldn't wipe every single member of an entire race that quickly. That's not even mentioning the fact that other races would obviously be affected by this theoretical plague, something we have no documentation of. Gods, another otherwise good book ruined by nonsensical theories.

Dwemer Puzzle Cube: A puzzle cube previously in the possession of the mad ghost of a Dwemer I had found in the ruins of Nchuand-Zel. Shame the spirit wasn't willing to talk, instead it was far more happy to conjure one of the Dwemer's centurions. From what I understand, these little things come up every now and then when delving into Dwemer ruins. They tend to be used as keys or some other kind of control mechanism for the technology made by the Dwemer, though what this one is used for I can only speculate. It didn't seem to interact with anything in the city that I could find.

Explorer's Guild Armor, Heavy: A set of heavy armor made for our newly made Explorer's Guild. Had a fun time designing this, though I do question if anyone is going to wear it. The types that go on archeological digs aren't exactly the types that would wear heavier armor. Regardless, I suppose it still acts as a good representational piece for the guild.

Fairy Lanterns: A pair of newly found Fairy lanterns, though only one of the Fae that had been imprisoned in these wanted to come with me to the museum. One of the Faeries I found previously has taken something of a liking to me, or at least they think I'm a fun enough target. Their name is Lux (Yes, the one who wrote on the last entry. Yes Lux, I did notice that! Ask permission next time!), and they're a curious little fucker. Any time I'm examining any find they sit down with me and ask questions about it nonstop. Honestly, it's pretty good at getting my mind moving. I'm not sure if they're trying to be helpful, but they are. Maybe I should try to make something for them as a little gift? Maybe a little pair of glasses (without the lenses of course, I really don't want to work with pieces of glass that small)? I feel like they'd appreciate the look. A small drawing is scribbled in the margin next to this entry featuring a Nixad’s face wearing a pair of spectacles. 

Falmer Weaponry: Display items for the armory made by the Falmer. All of these seem to be made primarily of biological components harvested from the chauruses that the blinded Mer raise and tame. I'm a little surprised by that, given their propensity to tunnel and build homes in caverns, you'd think the Falmer would have ample access to metals to make more sturdy weaponry. Though, I suppose they would have trouble actually being able to see that metal, much less actually work it into a usable shape, wouldn't they?

Figurine, Dwemer Diving Suit: A tiny model of a Dwemer in a suit made to assist in exploring underwater environments. Never encountered suits like it, but I know they do exist. An adorable little thing, very well crafted as well. The amount of detailing on this figurine, one that's about the size of my fist, is very impressive. No maker's mark on it though, shame, I'd like to see what else the person who built this has made. As for what the museum has to do with this, it's not much to be honest. I'm going to put it in the aquarium in the Natural History hall to give it a little decoration. 

Fish, Various: More of these little guys, the results of more fishing. Diving for fish is more enjoyable in the moment, sure. However, having the opportunity to stop for a while and chat with my companions is such a reprieve from the hustling around that has become common in this new line of work of mine. My life has become a bit too fast-paced for my mind to accurately process, and fishing is good for slowing it down.

Fossils, Various: Much more fossils found in the province's various mines. While I'm happy to wax poetic on them, this is not my area of expertise. Please do not expect me to actually provide any insightful commentary here, fossils are very interesting but I've very little actual knowledge on them. Notable inclusions are one displaying a full skeleton of some sort of terrestrial saurian and another displaying a full skeleton of some sort of tiny flying saurian.

“Froki's” Bow: An enchanted longbow I found in a cave that was infested with trolls that previously seemed to be home to a hunter's camp. The question of if the bow is an artifact or not is a good one, though it's far too early to tell if it is with any certainty. The weapon itself is very clearly recently made, at least within a man's lifetime. It does show some magickal signs that correlate with the being an artifact (magickal signature and aura are somewhat close to the average baseline for artifacts, though not out of the range for standard enchantments) and it's also completely free of any damage that one would expect given it was in a troll den, both of which gives a decent chance for it to be an artifact. The bow itself has a few aesthetic design flourishes, some boar tusks and metal ornamentation framing the riser. The name “Froki” is carved into the wood, likely the name of its previous owner. I'll have to see if this Froki can be found, if they still live. The enchantment on it is meant to sap the energy from those that its arrows strike, a sensible enchantment for a hunter's bow. All in all, I wouldn't recommend displaying it with the other artifacts, maybe somewhere in the Hall of Oddities instead until its status can be conclusively determined.

Gauldur Blackblade: An artifact taking the form of an ancient Nordic sword, held by the draugr and former Nord warrior Mikrul Gauldurson. This artifact is one of a set of three weapons (and one amulet) previously owned by the archmage Gauldur, who, according to Nordic folklore, was slain by his three sons out of jealousy. Mikrul was but one of those sons. The history of this artifact is, for multiple reasons, not something I'm in the position of being able to recount. Firstly, it's been in the hands of an undead trapped in a tomb (the tomb being the aforementioned barrow Folgunthur) for multiple eras. Secondly, the actual bardic tale that tells the detailed story of Gauldur and his sons’ patricide, along with many mentions of the four of them within the historical record, were wiped out during the reign of High King Harald (While I recognize the achievements of Skyrim's first High King, on principle this act makes me have to hate the man. If I ever somehow reach into the realm of Sovngarde, I will make sure to personally make my displeasure at his act of historical erasure known. Likely conveying that through the heel of my boot.) On the properties of the blade, the appearance doesn't exactly match most ancient Nordic swords that I've seen, but it's not too far off. A more symmetrical blade and different ornamentation on the cross-guard. It's not functionally very different, so the change is likely attributable to either a blacksmith wanting to make something unique or the tendency for artifacts to shift in appearance over time. As for the blade's enchantment, it's nothing special, just a simple draining of the striken's vitality.

Gauntlets Made For Fist Fighting: More of these. After a little while of testing (casting spells in them, writing in them, trying various common movements, comparing capacity for enchantment) I've been able to turn my previous “probably” into a “definitely”. If you're going to wear or enchant a pair of gauntlets, you really might as well use one of these instead of a standard pair. There is no noticeable downside to these in any way. Despite that, I still maintain my previous conclusion that close range spellcasting is far more effective in a situation in which you would be using your fists. A good thundercrack is worth far more than a haymaker.

Guard Armor: Unlike before, the majority of this equipment was scavenged rather than donated. The armor from Solitude was found on the corpse of a guard who had been murdered in Solitude's sewer system (Don't ask why I was down there) and the armor from Hjaalmarch was recovered from a casualty of a skirmish between some Stormcloaks and Imperial forces.

Gemstones, Various: More shiny rocks for the geology exhibit. One of them is an absolutely massive garnet, it's the size of my head! I found it in a mine in Hjaalmarch, just sitting on a table completely unwatched. It must be incredibly valuable, shame no one running the mine thought to keep a find like that anywhere at all secure. Did they expect no one to ever steal from them? They're an actively running mine, they have to expect people might want the things they pull out of the ground, right? Whatever, it's the museum's garnet now!

Honorblade of Chorrol, Cursed: An artifact taking the form of an ebony sword, specifically one of Cyrodilic design. This specific weapon is one used within the Cyrodilic city of Chorrol. This artifact was found alongside the previously mentioned suit of armor from a knight of the same city, though the sword is much more interesting in itself. The blade seems to have been cursed by the dying wishes of its last owner, the late Sir Venric. According to the man's journal, he was chasing after a thief who had stolen something of great value from his liege. The knight was then poisoned by the thief during a fight, the thief ran and Venric slowly died, claiming that he would be the one to kill that thief with his blade and no one else. I must assume that his lingering sense of duty and desperate will to go on kept his spirit here all this time. Appearance-wise, there are only a few changes from what we have recorded. The sword now has a smooth, rounded pommel when previously the pommel had a trio of prongs on its bottom. Otherwise, the blade has an appearance that is standard for a Cyrodilic ebony longsword. Besides the knight appearing as a spirit and attacking me when I picked up the artifact, the item itself seems to be affected physically by the curse. This seems to be manifesting in three ways. Firstly, the blade is far, far too heavy for a sword this size; it takes considerable effort to lift. Secondly, the edge of the blade is dull, and remains so despite attempts at repairing it. Thirdly, the artifact’s magickal property, namely its proficiency at slaying the undead, is completely absent. I'll try to see if there’s a good way to cleanse the curse, but for now it should be safe to display.

Imperial Armor: Armor worn by Imperial soldiers and officers, both scavenged from the aforementioned skirmish and very much legitimately acquired from the Imperial headquarters in Castle Dour. The armor is not particularly notable in my view, though maybe that's just because I've seen so much of it. Regardless, a good piece for the armory display.

Ironhand Gauntlets: An artifact taking the form of a pair of steel gauntlets, I suppose the name is a little ironic, isn't it? These were in the possession of the bandit Hajvarr Iron-Hand, the leader of a group of bandits holed up in a fortified cave just outside of Whiterun. The man had ambitions to take on Whiterun's militia and take the city, it seems he overestimated his own forces’ capabilities. The gauntlets themselves are somewhat nonstandard for the region, having no ornamentation whatsoever, there's also very little leather included in their construction. This seems like it would be more at home on a knight from Highrock than any warrior in Skyrim. The enchantment on them is rather simple, just a boost to one's strength at wielding larger melee weapons. As for this artifact’s history, while I can't find anything written down there is a bit of evidence to go off of here. Assuming it isn't a very unlikely coincidence, the gauntlets are either named after the Iron-Hand family or that family was named after them. Given the lack of available written information, I lean towards the former. I'll have to look into the Iron-Hands and see how far back they go, but I believe that these gauntlets were made by a member of the family and then were treated as an heirloom within it.

Lantern of the Ancestors: A lantern made of a quicksilver cage molded to fit the contours of a welkynd stone, the stone within can be made to shed light with the application of a slight amount of magicka. From what I understand, this is an item used during religious ceremonies within the pantheons of the Mer. The constructions vary amongst cultures within the Elven races, this specific lantern seeming to be of Ayleid origin. A perfectly good item to display in our exhibit on Tamriel's various gods and religious practices.

Magickal Jars: More of these odd magically sealed jars containing enchanted baubles. While the contents of them aren't particularly notable by themselves, one of them literally just filled with various pieces of Dwemer scrap metal, I have found a book that seems to be related to them. It has no title, just a silhouette of a jar on the cover. In its pages are a series of locations, some of which I know I have found these jars at. The existence of this book implies a purposeful creation and spread of these damned enchanted jars, but who and why are still unknown.

Map, Blackbone Isle: A map found in the possession of the aforementioned newly made Blackwater Brigands. This map highlights the location of a small Island that was believed, and is now confirmed to be, the final resting place of the Dead Man's Dread. it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to have someone recover the ship itself now that the ghosts have been dealt with. Maybe have Auen tell one of his contacts in Stros M'Kai the location of it. Someone over there would definitely love to have that ship.

Mhaznier: An artifact taking the form of a sword of Dwemer origin obtained in the control room in the Dwemer city of Nchuand-Zel. Any actual information on the origin of this artifact is likely hidden or lost with the Dwemer who made it. No known appearances of it are on any of the reference material that I have on hand. The enchantment allows the wielder to sap the life from those that the blade strikes and the appearance of the artifact is similar to most shortswords made by Morrowind's Dwemer population.

Minor Lord's Mail: A very odd artifact indeed. Seeing it for the first time you'd be understood for mistaking this for the Lord's Mail, the legendary divine artifact that Kynareth made for the demi-god Morihaus-Breath-of-Kyne, one of the greatest relics of the Imperial Cult. However, upon closer inspection, this seems to be nothing more than a replica of the original thing! It's a damned good replica too, everything down to the enchantment is nearly identical. If I didn't have magicks to verify artifacts like this I likely wouldn't have recognized this as a fake! This was found in a cave being occupied by a group of Minotaurs, the leader of which wore this armor. This implies that they likely made this artifact in honor of Morihaus, a figure that the Minotaurs often hold in high regard (On account of him possibly being one of them or possibly being the father of their kind. Depictions of him widely vary on this subject but it's certainly an understandable choice from their perspective.)

Mournbringer: An artifact taking the form of a sword found in the depths of an Ancient Nordic ruin found underneath the city of Solitude that was reachable through, of all places, its sewer system. Though I can't find any solid leads on this artifact’s past, the fact that an entire sealed ruin was built around it cannot say enough to denote the importance of this weapon. Considering that the ruin was still locked and I have no records of this weapon, I believe I might have been the first person to find it in millennia. I'll have to do a little research into ancient settlements within the area of Haafingar to see if I can find any ideas of when or why this blade was sealed in there. As for the normal record keeping, this weapon takes the appearance of a greatsword with a blade seeming to be made of quicksilver. The enchantment on the weapon is a rather simple one made to electrocute those struck with the blade. The simplicity of the enchantment makes me believe that the importance of this blade was likely ritualistic or ceremonial, as it's not particularly powerful on its own.

Mudcrab, Armored: A mudcrab donning Dwemer style armor previously in the possession of the scholar Calcelmo. He claimed to have found it during his excavation of the Dwemer city of Nchuand-Zel and, while I have no reason to doubt a respected scholar like him, that would imply that this mudcrab is at least 3000 years old as there's no way in Oblivion that this thing was able to don this armor by itself. I came across the little thing and felt it would fit for the aforementioned domesticated animals exhibit. It seems to be trained to serve as a pack animal, though it's not able to carry very much due to its small size.

Mundane Weapons and Armor: More bits and pieces to fill out the armory. Notable inclusions are one greatsword made of pure corundum, two crossbows and one abnormal Akaviri blade. The greatsword is just odd due to the odd choice in metal, very rare to see it used in its pure form in weaponry made in the past few eras. Nords commonly used it in their weapons up until the First Era, that was for decorative purposes and almost never in the blades of their swords. The crossbows aren't particularly interesting by themselves, but the place where I found them was. These two were found in the hideout of a now deceased Vigilant of Stendarr who had been infected with vampirism. The Akaviri sword is odd due its usual style. This particular blade has a straight blade with a single cutting edge. Akaviri swords with those properties both exist, but, to my knowledge, they almost never exist together. This specific one looks like someone straightened out a katana.

Nullsprocket: An artifact taking the form of a warhammer that was being used by the previously mentioned Dwemer spectre that had the puzzle cube. To the best of my knowledge, this artifact has not been previously recorded anywhere I have access to. I'd say it's likely the Dwemer knew about it, but given most of their records are lost or hidden, that's mostly speculation. The design matches best with that of the Dwemer warhammers found in this province just with some added internal workings within the hammer's head. The functionality is a mystery to me at the moment, I might ask Remiel to take a closer look at it if we decide that dismantling it would be worthwhile. The enchantment on the weapon seems to act as a countermeasure for Dwemer automata, attempting to shut them down when used to strike them. Given the spectre wielding it was in Nchuand-Zel’s automata control room and was able to conjure automata, I think it's a safe assumption to make that he was in some sort of supervisory role over the automata in the city.

Painting of Deathbells, Cursed: A painting made by the artist Ester Maroux as part of a big set that she was doing as an attempt to tell her interpretation of the disappearance of the Dwemer. The painting in question is cursed, mentally projecting the viewer into a room containing the artist herself, who was trapped there due to a deal made with Clavicus Vile, forced to either kill the viewer or to have them accept a lesser version of her work. Obviously there was a third option given that I have the painting and am not dead, I just fought back against her. I suppose it should go without saying that this painting should under no circumstances be displayed in the museum. I’m either going to toss it in a storage room to let it decay or leave it as a trap for would-be thieves in the safehouse’s vault, still deciding on which.

Pendulum: An artifact taking the form of a long mace previously owned by the Keeper of Skyrim's branch of the Vigilant of Stendarr, Carcette. According to Vigilant's records, the mace was made specifically for her as in commemoration of her taking office, so congratulations to the Vigilant's blacksmith and/or enchanter who managed to produce an artifact! A shame about the Keeper herself, who was killed during an assault on the Vigilants’ headquarters by a group of vampires. Gods, I suppose that proves that those Dawnguard fellows really must be right about the vampires getting bolder in this province. It might be a good idea to look into them, both the local vampire clans and the ones intent on slaying them. Back to Pendulum though, this artifact was recovered from the ruins of the aforementioned headquarters and is now the youngest artifact that the gallery currently has in its collection, or at least the youngest that we actually have a solid idea of the date of creation and can confirm as an artifact. The long mace itself is not of any standard design, the head of it consisting of four bladed crescents with nothing at their center. The majority of the weapon is made of silver. The weapon's enchantment causes it to be particularly deadly towards undead, daedra and were-beasts. A suitable enchantment for the Vigilants given their predilection towards eliminating all that is daedric.

Poacher’s Axe: An artifact taking the form of an axe, specifically one meant for woodcutting. It was found amongst the possessions of a gang of bandits who were hunting mammoths (and also had found a spell that let them turn iron into gold, which I cannot believe I just included as a footnote). There doesn't seem to be any historical record of this artifact. However, if it's been in the hands of poachers for a long time as the name would suggest that would explain the lack of notoriety. A shame that we don't know how long this tool has been around though. Appearance-wise, this axe is heavily non-standard, the head of the axe is heavily stylized to take the shape of the neck and head of an elk. As for the enchantment, it is likewise rather unusual, allowing for the artifact to be more lethal when used to attack wildlife. Given the bandits' poaching scheme, I have to assume this weapon was used to finish off animals that didn't die immediately in their traps.

Reconstructed Cup of Ancient Nordic Design: A small piece of Ancient Nordic culture reconstructed from fragments found within Folgunthur. Nothing world shattering here, but a fine little thing to put on display.

Sailor’s Uniforms: Honestly not the type of thing I would pick for the museum, but I can see where Auryen is coming from here. These were the uniforms worn by the crew of the Dead Man's Dread post-Cyrus before they all died and became ghosts in an effort to protect the ship. Not a bad idea for a display piece in the exhibit on the Dread and the items that belonged to Cyrus that were recovered aboard it.

Shells and Corals, Various: More shells for the little mock tidepool in our Natural History hall. Most of these were found scattered along Haafingar’s coastline.

Skull Crusher: An artifact taking the form of a silver warhammer, bought for the museum by Auryen from a Dumner merchant who had recovered it from Mournhold's museum before the eruption of Red Mountain. This artifact is one of the rare examples of an artifact with a known and documented origin (see the last Dwemer Yagrum Bagarn’s work, Tamrielic Lore. Side note, Bagarn's assertion that every item listed within that book is of “unimaginable significance” is clearly a massive exaggeration. Sure, many of the items listed are the artifacts of aedra, daedra or important historical figures. However, giving that designation to items like the Ring of Surroundings that have a single sentence about them and very little known history, is just ridiculous). To give a short summary of its creation. The wizard Dorach Gusal and the blacksmith Hilbongard Rolamus got together, built an obscenely powerful magickal forge within Anudnabia, what is today a daedric ruin, and collaborated to create this warhammer back in the First Era. The combination of the magickally hardened steel used in its creation and enchantments reducing its weight to something more carriable for the wielder made the artifact something abnormally powerful. After all of that though the warhammer eventually got stolen when it was supposed to be put on display for a festival and it went missing for a while. This prompted its creators to place a curse on it, causing it to “betray the unlawful” (I probably shouldn't be touching it too often then). I'm not sure exactly as to what that means. However, it does seem that it has a tendency to return back to the forge where it was made. Onto the properties of the artifact, it seems to have changed quite a bit. As to what I mean by that, it was recorded as being a one-handed warhammer but seems to have changed over time into a two-handed one. The etchings on the head are also different, though only slightly. The enchantment, meanwhile, is completely different. The lightness it was known for seems to have faded, being replaced with an enervating effect inflicted on those it strikes.

Stormcloak Officer Armor: Armor scavenged off of a dead Stormcloak officer that fell in the aforementioned skirmish between them and some Imperial soldiers I came across while traveling. I can't say I'm not a little morbidly happy to see one of them bleeding out, while the whole “Gaining independence from the Empire” thing is a fine motive, I can't abide by an ethnonationalist movement. Sure, maybe there's some good folks amongst their ranks, maybe. However, given their leader would likely prefer my hide turned into a pair of boots I say fuck them all, it's good this fool died for his cause. I should probably say something about the actual item in question. I guess the armor is well made and suits its role well. Bear pelt mixed with sturdy steel is an intimidating look. The gauntlets have the bear's claws in their knuckles, making for a nasty punch if that's what must be fallen back upon.

Sword of the Crusader: By Oblivion, an actual Aedric artifact! Gods, the sheer fact that this kind of thing exists outside of some holy reliquary! The Aedra almost never seem to find the time for need to come down and bless us mere mortals with their time so really the mere existence of relics like these is a surprise on its own. However, I suppose they had a good reason to break their normal silence here given it was for their favorite guy. This specific artifact is one taking the form of a sword and was the one of the eight artifacts made by the Eight Divines for the bane of the Ayleids (and most other Mer and the Khajiit), Pelinal Whitestrake. Pelinal's own history is something worthy of a whole host of volumes. Maybe I'll write more about him some other time, probably if I find more of these. There are supposedly more of them floating around Skyrim, so it's not the most unlikely thing (Maybe I'll go over that one fringe theory that claims that Pelinal and his artifacts came from the future, that'll be fun). According to legend, the sword was made by Arkay himself, I suppose it makes some sense for the god of death to have made a weapon (alongside Zenithar making the set's other weapon. What’s that one saying about death and taxes?). After its use by Pelinal, the sword had a whole host of wielders over the Eras, including several members of the knightly order, the Knights of the Nine (both the original incarnation and the remade version of the order headed by the Hero of Kvatch), who at several points had possession of all eight. As for how such a legendary artifact made its way into my somewhat heretical hands, this sword was in the hands of Solitude's Temple of the Divines, who kept it as one of many relics of the Divines and their saints. On behalf of the Dragonborn Gallery, I petitioned for the item to be displayed for public viewing within the museum, something the priests found agreeable (But only after they asked me to pray to the god that made the weapon first before taking it. I'm not sure if that was a test of my knowledge of the relic or a genuine ritual of theirs to be honest). For the usual study of appearance and enchantment changes, there's not too much to note. The artifact's appearance has not noticeably changed over time. There is a shift in the enchantment, the sword no longer harming the internal stores of magicka in those that it strikes. However, this absence may be due to me not being a holy warrior, and thus I am not “worthy” of the weapon's full strength.

Thornblade: An artifact taking the form of a silver longsword. Historically, this artifact is one heavily tied to the Knights of the Thorn, a knightly order devoted to the defense of the Cyrodilic city of Cheydinhal (A lot of things relevant to Cyrodiil in this lot). Said knightly order was nearly wiped out during the Oblivion Crisis when they led a poorly planned assault on an Oblivion gate outside of Cheydinhal. The artifact was given from the order to the Hero of Kvatch after she saved the surviving members of the order who were on that assault. After it was in the hands of the Hero, the exact whereabouts get a little murky, what with her mysterious disappearance. However it eventually made its way into the hands of one of the museum's benefactors, who donated it to us. As for changes in the artifact's appearance, Well, there's a lot. Many of the features of the sword seem to have exaggerated themselves. For example, the thorns running up the blade have been replaced by a few large serrated bumps and two hooks of the lower section of the blade have had their curves inverted and have become more akin to spikes. There are far more changes, so much so that I feel I'll have to include a sketch of the damned thing in any official documentation I write up for this thing. As for the artifact's enchantment, that too has changed, once again in a way that seems to exaggerate the sword's traits. While previously it would degrade the armor worn by those that it struck, the blade now simply slices through armor entirely as if it wasn't even there. It also seems to have some extra effectiveness when fighting the undead, something not seen in the sword at all previously.

Treasure Maps: Yes, actual treasure maps. Not recovered from the pirate ship, instead from a few random bandit hideouts. No idea who is making alI of these, a bored bandit with too much time and loot? I've found a few of them now and Auryen had the bright idea to display them as a collection in our library with any other notable maps, such as the previously mentioned one for Blackbone Isle. I'll have to actually search for these treasures myself at some point, already found one of them just outside of Riverwood.

Tribunal Mask, Gold: A mask made to replicate the appearance of those worn by the members of the Tribunal Temple. While the worship of those three is mostly dead these days due to their deaths (and mysterious disappearance in Vivec’s case), you still see these masks floating about in this province. I suppose it makes some amount of sense that they would be here, Dunmer refugees likely took them into Skyrim when fleeing the eruption of Red Mountain and then they started spreading as they were stolen or sold for their value (they are made of precious metals after all).

Wooden Mask: An odd artifact in the form of a wooden mask seemingly made to replicate the appearance of the traditional masks of the Dragon Cult's priests. While there doesn't seem to be any obvious enchantments on this item, I was able to experience a magickal effect upon donning it in a specific location. When Worn within a specific structure within the ruins of Labyrinthian, one of two things happen. Either the wearer's perception is changed to look into the location's past, or they are entirely transported back in time into that space. Either way, the mask allows you to see into the past until it is removed. A wondrous item that I desperately want to know how to recreate, though unfortunately not one with much practical use. There just isn't really much in that structure, there weren't any audible people outside it and there doesn't seem to be any way out of it when wearing the mask. The one item of interest was what seemed to be some sort of collection of busts with spaces that seem like they would, assuming they have the same dimensions as the wooden mask, fit masks from Dragon Priests. If I find any of those masks I'll have to test them in that place, but for now I'll put my investigation of it on pause.

[killerplink]

Shameless

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Words: 10k

Plot: You're supposed to head straight home after the bar. You really are. But you're drunk, and needy, and so desperate for him that somehow you're in an alley getting absolutely wrecked against a wall.

The bar is dim and comfortably loud, some old rock song spilling from the jukebox while Jason leans back against the booth, arm draped along the backrest, watching you with a lazy smile. You're already two drinks and some shots deep—which, for you, is a lot—and it shows in the way you're slumped just slightly against his side, giggly and loose, eyes a little glassy under the neon glow.

He knew you needed this. Knew this week had been a fucking nightmare for you. And yeah, maybe getting you tipsy wasn't the most responsible move, but God, you're cute like this, all soft and clingy and running your mouth without a filter.

"Y'know," you slur a little, gesturing wildly with your glass, "that bitch from the subway? The one who kept pushing into me?" Your brows knit together in offended disbelief, like you're personally wounded all over again just thinking about her. "I shoulda knocked her fucking teeth out."

Jason has to bite the inside of his cheek, his grip tightening on his beer bottle as he lifts it to his lips. You're so damn small, and the way you say it, all dramatic and dead serious, makes it even funnier. But you're not joking. You slam your palm against his chest to drive the point home, which, to you, probably feels like a decent smack, but to him, it's barely a tap.

"Right?" you demand, eyes wide and expectant, waiting for him to back you up.

Jason clears his throat, desperately swallowing the grin threatening to break free. "Yeah, baby. Totally. Shoulda knocked her the fuck out."

"Exactly!" you nod so hard your whole body sways, and Jason has to steady you with his free hand to keep you from sliding right off the seat. "No respect. None! Who does that?"

You keep ranting, every slurred complaint punctuated with another dramatic gesture or a wild wave of your drink. Jason just sits there, half listening, half savoring how fucking adorable you are like this, all small and feisty, tipsy and dramatic, tucked into his side like you belong there.

He loves you so much it's fucking stupid. And it's only a matter of time before that sweet mouth of yours gets him into trouble tonight, one way or another.

By the time your third drink arrives, your body feels warm and heavy, head swimming in that sweet, fuzzy way that makes everything feel a little softer, a little funnier, and way hornier than it should.

Jason's sitting there next to you, all broad and solid, wearing that black t-shirt that stretches just right over his chest and arms, showing off all that ink. His thighs, thick and spread wide, are right there next to yours, and you can't help yourself—your free hand starts to wander.

You trace slow circles along the inside of his thigh, your fingers sneaking higher each time until your knuckles almost brush the bulge straining against his jeans. Jason tenses just slightly, the muscle under your palm jumping at the touch, but he doesn't stop you right away.

He's used to your drunk grabby hands by now, and hell, it's flattering how fast you get worked up for him. But his dick? His dick's got no chill, thick and half-hard already, and your teasing fingers aren't helping.

"Baby," he murmurs, his free hand curling around your wrist, stopping you gently. "Behave."

You pout instantly, squirming closer until you're practically in his lap, your big, glossy eyes locked on his like you're about to cry over it.

"Jay," you mumble, voice all soft and slurred, "you're so fucking hot."

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he takes another sip of his beer. "Am I?"

You nod. Hard. Like you're trying to convince him of a life-or-death fact. "Hottest guy I ever been with," you say, and Jason's ears go pink at the blunt praise. "Can't believe you chose me."

Jason's brow arches, that soft smile curving his lips. "What do you mean, pretty girl?"

You just shrug, lifting your drink to your mouth again, and miss it entirely, half your sip spilling down your chin, sticky and sweet. Jason sighs, amused, and reaches out with his thumb, gently swiping the alcohol off your skin.

That's when your grin turns wicked. Before he can pull his hand away, you catch his wrist, pulling his thumb between your lips. Your tongue flicks against the pad before you suck gently, cleaning off the spill like it's the most natural thing in the world. But your mind? Your drunk, horny mind immediately derails into filth.

You wish it was his cock instead. Thick and hot, sliding across your tongue, stretching your lips wide, fucking your throat until you're gagging and drooling and swallowing down every messy drop of his cum.

Your thighs clench under the table, the sudden rush of slick making you squirm, a soft whimper slipping out before you can stop it. Jason's brow furrows, his beer halfway to his mouth.

"Baby," he asks, voice lower now, "you okay?"

You nod too hard again, the world tilting slightly around you as you lean in, your hand landing high on his thigh once more. "Wanna fuck," you whisper, way too loud for how crowded the bar is.

Jason barks out a surprised laugh, shaking his head like he can't believe you. But fuck if it isn't turning him on, how unfiltered and needy you get for him when you're drunk.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, tipping back the rest of his beer in one long swallow before setting the bottle down with a clink. "Okay, pretty girl. Let me pay the tab and we'll go home, yeah?"

You hum happily, already leaning into his side, and Jason's hand settles warm on your thigh, fingers tracing mindless shapes while his other hand fishes his wallet out. You're still thinking about his dick—hot and leaking, sliding into your mouth, fucking your throat open before he bends you over and makes a mess of your pussy. And you've got zero intention of waiting until you're home to get your hands on him.

Before you leave, you decide you need the bathroom, weaving your way through the crowded bar with Jason's hand at the small of your back, his touch warm and steady, guiding you even though you're not exactly steady yourself.

The bathroom is... well, a Gotham bar bathroom—dim, one flickering fluorescent light buzzing overhead, cracked mirror, graffiti covering the stall doors. It smells like vodka, faint piss, and one of those cheap lavender air fresheners, and honestly? You've pissed in worse. You handle your business, wash your hands, and catch your reflection in the smeared mirror.

You look... a little wrecked already. Cheeks flushed, lips glossy and a little swollen from how you've been biting at them all night. Your eyeliner's still holding on, but your hair's a mess from leaning into Jason every time you got touchy, and you always get touchy when you drink. Still, even a little tipsy and sloppy, you grin at yourself, knowing damn well Jason still looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.

You smooth your hands down your skirt, adjust your top, and stumble your way back out, only to immediately see her.

Some too-pretty bitch draping herself all over your man like she doesn't know he's taken, her stupid pink acrylic nails tracing up his arm, leaning way too close into his space like she's got a shot in hell.

And Jason? He looks exactly like you expect—bored out of his fucking mind. He doesn't smile, doesn't lean back, doesn't flirt. His body stays turned toward you, eyes scanning for you even as she talks, and the second you step back into view, his shoulders relax like Thank fuck you're back.

But you? Oh, you're seeing red.

"Excuse me?" you shout, voice cutting through the music and bar chatter like a fucking gunshot. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Jason groans under his breath—"Oh, shit." —but it's too late. You're already stomping toward them, small but furious, your heels clacking hard against the floor like you're about to fight for your goddamn life.

The girl barely gets a chance to blink before you're in her face, finger jabbing at her chest, your other hand pointing wildly at Jason like a woman unhinged.

"That's my man, you thirsty fucking skank. Go throw yourself at someone who doesn't have a girlfriend."

Jason stands immediately, his big hand wrapping around your waist, physically lifting you off the floor because you're already reaching for her hair, fully prepared to drag her across the bar.

"Doll," he says, low and firm, voice edged with both amusement and actual concern. "C'mon, pretty girl, let's go."

"No!" you shout, flailing in his grip like a feral little cat. "She—she touched you! You're mine!"

"I know, baby," Jason says, voice softer now, soothing, his lips brushing your ear as he starts hauling you toward the door. "I'm all yours, always yours, pretty girl, you know that."

The girl stares in shock, but Jason doesn't even glance back at her. His only focus is you. His loud, drunk, ridiculously hot girlfriend who's out here ready to commit assault over him, and damn if that doesn't make him feel a little smug.

Outside, the cool night air hits you, and you're still huffy, arms crossed tight, refusing to look at him. Jason tugs you into the nearest alley, far enough from the entrance that you've got a little privacy, and then he tips your chin up gently, making you meet his eyes.

"Baby," he says, soft and serious, "you know I don't give a fuck about anyone else, right? You're it for me. My perfect girl. Nobody else even exists."

You bite your lip, still pouting, but your heart melts, all fuzzy and warm at the edges. "Promise?"

"Swear on my life," Jason says, hand over his heart, even though you both know his heart's been yours since the day you stumbled into his world.

You sigh dramatically, leaning into him, forehead to his chest. "Okay," you mumble. "But if she looks at you again, I'm breaking her nose."

Jason huffs a laugh, arms wrapping tight around you, hiding his smile in your hair. "I know you will, doll."

Then it hits him. Fuck. He walked you both here. No car, no bike. And now he's got to get your tipsy, horny, fight-happy ass home on foot.

"Oh, this is gonna be a long walk," Jason mutters, but even with the impending chaos, all he feels is love.

Wild, messy, absolutely fucking insane love for his feral little girlfriend who'd burn the world down for him if he asked. Jason's big hand reaches for yours, callused fingers curling gently around your smaller ones, and you let him intertwine them, your palm snug against his, so much bigger, so warm, so him.

You look up at him, eyes still wide and pouty, lip poked out just a little, and Jason can't help it. He leans down, catching your mouth with his in a kiss that's meant to be sweet, but fuck, you're drunk and needy and soft under him, and it goes from gentle to hot and sloppy real fast.

You moan against his mouth, pressing up on your toes to get closer, tongue sweeping into his mouth, tasting beer and Jason and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke. Your free hand slides between you, fingers tracing down the front of his jeans until you find his dick, thick and warm, already stirring to life the second your palm cups him.

"Jesus Christ," Jason mutters against your lips, breaking the kiss with a panting breath. "Baby, you're insatiable."

"Yeah," you giggle, voice all breathy and fucked out already. "I want you so bad, Jay."

He takes a deep breath, trying to get his pulse under control, even though his cock is already hardening under your touch.

"C'mon, baby, let's get going. We'll be home in no time, yeah?"

You shake your head so violently you nearly knock yourself over, and Jason's quick, both hands grabbing your waist to steady you, brows raised in that exasperated, fond way that makes you feel like the most spoiled little brat in the world.

"No?" he asks, amusement curling in his voice. "What do you want, then?"

You pout, full-on drunk girl tantrum loading, tugging at his shirt like a needy little gremlin. "I want your dick, baby."

Jason laughs, head tipping back, the sound echoing off the brick alley walls. "I know, baby. And you'll get it." He cups your face, thumb dragging across your lower lip, eyes warm and full of affection. "Home. I'm not fuckin' you against a dumpster in Crime Alley."

You whine, actually whine, stomping your foot once for good measure. "But I'm so wet, Jay," you mumble, words all slurred and pouty. "My pussy hurts."

"Baby," Jason groans, running a hand down his face like he's in actual physical pain from trying to be a good man right now. "You are killin' me."

"So fuck me," you say, all wide-eyed, like you've cracked the fucking code.

Jason breathes deep through his nose, hands settling firm on your hips, holding you just far enough away from his dick so you can't start rubbing all over him again.

"Baby. Baby. Listen to me."

"No," you cut in, dramatically folding your arms under your tits, cleavage spilling in your too-tight top. "You listen to me. You always wanna fuck me. Why not now?"

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something about needing fucking therapy, before he cups your cheeks again, squishing them until your lips pucker.

"Pretty girl, I do always wanna fuck you. But if I fuck you here, in this nasty-ass alley, I will never forgive myself. And you, my sweet, drunk little menace, will complain the whole way home about how your knees hurt or your back hurts or how you got gum in your hair from leanin' against this filthy fuckin' wall."

You blink at him, brain working overtime to process all that, and then you sniff. "Fine."

"Thank fuck," Jason sighs.

"But I'm walking all sexy so you stare at my ass the whole way."

"Baby," Jason groans, sliding a hand down to smack your ass once, hard enough to make you squeal and giggle. "You're a fuckin' nightmare."

"A sexy nightmare," you correct, wagging a finger in his face before you twirl dramatically toward the sidewalk, hips swinging like you're on a runway.

Jason follows, shaking his head, but fuck if he isn't staring at your ass just like you wanted. Even under the dim streetlights, the sway of your hips is hypnotic, that short skirt barely covering you, and all he can think about is getting you home, spreading you out, and ruining you properly.

But first? He's gotta get you both back alive.

His hand settles on the small of your back again, eyes scanning every shadow, every rooftop, every alley you pass, because it's Gotham. And drunk, horny, dramatic as you are, you're still his most precious thing. The only thing he'd throw himself in front of a bullet for without a second thought.

"Stay close, baby," he murmurs, fingers curling in your waistband, keeping you just a little closer as you both make your way down the sidewalk. "Don't need you wanderin' off."

You hum, leaning into him for a second before dancing away, spinning in a circle because you're drunk and happy and feeling yourself, and Jason knows—knows—that if you weren't so fucking adorable, he'd have lost his mind years ago.

His hand stays wrapped around yours, big and warm and strong, fingers interlocked so tight it feels like he's afraid you'll slip away if he lets go. You're not even thinking about the way his grip has a slight edge to it, the way his shoulders stay tense, scanning every shadow you pass, every figure leaning against a wall or sitting on a curb. To you, it's just Jason holding your hand like he always does, but to him, it's the only way to stop himself from grabbing the nearest asshole staring at your tits and slamming their face into a brick wall.

Because yeah, you're loud. Laughing too hard at your own jokes, voice bouncing off every building as you tell him how much you love his biceps, actually grabbing his arm with both hands and smooshing your cheek against it like it's the only pillow you ever want again.

"Baby, I swear to God, I think your arm is bigger than my whole head," you giggle, fingers barely stretching around the thickness of his bicep.

Your cheek stays pressed against him, your lips practically kissing the fabric of his jacket, and Jason just grunts, biting back a smile.

He's trying so fucking hard to stay focused. You're walking through downtown Gotham, and even though you're getting closer to Bristol, you're still technically in territory where he knows half the guys on the sidewalk have at least one weapon on them.

But you? You're bouncing beside him in your cute little skirt, tits pushed up perfectly, heels clicking on the pavement, and every time you laugh, your nipples press against the thin fabric like a filthy little tease.

Jason glances down just once, and fuck, you're not wearing a bra. His jaw clenches so tight his teeth might crack.

"Jay, Jay—hey," you tug at his arm, nearly tripping over a crack in the sidewalk. He catches you before you fall, one strong hand on your hip, the other still holding your hand tight. "I'm okay!" you announce, way too loud, grinning up at him.

"Yeah, I see that," he mutters, tugging you closer so you're practically walking under his arm now. "Maybe let me steer, baby, before you snap one of those pretty ankles."

You just hum, leaning into his side, your arm wrapping around his waist, your cheek back against his ribs this time, and you barely reach his shoulder like this, even with the height boost from your heels.

It's obscene, really, how small you are compared to him, and Jason feels it everywhere. In the way your soft hand barely wraps around his fingers, the way your arm can't even get all the way around his torso, the way your chin tilts up so far just to meet his eyes.

It's making his dick throb again, especially with the way you keep pressing against him like you can't get close enough, your tits practically plastered to his side. And when your hand slips lower, over his hip, fingers skimming his belt? Yeah, his dick definitely stirs again, already half-hard in his jeans.

But Jason grits his teeth, eyes flicking down a side street where a couple of guys lean against a car, watching you both pass with a little too much interest.

He could end them. Real easy. But that means letting go of you for even a second, and in a place like this, that's too much time.

So instead, he focuses on getting you both to Bristol. Once you're there, it's different. Still Gotham, sure, but way less grime, way fewer threats.

"Baby, your biceps," you murmur dreamily, still snuggled into his side. "I wanna live here. Make me a bicep hammock. I could just... take a nap right here."

"Jesus Christ," Jason huffs, half-laughing, half-suffering.

His hand squeezes your hip hard enough to make you gasp softly, and your thighs press together instinctively, slick panties clinging to your skin.

And you know it's bad—for him, for you—because you can already feel how wet you are, panties soaked just from the feel of his hand and the size of his arm and the fact that Jason fucking Todd is all yours.

Every broad inch of him belongs to you, and you want him so badly your nipples ache, hard and sensitive, the cool night air brushing them through your top with every step.

Jason feels it too, the way your body stays glued to his, warm and soft and sweet, all that restless, needy energy radiating off you like heat. And even though his jaw stays tight, his eyes sharp and scanning for trouble, his dick is already thinking about the safety of your shared apartment, where he can fuck you in peace.

But finally, you make it into Bristol, and Jason feels like he can breathe again. Shoulders easing just slightly, the tension that's been coiled in his spine since you left the bar loosens a fraction, though he's still hyper-aware of every footstep behind you, every flickering streetlight, every passing car.

Gotham's quieter here, but it's still Gotham. And no sane person drives a cab through this shithole, especially not after dark, which is exactly why you're stuck walking home. Buses aren't much better. Either they're not running at all, or they're full of people Jason would rather not share air with, let alone a seat.

But you? You're not thinking about cabs or buses or safety at all. You're too busy scanning the sidewalks like you're searching for treasure, except the treasure you want is a dark, secluded little alley where your man can fuck you until you're crying.

And you find one.

You stop so suddenly he nearly stumbles into you, and you gasp like you just discovered the lost city of gold.

"What now, doll?" he sighs, already bracing for whatever chaos is about to spill from your pretty mouth.

Your grin is downright wicked, that playful, tipsy sparkle in your eyes as you grab his arm with both hands and start walking backwards toward the alley entrance. It's tucked behind some trendy little wine bar, barely lit, and Jason's already shaking his head, planting his feet like a stubborn brick wall.

"Baby," he warns, voice low, but you're having none of it.

"Jay," you pout, stepping back into the shadows, fingers curling around his belt to tug him with you. "Please. Pleasepleaseplease. I can't wait. I'm so fucking wet, I swear it's dripping down my thighs."

"Jesus," he mutters, but his resolve is crumbling fast, especially when you grab his wrist and guide his hand under your skirt, between your thighs, pressing his fingers against the damp lace of your panties.

Jason hisses between his teeth, jaw clenched tight as his fingertips press into the soaked fabric, feeling just how messy you already are. "Fuck, baby," he groans, fingers stroking you through the lace until you're trembling. "You really are dripping."

You nod so hard it's almost comical, hips rocking into his touch, and he curses again, pulling his hand back before he loses whatever sliver of restraint he has left.

"C'mon, Jay," you murmur, voice all sweet and syrupy as you press your body against him. "No one's here. I need you so bad."

He's so fucking weak for you. He always has been. With a low, rumbling sigh, he grabs your hips and lifts you slightly off the ground, keeping your heels from clicking against the damp pavement, his strength so effortless it makes you dizzy.

Your arms loop around his neck, lips grazing his jaw, and you whisper, "Knew you couldn't resist me."

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, but there's already a cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he carries you further into the alley.

And to both your surprise, it's not that bad. No reeking garbage, no questionable puddles, just a slightly damp brick wall and enough privacy to make this work.

Jason pins you to the wall gently, broad hands spreading your thighs, fingers curling under the hem of your skirt to bunch it up around your hips, and the cool air against your soaked panties makes you shiver.

"We're doing this fast," he murmurs, voice dark and low as he towers over you, his body heat sinking into your skin. "Then I'm carrying your ass home and fucking you proper, got it?"

You just nod, biting your lip as your hips wiggle, trying to press against him. Before you can fully grind up against him, Jason pulls you off the wall like you weigh nothing, his big hand splayed across your back, holding you up effortlessly with just one arm.

"Hold still, baby," he murmurs, though there's a flicker of fond amusement in his voice.

You cling to him, hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, legs dangling slightly until he sets you down just long enough to shrug out of his leather jacket. Then he drapes it over your shoulders, the worn leather heavy and warm from his body heat, swallowing you whole.

"Don't want you all scratched up," he says, fingers brushing your cheek before he lifts you up and pins you back to the wall, his body following, pressing tight against yours.

The kiss that follows is messy, almost desperate, like neither of you has any patience left, his mouth slanting over yours, tongue licking deep between your parted lips. You taste like alcohol and sweetness, like the cocktails you couldn't stop sipping, and Jason tastes like beer and heat and him.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against your mouth, and he rolls his hips into you, grinding his thick cock against your sopping cunt through your panties, the rough denim dragging against the soaked lace until you whimper into his mouth.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, forehead pressed to yours. "You're so fuckin' wet. I can feel it through my jeans."

"Then stop teasing," you pout, hips canting against him again, your thighs trembling from the sheer ache of needing him inside you.

"Oh, baby," Jason grins, all teeth, his hand sliding between you to push your panties aside, fingers dipping low to swipe through your slick folds, making you jerk. "Teasing's my favorite part."

"Jay," you whine, voice high and thin, your hips trying to chase his fingers as they stroke along your slit, purposefully avoiding your clit. "Please. Don't—don't tease, I'm so wet, I need you, please."

"Yeah?" He drags his fingers lower, tracing around your entrance, gathering up your slick, rubbing it slow over your throbbing clit until your whole body jerks again. "You need me that bad, baby?"

"Yes," you cry, voice pitchy and desperate, hands fisting in his shirt. "Need your dick, need you to fuck me, pleasepleaseplease—"

Jason hums low in his throat, eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he watches you come undone right in front of him. "Greedy little thing," he teases, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your clit until you're trembling against him. "So fuckin' needy."

"Because you made me like this," you snap, drunk enough that you barely have a filter, every single thought spilling from your lips. "You and your stupid big dick and your stupid perfect hands and your stupid hot face—"

Jason barks a laugh, cutting you off by sinking two fingers deep into your cunt with a filthy squelch that echoes through the alley, your protests melting into a soft, helpless moan.

"There we go," he murmurs, voice low and rough as his fingers pump in and out, stretching you open, slick dripping down to coat his knuckles. "Gotta open you up, baby. You know you can't take me if I don't stretch this sweet little pussy first."

You just whimper, hips rocking down onto his hand, your fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, your drunk little brain so overwhelmed by how good his fingers feel, how deep they reach, already curling to press against that soft, spongy spot inside you.

"Always so fuckin' tight," Jason mutters, thumb circling your clit as his fingers fuck into you, slow and deliberate.

You nod frantically, too far gone to do anything else, all your focus narrowed down to the way his fingers stretch and fill you, the slick sound of it obscene in the quiet alley.

"Think you can behave if I fuck you right here?" he asks, lips brushing your ear, fingers never slowing. "Or are you gonna be a noisy little brat and get us caught?"

Jason's fingers work your cunt like it's his job, those thick digits scissoring inside you, spreading you wide, your walls clenching down hard every time he drags them out only to push them back in knuckle-deep.

You're soaked, dripping all over his hand, slick and messy and obscene, and he fucking loves it. Loves the way you always need a little stretching, loves how no matter how many times he's fucked this pussy, you still go all tight and greedy on him like you're brand new every single time.

His thumb circles your clit, slow and deliberate, just enough to keep you right on the edge of frustration, never quite enough to let you fall over, and you whine, a long, high-pitched sound that makes him smirk.

"Jay," you slur, lips dragging over his jaw, sticky and soft, your fingers clawing at his back through his shirt, hips squirming helplessly against his hand. "Want your dick, baby, please."

"Shhh," Jason hums against your mouth, voice rough, fingers still fucking into you, that relentless rhythm making your thighs shake. "I've got you, baby. Let me make you cum first, yeah? Can't have you all tight and needy like this. You'll hurt yourself tryin' to take me."

"Don't care," you pout, sucking a mark into his neck, messy and wet, your tongue flicking over the spot before you nip at it, making him grunt softly. "Wanna be full, Jay, wanna feel you stretch me out, wanna feel you fuck me so deep, baby, please—"

"Jesus," Jason mutters, but there's no heat to it, just low, throaty amusement, like he can't believe how fucking desperate you get when you're drunk and horny like this.

He shifts his hand, fingers crooking inside you just right, dragging over that spot that makes you jolt, and you whimper, thighs clenching around his waist.

"Look at you," he breathes, eyes dark and hooded as he watches your face twist in pleasure, mouth all pouty and glossy, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to your temples from how hot you've gotten. "So fucking pretty when you're like this, baby. All fucked out and desperate for me."

"Because I love you," you slur, fingers fisting in his hair, tugging him down into a kiss that's all tongue and teeth, messy and clumsy and so fucking hot he groans into it. "Love your dick, love your hands, love your stupid face—"

Jason swallows your rambling with another kiss, his fingers never stopping, his thumb rubbing tight, fast circles over your clit until you're trembling, back arching, your whole body pressing into his like you're trying to crawl inside his skin.

"C'mon, baby," he whispers against your lips, voice low and dark and sweet like sin. "Cum for me. Make a mess all over my fingers, show me how bad you want me."

You sob—a high, helpless sound—as your cunt clenches down hard, your orgasm hitting you like a fucking freight train, your hips stuttering against his hand, slick gushing over his fingers and dripping down to his wrist.

"Good girl," Jason praises, kissing you through it, swallowing every little moan and whimper as his fingers keep pumping, working you through the aftershocks until you're twitching, trying to squirm away from the overstimulation.

"Too much," you mumble, slurring against his mouth, but he just hums, grinning against your lips.

"Fuck," Jason mutters, pulling his fingers from your spent pussy, shiny and dripping, your slick coating his knuckles and glistening under the dim alley light. He holds his hand up, spreading his fingers just to watch the strings of your arousal stretch between them, his lip curling into a dark little smirk. "Look at this messy little pussy, baby. You really are my perfect fuckin' girl, aren't you?"

You whimper, squirming against the wall, thighs trembling where they wrap around his waist, and Jason's grin only widens. "Can't get enough of me, can you? Drippin' just from my fingers. Fuck, baby, I'm gonna ruin you."

"Please," you mumble, words all breathless and slurred, your glossy eyes locked on his mouth like you're starving for him. "Kiss me, Jay."

He doesn't need to be told twice. His mouth crashes into yours, hot and hungry, all tongue and teeth and filthy little moans that make your head spin. You taste like your cocktails and him, and you drink down his groans like they're your favorite liquor, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging hard just to feel him grunt against your tongue.

His kiss is messy, wet, his teeth catching your bottom lip, tugging until you whine before soothing the sting with his tongue. His hand stays firm on your ass, keeping you pinned, while his other works at his belt with practiced ease, the jingle making your pussy clench down hard around nothing. Your thighs squeeze his waist, your needy body rocking against him like you're trying to catch his dick the second it's free.

"Desperate," Jason teases, voice thick with amusement, but his own breath stutters when his jeans finally slide down just enough to let his dick spring free, hot and heavy, the flushed tip already smeared with precum.

He grunts softly as he fists himself, dragging his slick thumb over the head before he ruts against your messy cunt, grinding his cock between your folds until his length is coated in your slick, sliding so easily against your soaked, swollen clit.

"Baby," you moan, head lolling back against the brick, your eyes going half-lidded, all glassy and drunk on him. "Want you so bad. Please, Jay."

"Fuck, you're so needy," he groans, angling his hips just right so the thick head of his cock notches at your entrance, pushing in just a little, stretching you open slow. "Always so tight for me, baby. So fuckin' perfect."

You whimper, hands scrabbling at his shoulders, his back, his neck, anywhere you can hold onto as he starts to push deeper, the stretch making your mouth drop open, your eyes going wide as your cunt struggles to take him, even as slick as you are.

"Every time," Jason mutters, almost to himself, watching your face, your body, your perfect pussy swallowing him inch by inch. "Every fuckin' time this pussy fights me at first. Like you forget how big my dick is until I'm stuffin' you full again."

He doesn't even bother bottoming out at first, just fucking into you shallow and rough, enough to make your body bounce against the wall, enough to make you cry out soft and sweet with every thrust.

"Jay—" you whimper, too loud, but he slaps a big hand over your mouth, muffling you, his own jaw tight as he glares down at you.

"We're still in public, baby," he growls, punctuating his words with a particularly harsh thrust, finally bottoming out in one stroke that makes your eyes roll back. "Behave. I don't wanna spend the night in jail 'cause my girl couldn't keep her pretty mouth shut."

You whimper against his palm, nodding hard, eyes still wide and glassy, and he kisses your forehead like you're not split open on his dick in the middle of a fucking alley.

"That's my good girl," he purrs, letting his hand slide down to grip your waist, both hands anchoring you now as he starts to move.

And fuck, he moves, lifting you up like you weigh nothing, only to slam you back down onto his cock, impaling you over and over, your messy little cunt squelching loud and obscene every time he bottoms out. Your slick coats his dick, smearing down his thighs, dripping onto the pavement, and he's fucking feral for it, teeth gritted, sweat beading at his temples from how tight you are.

"Fuck, baby, this pussy's made for me," he groans, his grip bruising at your hips, his cock grinding so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. "So fuckin' tight—so wet for me. Look at you, baby, takin' me so good. My perfect little slut."

"Yours," you slur, hands scrabbling at his shoulders, your head dropping back against the wall, throat exposed and begging for his mouth. "Love your dick, Jay. Love you. Love you so much."

"Love you too, baby," he grunts, barely coherent as your walls flutter around him, your cunt sucking him in so tight he can barely pull back without you chasing him. "Love this messy little pussy. Gonna fuck you stupid right here, doll. Gonna make you cum on my dick, and then I'm gonna stuff you full of cum. Even if it gets me arrested."

The words shoot straight to your core, making your pussy clamp down around him so sweet and snug that Jason has to grit his teeth, his hips stuttering just for a second as heat flashes down his spine.

"Fuck—just like that, baby," he breathes, voice low, vibrating against your neck. "Keep squeezin' me like that, doll, you're gonna milk me dry."

The sound of your cunt taking him is fucking obscene, a slick, messy squelch every time he pulls out, followed by a wet, filthy slap as he fucks back in, balls-deep. It echoes off the brick walls, mixing with his ragged grunts and your soft, breathless moans, and it's so fucking dirty it makes his cock twitch inside you.

His hands cup your ass, those big, strong hands lifting and spreading you, kneading your soft flesh as he works you up and down his cock like you're weightless, his fingers sinking deep enough to leave bruises tomorrow.

The sweet scent of your arousal fills his nose, thick and heady in the cool night air, and Jason can't help himself. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, inhaling deep like he's getting high off the smell of your pussy.

"Always so fuckin' sweet for me," he murmurs against your skin.

His tongue flicks out to taste the sweat beading there before he sucks at your neck, hard and messy, leaving dark bruises like a brand. He soothes the sting with his tongue, a lazy, possessive stroke that makes you whimper and tighten your grip in his hair, tugging at the strands like you're trying to keep him exactly where he is.

He doesn't give a fuck if you pull every single strand out, doesn't give a shit if you ruin his scalp, because all that matters is the way your pussy feels. So fucking soft, so hot, clenching around him like you were made to take his dick. His thighs burn from the angle, his back sticky under his shirt, but none of it registers because all he can think about is how fucking good you feel, how perfectly you fit around him.

Jason knows, deep down, that this is fucking insane. He's not supposed to be fucking you in an alley in Bristol. Usually, he's the one talking you down when you're drunk and horny, steering you home with that cocky little grin, promising to fuck you into the mattress the second you walk through the door. But tonight, reason flew out the window the second you dragged him into the shadows, panties already soaked, begging for his dick like a needy little slut.

And fuck, how's he supposed to resist you when you look at him like that? When you sound like this? All soft, breathless little moans, spilling past your kiss-swollen lips as you clutch at him like you'll die if he stops? When your body trembles in his hands, your slick running down his balls, every ragged little breath carrying his name?

"Jason," you whisper, so soft and sweet it fucking kills him, your voice all wrecked from the way he's been fucking you open. "So big, baby. Feels so good."

"Yeah?" His voice drops, rough and husky, fingers digging into your ass just a little harder as he fucks you deeper, cock grinding against that soft spot inside you that makes you tremble all over. "This dick's yours, doll. Made to stretch this sweet little pussy. You're perfect, baby—fuck, you're perfect for me."

Your nails rake down his back, short little scrapes through his shirt that make his abs flex, and Jason growls low in his throat, biting at your neck, at your shoulder, anywhere he can sink his teeth into.

"So good, doll. So fuckin' tight. My messy little slut, all drunk and desperate for my dick. Gonna fuck you until you can't even stand, baby."

Your walls pulse around him like you're already close, your breath hitching in soft, uneven moans, and Jason groans against your skin, fucking you harder, faster, losing any semblance of control. His hips slap against yours, your slick painting his skin, his cock so soaked it glides into you with filthy ease.

"C'mon, doll," he whispers against your ear, voice dark and sweet, dripping filth like honey. "Be my good girl and cum for me, yeah? Let me feel you soak my dick. Let me ruin this pretty little pussy."

Jason's grip shifts, just slightly, and the angle hits different—deeper, somehow rougher, but the real kicker is how his hips grind up against your clit every time he bottoms out, his skin rubbing over that swollen little bundle of nerves.

It's not even intentional at first, just the natural press of his body against yours in this position, but once he hears the choked little moan you make, he fucking locks onto it like a bloodhound, making sure to grind against you every time his cock stretches you open.

Your head falls back, clunking lightly against the brick, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him in closer, deeper. "Gonna cum," you gasp, voice thin, whiny and so fucking needy Jason feels his cock twitch inside you. "Jay—gonna cum, baby, please—"

"Yeah, you are," he rasps, kissing you quick and filthy, all tongue and teeth, biting at your lower lip before pulling back to look at you, all fucked-out and perfect. "Cum on my dick, baby. Make a mess all over me."

His thrusts turn deep and shallow, grinding against your clit with every stroke, the fat head of his cock dragging over that sweet little spot inside you until your legs start to shake. Your whole body tenses, back arching off the wall as your cunt pulses around him, gushing so hard it drips down his cock, slicking up his thighs and the inside of yours, messy and obscene and so fucking good.

"OhmyfuckingGod," you gasp, the words running together into a high-pitched moan, your body trembling in his hands.

You're loud—too loud—and Jason clamps his hand over your mouth again, shushing you in that low, dangerous tone that always makes your cunt clench.

"Shhh, doll. You wanna get us caught?" he murmurs, right against your ear. "I'll stop. I fuckin' will. I'll pull out and leave you drippin', you keep bein' so fuckin' loud."

You shake your head wildly, wide, desperate eyes looking up at him, your hands clutching at his shoulders like your life depends on it. You can't stop now, you need his cum, need him to fuck it into you so deep it sticks, so deep you feel him for days.

Jason knows. Of course he knows. Knows how much you love it when he pumps you full, knows how fucked-out and blissed you get when you feel him leak out of you, warm and thick and messy.

He's just about to give you what you want when—

The flash of red and blue lights paints the alley in sharp neon. You both freeze.

Jason's heart fucking stops, then kicks up so hard he can feel it in his teeth, every muscle in his body going taut like a wire ready to snap. Your eyes go wide, mouth opening in a silent gasp, fingers digging into his back hard enough to leave crescent marks through his shirt.

"Shhh, baby," he whispers again, this time more soothing than stern, his hand smoothing over your hip like that's gonna calm either of you down. "If you're quiet, they're not even gonna know we're here."

You nod fast, lip caught between your teeth, eyes darting to the mouth of the alley where the cop car slows, brake lights flaring red through the shadows.

Jason's heart pounds, his cock still buried balls-deep in your cunt, and this might actually be the stupidest, most reckless shit he's ever done—which is really saying something, considering his track record.

The car idles there for a beat too long, and you start to panic for real, breath coming too fast, your fingers clutching at him, but Jason dips down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his voice low and calm.

"Hey. It's okay, baby. They're just bored. Ain't got shit to do out here. They'll move."

And they do, after what feels like a fucking lifetime, the car finally rolls past the alley, the glow of the lights fading into the night.

"See, baby? Told you. We're good."

He grins, kissing you again, slow and sweet at first, until you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him deeper, the kiss turning sloppy and filthy all over again. Tongues sliding together, your moans humming right into his mouth, his cock twitching inside you.

"Now," Jason mutters between kisses, "where the fuck were we?"

He starts moving again, lifting you in his arms like you weigh nothing, slamming you back down onto his cock, the force of it making your whole body bounce, your slick cunt taking him so easy now after you came all over him.

Jason fucks you hard, not fast, not hurried, but with deep, brutal strokes, splitting you open every time, grinding against your clit at the end of each thrust until your breath stutters and your eyes flutter shut, head lolling back against the wall.

"Fuck, baby," Jason groans, forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged, hands locked around your waist, holding you tight like you might slip through his fingers. "You're so fuckin' tight. You feel that, doll? Feel how perfect this little pussy fits around my dick?"

You moan, soft and breathless, nails raking down his back, and Jason fucking loves it. Loves how wild you get for him, how no matter how many times he's fucked you, you're still so damn tight around him.

"Love this pussy, baby," he mutters, voice thick and low, "love ruinin' you. My messy little slut, all drunk and dripping for me. Fuckin' perfect."

He can't stop kissing you, can't stop tasting your lips, your tongue, the little whimpers you feed him between kisses, his hips never slowing, driving into you over and over, fucking you so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat.

He knows you need to get the fuck out of here before the cops come back, before some nosey old lady comes out of that wine bar and catches you. But your pussy's too good, too sweet and snug, and if he doesn't cum soon, he might actually lose his mind.

Jason's pace shifts—rougher now, driven by that primal need to fill you up, to mark you inside and out, to make sure no one could even think about touching you after this. His thrusts slam into you with brutal precision, the thick length of his cock dragging along every slick, swollen inch of your cunt, stretching you wide around him, splitting you open over and over until your pussy feels raw and tender and so fucking full it's like you can't take a breath without feeling him buried deep inside you.

He knows you can feel every vein, every ridge, the blunt head of his cock grinding right against your cervix, and fuck, you're so wet. You're dripping all over him: down his thighs, pooling between you, every thrust making a filthy squelch echo down the alley. If anyone walked past right now, there wouldn't be a doubt what's happening here.

Not with the way your slick coats his cock, makes every thrust slippery and obscene, not with the way your breathy little moans hitch every time he bottoms out, not with the way his hips slap against yours, skin sticky with sweat and arousal.

Your thoughts are a fucking mess, the only things running through your drunk, fucked-out brain are Jason, dick, cum, more. You can't think past the way his cock stretches you, how perfect it feels to be pinned up like this, taken apart by him like you're nothing but a toy, his strong arms the only thing keeping you up. You swear you can feel him everywhere, like he's inside your bones, like the next time you take a step you'll still feel the heavy weight of him between your legs.

He kisses you again, messy and desperate, tongues sliding together, teeth clashing, spit slicking up your chin, but neither of you give a fuck. Your fingers knot in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt into your mouth, and he swears he could cum from just this. From the taste of you, the feel of your cunt pulsing around him, the soft little whimpers you spill into his mouth every time his cock hits that sweet spot.

"Fuck, baby," he rasps, forehead pressed to yours, sweat beading at his temple, "this pussy's so fuckin' messy. So fuckin' tight. Can barely move, you're clenching so hard. You gonna cum again for me, doll? Gonna make a mess all over my dick?"

You nod, whining, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes because it's too much—too good, too deep, too full—but you don't want him to stop. "Please, Jay, wanna cum with you, wanna feel you fill me up."

"Yeah?" His thrusts speed up, hips snapping into you hard and fast, dragging you down onto him like a ragdoll. "Wanna feel me cum inside this needy little pussy? Stuff you so full it leaks out of you? You fuckin' love it, don't you?"

You whimper, nails biting into his skin, legs tightening around his waist, and you're so fucking close, right on the edge, your whole body buzzing, heat coiling low in your belly, until one perfect grind of his cock against your clit sends you over, your cunt fluttering around him, sucking him in so deep.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," you chant, head falling back against the wall, eyes rolling back, body shaking in his grip as you gush all over him, slick dripping down his cock, onto the pavement, messy and obscene.

"Fuck—there you go, baby. Fuckin' soak me," Jason groans, his rhythm stuttering, hips jerking, grip bruising around your waist. "That's my good fuckin' girl."

And then he's right behind you, cock throbbing, thick ropes of cum spilling into you, hot and heavy, pumping against your cervix until you can feel it everywhere, until you swear it's gonna leak out of your mouth.

His head drops to your shoulder, mouth open against your skin, breath ragged as his hips keep moving, slow, deep thrusts fucking his cum deeper into you, even though it's already dripping down his dick, slicking up your inner thighs.

But he's not done—not yet.

You barely catch your breath before he starts moving again, overstimulated and tender, but his dick's still hard, still hungry, and he loves you like this. Drunk on him, too dumb to think about anything except the way he fills you up, the way he uses you like his personal fucktoy.

"Jason," you slur, clinging to him, nails digging into his scalp, his back, anywhere you can reach, "too much—too much—"

"You can take it, baby," he purrs, kissing you again, softer now, but still deep, still filthy. "Know you can take it for me. One more, yeah? Be my good girl."

And fuck, of course you're his good girl. Of course you'll give him one more.

He pounds into you harder, faster, sloppy and desperate, the sound of skin on skin mixing with the wet squelch of your cunt, the sweet scent of your arousal thick in the air, his nose buried in your neck, sucking messy bruises into your skin as his fingers grip your ass, kneading and spreading you, watching the way his cock disappears inside you over and over again.

Your thoughts are gone, totally fucked out, only able to focus on the way he fills you, the way his cum squelches out around his cock every time he thrusts back in.

And Jason? Jason's fucking feral, eyes locked on the sight of his cock splitting you open, cunt so swollen and puffy, all slicked up with both of you, and all he can think about is how fucking perfect you are.

"Look at you, baby," he whispers, voice low and reverent, fingers sliding between your bodies to rub your clit, even though you're already so sensitive you're trembling. "My perfect little pussy. Made to take me. Made to get fucked dumb, stuffed full of my cum. My sweet girl."

And that's all it takes, one more twist of his fingers, one more deep thrust, and you're cumming again, body jerking in his hands, cunt milking him for every last drop.

Jason kisses you through it, drinking down your whimpers, your soft little cries, soothing you with his tongue even as his hips finally slow, his cock still thick and heavy inside you, keeping every messy drop right where it belongs.

"Good girl," he breathes against your lips, forehead resting against yours, hands smoothing over your hips, "my perfect, messy girl."

Your body is deadweight in his arms, completely boneless and blissed out, every limb heavy with exhaustion and the sweet, drugged haze of post-fuck bliss. You're still trembling, but not just from the aftershocks. The cool night air prickles at your exposed skin, goosebumps pebbling over your arms, your thighs, the still-damp mess between your legs.

Jason feels it immediately, the way your soft, bare skin shivers against his, and it sends a twist of guilt through his gut—fucking you into a fucking alley like some horny teenager. But truth be told, it was your idea.

But before he can even say anything, your hands cup his face, small fingers curled around the rough edges of his jaw, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, and you kiss him. It's slow this time—messy, sure, still tasting like beer and sweat and something sweet that's all you—but it lingers, softer, deeper, your tongue curling into his mouth, tracing along his teeth, savoring him like you need to commit the taste of him to memory.

You're still trembling, but the heat between your bodies eases it just a little, your fingers combing through his damp hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp as you melt into him, the kiss lasting long enough that his dick gives a lazy twitch inside you again, still hard even after he just filled you to the brim.

Finally, you pull back, lips red and swollen, your face glowing with the kind of fucked-out bliss that makes his chest ache with pride.

He smirks down at you, brushing a strand of hair off your face as he mutters, "You're fuckin' insane, pretty girl."

You giggle, that sweet little drunken giggle that makes his cock twitch again, and your head tilts back against the wall. "I thought I was gonna die without your dick, baby."

He groans, shaking his head, but there's no real exasperation there, just affection under the rasp of his voice. "Yeah, like I said. Fuckin' insane."

But you're already nuzzling into his neck, soft lips brushing his skin, your breath warm and sleepy against his throat. You smell like sweat and sex, all wrapped up in that sweet scent that's all you, and his arms tighten around you without thinking.

His lips press to the side of your head, lingering there as he murmurs, "C'mon, we need to get you home, yeah?"

You pout, face still buried in his neck. "Can't move. 'M tired. And cold."

"I know, baby," he soothes, one big hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "I know. I'll carry you."

You scoff weakly, lifting your head just enough to squint up at him. "We're far from home."

"So?" he shrugs, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don't act like you weigh a ton of fuckin' bricks."

You giggle again, arms going slack around his neck as you settle more comfortably into his hold, cheek squished against his shoulder. Jason's hands ease under your thighs, holding you up as gently as he can while he slowly pulls out, your slick warmth clinging to his cock, your messy cunt fluttering around nothing as his cum immediately starts to drip down.

You whimper softly at the loss, fingers curling into his shirt, but before you can complain, he's already reaching down, sliding your panties back up over your swollen cunt. Not to keep you modest—no, that ship sailed about four orgasms ago—but just to keep as much of his cum inside you as possible. He watches the way the lace darkens immediately, soaked through from the mess he made of you, and his cock twitches again in the cool air.

He sets you down carefully, but your knees buckle instantly, legs still shaking too hard to hold you up. "Jesus, baby," he chuckles, steadying you with one arm as he tucks his cock back into his jeans, adjusting them like he didn't just ruin you against an alley wall. "Gonna have to work on your stamina."

"Don't be mean," you pout, swaying a little as he smooths your skirt back down over your thighs, not that it covers much, but at least it's an attempt at decency.

Then he grabs his jacket from your shoulders, wrapping it around you properly this time, tugging your arms through the sleeves before zipping it all the way up. It's way too big, swallowing your smaller frame whole, and the sight makes him laugh. Your fucked-out face peeks up at him from inside the oversized jacket, makeup smeared, mascara smudged under your eyes, lips still swollen and shiny with spit and his kisses.

You pout harder at his laugh, but it only makes him grin wider. "Shut up."

"Never," he says, scooping you back into his arms like you weigh nothing at all. You try to protest weakly, but he shushes you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Just let me take care of you, baby. Bet those pretty little feet already hurt in those heels."

And you can't even argue because he's fucking right, and honestly? Being carried sounds pretty nice right now.

Jason's grip adjusts as he walks, arms cradling you tighter to his chest, your body boneless and pliant in his hold. You're so out of it, head resting against his shoulder, lips slightly parted, soft breath warming his skin every few seconds. His jacket drowns you, the sleeves hanging past your hands, and he can feel the damp heat between your thighs seeping into the fabric where you're curled against him.

You're a mess, hair sticking to your forehead, skin sticky with sweat, makeup smudged in every direction, and his cum still leaking slowly down your thigh, leaving shiny streaks against your skin. But fuck if you aren't the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

He carries you easily, years of strength training making your weight feel like nothing. His feet move on autopilot, familiar with the route home, but his mind? That's a fucking mess.

Because Jason Todd doesn't do this. Doesn't fuck his girl drunk in a dirty alley with the risk of cops busting them. He's the one who's usually dragging your ass home before you get yourself into trouble, lecturing you about safety, tucking you into bed with water and painkillers. But tonight?

Tonight you begged so sweetly, moaned so filthy, kissed him so needy that all his common sense evaporated. And now he's here, hauling your wrecked body home, knowing you're gonna be sore as hell tomorrow—all his fault. And he can't even bring himself to regret it.

The door creaks softly when he shoulders it open, the apartment dim and quiet, and by the time he crosses the threshold, you're completely asleep against him. Your breath is soft and steady, face smushed into his neck, lips still a little wet from those sloppy kisses you couldn't stop giving him.

He sighs, kissing the top of your head before carrying you straight to the bathroom, flicking the light on with his elbow. The bright light makes you stir, a soft whimper leaving your throat, but you don't wake until he starts peppering little kisses across your face. Your nose first, then your forehead, then your cheeks, until your lashes flutter, and you blink up at him, all confused and sleepy and perfect.

"We're home, baby," he murmurs, voice soft.

You look around, eyes squinting at the light, brow furrowing as you take in the bathroom. "Huh?"

It's so adorably confused, so genuine, that Jason can't help but laugh.

"Yeah, doll," he grins, setting you down on wobbly feet. "We made it."

You sway a little, legs still weak, and he steadies you with one hand while the other shrugs his jacket off your shoulders, tossing it over the counter. Then he sinks to his knees, big hands cupping your ankles as he carefully unbuckles your heels, sliding them off one by one.

His palms rub over your skin, easing the ache, and he leans in to press a kiss to your calf before standing again. "Feet hurt?"

You nod sleepily, arms looping lazily around his neck, and he smiles. "Told you."

He gets the water running, warm but not too hot, and undresses you like you're made of glass, peeling the sweat-damp top and skirt from your skin, sliding your panties down those shaky legs, until you're bare and glowing under the bright bathroom light.

His own clothes come off fast, jeans and t-shirt kicked into the corner, and then he's guiding you under the spray, his big body crowding in behind you, keeping you steady.

You whine, soft and pitiful, as the water hits your oversensitive skin. "So tired," you mumble, cheek pressed to his chest.

"I know, baby," he soothes, hands moving quickly—gentle but efficient, washing away your makeup, the sweat and cum and alley grime, fingers gliding between your legs, over your thighs, along your back.

Every protest, every sleepy complaint, gets kissed away—a kiss to your shoulder, your temple, your lips. By the time he's rinsed you off, you're barely awake, your body slumping against him as he wraps you in a towel and carries you straight to bed.

You hit the mattress face-first, towel half hanging off, and you're out like a light in under five seconds.

Jason watches you for a second, shaking his head with a fond smile. "Hopeless."

He tries—he really does—to dress you at least in one of his shirts, but you don't even budge, and honestly? If you wanna sleep naked, who the fuck is he to stop you? Less work for him in the morning. He tosses the towels back into the bathroom, pulls on a pair of boxers, and slides into bed beside you.

The second his body heat hits you, you roll into him, face pressed to his chest, soft thigh hitching over his hip like you can't stand to have any space between you. His arm curls around your waist automatically, palm sliding up the curve of your ass, along your back, tracing lazy patterns across your bare skin.

He's still thinking about you, about tonight, about how the fuck you've got him wrapped around your little finger so tightly that one pout can ruin every ounce of self-control he's got. And it should piss him off. Should make him wanna teach you a lesson. But instead, it just makes him want to ruin you again, until you forget your own fucking name.

"Insane," he mutters into your hair, mouth curling into a grin.

But you're his insane, and that's all that fucking matters.

[lushleona]

funny how some people will preach “support writers!!” and then turn around and reblog posts shitting on people who write short drabbles and smut like it’s a crime. newsflash: not everyone has the time, energy, or desire to sit down and write a 10k yearning slowburn every time they want to post something. sometimes people just wanna write 500 words of filth and call it a day. because it’s supposed to be fun. it’s a hobby. what’s so hard to get?

also… you’re not slick. you know damn well your mutuals (aka the very people who write the type of content you’re complaining about) were gonna see that passive aggressive ass reblog. it’s disrespectful. instead of crying because someone’s 800 word smut drabble got more notes than a 12k yearning fic, maybe take a breath and remember nobody owes you a certain type of content. if you want long fics so bad, go write them yourself. or idk, look for them instead of bashing writers who are just doing what makes them happy. they’re literally out there.

it’s also so embarrassing to see writers dragging other writers because they’re bitter about engagement. i write long fics too. i have fics that are 5k+, 7k+, 9k+ that all receive less attention than my short drabbles, and yet you don’t see me out here making unnecessary posts and reblogs about what other people decide to create with their hobby in their own free time.

anyway. support all writers. don’t bash them for having fun and writing what they want instead of what other people want. ♡

[arabella0001]

it took me like two weeks to write this

nowhere to hide

✧ anime: attack on titan

✧ pairing: eren yeager x reader

synopsis: there’s a fine line between guilt and obsession—and he’s already crossed it

warnings: slow burn(10k words), possesive/obssesive eren, manipulation, consensual sex, overstimulation, edging, fingering, praise/degrading kink, rough sex, biting, oral sex (both receiving), penetrative vaginal sex, dirty talk, breeding kink, after care, comfort

After Eren fully accesses his ability to see the future, he discovers something unexpected after touching Historia’s hand—the subconscious projections of those around him when he makes contact. Fleeting, abstract, easy to ignore.

Until he touches you.

The hall buzzes with conversation, clinking dishes, and the scrape of chairs against wood. Eren barely registers any of it.

He’s moving through the crowd, brushing past shoulders and hands, when his fingers accidentally graze yours. It’s nothing—a fleeting touch—but the moment it happens, his breath catches.

It slams into him—sharp, foreign. You

Calm as ever, outwardly composed, but beneath it—a tremor. Desire, raw and untempered, seeping through the cracks of a mind that shouldn’t be this exposed.

Eren freezes mid-step, gaze snapping toward you.

You notice. Your eyes meet his, brows lifting slightly. “Eren?”

He realizes he’s staring. His hand falls back to his side, and for a moment, he forgets how to respond. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He clears his throat, dragging his hand away as if the touch had burned him.

“I—I thought…” he starts, but the words tumble out awkwardly, and he shuts his mouth. His gaze flickers to yours again, searching, unsure if he imagined it.

“It’s nothing. Sorry.”

You tilt your head, unconvinced, but let it go.

Eren forces himself to keep walking, but his heart pounds harder than it should. The echo of that feeling—your feelings—lingers longer than he’s ready to admit.

The rest of the day drags on, but Eren feels a step behind it.

His hands move on instinct—gripping equipment, adjusting gear, going through the motions of training—but his mind loops back. Back to that moment. That flicker of something he wasn’t supposed to see.

He hadn’t expected that from you.

It wasn’t like you ever acted that way around him. In fact, you barely spoke outside of mission necessities. But now that he’d seen it—felt it—it was impossible to unsee.

Now, without meaning to, his eyes find you across the training field.

You’re focused, laughing lightly at something Jean says. Ordinary. You don’t seem any different. Eren watches too long, searching for cracks—proof that the need he felt wasn’t imagined or just his mind playing tricks.

At one point, you glance up, meeting his gaze by chance.

He watched you, waiting for the crack to show, for the evidence to spill out across your expression.

You tried to hold his gaze, to keep that mask of indifference firmly in place.

Your thoughts don’t align with how you act—not with him.

Your eyes narrow, just slightly, questioning “What?”

But Eren felt it, deep in his gut.

You want him.

Badly.

It burned into him—glimpses of thoughts he wasn’t meant to witness. Slow, dirty, and unfiltered, lingering in ways that didn’t belong to the person standing in front of him now.

Not that he ever really believed you were innocent but that pulse of need wasn’t supposed to come from you.

Not you, the one who barely glances his way, who speaks to him only in clipped, formal exchanges. And yet, now he knows.

Eren doesn’t answer. His eyes shift away, jaw tightening.

He doesn’t understand it. And he’s not sure if it’s worse that now he wants to.

Eren tells himself it’s nothing. His power misfiring. A stray, meaningless thought. But the rationalizations don’t stick. The weight of your desire—for him—coils around his ribs like a vice. He shouldn’t want to chase it.

But it happens again—during drills, during meals—his gaze flickering to you when no one’s looking. And every damn time, he knows exactly what’s running through your head—how much you want him, how you imagine his hands, his mouth.

Your thoughts aren’t just dirty. They’re filthy.

The days blur together—long hours of drills and meetings. Eren buries himself in work, letting responsibility drag his mind elsewhere.

Whatever he thought he saw—or felt—that day, he brushes it off. There are more important things to worry about.

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

But one night, long after the camp has gone quiet, his thoughts drift back to you.

It isn’t intentional—at least, that’s what he convinces himself. A flicker of curiosity, lingering a second too long, and suddenly he’s reaching for that connection again.

He shouldn’t. It’s been days. He hasn’t needed to.

But when he finds you this time, the weight of it knocks the air from his lungs.

Warm. Unrestrained.

These aren’t idle fantasies. The images flooding his mind are sharper, soaked in something deeper—like you aren’t just thinking about him, but acting on it.

Eren sits at the edge of his bed, pulse slow but heavy, dragging a hand down his face as the realization sets in.

Are you…?

His throat tightens, the realization sinking deep into his stomach. You are.

And you’re thinking of him.

It’s a dangerous thing, to linger like this.  He shouldn’t pry. He knows that. This isn’t just a stray glimpse. This is intimate—something you probably believe belongs to you alone.

He should pull away—should sever the thread between your thoughts and his before it twists into something darker. But he doesn’t. Instead, he sinks into it, lets it unravel inside him, heavy and possessive. The deeper he leans, the more he wants—until the guilt dulls into hunger, and even that feels too easy to ignore.

Eren exhales through his nose, knuckles pressing into the mattress as he leans forward.

He should stop.

Instead, he lets the connection stretch thin, sinks into that space between thought and sensation, testing the edges.

And this time, the fantasy unfolds slower.

Late. Quiet. Just the two of you.

Your arm stretches, the hem of your shirt lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. Eren’s eyes track the movement, slow and heavy-lidded, drawn to the slight shift of your hips as you try to balance. Eren stands nearby, leaning against the wall, watching.

“Need help?”

His voice—heavier than usual.

You nod, not bothering to look at him. His chest brushing against your back as he reaches over. His hand ghosts over yours, dragging deliberately down the length of your arm. And he doesn’t move away.

Eren feels the way your body tightens under him, the slight shift of your hips against his. Subtle, but intentional.

You want him to press closer, slide his hands down your waist, pin you against the shelves.

His tongue flicks over his bottom lip as the fantasy darkens.

You—beneath him. Breathless.

Skin damp, thighs trembling, legs locking around his waist as he thrust into you.

Eren’s grip tightens on the sheets. His head drops, teeth sinking into his cheek.

The way you whisper his name—soft, pleading—twists something sharp inside him. Like you already know who you belong to. It isn’t just the fantasy. It’s the way you let him in. The way you want him to take control.

And the worst part? It feels like you’ve thought about this before.

Eren’s breath drags out, uneven. The ache in his cock grows harder to ignore.

How many times have you thought about this?

The idea hums in his veins. You never show it. Barely sparing him a glance during the day. But somewhere behind that careful exterior, you’re imagining his hands. His mouth. And the way he’ll break you apart.

Eren leaned back, letting his head fall against the cold wall of the barracks. Eren shifted where he sat, jaw clenching as his pulse picked up. 

Tomorrow, he’d test it. Just to know if it was real. Just for that.

The next day felt ordinary—training, drills, the same tired routines—but Eren’s mind wasn’t on any of it. He hadn’t forgotten.

So when the day slowed, he waited.

You were alone in the supply room, restocking gear. Outside, the others finished up drills, their voices faint beyond the walls. The scrape of crates echoed softly in the stillness.

Too easy.

Eren stepped inside without a word, letting the door close behind him. His eyes lingered as you stretched to reach a box overhead, balancing on the tips of your toes. You didn’t notice him at first.

But he noticed everything—the way your shirt lifted slightly, the curve of your waist, the subtle strain in your arms, your slighty open mouth. His gaze dipped lower at your ass, your thights rubbing together.

Then his voice cut through the quiet

“Need help?”

You glanced over your shoulder, barely sparing him a look.

“I’m fine,” you replied, fingertips grazing the box’s edge. It shifted slightly, heavier than expected, but you didn’t stop trying.

Eren didn’t care. He stepped forward—closer than necessary. Before you could protest, his hand covered yours, gripping the box effortlessly. His chest brushed against your back, solid and warm, the weight of him impossible to ignore.

Your breath hitched. It wasn’t the closeness that caught you off guard, it was how familiar it felt.

His hand innocently settled on your tensed shoulders, appearing unintentional, dragged softly down your forearm in a fleeting moment as he lowered the box—tracing the exact path you’d imagined the night before.

Your heart pounded in your chest, loud enough that you wondered if he could hear it. The box landed on the table, but Eren didn’t move away too soon. He was enough that the space between breaths felt too thin.

The warmth blooming under your skin betrayed you, creeping up your neck faster than you could push it down.

“Thanks,” you muttered, but even you could hear the slight tremor in your voice.

When your eyes met his, his gaze was already waiting—steady, dark, unflinching.

Eren didn’t speak. He didn’t need to, he just nod. You swallowed hard, turning back to the table, pretending the way your skin prickled under his stare wasn’t real.

But Eren wasn’t pretending. Eren eased against the table’s edge, the casual slope of his body betraying nothing—but the air around him shifted. Arms crossed over his chest, his gaze lingered, just shy of predatory, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

“You alright?” His voice was smooth—too smooth. There was something coiled beneath it, something darker. Your fingers twitched against the box.

“Yeah. Just… surprised me.”

Eren didn’t blink. His smirk deepened just enough to make your stomach twist.

“Sorry, just wanted to help” he says softly with a fake gentleness.

And then he was gone, footsteps quiet and unhurried as he slipped down the hall.

You lingered, fingers tightening against the table’s edge as if the solid wood beneath your hands could anchor you. But it didn’t. The ghost of his touch lingered—like he’d left a mark only you could feel. Your heart pounded in uneven beats, echoing the space he’d filled just moments before.

By the third day, it wasn’t curiosity anymore. It was possession.

Eren didn’t expect this to stay with him but etting go didn’t feel like an option—it felt like losing. Curiosity should have faded—fleeting, harmless. But now, it was something else.

You were dangerous in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

Beneath all of that, there was more and it wasn’t leaving his head anytime soon.

It started small.

Eren standing too close, his presence stretching into your space while you adjusted your gear.

There was no reason to linger. No reason for his gaze to slip down the curve of your back—or for him to lean in so close the heat of his breath skimmed your skin.

“Your strap’s loose.”

His voice ghosted along the curve of your ear, threading low and smooth beneath your skin like silk catching on raw edges. You froze, just for a moment. The faintest catch in your breath—barely there—but Eren noticed.

“I’ve got it,” you replied quickly, hands moving to fix it yourself.

But your fingers trembled, betraying you.

Eren stepped back, but his eyes dragged lower before he turned, smirking to himself. He saw it—the soft flush creeping up your neck. You felt it too, the heat crawling higher, betraying you in ways you couldn’t control. It wasn’t fair how easily he unraveled you, how his gaze alone seemed to strip away the armor you wore so carefully around everyone else, especially him. You wanted to brush it off, to laugh, to make it seem like nothing—like it wasn’t happening. You don’t understand what’s different now. But deep down, the weight of his stare didn’t feel like nothing. And that terrified you.

The next time, subtlety wasn’t part of the plan.

It caught you off guard when Levi matched you and Eren for sparring, but you weren’t about to question his decision. You shifted stances, attention locked ahead, until Eren’s shadow stretched beside you—too close.

“Here.”

His hands found your waist, adjusting the tilt of your hips with slow, easy pressure as if molding you beneath his touch.

It wasn’t necessary, he could have told you to move, but he didn’t. Because the second his fingers grazed your skin, he felt the way your muscles tensed involuntarily. Your pulse jumped—small, but enough.

He let his hands linger. Long enough to feel the discomfort settle between you, long enough to make sure you felt it too.

“Better,” he murmured.

Even he wasn’t sure what he was correcting anymore.

When you finally turned toward him, lips parting as if to speak, Eren had already stepped back, returning to his initial stance.

Leaving you standing there, breath uneven, heart racing beneath your ribs. But he noticed the way you held yourself—the way your hands flexed faintly at your sides like your body hadn’t fully come down from his touch.

He was testing the waters the next day.

The sun dipped low while you sat near the barracks. You know he was here, he was caught in the distance, deep in conversation with his friends. But you brush it off, brows furrowed as you skimmed on a map, completely unaware of the weight of Eren’s gaze. He leaned against the wall beside you, arms folded lazily across his chest.

“You look tired.” You didn’t look up, your pulse jumped.

“Nothing to worry about” You tried to joke.

 He crouched down beside you, close enough that his elbow brushed yours as he leaned in.

“You always this tense?” The words hung heavy, spoken just above a whisper. Your eyes flicked toward him—hesitant, uncertain—but you didn’t pull away.

That was all the answer he needed. Eren let the silence stretch, watching the flicker of confusion cross your face. The faintest pink crept into your cheeks.

You were trying to figure him out. Trying to decide if this was nothing—or something more.

But Eren wasn’t guessing anymore. He could feel it—the hesitation in your breath, the way your body betrayed the thoughts you wouldn’t say aloud and he wanted to see how far he could push it.

It wasn’t just the fantasies anymore, it was you.

You, standing there with that same stoic expression during the day—pretending nothing sat beneath the surface. And the more you tried to hide it, the more it twisted in his chest, refusing to settle.

The glimpses came easier now—too easy. Even when he wasn’t searching for them, you were already there, your eyes met his across the field more often and every time—it lingered.

You didn’t avoid him anymore, you were searching for answears.

The last traces of sunlight bled across the trees as drills ended and most of the others had filtered out.

Eren stayed, so did you.

Eren wasn’t subtle. His movements were sharp today—faster, harder. Every block, every shift seemed designed to drag your attention back to him until he caught your wrist.

A sharp twist, your balance slipping bu before you could stumble, his hand settled at your back, steadying you effortlessly. The grip was light, pressing like a brand through your shirt, grounding you more than necessary.

“You’re distracted.” His words brushed against your ear, quiet but heavy.

The heat of his breath sank low, curling beneath your skin, and you hated the way your body responded to it. You swallowed hard, lips parting slightly, but no words came.

‘I thought you wanted this.’ His words fell quiet but sharp. He said it like fact—like something he’d already decided for you, leaving little room for denial.

You stepped back instinctively, confusion flickering across your face as your breath faltered.

Eren let you go, but the look in his eyes stayed with you long after he was gone.

It was late—the kind of late where silence pressed heavy against the walls, where even the wind outside felt distant. You shouldn’t have been awake. Neither should he.

You felt it before you saw him, that familiar weight pressing against your senses, the one you’d grown hyperaware of over the past few days and then—you heard a soft knock.

Eren stood near your door, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze flickered toward you, unreadable in the dim light.

“Eren?”

Your voice dipped into confusion as you opened the door, hesitating with one hand on the frame. He didn’t answer, not at first. Instead, his eyes dragged over you slowly, as if he was considering something—measuring.

“Let me in.” his voice lowm carring no edge, but the weight behind it left no room for argument. It wasn’t a request—it was inevitable, like gravity pulling you closer the longer he stood there.

The door clicked softly behind him, louder than it should have in the quiet and you shifted, crossing your arms tightly, a surprise expression on your face as Eren’s gaze swept the room—or maybe just you.

He leaned against your desk, gaze steady, unmoving. The silence between you stretched thin. Nothing about the way he watched you felt passive—he was dissecting you, stripping every layer down without lifting a finger.

“Is something wrong?”

The words came out clipped, your tone thin, and you hated how obvious it sounded—how tense the air had become.

Eren’s head tilted slightly, his stare catching yours and holding it in place.

You opened your mouth, searching for something else to say—anything to break the silence. You try to dechiper his unusual behaviour in the past weeks, like you did every night until now.

The way he was looking at you now...like he knew something you don’t. But soon the realization twisted low in your stomach.

Armin’s voice echoed faintly in the back of your mind in a class you didn’t really pay attention, from months ago. “Eren’s abilities might evolve. If he can see the future after touching Historia’s hand, who’s to say he can’t see more?”

You remembered—his hand brushing yours across the dining table.

The subtle shift afterward, his sudden attention fot you, the way his eyes always finding you, how he stood too close during training, how he touched you accidentally too more to seem a coincidence.

Your pulse betrayed you, hammering beneath your skin, echoing louder than the faint creak of the floorboards. Heat licked at the base of your neck, but you couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment—or the way his stare coiled low in your stomach, twisting too tight to ignore.

Memories surfaced that you hadn’t meant to recall—things he couldn’t possibly know.

“Eren,” your voice faltered, soft but uncertain. “How long have you—”

“Weeks.” His answer cut clean through the air, sharp and unapologetic, stepping away from the desk, the quiet thud of his boots heavy on the floor.

“Yeah. Since that day at the table.” Your pulse spiked violently.

“You—” you stutter, trying to collect yourself.

“I felt it the moment I touched you.” His voice dipped lower, rougher. “After that, I couldn’t stop.”

Heat flooded your chest, burning its way to your face.

“That’s not p—” you stumbled over the words, stepping back.

You took a hesitant step back, the space between you feeling fragile. You wanted to pull away, but the weight of his stare pinned you in place, unraveling the walls you thought you’d built too carefully. The shame felt distant—overshadowed by the quiet, breathless part of you that wanted him to stay. Before you could retreat any further, his hand caught yours.

His fingers curled around your wrist, firm enough to keep you still, soft enough to make you feel the pulse in his thumb against your skin.

“Isn’t it?” His grip lingered, thumb brushing faintly against the inside of your wrist, and your breath caught in your throat.

“You’re thinking about how close I am,” he murmured, his gaze never wavering. Your chest tightened, eyes widening slightly.

“And now you’re wondering if I’m going to kiss you.” His head dipped, lips barely grazing the edge of your jaw, close enough to feel the warmth but not enough to touch.

The tension in your stomach coiled tighter, unbearable. “I—”

“You’re trying to convince yourself you wouldn’t let me.” His lips twitched faintly at the corner—just enough to make it clear he wasn’t guessing.  “But we both know that’s not true.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Eren’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around your wrist, his other hand rising, knuckles skimming just beneath the hem of your shirt, dragging along the bare skin at your waist.

“Eren—” you blurt you, panic in your voice.

“You think this is easy for me?” His voice sharpened, but it wasn’t anger. His palm pressed lower, fingertips skating across the dip of your spine, spreading warmth where they trailed.

“Do you know what it’s like?” His forehead brushed against yours, breath fanning over your lips as he spoke.

“Hearing everything you think about me… feeling it almost every time I’m near you?”

You can’t move, pulse thrumming beneath his touch. Your lips parted, but no sound escaped.

Eren’s hand slipped further down, settling over your hip, fingers flexing slightly against the fabric.

“I know you try to hide it,” he murmured, voice soft but weighted. His eyes searched yours, hovering inches away.“But I feel it. Every time.” The space between you dissolved, his mouth hovering over yours—close enough to take, but waiting. “Just like now.”

Your body betrayed you, pulse racing hard enough to make you dizzy.

“You’re an asshole,” you whispered, but it came out too soft. Because even as you said it, your hands found his chest, pressing into him but not pushing him away. Eren’s smirk deepened, the hand on your waist sliding further, dragging you closer until not a breath of space remained between you.

“I know,” he murmured, lips brushing faintly over yours.

Your breath hitched as his lips hovered a breath away, close enough to taste but just out of reach. The faintest brush, featherlight, like he was daring you to close the distance yourself.

“But you’re not pulling away either.”

His lips finally met yours, slow at first—purposeful—before deepening. The restraint cracked, and Eren’s fingers twisted into your hair, tugging gently as his other hand pressed harder into the curve of your spine. Your body arched into him, warmth pooling low in your stomach as his mouth dragged along your jaw, teeth grazing skin with just enough force to leave you breathless.

“I’m not stopping this time,” he murmurs against your neck, his voice low and thick with certainty. The weight behind his words shatters whatever fragile thread of control was left between you

His hand curls beneath your thigh, lifting it against his hip as he backs you into the wall. You should stop this. You tell yourself that, over and over, even as your breath quickens and your head grows light from the closeness. But every press of his body into yours unravels the reasoning in your head, slipping further away with each second.

It’s not just the way he touches you—it’s the way your body melts under him, the way your pulse races in response, as if it had been waiting for this longer than you’d ever admit. There’s no turning back now, and maybe… maybe you don’t want to.

The kiss turned hungrier—rougher—his hips pressing flush into yours, making your breath falter as you clung to him.

Eren groans softly into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips  and you gasp at the deliberate slowness of it. His hand drifted lower, fingers toying at the waistband of your pants.

“I know exactly how far you want me to go.” his voice dropped lower, roughened with the weight of restraint slipping through his fingers

Your breath trembles, lips parting as if to deny it, but nothing comes out. You can’t lie to him—he already knows. His hand dips lower, teasing the border of your pants and skin, and your hips shift forward almost involuntarily, chasing the contact you’ve been too proud to ask for.

“Eren...” you whisper barely audible. His name escapes as little more than a breath, but the way he reacts—his grip tightening at your waist—makes you regret letting it slip.

“Say it again.”  His voice drips with something taut, electric, the weight of his demand sinking deep into your stomach.

“I... I shouldn’t”. your words falter. You know how close you are to losing the last bit of restraint you have, but the heat of his breath against your throat dissolves the fragile thread you're clinging to.

 “But you will.”he whisper teasingly. His thumb pressing lightly over the ridge of your hip bone in no rush to be kind.

His forehead presses against yours, and his mouth hovers almost shy of meeting your lips again,but not enough to be innocent. You can feel him waiting, giving you the chance to pull away.

"You’re thinking about how easy it’d be to let this happen." His hand slides up your waist, skin on skin, slow and steady. "How much you want me to just…" his hand tightens suddenly, pulling you flush against him, lips brushing your ear as he finishes, "…take what’s already mine."

A gasp escapes you, fingers curling against his chest, his words hit harder than they should, the ache pooling between your thighs makes denial impossible.

“I shouldn’t want this.” you say softly, but the conviction doesn’t stick. Your head tilts back, surrendering as his mouth drags along your jawline.

“Oh, but you do.”

His free hand catches your wrist, lifting it gently to pin it beside your head. The action isn’t rough, but it leaves no question of who’s in control.

You bite your lip, hips shifting slightly against him despite the war raging in your head. His hand dips lower again, teasing but holding back, waiting. You feel the hesitation in his touch—giving you the final say, despite how much you can tell he wants this.

"Tell me to stop," he breathes against your throat. "Say it, and I will."

You swallow hard, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath, but you don’t say it. Your thighs press tighter around his, and your nails grip faintly into his shirt, dragging him closer.

“Don’t stop.”

Eren groans, low and satisfied, before his lips crash into yours again, deeper and hungrier than before. His grip on your waist tightens as his body presses fully into you, letting you feel just how much restraint he’s been holding back.

“Good girl.”

The words leave his mouth against yours, and heat pools fast at the praise, twisting something tight in your stomach. There’s no time to feel embarrassed, his hand is already slipping beneath the fabric of your clothes, dragging along the bare skin beneath.

“Eren—” you gasp, but doesn’t let you finish.

His fingers flex at your waist, pulling you closer until there’s nothing, his eyes searching yours as if daring you to take it back.

 “You’re sure?”his voice low, almost dangerous.

“I’ve been sure.” There’s no hesitation after that.

His mouth finds yours, claiming, while his hand drags higher beneath your shirt, tracing the muscles beneath your ribs. His touch maps paths across your skin, leaving nothing untouched.

“You don’t know what you do to me.” he moans into your mouth.

He feels every subtle tremble beneath his hands as they ghost over your ribs, teasing closer to the edge of reason. His lips drift lower, tracing the length of your throat, and your hips grind back instinctively, chasing the pressure you’re no longer ashamed to crave.

“Mmm.” His forehead pressing against yours for just a second—like he needs that brief pause to keep from losing himself completely.

"I know, baby. I can feel it."

 His lips drift lower, tracing the length of your throat, and your hips grind back instinctively, chasing the pressure you’re no longer ashamed to crave. A low curse spills from him, his palm dragging down your side, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, heat following every inch he claims.

His hand clamps at your thigh, dragging you closer as his hips bear down with purpose. His mouth lingers at your jaw, teasing without touching, while his thumb sketches slow, lazy lines over the sensitive skin at the edge of your thigh. Your fingers twitch against his chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt as you suck in a shaky breath.

“You’re not playing fair.”you’re struggling to keep steady.

“I never said I would.” his breath hums against your skin, the sound curling at the edges like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

His hand shifts higher, fingertips skimming the waistband again, not pushing further. Your hips grinding again more insistently, the ache pooling low in your stomach becoming too much to bare.

Eren pauses, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, he watches through half-lidded eyes, smirk tugging slow and knowing as his thumb brushing over your lower stomach.

“If you want something, you need to say it.” His teeth grazing the soft skin just below your ear before catching lightly on your earlobe, tugging slow enough to make you moan.

“Eren… just—” you swallow hard, whispering.

“Just what?” his voice cutting you off. He presses forward, pinning you harder against the wall as his knee slips between your legs, the friction enough to make your thighs tense around him.

“You want me to touch you here?”

His palm drags lower, just brushing over the damp heat between your legs, but he doesn’t cross that last inch.

“Or here?”

His lips brush over your collarbone, trailing down the center of your breast, with deliberate slowness, pulling your peaks with a teasing drag that leaves your skin burning for more .

“Eren, please.” your voice desperate, voice shaking

The plea slips out before you can stop it, and you feel the way his body stiffens against you, his breath hitching slightly in response.

“You sound so pretty when you beg.”

His mouth crashes into yours, all heat and teeth, his tongue pressing past your lips—demanding, possessive, like he’s been waiting for you to break just like this. His hand slides under the fabric of your pants, fingers brushing teasingly and you arch into him, biting your lip as frustration pools thick in your stomach.

“I need you… I need you to touch me.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard.”

His hand finally dips lower, fingers sliding beneath your underwear, your head falls back against the wall with a sharp inhale, thighs squeezing tighter around him. His finger moving over your clit, slow and purposeful, dragging a long moan from your lips before he continues.

You part your lips, breath shaky as his thumb presses faintly against your tongue.

"Suck."

And you do, eyes flicking up to meet his—half-lidded, almost innocent, your lips stretched around him just enough to make his jaw tense. His gaze locks onto yours, dark and unblinking, and the weight of it alone leaves you pulsing, dripping with need.

He pulls his thumb from your mouth, dragging it slowly down your bottom lip as his hand returns to your breast, gripping tighter this time. His lips trail down your neck, nipping and sucking faint marks into the skin—just enough to leave reminders that won’t fade easily.

His fingers move faster, thrusting deeper, stretching you open until you’re gasping against his shoulder, eyes squeezing shut as the pressure builds unbearably fast, he slips another one inside you

“Fuck…so wet.” He exhales sharply, his body tensing against you as if the realization alone might break his restraint. “I should make you wait longer... just to see how far I can push you.” His hand tightens at your hip, holding you still as his mouth brushes against your ear. “But I don’t think you’d last.”

You let out a loud moan, and his hand clamps tighter against your thigh, pulling you closer as he works you open faster, deeper.

His teeth sink into the sensitive skin around your breast, sucking hard enough to leave another mark. He groans again, eyes flicking up to watch your expression, catching the way your mouth falls open, breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Such a dirty girl, squeezing me so tight.” His words push you closer to the edge, and his pace never falter, stretching you open. “Look at me”

Your breath shudders, and his free hand wraps around your throat—not to squeeze, just enough to keep you there, to make sure you don’t look away. “I said, look at me.” His lips hover an inch from yours, and when you finally meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes alone is enough to undo you.

 “Come for me, baby. Let me feel it” As you ride out the waves of pleasure, Eren presses his lips into yours, possessive and unrelenting, like he’s trying to drag every last bit of your high out of you.

But the heat in his gaze doesn’t fade. He grins faintly, his fingers still moving inside your pussy, teasing even as you whimper beneath him. Eren shifts, hands sliding beneath your thighs as he lifts you, carrying you toward the bed.

“Eren…wha—”

As your back meets the mattress, his body presses into yours, kisses along your jaw, nipping lightly everywhere he can. His hands slip down your sides as he moves lower, settling between your legs without breaking eye contact.

You feel the faint scrape of his teeth against your hipbone as he presses a lingering kiss there, trailing heat over your skin as his lips move lower. His breath fans against your inner thigh, and when his mouth finally hovers over the spot that aches for him most, you can’t stop the way your hips shift toward him.

"So needy…" he murmurs, the faintest trace of amusement curling his lips as he holds you down with ease. His thumbs press into the sensitive skin just above your knees, pushing them further apart.

“Don’t hide from me.”  His breath is hot against you, lips ghosting just above where you ache for him, but he stays right there—his forehead pressing to your inner thigh briefly“You smell so good… fuck.”  His mouth hovers just over your center, teasing faint breaths over the spot that aches for him most. “Say it”  Your cheeks burn under the intensity of his stare and his proximity making you dizzy, makes it impossible to resist him

 “I want… I want your mouth.”

 His eyes flash with satisfaction, lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. “That’s my girl.” Without breaking eye contact, his mouth lowers, tongue flicking over your cunt in one slow, deliberate stroke. You gasp, back arching slightly from the sensitivy as his grip tightens on your thighs, holding you in place.

“Stay still..” His mouth works you open, hot and unrelenting, and even when your hips buck involuntarily, he holds you still. The edge of his teeth grazes faintly over your clit, enough to make you gasp but not enough to hurt. “You wanted this, remember?” Your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling as you tug, chasing the pressure that builds higher with every flick of his tongue.

"That’s it. Keep grinding on my tongue." He mutter between licking

His pace shifts, tongue pressing deeper, and the coil in your stomach twists tighter, leaving you panting as you arch against him. His grip on your thighs bruises, but the slight pain only makes the pleasure sharper. His tongue  dragging out each flick until the pleasure feels unbearable. Your hips buck slightly, and he groans, pressing you down harder with his forearm.

"Eren—fuck, I’m—"

His grip on your thighs tightens as he presses deeper, his tongue working you over relentlessly until he feels you tighten beneath him. His tongue flicks with more purpose, faster, rougher now, until your body starts to shake beneath him.

“Let go. Now.”

The orgasm tears through you, and he feels it, groaning deeply as he holds you down, tongue working you through every pulse. Your body trembles beneath him, legs tightening around his head, but he doesn’t let up until you’re gasping, the overstimulation leaving you squirming beneath his mouth. Only then does he pull back, lips glossy and swollen as he watches you with hooded eyes. His hands trail lazily along your thighs, grounding you with soft, slow circles.

"Look at you," he murmurs, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "So pretty when you fall apart for me." Your breath is uneven, chest heaving and he presses his forehead to yours, lips just brushing against your mouth, his finger start teasing your pussy again.

“Eren f-fuck, I can’t- anymore”

“No. You’re not going anywhere.” His tongue drags over your lower lip, his palm flattens against your lower stomach, holding you in place “You’re gonna take everything I give you.” His fingers move deeper inside your pussy “You can handle it. I know you can.” You whimper at the pressure, but it only seems to encourage him. His hips shift forward, pressing into yours with deliberate slowness, letting you feel exactly what he’s holding back.

“You like it when I ruin you, don’t you?”his voice ragged, playful. You’re barely breathing, moans spilling from your throat. His free hand dragging up your body to cup your breast, thumb brushing and pinching your buds hard.

His voice drops lower, rough and hot against your ear. “You’re nothing but a filthy girl when I touch you like this, right baby?.” His eyes flick up, catching the way your body responds, and he grins against your neck. You try to suppress the effect his words have on you and his grip on you tightens, possessive.

His hand slips from your breast, fingers tracing down your stomach as his pace slows slightly—just enough to tease you, keeping you hovering on the edge. You squirm against him, the tension almost unbearable, but he doesn’t let up. The plea cracks something inside him, and his restraint slips further as his finger-fucking you harder. His lips brush yours, the kiss deep but fleeting, as if testing how long he can keep teasing you before you break.

“You’re gonna need to beg a little louder if you want more.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and he smirks into the next kiss, clearly satisfied with your frustration. Your breath hitches, lips parting slightly, but you hesitate just long enough for him to notice.

“I can keep this up all night if you want.” his nose brushes against yours, his lips barely touching but not fully kissing you, your hips shifting against his hand, silently chasing more, but he holds firm, not giving you the relief you need.

Your pride wars with your desperation, but the ache blooming between your thighs wins. “PIease, please more—i want you to fuck me.” voice shaking as the second the words leave your mouth, Eren lets out a low groan, his composure slipping further, taking his finger from you, leaving you empty.

“Mhm.” His hips press forward, grinding against yours with deliberate force, dragging another gasp  “I’m gonna give you exactly what you’ve been thinking about, baby.” His fingers tighten around your throat “And you’re gonna take all of it.” His lips graze over your collarbone.

Your gaze stays locked below his waist, eyes dark with hunger as his fingers work quickly, tugging your shirt over your head in one swift motion. The fabric barely hits the floor before his hands are at your hips, dragging down your underwear without hesitation—there’s no teasing now, just the sharp edge of need driving both of you forward.

He steps back just enough to strip himself down, and you can’t stop staring. The tension in his body is unmistakable, every movement deliberate yet rushed, like he’s barely holding himself together. When his waistband falls, your breath stutters, and he catches the way your eyes linger.

“Greedy girl.”

He releases his hold on you just enough to step back, guiding your trembling body down until your knees hit the floor willingly. His thumb brushes against your chin, tilting your head up as he stares down at you, his eyes flickering with something dangerous.

“You want this, don’t you?”

You nod faintly, but it’s not enough for him. Your breath trembles, lips parting as your eyes flicker up to his.

“Fuck my mouth, Eren.”

His eyes darken instantly and his hand tangles in your hair, gripping firmly, tilting your head back further. “Fuck… you really know how to get what you want, don’t you?” His thumb drags over your lower lip, pressing down just enough for you to part your mouth further. “Open up.”

You open, sucking his thumb slowly, and the low curse that escapes him only fuels the ache building between your thighs again. “You look so fucking perfect like this.”

His cock hard and heavy in his hand as he guides it toward your lips. His tip presses against your tongue, and the groan that spills from his throat when you take him in is raw, almost broken. He is panting softly, hand tightening in your hair “That’s it… deeper.” His hips push forward slowly, his other hand brushing the side of your face, thumb tracing your cheek as he watches himself disappear further past your lips.

“So obedient”.Your hands grip his thighs, nails faintly dragging over his skin as you hollow your cheeks, pulling another groan from him that rattles through his chest. His hips buck involuntarily, and his eyes narrow faintly as he tugs at your hair, pulling you off him just enough for your lips to hover over his tip.

“Careful. Or I’ll fuck your throat until you’re begging for air.” His hand relaxes in your hair, guiding you back down slowly. “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You hum softly around him in response, and the vibrations make his head fall back briefly, jaw tightening as his grip on your hair tightens again.

“God… you are a perfect little slut, aren’t you?”

You sink lower, taking him deeper until your nose brushes his pelvis, and he lets out a rough, broken groan, his other hand pressing flat against the wall for support. His hips roll forward slowly, guiding the pace, and his eyes flick down to watch the way your lips stretch around him.

“Taking me so well.” His thumb brushes against your jaw, tracing faint circles as his voice softens—just enough to make you wet again. “You were made for this.” The rough edge returns as his hips snap forward slightly, pressing deeper into your throat, forcing tears to prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Crying already, baby?” His lips curl faintly, dark amusement flickering across his face. “I know you can take more.” He thrusts forward again, slower this time, letting you feel every inch as he sinks deeper. “Relax. Let me in.” You relax your jaw, letting him push deeper  and his voice drops lower, and his hand brushes down the side of your neck, squizing slightly, making you gag.

 “You feel that? How deep I am?” His head tilts, watching you carefully as you nod around him, your throat tightening.. “Fuck— I feel you tightening up around me.” His pace stutters briefly, hips jerking forward without warning as he lets out another rough sound.

“You want me to come down your throat, don’t you?” His words send another wave of heat crashing through you, your pussy dripping with want and the soft hum of your agreement sends him over the edge.  His grip tightens in your hair, and his body shudders as he thrusts forward one final time, groaning deeply as he spills into your mouth. His hips roll forward gently as he rides out the high, fingers brushing faintly over the side of your face.

Eren is panting, half-smirking as he watches you swallow. “You didn’t waste a drop. Such a good little slut.” He tilts your chin up, leaning down to press a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. His thumb brushes over your swollen lips, eyes darkening, looking at your ravished face, full blushing.

“You were so good to me, so sweet.”

Eren’s hands slide beneath your arms, lifting you from your knees with ease. His grip is firm but careful as he lays you back against the bed, settling between your legs without hesitation. His weight pins you down, the heat of his body pressing into yours in all the right ways.

His teeth graze over your collarbone, biting down just enough to make you gasp, his tongue follows, soothing the faint sting while his fingers keep working you, unrelenting. Your hips shift instinctively, but his grip tightens around your thigh.

“Don't be so eager, baby”

You squirm, a frustrated whimper escaping, and his smirk deepens, his hips grind down, firm and deliberate, dragging against you and drawing another soft, involuntary moan spills from your lips, your head tilting back against the pillow. His palm curling around your breast until he squeezes rough and needy, making your back arch into him. His teeth graze your nipple, tugging faintly before letting go.

Your fingers curl into his back, nails dragging faint scratches over his shirt, and the low groan he gives while his gaze trailing over every inch of exposed skin. His knee shifts between your legs, parting them just enough to remind you how close he is—how easily he could end the wait. But he doesn’t. Not yet. He takes his time, dragging it out in that torturous way that leaves you trembling beneath him.

“I could leave you like this, you know.” His lips brush the corner of your mouth, hovering just out of reach. “Make you sit with it—feel me between your legs every time you move.” His hand trails down your side, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Would you like that?”

“No… I wouldn’t.” He hums softly, thumb tracing light circles along your cheek, but the glint in his eyes says he’s not done playing yet.

“I think you would.” His mouth drops to your neck again, tongue flicking over the faint mark left earlier. “I think you’d love walking around knowing you’re soaking for me, and no one else has a clue.” Your hips roll against him, desperate for friction, and the soft groan he lets out is pure satisfaction. His head dips lower and your breath stutters, but he waits—watching you carefully, expectantly.

“Eren, I can’t, i can’t anymore.” His laugh vibrates against your skin, dark and satisfied, his tongue tracing over the faint bruise beneath your jaw.

“Ask nicely.”

“Please… fuck me.”

Eren’s eyes darken, the sound of your voice unraveling whatever was left of his control

He shifts lower, settling between your legs, and his hand catches your thigh, guiding it higher around his waist as he presses closer, his mouth swallowing the soft, desperate sounds you can’t hold back.

“I’ll take such good care of you…,” he murmurs against your lips.  “I’m going to make sure you remember this.”, biting your lip with his teeth in that torturous way that leaves you trembling beneath him.

Your thighs squeeze tighter around his waist, pulling him in, and he groans softly, the sound vibrating against your mouth.

"You’re lucky I’ve lasted this long." he murmurs, the words slipping through gritted teeth as his jaw clenches,  He drags his length along your folds, the slow, movement making your breath catch as he watches every flicker of reaction on your face before, pushing in and out your pussy, the teasing beginning to slip away.

The last shred of restraint snaps. His hands slip beneath your knees, parting them wider as he sinks into you with a slow, steady push. His forehead presses to yours, breath shallow as he watches your expression shift, eyes darkening when the moan falls from your lips, your walls clenching around him already from his torturously edging. All this pent up tension between you two after so many months finally released.

"Fuck… so good." A groan catches in his throat as he starts to move, each thrust deep and precise, his body rocking against yours with growing intensity "I’m not stopping until I’ve filled you so deep you’ll still feel me tomorrow."

Your hips roll up to meet him, chasing every bit of friction, and he rewards you with a low curse and rougher movements.  His hand curls around the back of your thigh, pulling you higher as his pace grows more forceful, each snap of his hips drawing sounds from you that you can’t hold back. "That’s it, baby. So desperate for me."

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, clinging as he holds you down, his lips grazing over yours but not quite kissing—letting the tension hang between you. Your hips are struggling to match his thrusts, overwhelmed by the intensity of the movement, Eren can’t think only on how good and warm your pussy feels  "I could do anything I want, and you’d take it."

“Yes, yes yes-“ tears springing at your eyes, legs trembling as his free hand anchors you, holding you firmly.

 "I’ve got you." His forehead presses to yours, eyes flicking down as he watches the way your body moves beneath him—like he can’t look away. "Come for me, baby."

His pace doesn’t falter, even as your body tightens around him, and the scream, that spills from your lips feels too loud in the room. He kisses you hard, swallowing the sound as your body trembles beneath him, the sharp snap of his hips growing erratic.

His head dips lower, lips pressing to the space just beneath your ear, voice shaking as he struggles to hold on. “I want to fill you up, to know your mine in every way, will you want that?”

His words alone make you shiver, nodding frantically, thighs trembling around him as he pushes deeper, dragging out each thrust like he’s chasing something just out of reach."Shit—" But instead of release, his movements falter, a frustrated groan vibrating low in his chest. His hands tighten at your hips, fingers digging in as his breath hitches against your neck.

Suddenly, he pulls out, the loss of contact making you whimper softly before he shifts, flipping you onto your stomach with ease.

“Turn around.”

His grip tightens at your waist, urging you to shift, but when you hesitate, his hands push firmer—more commanding. “Now.” The way his voice drops sends heat curling deep in your stomach, and you move instinctively, legs trembling from previous orgasm as you turn beneath him. His palm presses against your lower back, guiding you down as he shifts behind you.

He drags his fingers down the length of your spine, slow and deliberate, until they settle at your hips, squeezing tightly. “Stay like that.”the weight of his gaze burns into your back as he watches you—taking in the sight of you laid out for him. “You look so fucking good like this.”

He is guiding your head back down as his palm finds the back of your neck, pressing you gently into the mattress.

“Keep your head down. I want you to feel every inch of me.”

The weight of his body shifts, his chest pressing against your back as he leans over you, his breath hot against your shoulder. His hips roll forward, and the sharp friction sends a broken sound from your lips that he catches instantly, groaning into your ear. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” His hands slip to your hips, holding you firmly in place as he thrusts deeper, rougher this time, dragging a gasp from your throat as your fingers curl against the sheets beneath you.

His pace grows faster, sharper, each thrust forcing your body forward slightly until his hand presses flat between your shoulder blades, pinning you down completely. Your body trembles beneath him, and he feels it—the way you clench around him, the soft whimpers you try to swallow. But he doesn’t let you hide anything.

“You like it rough, don’t you?” His palm drags up your back, curling lightly into your hair. The hand in your hair tightens, tugging your head back gently, forcing you to arch as his hips snap forward, rougher this time.

“I want to hear how much you love it.”

“I—I love it...”

His hand tightens in your hair, dragging another gasp from you as he thrusts deeper, holding you there. Your body trembles as his grip on your hips tightens, pulling you back to meet every movement until the sound of skin meeting skin fills the room. “Say you’re mine.”

Your breath catches, head tilting back further, but he doesn’t let up—his hand sliding down to grip your throat from behind, pulling you up just enough to kiss the side of your jaw.

“I’m yours.” He groans, pace stuttering slightly as his forehead presses into the back of your shoulder. His hand slips lower, fingers working between your thighs as he thrusts harder, chasing both your release and his.

“You’re gonna come for me again.” His voice is rough, breathless, but there’s no mistaking the command in it. “Come while I’m inside you.”

Your body tightens at his words, hips rocking instinctively as the pleasure builds too fast to stop.  “I want to feel it.” His teeth drag over your shoulder, sucking faint marks into your skin as your body tenses, finally falling apart around him. “Fuck— ”

His hips slam forward a final time, his body shuddering against yours and a low, drawn-out groan escapes him as he reaches his peak, burying himself as deep as possible while he spills into you. His breath comes in ragged, heavy bursts, but his arms stay locked around you, refusing to let go even as his body begins to relax.

The room lay shrouded in silence—thick and heavy, broken only by the faint rise and fall of your breath and the soft rustle of sheets shifting beneath Eren’s weight. His chest pressed against yours, the space between you felt too intimate, too fragile, like something that could shatter with the wrong movement.

His forehead rested against your shoulder, hair damp against your skin, and though his hold on you was firm, you couldn’t help the uneasy twist in your stomach.  

Your fingers hovered lightly over his back, unsure if you should pull him closer or push him away — not because you didn’t want this, but because you weren’t sure what to do now. 

"You’re quiet," Eren murmured, his voice rough against your neck, but soft in a way that made your heart ache.  

"So are you," you replied, barely above a whisper.  

He didn’t answer immediately. His hand slid slowly along your waist, his thumb brushing faint circles over your hip, but the touch felt different now — like he was grounding you both, not just savoring the moment.  

The silence stretched a little too long.  

"You can hear me now, can’t you?" The words slipped out before you could stop them, and your pulse quickened as the weight of the question settled between you.  

Eren’s breath stilled, hesitation flickering behind the sharpness of his gaze. When he finally leaned back, the weight of his eyes on you felt different—less demanding, more searching.

"No Eren murmured, his fingers threading gently through the strands of your hair, tucking them behind your ear. His touch lingered just a second too long, as if reluctant to let go.  "Not right now."

You searched his expression, but there was no sign of deception, no hint that he was holding anything back.  

Still, doubt prickled at you, and your voice trembled slightly when you spoke. "But you did. For days. You heard everything."  

His gaze softened, but the intensity never faded.  

"I couldn’t control it," he admitted, thumb grazing along your cheek. "I didn’t mean to invade your head."

You wanted to believe him, but the memory of his voice—the way he had known exactly what you wanted—burned too vividly in the back of your mind. It wasn’t just that he’d heard you; it was that he had listened. He had memorized every unspoken need, every hidden desire you hadn’t even voiced aloud. That should have unsettled you. Maybe it did. But as his hand slid gently over your waist, thumb drawing soft circles against your skin, you felt something else. Something dangerously close to comfort

“I feel stupid,” you muttered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Shame curled hot beneath your skin, pooling low in your chest, and you stared hard at the sheets rather than risk meeting his gaze.

"I didn’t think you could actually hear—"

Before the weight of your words could settle, Eren’s lips brushed softly over yours—intentional, lingering, but careful. Like he could kiss the doubt away if he held you close enough.

His hand slid up to cup your jaw, tilting your face just enough to keep you there, as if to remind you that whatever you thought was too much, wasn’t.

“‘Don’t,” Eren whispered, his breath hot and close, the words pressing into you more firmly than his lips. He pulled back just enough for your eyes to meet, his thumb grazing slow circles against your waist. “Don’t start second-guessing this now.’”

His eyes met yours, dark and unwavering. "You’re not the only one who wanted this, you know."

Heat crept up your skin, but doubt still lingered in the back of your mind.  

"I just—" You swallowed, unsure how to explain the knot twisting in your chest. "It’s hard not to feel stupid, knowing you—"

"You think I wasn’t losing my mind hearing the things you thought about me?" Eren interrupted, his lips brushing along your jaw, trailing down the side of your neck slowly, deliberately. "I could barely focus half the time." 

Your breath hitched, nails lightly digging into his back as his mouth lingered just below your ear.  

"You hid it too well," you mumbled, heat burning at the edges of your voice.  

Eren huffed softly, the faintest smirk curling against your skin. "Yeah, well… I didn’t."  

His hand slipped beneath the sheets, dragging slowly along your thigh, and your heart stuttered beneath his touch.  

"I’m not going to pretend I didn’t want this just as much as you did." His voice dipped lower, rough and thick with something unspoken. "And I’m not letting you overthink it now."

Your breath trembled as his hand tilted your chin up, guiding your lips back to his in a kiss that left no room for doubt.  

Whatever insecurity lingered between you faded beneath the weight of his touch.

Eren's lips lingered on yours, soft and slow, but when he pulled away, the weight in his eyes hadn’t faded. His hand slipped from your waist to rest gently on the side of your neck, thumb brushing against the curve of your jaw.  

For a long moment, he just looked at you — like he was waiting for something.  

"I mean it,” he said finally, voice quiet but steady. "I’ll find a way to stop hearing your thoughts." 

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone.  

"It’s not fair to you. I shouldn’t know what you’re thinking all the time. It’s yours — it’s supposed to be private." 

Your breath hitched, eyes searching his, but all you saw was sincerity.  

"I… don’t blame you," you whispered, though even as you said it, doubt still curled in the back of your mind. "But it’s hard not to feel weird about it."  

Eren exhaled slowly, his forehead pressing gently against yours. His hand slid back down to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.  

"I’ll fix it," he promised, his voice so quiet it almost got lost in the air between you. "I swear."

For a moment, you let yourself believe him, the steady rhythm of his breathing against you easing some of the tightness in your chest.  

But that didn���t answer the other question lingering at the back of your mind — the one you weren’t sure you were ready to ask.  

"And after that?" you murmured, fingers trailing lightly along the back of his neck. "When you can’t hear my thoughts anymore — what then?"

Even as you asked, you felt his grip tighten, as if the thought of distance unsettled him more than he’d admit, his eyes flicking over your face carefully, like he was weighing the right words.  

"That’s up to you," he said simply, but the roughness in his voice betrayed him. "But if you think I’m going to forget about this… about you—"  

His hand slipped beneath your jaw again, tilting your head up slightly, his thumb brushing over your lips.  

"You’re wrong.

Your stomach twisted, heat prickling at your skin beneath his touch.  

"So, what? We just—"

"We’ll figure it out." Eren’s lips twitched faintly, the corner of his mouth curling into something softer — something just for you. "Together, if you want that."  

You stared at him, heart pounding harder than it should, but the thought of pushing him away felt impossible now.  

"I do," you admitted quietly, and the tension that had been holding Eren back seemed to melt all at once.  

He kissed you again, deeper this time, like he needed to hear those words as much as you needed to say them. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you fully beneath him, and the weight of him pressed you into the mattress in a way that left no doubt —  

This wasn’t going to be the last time.

levi smut

[ivyasproperty]

Light In The Dark.

wanda.m x fem!avenger!reader

summary — you've always had problems with your eyes, so why is it there's something, specifically someone standing so brightly in front of you?

warning(s) : idfk im too tired to check

word count : 2.1k

A/N : took a 2 month break bc i was lazy oops </3, i also didnt know wtf to call the aura so i called it spiritual powers teehee

You were born with a mysterious disease that not even the worlds best doctors could diagnose, you knew this since you were a a toddler, and yet, you couldn't help but get frustrated every time it passed your mind.

Your disease was special, it messed with your eye sight. Yes, you could see, but in your eyes, everything was in a darker hue. What was supposed to be the crystal blue sky on a sunny day, looked like a rainstorm during night.

So of course it made sense you were frustrated, your disease has affected your life is so many ways. You've lost jobs at café's or restaurants for not being able to see the menu, the pages being too dark to see the words written across it, you've lost jobs at business companies, bosses complaining your progress was too slow. Sure the glowing white light from the computer helped, but only slightly.

And so of course you were surprised when Nick Fury, founder of SHIELD, presented an opportunity for you to join the Avengers. You were hesitant at first, not understanding why they'd invite a person like you. But you were then informed that your powers, that being your hindered eye sight, could detect spiritual power. You were confused... spiritual power? How the hell were you supposed to detect that?

As if reading your mind, the one-eyed man told you that a person who possessed spiritual power would emit an aura that only you would be able to see. The more spiritual power that person had, the brighter the aura would be. He explained you would be a useful asset to recruiting more people, be it for the Avengers, or SHIELD.

You didn't like the feeling of being a tool to recruit more people, so you were about to decline, but then brought up the monthly paycheck you'd make if you were to accept. Well..... how could someone refuse THAT amount of money am I right? ( i imagine it to be maybe 10k-15k usd per month ^^ )

ᯓ★

Your first day on the job wasn't bad per say, but it was definitely hectic. The Avengers compound was so far away from where you lived, you had to wake up 2 hours earlier than you usually do to arrived at a reasonable time. It wasn't just that, the compound was so big, you had troubles navigating through the damn building, and with your shitty eye sight, you ran into multiple walls, causing you to rest for awhile and wasting even more time. Curse Stark and his big ass building.

After FINALLY arriving at the lounge room of the compound, you were surprised to see all members of the Avengers lined up in a line facing towards the entrance, as if waiting for you to arrive. Standing in front of them was a familiar figure, one you've come to recognise as Nick Fury.

As if sensing your presence, he turned around and gave what you think was a grin, you couldn't tell, all you could see was pitch black because of your disease.

Introducing yourself was another issue, even with the shiny blonde hair that Steve Rogers and Thor Odinsson had, it was hard to distinguish their faces. You had to squint your eyes to see if a person was standing in front of you or not.

After introducing yourself to Natasha Romanoff, the black widow, it was on to the next and final person, one you've heard on the news multiple times. Wanda Maximoff, also known as the Scarlett Witch. She was just a few years older than you, so you were expecting a shy girl, what you weren't expecting was a bright red light shining around her figure. You covered your eyes, wanting and needing to block out the light to not damage your already damaged eyes.

After getting used to the shine, you let your hands fall to your sides, her features were something you've never seen before, which was ironic since you could barely make out people's faces. She had emerald green eyes, scarlet hair and light freckles adorned her cheeks. She was ethereal, you thought.

You were about to let go of her hand after shaking it when it hit you. Did you just explain her features in detail? But how? You could barely see anything. You looked back up at her face, and your eyes widened at how normal she looked. Nothing about her was a dark color, it was basically your first time seeing colors so bright.

You didn't notice the poor woman getting nervous under your gaze, 'is there something on my face?' she thought to herself. But before she could ask the question that she recited in her mind, she saw Fury tapping your shoulder, affectively breaking you out of your stupor.

"Sorry.." you murmured, "I've just never seen a face with such bright colors before. You know, with my disease and all...." You hated how shy you sounded, it was as if you were a petite girl getting caught for sticking her hand in the cookie jar.

"It's fine!" she enthusiastically said, she felt at ease after finding out the reason for your blatant staring. "Your names Y/N right? I hope we can be good friends." You hoped so too.

ᯓ★

You were settling in nicely. After being here for around 5 months, you've realised a lot more things about yourself. Who would've thought you'd be so good at sparring? Well at least yo were when against Steve, you'd never be able to beat Natasha. And who would've thought you were able to work out complicated biotech with Stark? Certainly not you. Who would've thought your heart would start pounding whenever Wanda Maximoff was around? Who would've tho- wait what? Your heart pounds whenever Wanda is around? You stopped in your tracks after the thought came into mind.

'I like Wanda?' you thought to yourself, 'That can't be, sure I'm always flustered around her and always crave to be around her, but that doesn't mean I have a crush on her! Right?' you asked yourself. 'Right?'

"Right about what, malysh?", you'd recognise that nickname from miles away. "It's nothing wands, somethings on my mind is all." "Penny for your thoughts then?", you couldn't help but giggle at her words, yo don't know why. "It'd be my pleasure."

"Is it about your powers? Oh! Maybe about how you'd finally beat Natasha at sparring?", her words were filled with excitement as she asked you questions.

"Ouch, Wands. To be clear I've beaten Natasha before..... at everything except what she's good at. And no it's nothing you've listed." you replied.

"Whatever you say malysh, so what's on your mind? Let me guess! Let me guess! Uhm...."

You giggled at her excited tone, your lips instantly pulling up into a smile whenever she showed you this side of her. Wanda was still fairly new to the Avengers, sure she was friends with all the members but she was closest to you. You felt fluttering in your stomach at the thought.

But, what if she eventually finds out about the pathetic crush you have on her? You've noticed the way she looks at vision, you don't know what he has that you don't, because you can't even tell what he looks like. Is he good looking? Handsome? Cute? But you did hear Clint muttering something about him having red skin.....

Back on the matter, you were worried, worried about how she'd react, would she like you back? Or would a disgusted look be plastered onto her goddess like features?

Even in stressful situations like this, you couldn't help but find Wanda beautiful. Her face got brighter day by day, the aura surrounding her getting brighter and brighter, showing that she was getting stronger too. You admired her for that.

You looked back in front of you, trying to avoid Wanda's piercing gaze as she tries to guess what's on your mind. What you didn't know was that Wanda had read your mind. She felt guilty, she promised you she'd never do anything like that to you. It was an invasion of privacy. But your thoughts were so loud! They were practically spewing out of your mind!

She couldn't help the blush that rose upon her cheeks at finding out about your crush on her. She herself was also finding it hard to come to light about her feeling towards you. Yes, she felt an undeniable pull between her and vision but her heart pounded in a different way when she was in your presence. She felt the stress ebb away from her body when she was able to rant to you about your problems.

It wasn't until you finally reached your destination, that being your room, that you stopped Wanda's rambling. "It's nothing to worry about Wands, just figuring things out is all."

And just as you were about to close your room door after entering, Wanda hurriedly jammed her foot between the door and your doorframe, wincing at the pain that she had willingly put herself through. To say you were shocked at her action was an understatement. "Are you alright?!" you half shouted, "You could hurt yourself doing that!" "I'm fine malysh. I just.... I just need a moment with you." she panted between breaths.

'A moment? With me? Did something happen? What's going on?' . you pondered as you entered your room, Wanda following behind you. "What's wrong Wands? Your face is really red. Like, REALLY red. And you can tell it's bad when even I can see a color as bright as that.", your worried tone warmed Wanda's heart. 'All I want to do right now is kiss that worried face of yours away.' she thought to herself. Well atleast she thinks she did.

"Y-you wanna what to my face away?", you asked, bewildered at the fact she just said that aloud. "Hm?", Wanda was still oblivious, it took a few seconds for her to realise what had just happened, and of course, her face turned as red as a tomato, at this point it was hard to differentiate the color of her face and her hair, they were almost the same.

"I-I'm so sorry, malysh! It just slipped out! I didn't mean it— well I DID, but I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable!-", you could feel your heart pumping wildly against your chest, what does she mean she means what she said? Does she want to kiss you? No that couldn't be it, but then what could she mean? I mean if she did, you wouldn't be complaining.

"Malysh? Are you listening? You know what i'll get straight to the reason why I wanted to talk, I like you, okay? Y/N? Y/N listen to me!" You were still in your own world, asking yourself question when Wanda suddenly started shaking your shoulders and was repeating the same sentence over and over again.

"Wait, hold on a second Wands. You like me? You?" you asked incredulously, as if she hadn't said it a dozen times already.

"Yes, stupid! I like you! Are you gonna say anything? Y/N? God....", she felt frustrated, and rightfully so. Your mind was still trying to process what she said, and after doing so your face turned to what you think is a bright red.

"Oh! That's.... that's cool! Yeah! I... I just......", you were a stuttering mess under Wanda's watchful gaze, and you felt panic rise within you when you noticed an upset look spread across her face. Wanda had took your stuttering as you being uncomfortable, and tried to talk her way out of the topic at hand when you suddenly cut her off before she could even say anything.

"I like you too! Okay! I just, I have a hard time expressing it.... 'M just shocked is all....", the words finally left your mouth in a hurried sentence.

"Why would you ever be shocked, malysh?", Wanda was confused, did you not notice her liking towards you?

"It's just, you're like a goddess Wands. You're beautiful, cheerful and powerful. I don't understand why you'd be with someone like me, someone who can't even see things properly."

"Well you can see me perfectly fine, no?"

"That's different, Wands."

"How so, Y/N/N? I don't care if you have problems seeing, malysh. Hell, I wouldn't even care if you were blind! I like you because you're you. And I like you, okay?"

You were processing her words, still trying to tell if she was saying it for fun or not, but when you realised she wasn't, you wrapped your arms around her frame.

"Woah! Calm down there, malysh. Still need to breathe." she chuckled. But you couldn't care less. She finally liked you back. You finally got your girl. You finally got the light in the dark.

A/N : if im being honest, i fucking hate this. i thought that maybe if i went with the flow it'd come out okay but at this point its just nonsense, but anywayyy!!! hope you enjoyed this one! feel free to leave requests!!!!

[pedgito]

ORBIT YOU ⋆⭒˚.⋆ CHAPTER FOUR: VENUS

↝ series masterlist | joel miller masterlist | full masterlist

summary — joel gets injured and both of you have some startling realizations in the process of looking after him.

author's note — the two chapters following this will be a little delayed, editing them has been a little tiring but they will be coming i swear! this is a lengthy one, i hope that makes up for it.

content warning — 18+ MDNI, dbf!joel, age gap (20s/40s), more openness on joel's behalf, some fluff, joel gets injured at work, devious actions by reader, some subtle domesticity, somnophilia (dubcon-ish), oral (m receiving), panic attacks, family drama, loss of virginity, protected piv

word count — 10k

Joel wasn’t handling the girls’ short-lived vacation as well as he liked to think.

It was always hard when they left.

When they hug and Joel helps them pack the car, it’s emotional.

It never got easier; letting them go. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Joel admits when they’ve pulled off down the street and turned the corner, always vehemently aware of his surroundings when he pulls you in for a hug, pressing a kiss to your head—to an outsider, it was a sweet moment between a supposed father and daughter.

Yet, you were anything but.

Still, you pulled him in close and rocked with the gentle sway of his body.

“You thought about going home at all?” Joel asks randomly, feeling you pull away in an instant, “Oh, sweetheart—I’m not tryin’—this ain’t me hintin’ at nothing, I was just curious…”

His voice trailed off, leaving an air of tension hanging between you.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and there was an unspoken understanding that lingered just beneath the surface, "I’m more comfortable here with you and Tommy than I ever have been there," you replied quietly,

Joel's gaze flickered down to your lips, and for a heartbeat, the world outside faded away. You wished he kissed you more—or, at all, “Good,” he said, almost too softly, his voice unlike him.

His brow furrowed slightly as he looked at you, suddenly serious, “Didn’t realize how lonely this place was without you,” he confessed, his fingers brushing against your arm in a way that sent shivers racing down your spine, “always keepin’ me on my damn toes,”

You had a freakily precise timing that Joel would never understand.

He’s been on the receiving end of your quiet laughs and smiles when you catch him showering in the middle of the night after a long shift at work, wandering into the kitchen for a glass of water or a snack, waking up with a mission.

Joel was still careful with Tommy around, keeping his distance as much as possible when he was around, unwilling to be at the receiving end of a lecture from a man who did nothing but make mistakes in his life up until about five years ago.

Joel wasn’t sure what changed, but something did.

You’ve been job searching for a few weeks, coming up empty-handed.

Joel has always reassured you that there wasn’t a rush, or a necessity for it, really.

He owned his own company, lived off a cushy, comfortable salary and knew how to save—it was exactly why both of his girls’ colleges were completely paid for while you had lucked out on a full ride, knowing that any debt would ultimately be your responsibility. 

But, you do get bored while he’s away when you’re not out trying to get interviews or run a few errands that the brother’s would never do for themselves—and one morning, Joel makes the fatal mistake of leaving his phone on the counter as he and Tommy drove to the store to grab a new stock of coffee beans.

He had work in thirty minutes and he’s kept his distance incredibly well since your birthday, aside from the occasional glance or touch of his fingers when he passed by, only distant memories to satiate the hunger that was no longer lying dormant.

You could shower quick, be done before he even returned, but you decidedly take your time, propping his phone up against wall behind the sink and the faucet and pressed record on his camera, leaving the curtain pushed back just a sliver as you went about your normal shower routine for the first half of the video.

The second half is entirely different, the suds from the soap foaming around your tits as you washed your skin, squeezing for a show as your thumbs dragging over your nipples before you were dragging a curious hand between your thighs, head thrown back as the stream of water cascaded over your body, moans of pleasure escaping your lips as you continued to tease yourself, the camera capturing every breathless gasp and shudder as you brought yourself closer to the edge. The warmth between your legs intensified, and you couldn't help but imagine it was Joel's hands instead of your own. You knew exactly what they felt like, closing your eyes to picture it. It’s not long before you’re crying out at the mere thought of him touching you.

After drying up, you carefully cleaned up any evidence that you had been messing with his phone, closing out of any apps and placing it back on the counter exactly where you had found it, remaining blissfully ignore as both of the men return as you were making your own breakfast, damp hairing drying over your shoulders as Joel glances at you, a full body stare.

He was oblivious, obviously.

It felt like revenge for the restraint he was still attempting to show, but a sweet treat to surprise him before the end of the day, knowing undoubtedly you would get under his skin about it.

–

His actual day of work starts fine—he moves through his normal routine, but stopped at a newer site to check on the progress, walking alone around the property, minding his step around the pile of equipment scattered around, reaching into his back pocket for his phone as he meant to pull up his camera to take a picture of the progress so far, mistakenly opening up his gallery instead.

It was mostly normal, pictures and videos he recognized because he had taken them—but instinctively he scrolls to the bottom, spotting one video he knows he had no involvement in and definitely no knowledge of and his heart raced as the thumbnail caught his eye, your silhouette recognizable even within the confines of the small square.

 Joel's breath hitched, the gentle pulse of adrenaline coursing through him as he pressed play, the sound of water mixing with soft breaths filling his ears, quickly turning down the volume even though he was alone.

The sight was intoxicating—a perfect blend of innocence and deviance.

He was completely captivated as you washed your body, each movement deliberate, showcasing curves he’d spent too much time tracing with his fingers. The moment you dragged your hands over your breasts, his pulse quickened and he took a step, attempting to head back to his truck, picture forgotten.

But, he’s distracted.

It was stupid—easily avoidable.

Joel has enough reaction time to curl his body in and land on his ass rather than his face, phone coming out unscathed, but the warmth that spreads in his knee is almost immediate.

He exclaims in pain, knowing almost instantly that he had tweaked something in his knee–not that it was serious, but at his age, it wasn’t going to come and go overnight.

Joel, despite his annoyance with his slip-up and distraction, still follows protocol.

Though, you were an issue to deal with later.

He’s insistent that he’s fine despite the obvious limp and as stubborn as he is, his HR team doesn’t press him to go through the process of seeing a doctor but rather than he rests for at least a week after much back and forth of how it wasn’t an issue with the workplace being insane but rather Joel’s own incompetence that morning.

They relent without a ton of fight.

And you’re typing away quietly on your laptop when he comes through the door, a surprising sight married with the fact he was clearly in pain and also grimacing, eyes locked on you with a look of knowing.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, slamming close and tossing your laptop aside, immediately at his side, “are you okay?”

“M’fine,” he gripes, hands tucking under the edge of his shirt to shift it down subconsciously, but you spot the fresh scrapes that have you stopping him dead, hand pressing against his chest.

“Did you fall?” you ask curiously, “Trip?”

His face flushes slightly and you crowd him against the wall, shoving his shirt up, ignorant to the way he was staring at you, eyes following your careful movements as your fingers graze his hips, just above his belt.

“I, uh,” he cleared his throat, “saw….the video,” he admits, your eyes widening for a second before a smile forms and the faintest hint of a laugh that was, undoubtedly, poor timing, “I mighta tripped over some equipment ‘cause of it,”

“Oh my—” you giggle, “I’m so—I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you’d find it until later while you were on lunch,”

“Where the hell did you find the time?” Joel asks, looking incredulously at you.

“You left your phone here this morning,” you say defensively but playful, “and I’m a little…touch starved and I was tryin’ to be more careful this time around, figured this was smarter….”

“Touch starved?” Joel asks, eyes widening for a moment as your hands seem to drift away and he carefully pushes his shirt down, “I touch you plenty.”

“Not how I want you to,” you argue and Joel goes rather quiet, wincing as he pushes away from the wall, “hey—no, just sit down,”

Fortunately, he doesn’t argue. 

“I wouldn’t have done that if I knew you were gonna get hurt,” you remind him, arm circling his bicep as help guide him onto the couch.

“It ain’t your fault, not really,” Joel admits, “I saw it, knew what was goin’ on, but I watched it anyways—work has me on light duty for a week, so I’m working from home and takin’ calls until I can go back,”

You’re still eyeing him wearily and Joel chuckles to ease your worry.

“I got a shit knee and some scrapes,” Joel explains, “I’ll take some painkillers and rest while I can, alright? You don’t need to waste your time worryin’ about me,”

There’s a stretch of silence as you look at him before he interrupts, quietly unbuckling his belt to release the tension on his waist, a gesture that isn’t sexual at all but has your eyes locked on the sight and Joel knows, so he speaks.

“How’s the job searchin’ going?” He asks.

“Uh, no luck,” you admit, “I worked one job serving coffee through college and I’ve been holding out for an internship but those are few and far between—I don’t have enough experience yet, I guess,”

“You know, I don’t mind giving you a spot up at the company,” Joel admits, “I could use a secretary, someone to handle the paperwork and day to day stuff for me while I’m out—could you handle that?”

“I can handle you,” you tease, cheek resting against your fist where it was propped against the back of the couch and Joel chuckles at that but looks away, down at the frayed spot in his jeans where he fell, “no—no, I wanna try and do this on my own, okay?”

“Yeah,” Joel nods, “jus’ if you need a fallback, I’m right here,”

You offer a warm smile and lean forward, noticing the way his eyes track to your lips only hesitating briefly before he nods, barely, his hand rising to cup your face as you kiss him softly, soaking in the way his lips part with a coffee tainted breath, losing yourself only long enough to feel him pushing you away, wincing slightly in pain.

“Fuck, hold on,” you tell him, holding up a quick finger before you’re sprinting off to somewhere unknown—Joel leans over his shoulder to see you disappearing around the corner and down the hall, coming back a few minutes later with a noise attached, pills rattling in a bottle held out to him as you return, “take two—I’ll grab you a glass of water,”

He listens dutifully, catching the bottle you toss at him before you grab him the glass of water, watching him place the pills on his tongue before he washes them down, offering a quiet thank you as you return to your spot beside him, though keeping your distance from his fresh injuries.

“We’re not tellin’ the girls about this,” Joel says, “it’ll only worry ‘em,”

“How are you gonna explain it to Tommy?”

“Already did,” Joel answers, “I just told him I tripped, nothin’ about it.”

You find yourself laughing again, a quiet chuckle as you attempt to stifle it with the back of your hand.

“You’re eatin’ this shit up,” Joel realizes, “ain’t you?”

“I mean, you could say that,” you reply, your voice teasing, letting a playful smirk curl on your lips, “not ‘cause you’re hurt but I like seeing you—what’s the word—embarrassed?”

“I ain’t embarrassed,” Joel defends.

“Oh?” You press, tilting your head to look at him.

“I appreciate the…gesture,” Joel tells you, switching topics as a means to avoid the conversation, “are you gonna make me delete this one?”

You crack a wide smile and shake your head, “All yours,” you say, hands held up.

–

Joel was capable, but he finds himself helpless under your care.

During your job search, in and out as the days begin to pass, you’re always there whenever Joel needs it, even without asking. 

Coffee brewed and ready before he was out of bed, medicine set aside if the pain was particularly harder on his body that morning, scattered paperwork from the night before stacked up and separated accordingly, a clear distinction in the way Joel went about his life.

He was focused, but scattered. He could take on a heavy workload, manage through his days with little sleep and running on mostly fumes, but you had unknowingly relieved some of that weight for him.

You bring make him lunch unprompted, even if it was mostly sandwiches or whatever you could scrounge up with what was left in his kitchen before you finally cave and tell him to make you a list, going on a hefty grocery run to stop giving him and Tommy the excuse to order out or skip meals altogether.

It was a rhythm that Joel falls into easily, without even realizing.

In your mind, it only seemed fair.

You were taking up space in his home, living there without an expectation of anything in return, and by the pinched look in his face, you could tell he was clearly hurting, even as the week stretched on.

“Do you have any vacation time saved up?” you ask curiously, handing over his glasses that he had wordlessly asked for, already knowing, he smiles slightly as he pries them from your grip.

“I do,” Joel admits, typing up a lengthy email as you leaned over the back of the couch he was set up on, his sleep-mussed hair curling and framing his face in a way that forced you to keep some distance, wanting to run your fingers through it, “I know what you’re gonna say—I’m gettin’ better, I’m on the mend,”

“Yeah, but,” you shrug, chewing at the inside of your cheek, “you’re not really resting now. You’re still working, from the time you wake and go to bed you’re either on the phone or you’re writing emails—I just think you deserve a real break, no work. You’ve got plenty of help, don’t you?”

Joel nods, looking up at you sparingly between words typed out slowly on his laptop, “Sure this ain’t jus’ you tryin’ to keep me to yourself?”

“You like it,” you counter him, “admit it—I’m good at keepin’ up with you,”

Joel chuckles and nods in defeat, “It ain’t easy, but you’re doin’ a good job,”

You smile at that, wider than he’s seen.

The praise.

Always the praise.

Joel shifts slightly and closes his laptop, silently making room for you on the couch with a slight wince and sharp pain that strikes through his knee, masked by him clearing his throat.

Selfishly, you sift your fingers through his hair anyways, finding the urge unavoidable as you sit with him, brush the few stray curls hanging down his forehead back, stopping as you curve around his ear and Joel’s doesn’t even flinch.

It was relaxing, admittedly. 

His eyes close for a brief second before you feel his own unoccupied hand settle against your knee—touch for touch and neither of you had any qualms about it, not that you would.

“There’s this thing called burnout,” you begin and Joel scoffs in amusement, “I think you’ve been bordering that line for a while, s’all I’m saying,”

He laughs at that, like you’ve caught him, “Alright, alright,” he concedes, letting his hand extend further up your thigh, “I’ll take a break, ‘bout time I took one anyways,”

“Good—plus, you’ve got me here to take care of you,” you say, satisfied as your fingers trailer around the bump of his collarbone and against the rumpled fabric of his shirt, “so, how’s the knee?”

“Hurts,” Joel admits, “but I’m not complainin’—got a nice view and a pretty girl helpin’ me out,”

If anyone else had asked him to take a break, he wasn’t sure if he could commit himself to it.

Everyone knew Joel was a workaholic and that it helped keep him distracted, even if he lacked taking care of himself as a result, starting to feel the weight of his age with how slowly his body was healing, not as forgiving when he was in his late twenties and chasing the girls around the house without care.

He could manage, but there wasn’t the urgency without anyone else around, knowing he had more than capable hands at his disposal. 

You. 

A distraction, but a welcomed one.

Joel knew this was your escape, aware of the avoidance you were actively pursuing in his house and away from your father—he’s been doing most of the same as much possible, unable to face your father for longer than a few minutes before he’s struck with the thought of a good friend’s daughter spread out on his bed, moaning his name with the same voice that used to come crying to him when the yelling had become too much.

He’s struggling, still—but he's also trying.

“What time is it?” Joel asks curiously, hiding a yawn behind his fist.

“Shoulda been dinner an hour ago,” you admit, “you hungry?”

Joel’s eyes roam instinctually, giggling softly as your hands press into the cushion between your thigh, breasts pressed together as you rock forward toward him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips that is welcome with a similar laugh as you carefully work yourself over Joel’s lap, careful to avoid his injured knee and gasp at how tightly his hands grip your hip, quick to ravish your skin whenever you’re settled against him, hands twisting into his hair as he mouths at your chest.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you sigh, hearing Joel hum in response.

“M’just tryin’ to thank ya,” Joel explains, “been doin’ so much for me and won’t let me say thank you—figured you wouldn’t say nothin’ when I gotcha like this,”

Joel seems satisfied with your silence as his hand curves around the back of your neck and brings you closer, one kiss against your neck, “Thank you,” slower, his lips drag against your jaw and to your lips, “such a sweet girl,” he mumbles against your mouth, pulling away to peer at your awestruck gaze, enraptured by his words.

“You—you’re welcome,” you answer softly, noticing Joel glance briefly at his watch before cursing, comforting you with a gentle squeeze to your hip, “what—what is it?”

“Tommy should be here any minute,” Joel admits, his voice low and tinged with annoyance.

You couldn’t help but feel a wave of disappointment at the interruption, 

“Can’t we just—” you started, pulling back slightly to gauge his reaction, the need to push boundaries was intoxicating, and Joel had been increasingly more susceptible lately.

“Sweetheart,” Joel warns and you slump in his lap slightly, tapping your finger silently against his shoulder as the gears and cogs in your brain turn, “alright—spit it out,”

“How do you feel about surprises?” you ask earnestly, still seated comfortably in Joel’s lap.

“Ain’t much of a fan,” Joel admits, “if I’m bein’ honest. Why?”

“But, if it was from me?” you push the conversation further, curious.

“Then I might be in trouble,” Joel replies quieter, hearing the roar of Tommy’s truck coming up the street, his thumb brushed against your hip bone and pushing, understanding his silent plea as you gentle move off of him, “If you got somethin’ planned, I’ll make an exception, just…nothin’ reckless, alright?”

“Hey, I’m reformed,” you promise, hands held up in surrender as you hear the truck cut dead and walk aimlessly toward the kitchen before pausing to add, “sort of—not really,”

“Thin ice, sweetheart,” Joel warns playfully, though there is a hint of seriousness lingering under his tone, your conversation cutting short as Tommy walks through the door, none the wiser.

It was easy to forget that small world you and Joel had created within his home, within the past few months, floating around in a galaxy entirely its own. 

It had become nearly impenetrable, even as Tommy tied his brother up in a lengthy conversation about work, his eyes still lingered on you while Tommy remained amiss.

Joel wasn’t just hungry, he was insatiable.

–

Yet, he wouldn’t act on it.

Joel did make the arrangements that night, though—allowing himself the break he desperately needed but refused to give himself, but with a gentle nudge from you, he had caved.

The hold you had over him was unexplainable, perplexing, even.

So, he hated surprises—he did.

But, you were positive this one would be welcomed.

He’s slept soundly, the constant noise from his overhead fan humming alongside the monotone buzz of the house, creeping into his room during the early morning hours while Tommy was asleep upstairs in his own room and you were tossing and turning, fidgeting with a restless that wouldn’t subside.

You’d been thinking about him most of the night—all day, if you were honest.

Not just him, or his voice, but every part of him.

The heft of his hands and his callouses, his naturally strong grip that squeezed into the squishy flesh of your thighs, a chest so broad and wide it didn’t seem real, sturdy shoulders to keep you anchored, but his cock—

You’ve only seen him like that once, up close since the night at the picnic table, the actions rushed and adrenaline fueled under the shade of moonlight, otherwise across a screen and miles away.

You couldn't shake the thoughts, the fantasies that had unfurled in your mind since that moment, and as you lay there in the stillness of his room, you felt the heat pooling low in your belly. Unfulfilled desire, drowning in a pool of forbidden taboo.

This was all still a secret—and more inevitably, fleeting.

A blip. A summer fling.

You both would go on with your lives and laugh about it later, surely.

It was stupid and reckless, but you found your feet pushing forward without thinking.

He’s always slept heavy, not even a flinch or a groan on the mornings when you would arrive to babysit the girls while he was still sleeping, squeals and giggles filling the quiet home.

The comforter is bunched at his waist, tanned and broad shoulders on display as his hands were stuffed under his pillow, spotting the splotchy bruise on his knee that was beginning to heal alongside the marred skin and the peek of his boxers that was visible with the shift of the blanket as he rolled halfway to his back, favoring his left side as his right hand moved to rest against his bare stomach.

He looked peaceful but vulnerable in sleep, a sight that tugged at your chest and held your heart in a vice grip, leaning the weight of your knees into the bed testingly.

He doesn’t even stir.

There was something else there, though—something primal that gnawed at your gut.

You wanted him awake—overtaken by desire, but with your mouth wrapped around him, and more specifically, his cock.

You gently pry the comforter away, left with thin sheets that outline his hips and legs.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you rested on your calves, one hand pressing into the mattress as the other slid over his soft cock, toying gently with the waistband of his boxers, watching his eyes scrunch tightly for a second.

You freeze, chest tight, but eventually he relaxes.

Though, not everything.

His cock twitches under your palm, squeezing the length of him even while your hand can’t encompass it, far larger than most men you’ve encountered. If any, painfully aware of how inexperienced you were with this aspect of your life.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you squeeze him through his shorts, eyebrow creasing to match his expression as he flattens himself out on his back, pausing your movements as you quickly pull your hand away, his other hand joining the one already laid out on his stomach.

 You studied him carefully, the way his body responded to you even in sleep. 

Carefully, you climbed between his spread legs and leaned down, pressing your lips softly against his inner thigh—just a teasing brush of your lips, barely there. Joel stirred again, a low groan rumbling from deep within him as his body reacted instinctively, muscles tensing and shifting against the sheets.

The effect you had on him was obvious, even in his slumber.

With some trepidation,you slipped your fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers.

Your breath hitched as your fingertips grazed against the silken skin below his navel and the patch of hair that trailed down to the base of his cock, your heart racing in tandem with his own, feeling the rapid pulse near his femoral. 

Joel shifted slightly again as a groan escaped his lips and you took it as permission.

Carefully, you pulled the waistband of his boxers down until they were tucked underneath his balls, looking full and heavy and your mouth waters at the sight of him, watching as his cock bobbed up against his stomach.

Your mouth comes first, gentle kisses against his thighs that led to his groan, presses your lips against his cock from base to shaft and down against, your nose nestled into the trimmed patch of hair that smelled of fresh body wash from his shower the night prior but also so distinctly him.

You couldn't help but admire the size of him, heat pooling between your legs as you took in every inch of him, committing the image to memory. Joel groaned again, this time more awake than sleep, but he didn't open his eyes. 

Instead, he let out a shaky breath, his hands clenching the sheets.

Maybe he was dreaming?

You gently took him into your mouth, just the head at first, using your tongue to glide over the slit before you took him an inch further, further, curious of how much of him you could fit into your mouth until it was too much, easily leaving another inch of untouched skin.

You savored the taste of him, salty but delectable, along with the way his hips bucked involuntarily in response. It spurred you further, bobbing your head slowly, a confidence that grew with every moan that left his lips. 

You’ve only attempted this once or twice, all fumbling hands and over much quicker than you would have preferred, but Joel was practiced. He was older, wiser—and he had plenty to offer.

The way he groaned sent a surge of exhilaration through you, as you took him deeper, lips gliding over the soft skin of his shaft matched with your tongue, tracing the thick vein on the underside of his cock that stopped just below the head.

 Each flick of your tongue coaxed more from him—moans and groans and you felt his body respond in ways that made you ache, begging to be filled in other ways.

“Jesus,” Joel’s voice was rough, thick with sleep that barely broke the haze of his slumber but held enough awareness to pull at the edges of his consciousness, blinking himself awake.

You looked up at him through your lashes, watching as his eyes finally fluttered open, a mix of confusion and lust flooding his features as he realized what you were doing, head rising for a moment before ultimately falling back against the pillow as you pointedly took him in your mouth again while he looked at you, his mouth parting in a silent gasp.

“Surprise,” you smirk with a cheeky expression when you pop up from his cock, licking your bottom lip.

“You’re killin’ me,” he began, but then his breath hitched as your lips wrapped tighter around him and his hand found its way to the back of your head, twisting in the strands of your hair as his thighs tensed. 

You could see the struggle in his expression—the want and need battling with surprise and concern, wondering if he had somehow coerced you into doing this.

“Just let me,” you mumble quietly, “I want to,”

The rhythm you settled into was intoxicating. 

Each pass of your mouth sends ripples of pleasure through him, watching his stomach clench when the head of his cock pressed against the back of your throat, hearing you gag slightly as you pull away, breathless.

You felt every reaction, the way his body tensed and relaxed under your ministrations, the quiet groans spilling from his lips encouraging you to go further, take him deeper.

“Goddamn,” he groaned thickly, voice raspy from sleep still but his gaze locked onto you, heavy-lidded but sharp with awareness. “you’re doin’ so good, sweetheart,”

If it wasn’t the praise that did it—it was the fucked out expression on his face, eyes drifting toward the ceiling against and shut as his hand rested against the back of your head, not guiding or pushing, allowing you full control over him as you bobbed your head at a quicked pace, swirling your tongue over the head of his cock until he was releasing a string of curses that only meant one thing.

Without thinking, your tongue flattens against his head despite his weak urgency to push you away, “Shit,” he curses, “you ain’t got—gotta—”

You shake your head in defiance as he groans, his jaw going tight as he came with a pinched expression, his hand instinctively wrapping around his cock as he jerked it into your mouth, the strings of cum painting your tongue as you looked up at him endearingly.

You met his gaze with a wide smile, emboldened by his reaction.

“Good morning,” you teased lightly as you swallowed down the heady taste of him, your breath warm against his skin, slowly crawling up his body until your hips were positioned over his groin, his cock softening against his stomach as Joel looked up you with an indecipherable gaze, almost awestruck.

This ain’t love, he thinks.

It couldn’t be, not with you.

But, damn was it close.

“Sure is,” He groans, but with a stretch to wake his body, “s’that what you were bein’ all coy about yesterday? Planning to sneak into my room like that?”

You shrug, “Didn’t seem like you were complaining,”

“I’m not,” He shakes his head slightly, his mouth forming into a slight frown of indifference that quickly cracks into a smile.

“I’m going out today,” you tell him, resting gently against his stomach, his hands reaching for your hips without thinking, “...lunch, with my dad,”

Joel’s eyebrows raise, “Oh?”

“I was going to spring it on him later,” you shrug, “I’m trying to make an effort, I guess.”

“Don’t know if he deserves much of it,” Joel admits, “but I think it’ll be good for you,”

“And,” you press your finger into his chest, “I’ve got an interview at the diner on Springview—the pay isn’t great but the hours are good and it’ll help hold me over, I can even pay you for letting me stay here—”

“You’re outta your damn mind,” Joel interjects and you scoff in amusement, “I don’t need your money, sweetheart. You’re welcome here whenever you need it, free of charge.”

“Are you only saying that because we’re,” you pause, trying to decipher what it actually was that you two were doing, “like…you know,” Joel watches your head spin with ways to explain, but you fall short, tapping your thumb against his chest idly, “...doing this?”

“You’ve done more for me than I’ll ever be able to repay you for,” Joel admits, “you’ve covered my ass with the girls more times than I can count, helped ‘em stay outta trouble, I don’t forget that,”

You nod despite the emptiness that spreads in your chest, unsure why.

Something was missing here—but you weren’t quite sure what it was.

–

Lunch was…fine.

When you asked your father, he seemed more eager than usual.

But, the conversation, while inevitable, was awkward.

“Joel treatin’ you alright?” Your father asked randomly as your food had arrived.

“What—” you crease at your initial reaction, confusing what your father meant for the fear that swarmed in your chest, “oh, yeah—they’re always hospitable, you know? Joel and Tommy are good company,”

“I got your room all cleared,” he tells you, “I’d love to have you for the rest of the summer,”

“I’ve really settled at the Miller’s,” you admit, “not—not that I don’t want to,”

It was just the truth. You were more comfortable there for the time being then home.

“But, comin’ around more,” you suggest, “I’d be alright with that,”

There was a distinct reason why you didn’t come home last summer, avoidant of your father’s harmful tendencies to fall back into his old ways—the drinking, the filth, the sweltering and suffocation guilt that ate away at you when you knew there wasn’t much you could do to help.

When he was good, he was really good. But, when he was bad, it was low.

“And I’m sorry ‘bout your birthday,” he offers, “your mother really did a number on me,”

It seemed like a half-assed excuse for his own forgetfulness or lack of caring but you disregard it for the moment, attempting to have a cordial meal without issue.

“Why do you still have her things?” you ask cautiously, “I thought you said she took everything,”

“She’s been meanin’ to come pick the rest of it up,” your dad slips, “but, uh—”

“Do you still talk to her?” your head tilts, suddenly confused, “Dad she cheated on you for years, she tried getting with your best friend, don’t tell me that—”

“Wait, Joel?” he interjects, holding his hand up to stop your rambling, reiterating, “Joel?”

You realized that was private information, something that Joel had shared with you in confidence. 

Fuck.

“Tried,” you emphasized, “he didn’t want anything to do with her, you know that,”

“How’d you come to find this out?” he pries, suddenly less interested in his meal.

“It—he mentioned it a while back,” you explain, “I mean, he is the one that caught mom,”

It was clear that Joel had overstepped somewhere, the way your father’s face goes cold.

“Dad, I asked him to tell me what happened,” you explain, “you’ll barely talk about it.”

“Is that what you two like to talk about?” your dad snarks surprisingly, catching you off-guard.

You’re dumbstruck, shaking your head in confusion.

“My failed marriage, how terrible I’ve been with you,” he begins, feeling the spiral build and threatening to explode, “He ain’t your dad, you know that? Don’t you?”

Frankly, you were well fucking aware of that fact.

“I’m not doing this,” you quickly snip, “I should’ve known you can’t have a single conversation with me without immediately getting defensive—”

“Now that ain’t what this is,” he defends, “I outta give him a piece of mind, though—shouldn’t have to think about your mom in that way, even if she—”

“She tried me like shit, treated you like shit,” you retort, “Joel only told me because I asked,”

“Still, that isn’t his business,” He continues and you scoff, laughing.

“You never believed when I told you,” you shoot back at him, “when I saw it happening,”

“I just figured you were…mad at her,” your father explained, “you two were always fighting,”

“What do I gain from that?” you ask, “How do I benefit in that situation?”

Your father grows silent as he fishes into his wallet to cover the tab as you quickly fetch your things, “Why do you think I spent so much time at Joel’s?”

Your father doesn’t answer, awaiting your answer with a disgruntled expression.

“I feel safe there,” you admit, “half the time you and mom wouldn’t even notice I had left because you were too busy arguing. Joel was there for me when neither of you were,”

They still weren’t, not really.

“Honey,” your father begins but you shake your head.

“I’m not mad,” you quickly interject, “I’m tired of being upset. But, I’m not coming home,”

He didn’t have much of a choice, sliding the wad of cash onto the table with a somber, darkened expression. It wasn’t up for debate—you weren’t a kid anymore, your decisions were entirely your own.

Thankfully, you survived the lunch mostly unscathed aside from a few simmering emotions.

But, the drive home was even more awkward.

–

Joel senses it the moment you walk through the door.

He’d spent the day on his leg, trying to recover some of his strength as he stood over his laptop, typing out an email despite your orders otherwise, looking increasingly guilty as your sour expressions turned softer, slowly making your way toward him as he shut the laptop.

Silently, you pluck his glasses from his nose and stare at him pointedly.

Joel was struck with a feeling.

It scared him, his expression going from relaxed to tight, concerned.

He remembers it from his younger years, fresh into his twenties with a baby on the way.

When he had met Sarah’s mom, he figured she would be the one.

She should have been—Joel tried his hardest to make it work, but it just…didn’t.

It had been thirties years since he’s felt that yearning that was so distinct in his chest, his heart fluttering like a teenager with the way you looked straight through him—almost like you were seeing within him, your eyes scanning his face with a soft smile that you used as an attempt to hide whatever was bothering you.

But, Joel could see through you too.

His hand slides up to cup your cheek, feeling you relax instantly into his touch.

“What happened?”

It shouldn’t have broken you, but it did.

Joel could recount the times you’ve come to him when you were younger, sobbing and speaking something incoherent, tumbling toward the beginnings of a panic attack. He’d always been good at coming you down, but he was also good at listening.

“I have this feeling,” you admit, sniffling through silent tears.

He’d eventually guided you toward the couch, letting you cry for a long while before you finally found the courage to speak, both of you sat on opposite ends of the couch but staring intently at one another.

“I think he and my mom might be talking,” you begin, “or—that she might be trying to manipulate her way back,”

“She’s real good at that,” Joel agrees, watching as his fingers curl around your ankle, rubbing at the sensitive skin there—you hadn’t realized how frequent his touches have become over the time you’ve spent back home, and it was so mundane, but it brought you a comfort only Joel could provide, “but your father was tore up about the whole situation, I don’t see him forgiving that easy, not after how nasty the divorce was,”

It was fueled by greed and something you wanted no part in.

“Like I said, just a feeling,” you shrug, focusing on your hands that tremble in your lap.

Joel notices it instantly.

“C’mere,” he beckons, motioning with his hands for you to move forward.

You hesitate briefly before taking a breath and deciding to move, immediately met with his hands against your cheeks, fingers covering your ears to deafen the world around you while his thumbs drifted over your eyelids and you allowed them to drift close.

“Don’t let it in,” Joel reminds you, his voice soft and dull, but comforting.

It wasn’t the first time he’s guided you through a panic attack, but the weight of his hands felt different—it was difficult to explain, but as he spoke to you, the world went quiet.

He presses his lips to your head and pulls you into his chest.

You melt instantly.

“What’re we doing?” You ask suddenly, a loaded question that earns a pained chuckle from Joel.

“Sweetheart, I ain’t got the answer to that,” Joel admits.

Neither of you can pinpoint who moved first, but the second you tilt your head up to look at him, his lips are against yours, seeking asylum.

It was far more needy than anything he’s felt with you, almost like you were attempting to claw your way inside of him, the kiss ramping up quickly as his hands drift down your body and you settle over him, gasping into his mouth as his fingers squeeze into your hips.

He knows where your mind is, where you were steering this interaction, and he’s immediately hesitant, shaking his head as you chase his mouth with a gentleness that makes it hard to ignore your meek and needy expression.

“We’ve gotta stop,” Joel tries—he does.

“I need you,” you admit to him, eyes wide and hopeful, “Joel—please don’t give me the speech,”

“This ain’t something I take lightly,” Joel explains, “not with you—not this,”

“Stop,” you beg, sliding one hand down between your bodies to drag over his closed zipper, feeling the sizeable bulge through the denim that told you everything you needed to know.

“Are you sure?” Joel asked, voice rough but quiet. “I need you to mean it—”

You nodded fervently, heart pounding behind your ribcage as your fingers twisted into his shirt. 

“I want this. I want you.”

He let out a long breath, like it was hurting his chest to hold in, tucking your hair behind your ear as you looked at him, gaze curious and lust-filled, “We’re takin’ this slow. You tell me what feels good, you understand? I’ll know if you’re lyin’—I don’t like when you do that,”

Joel had no reason to let morality take over now, too far gone.

–

Every movement after that was deliberate.

Even the quiet walk to his room, taking in the sight of his unmade bed, sheets still thrown around from your surprise earlier that morning, feeling his hand slide along your waist as the door clicks shut behind you.

He undressed you like he had all the time in the world.

Joel didn’t shy away from you either—no redirecting your touches or pushing you away.

He kisses every inch of your skin within reach; shoulders, collarbones, neck, back.

It was every bare inch of you, grounding you so deeply to him.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he mumbled against your shoulder, his breath warm and inviting as it tickled your skin, fingers dragging against the bare skin of your sides before his hands squeeze at your tits, admiring the view of them over your shoulder as your head tips back, every article of clothes you were wearing aside from the thin, lacy underwear were on the floor.

His hands were firm yet gentle, coaxing out soft gasps and sighs that fell from your lips like a melodic tune in the stillness of the room, the quiet murmuring of praises in your ear as your arm searched behind you to find its way into his hair, pulling gently.

His groan dissolved into a chuckle as he slowly walks you toward his bed, his thighs pressed against the back of your own as you fall toward the bed, quickly turned by his hand gripping your ankle and tugging you back toward him and onto your back, squealing in surprise.

His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling you close as he leaned down to meet your lips, slow at first before deepening the kiss until you were nearly drowning in him. Each brush of his tongue against yours coaxing you further into his touch, urging you to pull him closer until he had no choice but to join you on the bed, his knee digging into the mattress and a hand spread out beside your head as you fell against the mattress, your hand exploring innocently underneath his shirt.

“Joel,” you barely managed to utter between kisses, “Enough—”

He shakes his head, silently allowing his hand to drift between your bodies until his palm is cupped over your underwear, his fingers rubbing slowly into the dampened fabric. 

You gasped, arching your back against the sheets as he pressed his palm against you, the friction so enticing against your clit, feeling the pressure of his fingers as they teased your entrance despite the barrier, your brow creasing as you searched his face.

There was nothing but adoration and care, his eyes careful examining your reactions.

He was practiced, attentive—it had to be him. 

In your mind, it made sense.

With deft fingers, Joel slid his hand beneath the fabric, skin meeting skin.

Warmth meeting your slick folds, you gasp.

“Responsive,” Joel notes, “that’s good—perfect, sweetheart,”

Keep it up, he thinks.

At this rate, he’d bust his load before he was even inside of you.

It had been too terribly long for him. It was embarrassing, really.

The pressure of his fingers sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. He spent ample time circling your clit before his fingers dove inside of you—one to start, to adjust, before he added another…then another, soon all you could focus on was the sound of your cunt as it greedily squeezed around his fingers.

It felt like hours, but it was only a handful of minutes.

Still, Joel didn’t want to rush this.

“Just like that, baby,” he tells you, voice heavy with lust, “tell me what feels good.”

You nod, gasping as his fingers curl inside of you, watching his eyes narrow as you nod again, shaky but confirming that he was right where you wanted him before your own eyes fall shut and succumb to his fingers, “F—fuck,” you sigh, “that’s—” you swallow, attempting to take a breath, “feels fucking amazing.”

Joel chuckles, a sacred sight.

The orgasm that takes over is slow, drawn-out, falling apart under the guide of his hand.

As it wanes, his fingers leave you, but his palm stays put. He quickly uses his free hand to work at his jeans, undoing them with shaking hands as he shoved the fabric down.

His cock sprang free, hard and aching.

Reality seems to come crashing down in an instance, slowly moving to sit while he removes his hand to please your curiosity as you reach for him almost immediately, rising to your knees and curling your hand around the back of his neck to press your lips to his.

"Look at me," Joel commanded softly after you slip a few hurried kisses between his attempt to grab your attention, “hey, sweetheart—look at me,”

You pull away slightly, only enough to catch his gaze but still close enough that your noses brush. 

You can see it in his face—at war with himself.

Instead of burying it, he speaks candidly.

“You’re too young for me,” Joel admits, feeling your fingers scratch over his greying beard in response, dismissive as you shrug, but his fingers circle your wrists to pull your attention center, “but goddamn, I wanna ruin you in the softest way, sweetheart.”

You smile, something akin to cocky smirk but not quite, “Do it,”

Joel shakes his head in amusement as you lean in again, echoing your words.

“Do it,” you tell him, “I want it,”

“Alright,” he breaths, voice thick with desire as he leans closer, noticing the visible darkness in his eyes as he wraps his hand around the base of his cock and squeezes as he moves up, stroking slowly while he nods for you to move back, “but you’re gonna listen for me and keep your hands to yourself for a minute,”

You giggle at the sudden sense of deja-vu, not missing the chance to slip your underwear the rest of the way off as you fling them with your foot against his chest and lean back on your elbows, spreading your legs for a saccharine sight that Joel drinks in.

He hastily pulls his shirt over his head and you notice the flush to his chest, using every ounce of self-control you had to not lean forward and touch him, pull him to you, down, and sink onto his cock without a single hesitation.

It was lewd, but you were eating it up.

The anticipation was driving you crazy, a delicious torture that had your core aching and clenching in want. Joel witnessed every bit of it, his thumb teasing over the head of his cock as your mouth watered at the sight.

He’s massive, glistening with a copious amount pre-cum, only inches from where you needed him most, a single adjustment of your hips would have the head of his cock brushing through your folds.

You bit your lower lip and stayed dutifully quiet, watching Joel pleasure himself in a way that almost felt punishing on your end, months you’ve spent teasing him relentlessly

"Joel," you moaned out his name, unable to take it anymore, "I need—"

Joel's eyes darkened further as he stroked himself slowly, easing his knee into the mattress as your head tipped up to meet his gaze, "Don’t get choked up just yet," he spoke roughly, strained.

You'd never heard him sound this way before, almost breathless.

“We don’t have to, you know,” you begin and Joel senses what you’re getting at, “I’m on the pill.”

“We’re doin’ this right,” Joel responds, “I may be goin’ to hell but I’m not setting the standard for what you think you needa settle for,”

You smile gently in return and nod.

He reached for the condom he'd stashed away in his nightstand drawer, leaning around you.

Admittedly, he just kept them stashed away for Tommy—after twenty years, it never failed.

Joel would always be the big brother saving that day.

But, he'd never imagined himself being in this situation with you.

Yet, here he was, teetering on the edge of logical reasoning and desire, lust-drive.

You grab his hand as it draws closer, bringing the foil package to your teeth as you rip it open, spitting the foil off to the side and Joel’s cock twitches at the sight as sheathes himself in record time, never once breaking eye contact with you.

Without being told, you move, making space for Joel as he positions himself between your legs and at your entrance—you can feel the heat as he moves closer, radiating off of him like a furnace, watching as his hands drag delicate along your thighs before pulling you closer at the hips, his cock brushing against your cunt.

“Y’tell me when you’re ready,” Joel says, eyes locked on the sight of his cock as it slides through your folds, a teasing touch that drives you insane.

You nod shakily, “Just do it,” you beg, “please,”

With a grunt, Joel shifts over you as you lay against the sheets, his lips capturing your own as he presses into you, startled by the stretch of him as you gasp, but he listens to you—your body, he’d go as slow as you needed.

“You’re doin’ so good, baby.” He assures you, pressing his forearms into the mattress on either side of your head, his pointer finger brushing away the hair from your face as he stills and waits for your nod, only moving as fast as you let him.

“Just breathe,” Joel reminds you, watching your teeth sink into your bottom lip as he begins to fill your further, fuller—his words are like a soothing balm, encouraging,”there you go, I gotcha,”

Your body responds with a soft clench around him, eyes fluttering shut as the sensation of him stretching you sends you into delirium, fingers squeezing into his sides.

“Fucking Christ,” Joel groans, his hips stuttering slightly until he’s fully sheathed inside of you.

“Are you—are you okay?” you ask curiously—he’s never heard something so sincere and genuine and Joel can’t help but laugh, shaking his head as his brow creases and his face quickly morphs into something much softer.

“I’m alright,” he assures you, “s’been a while—and you’re not goin’ easy on me,”

“Feel so good wrapped around me,” Joel murmured into your neck as he leans forward, his breath warm. 

“Please,” you pleaded with some minor impatience, urging him to move, to give you what you desperately craved, “please, move—”

It was a simple request, one Joel followed with ease.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze with intensity before he surged forward, groaning low and soft as he looked at you, thrusting into you with a controlled force.

Each stroke was perfectly timed, deep and precise, and the sting seemed too dull as his thrusts sent you into a state of euphoria, oblivious to everything but this and him.

Nothing else mattered.

Joel's hips rocked against yours, each thrust pulling a gasp from your chest, easing out with every breath you took. His lips trailed to your neck, leaving a wet line of open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, eliciting soft, subtle moans between Joel’s thrusts.

The sound of skin against skin and your muffled moans as you pulled him to you, mouth pressed against his shoulder, filled the room.

Both of you knew there was a distant chance anyone could walk in the house—there was always that fear, of being caught, shamed, judged. But, in this moment, neither of you cared.

"Talk to me, baby," Joel groaned into your ear, his breath hot against your skin, "you still with me?”

Your nails dig into his back in response, hips arching upwards to meet this thrusts, overwhelmed by the sensation of him, his cock, his hands.

He slips one arm under your head to prop it up as the other squeezes against the top of your thigh where it was resting against his hip, his chin tipping down to catch the sight of his cock as it steadily disappeared inside of you.

“Maybe,” you joke weakly, letting out a soft whine as he snaps his hips sharp and harsh in response, but only once, “fuck—no, do—do that again,”

Joel growled low in his throat, a vein bulging in his neck as his chin stretched up, angling his hips as he pulled back slowly before snapping them into you "You like that, huh?" he managed to grunt out as he angled his hips in a repetitive motion grazing that sensitive spot inside again and again. You nod weakly.

Joel releases a tight hiss through clenched teeth as you claw at his back, gasping into his sweat-slick skin as he covers you like at blanket, tucking his face against your cheek, soft grunts sending you into a spiral of madness as his thumb sneakily moves to circle against your clit, already feeling too over sensitive, but Joel’s persistence is apparent.

"Joel," you moaned, your eyes rolling back into your head as he lifted his face slightly to check on you, mouth hung open because despite the words you wanted to say, you were speechless.

“Yeah,” he knows, nodding in reassurance, “I know, sweetheart, I feel ya,” his thrusts have faltered slightly, the crease in his brow growing deeper as he pants into the sheets beside your head.

Your eyes flutter shut as your visions begins to blur, feeling the heat swirl in your belly as you gasp, “Oh—oh, fuck,” you whine, “I’m—”

“Yeah,” Joel encourages, voice soft as satin, “yeah—god, if you’re so fuckin’ perfect,”

You laugh weakly, sounding only slightly pathetic in the way you gasp as Joel shifts up again, angling his hips up, a much more intense feeling that was you gripping the sheets above your head as he groans out, hands wrapped tight around your thighs as he snaps his hips once, twice, and then he’s spilling into the condom, the faint pulse of his cock as he stills inside of you.

As the moment calms, Joel lets the reality of the situation and scene unfold before him.

He drags a hand through his mused hair and curses, pulling out of you with a weak grunt as his favors one leg over the other, discarding the condom away as hastily reach for your clothes, ruminating in the quiet aftermath as you slip your underwear back on and attempt to clasp your bra with blind hands.

Joel’s touch comes after a few silent seconds of struggle.

“We really need to talk ‘bout all this,” Joel says after a while and you peek over your shoulder, realizing just how serious he was, “I mean, just—so we’re both clear what we’re doin’ here,”

You turn slowly as his hand slides against your back, noting that he had only redressed into his jeans, underwear forgotten entirely, the thick patch of hair leading down, eyes dragging toward the sight.

Joel’s finger taps at the underside of your chin, eyebrows raising with intent. 

“I’ll admit my faults here, but I need you to understand something,” Joel explains gently, his hand cupping around the back of your neck as you lean into the touch, eyes locked on his face.

“Don’t tell anyone, this is our secret, we’ve gotta be careful,” you begin, listing off a few things you know are stirring in the back of his mind, “I’m not that ignorant, Joel,”

“I’m not sayin’ that,” Joel responds, “wasn’t even gonna touch on that, actually,”

“Then what?” you ask, inching closer as vulnerability settles in the air between you.

“I want to make sure you know where your feelings are at with this,” he says, his voice dropping to an almost whisper, his thumb rubbing at the spot behind your ear, “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt something like this—but it’s…you’re—” his eyes search yours as he stops himself, weighing the gravity of what he’s about to say. “I just don’t want you to regret anything or feel like things’ll be different if you change your mind along the way,”

“Joel,” you begin, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

“Hear me out, alright?” Joel pleads, “Don’t think you owe me anything,”

“Are you only saying this because of what just happened?” you ask curiously.

Joel shakes his head, “I care about you more than I should,” he admits, “but you’ve got so much life ahead of you,”

His words sink into your chest, filling the void of uncertainty that had lingered for a while now.

You understand where he’s coming from, smiling sadly as his face softens.

The weight of his gaze holds you captive, stirring a whirlwind of emotions within your chest.

 “I don’t wanna fuck anything up for you,” Joel admits, the vulnerability piercing through your chest, “now, later—ever,”

A brighter smile creeps on your face, though subdued, “Then don’t,” you tell him.

The sincerity in your voice held Joel captive.

“God dammit,” he murmured just before closing the distance without thinking, pressing his lips to yours unexpectedly.

When he pulls away, you find yourself chasing his lips stubbornly, “What was that for?”

“You’re just so damn difficult,” Joel tells you, his voice flowing with fondness.

“Keeps you on your toes,” you shrug, before rising up to kiss him quickly.

That’s for damn sure, Joel thinks.

-

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divider creds: @/saradika-graphics

[atlabeth]

(not so) simple finale - anthony bridgerton

masterlist

summary: coercing lord bridgerton into pretending to court you to avoid the affections of a baron is very simple — that is, until it isn’t.

a/n: so um ignore how long every part of this took to come out. i have no excuse. anyways we are finally here at the end!! almost 10k words of proper regency soap opera type shit and it all ends happily i promise. i hope u enjoy because damn this was supposed to be a short one shot and ended up being over 40k lmao

wc: 9k

warning(s): angst, reader is a lil insecure, slightly steamy make out scene, happy ending<333

You’d never been this restless before. 

Your dreams had a part to play in it. They insisted on tormenting you, though not in the usual way. 

No, these dreams would have been pleasant had they come any sooner. For Anthony Bridgerton appeared in near every single one, with his charming smile and soft eyes and hair you always desired to run your fingers through. 

He would smile at you, offer his arm and walk with you all around the park and the city as you talked for hours. He would compliment you, and you would compliment him, and he would court you as a perfect gentleman would. 

He would kiss you, ravenously so. His hands would touch you where no one had touched before, leaving trails of fire in their wake, would unearth feelings you never could have imagined. He would revere you, near worship you, because in this world you never made such ill-advised choices. In this world, you never dragged him into a worthless scheme that ended with a ruined reputation and a broken heart.  

In this world, he loved you just as much as you loved him, and you never did a single thing to make him doubt that. 

But you were not there. 

You were here, in the real world. Where you were in the midst of reaping what you spent a whole season sowing. 

You were roused from that less than peaceful attempt at sleep—though thoughts of Anthony took longer to disappear—by the opening of your door, and despite your visitor attempting to be quiet, you found your eyes fluttering open against your will.

“Oh, dearest,” your mother lamented, “I did not mean to wake you. I apologize; I merely wanted to check on you. I will return later—please, rest.”

“No,” you murmured, and you rubbed your eyes as you pushed yourself into a sitting position. Small movements were much easier, which at least meant a step in the right direction. “No, stay. Please.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. When you nodded, she closed the door lightly behind her and sat on your bedside, laying her hand over yours. 

She whispered your name, her voice already thick with tears that she was trying to hide. “I am so glad you are alright.” 

“You say that every time you come in here,” you said.

“And I will continue to say it.” She shook her head. “You nearly perished. You should consider yourself lucky I am not in here at all hours of the day.” 

You managed a smile, and she sighed. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” you said. “I am still sore, but much better.”

“Good,” she said. “All I can ask is that you continue to get better.” 

“The rest has certainly been nice,” you said. “Am I still a true lady despite my late wakings?” 

“You have always been a true lady,” your mother assured with a slight smile. 

“I believe you may be the only one that still thinks so.” 

“If you are feeling ready, there is a ball in a fortnight,” she said. “It could be a good way to garner good will again.” You gave her a look, and she held up her hands. “I understand how you feel, but your presence is important. There are… rumors floating about, and we must lay them to rest.” 

“Rumors,” you muttered wryly. “That your daughter is an ungrateful wench and will die a spinster?” 

She said your name sternly, and you shook your head. “I read what Whistledown wrote about me—she’s likely written a hundred more. I do not care what any of them think of me, Mother. I am only sorry for the pain it has caused you and Father, and the Bridgertons.” 

“The Bridgerton name is strong enough to weather scandal,” she said. “We have to work a bit harder. And making an appearance in society again, especially with Lord Cardew by your side, will help.” 

You suppressed a scoff at the mere thought of him. You’d been granted such a reprieve from Lord Cardew because of Anthony’s influence, and while you were recovering, no one but family was to see you. But soon—very soon—he would be your entire life. 

“That brings up another question,” your mother said wryly, and when you met her eyes she was giving you a very pointed look. “Are you still sure about this?” 

No, you wanted to say. You couldn’t be less sure about Jonathan Cardew. But you’d dragged your family into this mess of yours, so it was your duty to fix it. 

Plenty of women married much more dreadful men every year. You should have considered yourself lucky that a man of his breeding, of his standing was interested in you at all—especially after the season you’d spent distancing yourself from him and the scandal you’d caused. 

“...Yes,” you finally said. “I am sure.”

Your mother sighed and said your name. “You are sure? You have not reached out to Anth—” 

“There is nothing left between us,” you interrupted. “I know it is not the best situation, and I know it is my fault, but I am making the best of it. All I ask is that you support me. It is hard enough attempting to make my way through this world—I need my mother to be there for me rather than constantly pushing against it all.”

“...Of course,” she said quietly. “And I am so sorry that I have ever done differently. My dear, all I ask in return is that you understand me, as well as the decisions I make. All I want is the best for you, and I know that marriage is not what you desire, but there are things we must do.” 

“Of course,” you said, and your echoing words spurned a small smile from her. “I am sorry that I have always fought you so much. All I could see was my hatred for any kind of union, but all I managed was hurting you and Father, as well as myself, and— and I cannot think of any apology that will be enough.” You shook your head with a mirthless laugh. “I’ve no idea how you put up with me for so long, truly.” 

“I’ve never had to put up with you,” she said. “I realize I may not have done the best job at showing it, but— but I love you more than anything in this world. Everything I have ever done has been for you, my darling. You are the future of our name, and I know you will do an excellent job at carrying on our legacy.” 

“Truly?” you asked softly. 

Your mother nodded as she took your hands and smiled at you. “Truly. Nothing in this world can change my love for you. You are our greatest accomplishment.” 

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat as you smiled as well, and you pulled your mother into a hug. She reciprocated, and tears filled your eyes. You’d missed the comfort of her presence so dearly. 

“I love you too,” you whispered. 

-

“Are you alright, my lady?” 

Your lady’s maid's words snapped you out of the stupor you’d found yourself in, and it was all you could do to attempt a smile. 

“Yes, Julia,” you said. “Quite alright.” 

Her brows furrowed as she draped a pendant around your neck, the cold metal turning your exhale slightly shaky. “Pardon my plainness, my lady, but you are not believable in the slightest.” 

“You have been around me for far too long,” you said dryly. “I request another maid, one that cannot read me so easily.” 

Julia offered a wry smile. “You are stuck with me for now, my lady. What is weighing so heavily on your mind?” 

You stared yourself in the mirror as you turned the question over. It was not as easy to answer as it should have been, not when everything was so out of order. Not when you hardly recognized the reflection staring back at you, wrapped in orange silk and adorned in jewels courtesy of Lord Cardew. 

You were not yourself—you were to be Baron Jonathan Cardew’s wife, a baroness and status symbol to hang off his arm and smile prettily, and Baroness Cardew was who stared back at you. 

Only a few more balls remained until the season came to an end, and though Lord Cardew was doing your family an immense service by giving you a second chance, he did not want to wait much longer to make it official. 

It was all planned out. Your relationship would truly enter the public eye tonight with your dances, you would promenade in open parks to have as many eyes on you as possible. He would call on you and your meager staff would be encouraged to spread rumors. Another ball would pass together, enough to hopefully weather some of the scandal you’d created, and then…

Then, he would propose. 

You would accept. 

And the fate you’d been so intent on avoiding would be sealed. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking back the impending tears. 

“I am nervous,” you admitted. “My decision didn’t exactly feel… real. Not until I was standing at the modiste getting fitted for this gown with one of Cardew’s maids. And all this jewelry…” Your fingers trailed across the raised designs on the pendant. “It makes it even more so.” 

“I can only imagine,” Julia said. “He has certainly put in effort.” 

“And yet it all feels hollow.” You moved away from the mirror and stopped in front of your vanity. The light blue reticule sitting near your jewelry box felt as if it was mocking you. 

Julia said your name with a sigh. “You made your choice. You pushed him away.” 

“I know,” you murmured, tracing the embroidery with your finger. “But feelings do not disappear so quickly.” 

“He wrote letters,” she said. “After you moved from Bridgerton House to recover here, after I refused his calling on you for the hundredth time, he wrote letters and delivered them by hand.” 

You picked at a loose strand of white thread on the purse, jaw clenched so tight you thought your teeth might crack. 

“He told me he did not care if you didn’t want them,” Julia continued softly. “He just needed you to know how he felt.” 

“This is how it has to be,” you finally said, voice shaking. 

“And what makes you think that?” Julia challenged. “You believe you have to live a life of misery simply because half the ton does so in the name of reputation and riches?” 

“Two things I no longer have any of,” you murmured. “Cardew’s pedigree is enough to get both back for my family. It is my duty, Jules, and I can no longer hide from it.” 

Your lady’s maid looked at you with desperation in her eyes when there was a knock on the door followed by your mother calling your name. You nodded your permission and she opened it.

“Lady Worthing,” she said, curtsying just so to your mother. “I’ve finished getting her ready—I’ll give the two of you some time alone.” 

“Thank you, Julia,” your mother said with a smile. She turned back to you, her eyes softer than ever as she moved forward and set her hands on your shoulders. 

“My darling,” she said, “you look so beautiful. I did not lie when I called you the crown jewel of our family.” 

You couldn’t help but smile at her compliment, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest. “Thank you, Mother. I’m glad I can make you proud.” 

She murmured your name, turning you so you faced the mirror. You saw yourself more this time, feeling more assured with your mother standing behind you holding all the stars in her eyes. 

“I have always been proud of you, darling,” she murmured. “Even if I did not show it in the best way. I love you more than words can express. I meant it when I said you are our greatest achievement.” 

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back against her. She allowed you to sink into her and you felt the tears brimming in your eyes. 

“...I’m afraid, Mother,” you whispered. “To marry. To be a wife.” 

She was silent for a moment, busying herself with adjusting your jewelry before she spoke.

“I was afraid too,” she admitted. “I hardly knew your father outside of a few promenades, and one lovely bouquet of flowers. It was almost fully arranged by our parents. But when he proposed, he vowed to always be my friend, and to always take care of me.” 

“Has he?” you asked. 

“Yes,” she said. “We did not love each other on our wedding day. But he has always been kind to me, and he has always advocated for me, and we have always been there for each other. We love each other now, in our own way. And,” she smiled, smoothing down the lace on your sleeves, “together, we brought you into the world. I would do it all over again if it meant I would get you in the end.” 

You could not imagine considering Lord Cardew a friend, nor the opposite. He saw you as just another pretty jewel to adorn himself with. 

Anthony saw you as a friend— as more. He always listened to what you had to say, always entertained your jokes with some of us own, never talked down on you. He saw you as an equal. 

 “I do not know if any woman is prepared to marry,” she finally said. “Even those that marry for love still have initial doubts. There are so many expectations of our behavior when we are told so little of what we must actually do.” 

“How do you do it?” you asked. “You married a man you didn’t know. You raised a child. You held face against a society that shamed you for only having a daughter.” 

“All you can do is trust in yourself, and in those around you,” she said. “If you are with the right person, everything will feel as natural as breathing. You will not care what anything thinks of you, because there is only one opinion that matters.” 

There was one man you felt natural around, one who you felt you could speak your mind around and not be judged. One man that you’d fallen in love with, that surely hated you in return for what you’d done to him. 

Your voice came out as little more than a whisper. “What should I do, Mother?” 

“You know what you must do,” she said softly. “All I can do is support you.” 

-

You’d rubbed your palms on your dress at least fifteen times since you’d arrived. A fruitless effort, considering you were wearing gloves, but you could not stand still. 

Your conversation with Lord Cardew had taken everything out of you, your dance with him even more so—an especially damning fate seemed ahead of you. But you could tune him out well enough, at least. 

It was an entirely different deal when the Bridgertons showed up. 

Violet walked in arm and arm with Anthony and Benedict, and Colin had a loose hold on Eloise. And to make matters worse, Daphne Bridgerton, alongside her husband the Duke of Hastings, were making an appearance. What an honor, to have the chance to embarrass yourself in front of such highly ranking nobles. 

Eloise branched off immediately after they passed the threshold, much to the protests of her mother, but your mother immediately pulled you in their direction. You could only imagine her thoughts—if she could get the Duke of Hastings touting for the Worthings, that would make things much easier.  

Anything for the optics, you supposed. But when you met Anthony’s eyes for the first time, you had to avert your gaze. He just looked so damn sad. 

“It is good to see you again, Violet,” your mother said. “And it is an honor, Duke and Duchess Hastings.” The both of you curtsied, and you could see the Duke’s slight smile. 

“I consider it my honor to meet the woman who has been the center of such conversation this season,” he said. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and thankfully Violet stepped in. 

“It is good to see you as well, Cecilia.” Violet smiled as she looked at you. “Especially you, my dear.” 

You bowed your head. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton, Duke Hastings. I am grateful to be here.” 

Benedict smiled, the notion warmer than anything you deserved. “You look lovely, Miss Worthing. Especially for someone who escaped death with such recency.”

Anthony’s eyes remained on you the entire time, and more than anything you wished you could read this mind. The man probably hated you, and he had every right to do so. You just wished your feelings for him weren’t so insurmountable. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled as believably as you could. “Thank you, Mister Bridgerton. You also look well.”

Your mother nudged your shoulder and your gaze met Anthony’s once more. He still hadn’t looked away from you. 

You bowed your head once more. “Lord Bridgerton. It… is good to see you.”

No wonder you actually ended up falling in love with Anthony. It was the only way anyone could believe this ruse—you were quite an awful actress. 

Anthony lowered his head as well, his poise stiff. “A pleasure, Miss Worthing.”

“We’re glad to see you’re doing well,” Violet said, her smile a bit thin. You could only imagine the conversation that would occur between her and your mother later. “You caused us all quite a scare.”

“Oh, Anthony was so worried,” Daphne said, pressing a hand to her chest. “I’m thankful we have the chance to attend this ball so I could see you in person.” 

“I’ve recovered well,” you nodded, and you looked at Violet. “My family and I thank you immensely for your kindness and your doctor’s care. We’ll be in your debt endlessly.”

“There is no need for that,” Violet said. “It is enough that you are still here.”

Your cheeks burned but you tried to smile anyways. You wanted to burrow into a hole and never come out. It seemed the Bridgertons were capable of endless grace in public when they surely had to despise you. 

“Eloise has run off somewhere over near the strings,” Benedict provided in the silence. “I’m sure she would appreciate your companionship tonight.”

You glanced at your mother and she nodded, and your smile at Benedict was much more genuine. “Of course. I’ve been meaning to talk with her.” 

You mouthed thank you to him when your mother could not see, and he nodded. He’d always been so decent to you. 

You could not help but glance at Anthony as you went, and his gaze followed you. He would resent you if he had any sense, but it seemed the opposite—the sadness in his eyes was fatal.

You took a glass of lemonade from the refreshments table when you passed it, needing something to do with your hands. You found your way to Eloise’s side soon enough, and her eyes lit up when she caught sight of you.

“It is so good to see you,” she breathed. “I’ve only just arrived, and I’ve already had to fend off suitors. They just cannot seem to understand I hold such little care for them.” 

“I am just as glad to see you,” you admitted. “I do not think I can get through this night alone.” 

“I cannot imagine why,” Eloise said sarcastically. “I’ve heard the news. And I must say, it is your poorest decision this season.”

Your laugh was mostly out of surprise, and you nearly dropped the flute of lemonade you were holding. You were on edge far more than you expected—you almost wished your glass was full of champagne. 

“At least somebody is speaking plainly,” you murmured, your gaze distant and unfocused. “I think the rest of your family must hate me, but they’re all too kind to say it.” 

Eloise frowned. “Why would any of them hate you?” 

Your grip tightened on your glass. “Because I caused an immense scandal and then ended things with Anthony?”

She huffed a laugh, her eyebrows now rising. “Our family has weathered many a scandal, and we are still here. Or have you forgotten how Daphne’s dearest husband chose to court her?”  

“That is different,” you insisted. 

“I think it is worse, actually,” Eloise said plainly. “Simon is a duke, and Anthony nearly killed him before Daphne knocked some sense into him.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Truly, it was a disaster. We Bridgertons have a knack for them.” 

“As do I,” you said with a loose laugh. “I was stabbed, Eloise. I nearly died in your brother’s arms.” 

“And we nearly died in our drawing room,” she said. “Anthony, most of all. He cares for you immensely.” 

“Surely he cannot,” you insisted. “Not after what I’ve done.” 

“I am not blind,” Eloise said, “and neither are you. So do not demerit our intelligence and pretend as if you do not see it.” 

“I— I know.” You wrapped your arms around your midsection, and you grimaced as the jewelry on your wrists brushed against your skin. You were covered head to toe in finery that didn’t belong to you, and you itched from the inside out. “But I don’t know where to go from here.” 

“It’s quite obvious, isn’t it?” Eloise looked across the room, where Lord Cardew stood talking to your mother, and then over at her brother, who couldn’t have been less interested in the lady trying to strike up conversation with him. Then her gaze fell to you. “You’ve got a choice to make.” 

“I’ve already ruined things,” you murmured. “I— I can’t just back out of this.”

“I can tell you that you certainly haven’t ruined things with my brother. And Lady Whistledown’s speculation is the only thing binding you to that lecher.” Eloise shrugged. “You’ve already broken off one courtship. What’s another?”

Your eyes met Anthony’s from across the room. Once again, he’d already been looking at you. You averted your gaze quickly, feeling the heat rush to your face, and you tried to steady your breathing. He had no right to still have such an effect on you. 

“I need some air,” you murmured. “Will you—”

“Of course,” Eloise said. “You are simply touching things up in the powder room.”

You nodded your thanks and slipped out of the ballroom, finally able to drop the facade you’d been trying to uphold. You truly felt as if you were overheating, and the cool air was hardly of aid once you reached the outdoors.

Everything was all wrong—your dress, this damned tiara, the bracelets and the necklaces and every jewel that Cardew thought he could buy you with. 

It all belonged to him. You would not be another prize on his shelf. 

You couldn’t help yourself. You began to shed the jewelry as your pace sped up, ripping bangles from your wrists and pendants from your neck—by the time you reached a deserted area of the gardens, you were considerably lighter and considerably close to tears. 

You let out a frustrated sob as you slammed your fists against some artistic stone structure. It earned you nothing but pain, but it grounded you in some strange way. You tore off your gloves and threw them to the ground, a shaky breath escaping you as you screwed your eyes shut and  pressed your palms to your forehead. 

You could not marry traditionally, you could not follow through with your feelings for Anthony, and now you could not follow through with this ill-advised plan. 

Were you truly this useless? To bring ruin to two families with your knack for destroying things for it all to amount to nothing? You waxed poetic about the life you thought you deserved to live, about going to university and gaining your independence and never marrying, and yet here you were, near tears in the gardens of the ball you were meant to reenter society at. 

“Miss Worthing.”

The whispered words blared through the silence, and you knew who it was without having to turn around. It still sent a shock through you, your breathing faltering for a moment. Your eyes stayed shut. 

“Why are you here?” you asked, your voice watery. 

“You do not know me if you think there is anywhere else I would be,” he said. 

“How did you find me?”

“I followed the trail of jewels. You’ve left an awfully expensive path in your wake.”

“All of it is worthless,” you mumbled, finally letting your hands drop. “It all belongs to Lord Cardew.”

“You’ll have made a magpie very happy.” 

“Enough with the jokes,” you said. “Why are you here?” 

“Why do you think?” Anthony asked with a slight laugh. 

“I do not know,” you responded. “That is why I asked.” 

“I am here because I want to talk to you,” he said. “You cannot just avoid me for the rest of the season.”

You turned away. “I can try.”

“I will not let you,” Anthony enunciated. “I will not let you make the biggest mistake of your life because you believe it is your duty.”

“If you are here to change my mind, you are wasting your time,” you said stiffly. 

“I don’t believe I have to do anything,” Anthony said. “It looks as if you’ve come to the conclusion yourself.” 

“And what makes you think that?”

“You have not even glanced in Cardew’s direction this entire night,” he said. “You’ve been looking at me instead.” 

“Because I have felt your eyes on me with every moment.” 

Anthony huffed. “Can you blame me? This is the first time I have seen you since that night.” 

“Then you should remember my words from that night,” you bit out. 

“Why are you so intent on pushing me away?” Anthony begged. 

You scoffed. “Why are you so intent on bothering me?”

“Because I cannot stand here and watch you marry another!” he exclaimed.

Your brows furrowed and you turned around. Anthony stood in front of you, his outfit impeccable but not at all looking put together. Desperation colored his eyes, and you saw how truly undone he’d become. 

“I— I thought I could, but I cannot.” He shook his head, a muscle working in his jaw as he glanced away. “Every moment you are in the vicinity of that man is a test of my strength. And I do not know how strong I am.” 

“I don’t understand,” you said hollowly. “You should hate me.” 

“I could never hate you,” Anthony murmured. “I thought I could, when you first told me of your plans, but— but I could hardly even dislike you.” A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he shook his head. “My mother had been bothering me for nearly a decade to find a wife and settle down, but I thought love was a fool’s game. I would have my fun as a bachelor, and then settle down with the most advantageous match. There was no need for further emotional baggage—when you love, you can lose. And I refused to lose again.” 

For a moment, your heart stopped in your chest. He lost his father, he nearly lost you, and then you pushed him away like he meant nothing. 

“Anthony—” you whispered, but he shook his head. 

“Please,” he said. “I have a lot to say.” 

You nodded, and he did as well. 

“Our deal was perfect for that. You were nothing but my sister’s nuisance of a friend—a bad influence that I could never see as more.” You could not help your soft laugh, and Anthony’s smile turned a bit more genuine. 

“But then we spent more time together. I… truly began to know you.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “You shattered every preconception I had of you. I began to look forward to our meetings, to our promenades—I would get home from calling on you and could think only of the next time I would see you.” 

“Throughout it all, you made me realize I was worthy of love,” he said. “You— you made me realize that I wanted it. That I wanted you.” His throat bobbed, and you could see his eyes glistening. “That I loved you.” 

You could hardly find the strength to speak. You felt as if you could melt into a puddle at his feet just from his words. You were so intent on avoiding Anthony because you couldn’t stand the thought of hurting him anymore— you believed he would be better off without you, without the scandal you’d dragged him into. 

But he… he loved you. 

He loved you just as you loved him. 

“I do not expect you to share any of my notions, and I know you value your freedom more than anything,” Anthony murmured. “So if it is not me you wish to be with, I understand, and I will accept it without complaint. I just beg of you—do not become that wretched man’s wife.” 

All you could do was stare at him for a moment more, words beyond your reach before you finally managed to speak through your emotions. 

“I tried to tell myself the exact same thing,” you said softly. “That you could not be happy with me. That I could never be happy chained to another—truly, that I could never love. Not when freedom is what I have always desired most. But Anthony…” you moved forward until you were mere centimeters apart, unable to suppress the shiver that ran through you at the proximity, “I have never felt more free than when I am with you.” 

“Miss—” Anthony started, but he paused and shook his head before saying your first name instead. His eyes were softer than anything. “Are you truly…?” 

“I could never fathom you sharing my feelings,” you said thickly. “That is why I pushed you away. But I love you, Anthony Bridgerton. And I think I have loved you for quite some time.” 

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat, turning away so as to not betray the fullness of your emotions, and though you opened your mouth to provide some excuse, you were not granted the chance. 

Anthony’s hand encircled your wrist, pulling you back around, and just as soon did you feel his lips against yours. The tightness in your chest dissolved almost immediately as you all but fell into him, Anthony wrapping his arms around you to support you as your hands found purchase on anything they could. 

Your focus became devoted solely to the feeling of him, his soft lips against yours even as they plied for access. Anthony held you as if his only desire were to protect you from the world, and it made you feel a way you’d never even imagined. Only when air became a necessity did he pull away, his labored breaths in contrast to the pure adoration in his eyes. 

“Never in a thousand years did I think you would feel the same,” he murmured, his hands cupping your face on either side as he gazed into your eyes. “I thought myself a fool, falling for the one woman I could not have. You’ve no idea the relief it brings to hear you share my feelings.”

“I suppose I am just as foolish as you,” you breathed. Your heart felt as if it could burst. 

The corners of his lips quirked up in a smile. “I cannot imagine what my mother would think—that after so long spent searching for a wife, I fell for the one woman who never wanted the title.” 

You let out an airy laugh, relishing the feeling of his skin against yours. “Nor did I see myself falling for the one man who resented the chains of marriage as much as I.” 

Anthony pressed his lips against yours once more, and your hands traveled up until they tangled in his hair. You kissed until you were nearly breathless, but Anthony still managed to pull a very unladylike sound out of you as he bowed his head, kissing down the line of your jaw, your neck, until his teeth nipped your skin just above your decolletage.

“Anthony,” you gasped, clenching your fingers as they buried themselves further into his dark locks. You had never been this close with a man before, never this intimate — you never thought you would even desire it. 

But Anthony lit a fire inside of you that only he could quench, and yet the only thing he seemed to do was stoke it further. It was equally maddening and dizzying, the control he so effortlessly had over you. 

“I never knew how much I would delight in hearing you say my name,” he murmured, his lips trailing against your skin. “No more Lord Bridgerton, I beg of you.”

“I should think I’d like to hear you beg—” you breathed, but Anthony cut you off yet again as he pulled you into another searing kiss. You could hardly stand it anymore as your hands fell down to his shoulders, and you pulled away for just a moment as you began desperately undoing his waistcoat, Anthony taking the hint and removing his jacket. 

“These buttons were not designed with the needs of a lady in mind,” you huffed in frustration, fumbling fingers failing to make progress, and Anthony chuckled breathlessly.

“Have we finally found something I best you in?” he asked, and you rolled your eyes with a smile.

“Just take it off.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

You groaned as you looked at him. “If you insist on teasing me this way, Lord Bridgerton, I shall go back inside and act as if nothing has happened.”

“There is no need for idle threats,” he defended, and you bit back your smile. Anthony made deft work of his waistcoat, and the second he tossed it aside he was back on you. 

“Besides,” his voice was a whisper a millimeter from your ear, and warmth blazed in your core, “I believe I told you to call me Anthony.”

“And I believe you should have to try harder than that.” You smiled into his kiss as you trailed your nails down his back, the thin fabric of his dress shirt doing little as you felt his involuntary shiver. 

“You’ve no idea the effect you have on me,” he groaned, once again dipping his head as he peppered even more kisses down your neck, sliding down the sleeve of your dress to allow himself better access. 

The night air on your newly freed skin did little for you, any coolness of the breeze instantly negated by the heat of Anthony against you. Your nails dug into his back as he moved down, each spot where his lips touched your skin erupting with fire. 

You gasped out his name, barely able to handle it—the feeling was so foreign yet familiar, as if you had been waiting all your life for Anthony in this way. 

You could hardly believe you nearly lost it of your own accord. 

“It appears I do not have to try hard at all,” he said, “the way you cry out for me.” 

You laughed breathlessly, though his words were indeed true. You knew, in this moment, that you would do anything for Anthony Bridgerton—and he would do anything for you. “How I fell for a man as irritating as you, I haven’t the slightest.” 

You caught the slightest glimpse of his grin before he ducked his head yet again, and he had only just begun pushing both sleeves of your dress down when a woman’s voice could be heard behind you. 

“Anthony— oh!” 

The unfamiliar voice struck fear into your heart you had never felt the likes of before. Anthony moved away from you quicker than you’d ever seen, you just as hasty as you tugged the sleeves of your dress back to where they belonged and attempted to smooth out everything that Anthony had so easily sullied. 

You’d never imagined this was how your reputation would be ruined, with Anthony Bridgerton in the gardens of some ball, but when you finally had the sense to look and see who had caught you in a most uncompromising position, you could hardly stifle your incredulous laugh. 

“Sister?” Anthony questioned in disbelief, so many emotions warring on his face you had to turn away to cover up your growing grin. 

“Anthony,” Daphne greeted in kind, fighting to conceal her smile as her eyes drifted to you. “Miss Worthing.” 

“Your Grace!” Your shaky fingers were hardly of use to you as you pulled your gloves back up to where they belonged and once again ran your hands down the skirt of your dress to smooth out the wrinkles. Your cheeks burned under her gaze and you were innately aware of the fire underneath your skin brought about by Anthony’s touch in contrast to the cool night air. “What brings you here?” 

“Mother was quite… nervous about tonight,” she explained. “She indulged in one too many glasses of champagne, so she is taking her leave with Benedict for aid. She requested I find you to alert you of her departure, but it seems she was not the one whose disappearance should have been questioned.” 

“I’m sure you know this is quite compromising.” Thinly veiled amusement crossed Daphne’s face as she eyed you pointedly. “I am afraid you must marry him at once Miss Worthing, else I shall have to duel you to protect my brother’s honor.” 

You laughed breathlessly as Anthony looked up at the sky, his face turning a deeper shade of red than you had ever seen. “Your Grace, are you suggesting that I have ruined him?” 

“Indeed I am,” she confirmed, and you could see how it took every muscle of her being to retain a serious image. “This is not a light matter, miss. I do not understand why you are laughing.” 

“Daphne,” Anthony groaned, avoiding her eyes as he occupied himself with his jacket. “Why do you insist on being a nuisance?” 

“Anthony,” she inflected his name the same way he did hers, “I cannot have this woman sullying your name! I know it was of no will of your own, but this can not stand as is. But do not worry; I am prepared to defend your honor to my last breath.” 

“My sincerest apologies for what I have done, Duchess Hastings,” you responded gravely. “I am prepared for pistols at dawn.” 

Anthony huffed as he buttoned his waistcoat back up then went to retrieve his jacket from the bushes. “You exaggerate, the both of you. This cannot be what I was like last season.” 

“You were worse, brother. But do not worry,” Daphne said with a grin, “I should think a taste of your own practices is only fair after all you put Simon and me through.”

Anthony sighed with a slight roll of his eyes. “I… suppose… that it is what I deserve.” 

“Thank you, brother,” she said. “I only wish we had a witness just so your confession is forever remembered.”

“I wish Mother had not sent you to seek me out,” he responded dryly. 

You and Daphne exchanged smiles with each other before your expression sobered slightly. “ I ask quite a bit of you with this, Your Grace, but… may I count on your discretion? I know we jest, but my reputation truly could not handle something like this. I do not know if…” you glanced at Anthony before looking back to her, “if we are yet ready to seal our union.” 

“Of course,” Daphne nodded, and a relieved smile tugged at your lips. “I shall not tell a soul.” 

“Thank you eternally, Your Grace,” you expressed, but at your short curtsy she shook her head.

“Please, call me Daphne.” She offered a smile of her own, slightly coy. “After what I have just witnessed, I’ve no doubt you will be joining our family soon enough.” 

“Sister!” Anthony scolded, and when you glanced at him his entire face was dusted pink, even the tips of his ears. It was enough to make you swoon. “You cannot just say things whenever you see fit.” 

Daphne merely shrugged, joyfully indifferent to her brother’s protests. “I outrank you now, dearest brother — I believe I can say whatever I see fit, particularly when it is the truth.”

“You are truly impossible,” Anthony muttered as he shook his head. 

Daphne just smiled before she looked back at you. “I believe it best if the two of you leave at separate times, so as to not allow room for any rumors. Miss Worthing, you should go first and return to your mother; you can claim you simply needed fresh air. Anthony and I will stroll around the grounds for a bit before allowing ourselves to be seen — we are simply catching up after such a stretch spent at Clyvedon.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you smoothed your mussed hair and wrinkled dress for the last time. Anthony certainly did a number on you, in more ways than one. “Thank you again, Your—” you caught yourself, correcting your error with a small smile, “Daphne. 

“You may count on me in the future whenever I am in London,” she reassured. “It is my hope anyway that I shall be able to welcome you to the family officially.”

“Daphne!” Anthony exclaimed yet again, glaring at her. “Might you take your leave so we may have a moment alone?” 

“I believe you just had quite a few moments alone,” Daphne said, but a pointed look from her brother had her conceding with a smile. “Alright. I will be by the trees when you need me.” 

Anthony turned to you with an odd look in his eyes when Daphne was out of hearing distance, and when he did eventually speak, his voice was far softer than usual. 

“Do you truly believe I would not marry you?” he asked, and the underlying hurt in his voice did not go unnoticed. “Even if there were not the risk of a scandal, I would not hesitate. My entire heart lies with you.”

“It is not you, Anthony,” you sighed with a slight shake of your head. “I do not… I do not know if I am even capable of marriage.” 

He frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“I have spent my entire life running from it,” you said, chuckling softly, “and yet, here I am, the one thing I never thought I would be.”

“In love,” Anthony realized, and you nodded. 

“It has always been easy enough to denounce marriage when I’d never experienced anything of the like. The union of my parents was for convenience rather than love, and for as long as I’ve been alive my mother has tried to drill it into my head that my feelings did not matter — so long as the man had the means to provide for me and was not completely awful, he was satisfactory.”

“A future like that— it was so completely absurd to me that denouncing it all was the easiest thing in the world. And then I nearly died and my entire world changed, and I decided that Cardew was the best option to allow myself to completely separate emotion from marriage, but now…” you looked at Anthony, feeling more vulnerable now than ever. “I have found a love in you I’ve never thought possible, and I cannot stop imagining a life with you. And that terrifies me more than anything.” 

“But…” you trailed off again and you turned away from him as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “But I do not know how to approach my future, especially one where we are so closely intertwined.” 

Silence hung in the air for a noticeable period before Anthony cleared his throat, and it was obvious the care he put into his words. 

“You know I never imagined I would marry for love. Truly, I never intended it—I expected to be miserable in marriage. I saw it as nothing more than another duty to take care of. I believed that love was trivial, a ridiculous distraction. You are the one who made me see differently.” 

You turned around with slightly wide eyes, your arms wrapped around your midsection doing little to ward off the cool night air that seemed far colder than it was before. Anthony’s gaze never left yours, the softness in his own at odds with the pure, unbridled passion. 

“I love you. Though I have only just allowed myself to accept the fact, you are someone that I cannot imagine living the rest of my days without. There was…” his throat bobbed as his voice crackled slightly, “there was a moment when I feared the worst, that you would permanently disappear from my life. And ever since you were all but brought back from the dead, I have known that you are the only woman I wish to be with. It is why as soon as I left you, I asked my mother for this.” 

Anthony took a box out of his pocket, and you gasped as he got down on one knee, your hands flying up to cover your mouth. 

“This is the ring my father proposed to my mother with, and their love was beyond anything I have seen before. But it is the love that I feel for you, something so strong, so overwhelming— something I never thought I would experience. And yet here I am, madly in love with the one woman who scorned me with every word, and only pursued me because of my brand as a lesser evil.” 

A laugh bubbled out of you, the sound slightly muffled through your gloves, and you could not help it as your eyes began to fill with tears. 

“I admire you; all of you. The part that loves her family with every part of her being, that looks out for those with less than her when those more fortunate turn a blind eye. The part that fights for the rights of her sex when it is so much easier to just bow one’s head, that puts her happiness on a rightful pedestal— the part that is so terrified to share herself with others and yet deserves a love of the purest form.”

“And I am aware of how the unknown is a fear of yours, as it is one of mine. But I assure you—” Anthony’s voice was filled with such passion, his eyes with such love, that you could hardly stand it, “—I will be there for you every step of the way. We will face our fears as one, and we will shape the future ourselves, not to be bound by anyone or anything.” 

“I do not know where my future will lead me, but I know I do not want to face a single second of it without you. If you do not feel the same, I understand, but I will not be able to live with myself if I do not at least try. It is why I ask you,” Anthony said your name with more love than ever before, “will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, a smile breaking across your face even as tears of joy streamed down your cheeks. “Yes, yes, I will marry you!”

Anthony let out a sigh of relief as he grinned, and after he slid the ring on your finger he stood up and pulled you into a breathless kiss. Nothing picture perfect like you’d heard about as a young girl, the kind of effortless gentleman’s act— Anthony kissed you with pure passion, love, desire, and it nearly brought you to your knees. You thought it would have, were it not for Anthony’s strong arms wrapped around your waist, pressing you against him and supporting you. 

You could hardly believe the same man who treated you as if you were glass after your injury was the one standing before you now, the one who handled you in such a way that could get the both of you exiled were anyone to see—the one that you thought hated you.  

And you were more than willing to allow it to continue, to surrender yourself fully to your baser instincts, when you remembered something that made your eyes widen.

“Your sister,” you murmured between kisses until you finally managed to pull away, albeit reluctantly. “Daphne is still waiting.”

Anthony laughed breathlessly as he pulled you back in, and your earlier protest was shown to be completely nonsensical. “Let her wait.” 

You grinned as he peppered kisses down your neck, enjoying the sensation until you pushed him away. “Anthony.” 

He groaned. “Why must you be a better person than I?”

“Believe when I say it pains me,” you said. “But the last thing we need is yet another scandal by my hand.” 

“Let them know,” he said, taking your hands in his. “Let all of London know that I love you, that we will be wed. I do not care what we have to face so long as we face it together.” 

“The thought has never been so tempting,” you murmured. “But you should at least alert your sister. It would be improper to make her wait out here all night for nothing.” 

His grip tightened on your hands. “So you do wish to leave together?” 

“Anthony, I just accepted your proposal,” you said with a laugh. “I wish to spend the rest of our lives together.” 

“I believe tonight is a good place to start, then,” he grinned. 

Anthony would not let you leave his side, so you went to Daphne together. First she saw your smile, then her gaze drifted down to your hand—she looked knowingly at her brother, though she could not hide her smile either. 

“It would appear as if I was right,” she mused. “I am always right when it comes to you though, Anthony, so it is not much of a surprise.” 

“Do not mock me,” Anthony said. “I could have left you waiting by the bushes all night.” 

“If you had not proposed to her after the conversation we had the other day, I would have questioned your sense,” Daphne said. “Trust me, I would not have been here long.” 

Your eyebrows rose. “What conversation?” 

“We do not need to start on this,” he said with a pointed look at his sister. “I have already bared my entire soul tonight. I do not need my sister embarrassing me further.” 

“Oh, I would never,” Daphne drawled. “After all, there will be plenty of time for us to gossip together when I come to visit you all.” 

“Won’t you be busy with your child?” Anthony asked. 

She shrugged. “You may be busy with one as well by the time I see you again.” 

You looked at Anthony only to find his gaze was already on you. There must have been some shred of doubt in your eyes, because he only took your hand in his. 

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “We will take things as slowly as you desire.” 

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat and nodded as you squeezed his hands—you knew what was expected of you as a wife, and you wanted it with Anthony, but you could not lie and say that his reassurances did not bring you relief. 

“My best wishes to the new Viscountess Bridgerton,” Daphne said, her voice full of affection as she clasped her hands together. “It is an honor to have you join our family.” 

“It is an honor to be accepted,” you said, bowing your head. 

Daphne smiled. “I assume you want to reveal this on your own terms.” 

You nodded. “I’ve dealt with enough attention from the ton lately.” 

“I am afraid to say that will not go away,” she said wryly. “But I will cover for the two of you.” 

You pressed a hand to your chest. “Thank you.” 

“It is only proper to welcome my sister in such a way,” she said with a wink, and you could not help but smile. “Now run along, you two. Before rumors start.” 

Anthony chuckled, and the two of them embraced before you started on your way.

“Viscountess Bridgerton,” Anthony murmured in your ear. “I love the sound of that.” 

You hummed in agreement. “As do I.” 

You laid your head on Anthony’s shoulder as you walked back with your hands intertwined—not to the ball, but to a carriage for the promise of time alone. You glanced over at Anthony and he smiled, and you pulled him to a stop as you pressed a kiss to his lips. He responded with hunger, the same vigor he displayed when you first stepped into the gardens together, and you could hardly believe he still had it left in him. 

Far too many minutes passed as you kissed and kissed and kissed, not a single care in the world of someone catching you. What could they do? You’d already endured enough scandal to weather anything, and there was no way to punish you and Anthony — you were already engaged. 

Your lips were sure to be bruised once you finally pulled away, Anthony gazing at you with complete adoration as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I cannot believe you are to be my wife,” he murmured. 

“I cannot believe you are to be my husband,” you breathed. “When will we reveal it?” 

“Tomorrow,” he said, intertwining your hands with his own. “Tomorrow, we will tell everyone, and we will deal with everything that comes along with it. But tonight…” 

“It is our secret.”

Anthony nodded. “Tonight, we start the rest of our lives together.” 

“The rest of our lives together,” you murmured. 

Truly, it sounded like a dream. Months ago you could not even consider the thought of marriage without an air of disgust—now, here with Anthony, you could not stop thinking about the fact that you were to be his wife. 

The rest of your life with Anthony would be anything but simple.

And yet, somehow, you could not think of anything more perfect.

-

taglist, only bc this series has been going on since i still had a taglist lmao. @ifilwtmfc @readers-post @fangirling-galore @funkydinosaurs @baby-i-am-fireproof @mess-is-my-aesthetic @likeballet @mdkfh @brezzybfan @magical-spit @lafy-taffy @miss-celestial-being @mercurysrhapsody @evilsailorsenshi @mainstreambitchlife @aangsupremacy @chloepluto1306 @lostaudfound @panhoeofmanyfandoms @blhemmings @my-acrylic-heart @seninjakitey @vlodi @arianagrandes-things @preciousbabypeter @youraliendaddo @stupidlittlebei @illuminwtesz @eringaitskill @otheliesstuff @users09 @chloepluto1306 @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @m-rae23 @the-horror-and-the-wild-simp @diemdurantia @theyoungestchild0w0 @mschievousx @alwaysreading1019 @ibelieveindragons141 @pretzywetzy

[photo1030]

A Cup of Coffee

Summary:  What do you do when the love of your life doesn’t feel the same for you?

Word Count - Just over 10K

A/N - This is inspired by the song by Garbage. I got this idea after reading all the amazing mini prompts by @pinescent-and-gingerbread.

Supposed to be a short, one-shot but, as usual it got away from me. I hope you can stick it out to the end. A lot of emotions going on here and it is not a happy one, just be warned. I cried quite a bit writing this one.

Masterlist

*This beautiful image is from @rdr2gifs

You sit with your back against the old gnarled walnut tree, picking at your nails in nervous frustration, your head clearly somewhere else. This is “your spot” where you always go when you need a moment to yourself. The giant tree is like an old friend, its massive branches like arms providing you shelter, shade, and a quiet place to reflect. It’s damn near a pet to you.

“Why you actin’ all pissy lately.” Arthur kicks your boot to garner your attention, his face turned down into an annoyed scowl. 

“No reason,” you reply dismissively, maintaining your averted stare out into the forest that rings the camp. 

“Bull shit.” Arthur rounds to the other side of you, filling your view with his massive trunk of a body so that you’re forced to look at him. “You’ve been moping around like a goddamn wet rag. What’s your problem?”

“I said it's nothing!” you snap back, making you instantly cringe as your response has more venom that you intended.

“Yeah, whatever, fine. Don’t tell me, then,” he pouts, waving his hand in the air in surrender. 

Your legs instinctively curl in towards your body, a vacant look settled upon your stormy face while you stare off into space again. “You wouldn’t understand anyway.”

A slight head shake tosses his honey-brown locks as his mouth opens to say something, but no argument comes out. A gloved hand scratches the back of his neck in confusion as to what could possibly be so bad that you won’t talk to him. “Is this a ‘lady thing’?”

But the moment your eyes shoot wide open, Arthur knows he’s guessed wrong. “What?! Jesus, Arthur, no it's not a ‘lady thing’!”

‘“Then why can’t you tell me!”

“Because!”

“Because why? You tell me everything else!” he pushes.

“Because it's about you, jackass!” And your eyes go wide as the full moon at the realization that you just opened Pandora's box to your deepest secret:  you are hopelessly in love with your best friend, one Mr. Arthur Morgan. 

But the problem is, not only is he oblivious to it, he is in love with someone else:  Mary Gillis, now Mary Linton. And despite her having broken Arthur’s heart and married someone else, the man is still carrying a smoldering torch for the woman, the flames fanned back to life ten-fold when a letter from this ghost from his past showed up for him a few weeks ago.

Arthur’s large body flinches back slightly at your vague revelation, his arms folding across his broad, rigid chest. “What the hell did I do?”

“Nothing, forget I said anything,” you mutter, your mouth suddenly as dry as the desert, your stomach twisting into knots and wishing with every fiber of your being that this conversation wasn’t happening right now. 

“Now, hold on!” His azure eyes flash at you, and it's obvious he’s not going to let this go. “If you’re pissed at me, I deserve to know why.” He looms over you now, his thumb jutting back into his chest at his demand. 

You take a deep sigh and rub your temples with your thumb and forefinger, trying to reel your swirling emotions in before you say or do something you’ll regret. “I’m not pissed at you, Arthur.”

He raises a taunting eyebrow at you. “You sure about that?” 

Your much smaller frame draws up defensively, your chin dropping in warning. “I said I’m not mad, Arthur,” you caution, the words slow and careful, “but I’m gonna be if you don’t stop flappin’ your damn mouth.”

Finally, Arthur recognizes your encroaching breaking point with each twitch of your lips and makes one last attempt, extending his hand to you to find out what has got you wound up like a hornet. “Oh, come on, Y/N. What’s going on?”

“I said drop it!” Your cheeks flush red-hot and you storm off, brushing past his shoulder, leaving him staring after you in confusion. 

—----------------------------------

Your tantrum with Arthur leaves you feeling like a boulder sits in your gut. Trying to hide away from facing the inevitable, you spend the rest of the afternoon out riding your horse. You take to the open fields, letting the warm summer winds engulf you. You push your horse at full speed as if you could outrun your feelings for Arthur. But all this does is make you realize that there is no going back now. You’ll have to confront this sooner or later. 

Slinking back to camp, you find the one person who knows your little secret. You talk to Abigail about it and, of course, she encourages you to tell Arthur how you feel. “Everyone wants to know they are loved,” she rationalizes. 

But the idea of exposing your heart terrifies you, even if it is to Arthur. Your hands clench open and closed, your breathing becoming short. “What if he don’t feel the same?” you ask, your voice sounding pathetic and small. “He’s still hung up on Mary.”

But your answer does not deter Abigail’s opinion. “Maybe he’s still hung up because he doesn’t know he has options.” She leans forward to catch your eye, her gaze burning into yours. “You’ll never know until you tell him.”

Your eyes glisten as you close them and pull in an expansive breath, holding it before slowly pushing it out between trembling lips. Abigail is right. You can’t win anything if you’re not willing to risk for it. What if he says ‘no’? But, what if he says ‘yes’? And you sweep her into a tight hug which she gladly reciprocates.  

—------------------------------------

The next morning, you find Arthur sitting quiet and content outside his tent writing in his journal. You stop to admire how his brows knit slightly, consumed with whatever he is committing to those pages. 

Your mind skips back to when he handed you a journal of your own after you inquired about his. It was a gesture that meant the world to you, because not only did someone bring you a gift, but he was extending to you a glimpse into his own world. He was offering you the same opportunity that he had, sharing his passion with you. This was something that he has not done for anyone else, making this a singular thing that he only shares with you and no one else. The thought makes your heart flutter, honored at this trust, and you take a deep and steadying breath to propel yourself forward. 

“Hey, can I talk to you a second?”

Arthur looks up from the worn leather book on his lap, surprised to see your timidly smiling face greeting him. 

A small grin of relief tugs at the corner of his lips when he realizes you aren’t snapping at him anymore. “Hey… yeah, sure.” 

You sit down next to him, the morning sun kissing his profile, gently heating the worn wooden chair as if it is waiting for you. You hand him a steaming-hot cup of coffee as a peace offering. His tired eyes instantly brighten as he catches the hints of cinnamon mingling with the strong, smoky aroma of the freshly ground coffee beans. 

No one makes coffee like you do. Arthur has no idea what you do or how you do it. It could be witchcraft for all he knows. And he doesn't care so long as you share your efforts with him. He takes a deep sip, the almost-scalding liquid cascading over his tongue, savoring the caramelized, earthy notes and humming in contentment. “Now, that’s a good cup of coffee.”

His compliment makes you smile despite the butterflies in your stomach as you partake from your own cup to quench your parched throat. 

“Look, Arthur, I’m sorry I’ve been a crab-ass lately. It’s just that…” Your eyes cast down to the dark brown liquid, as if trying to find the courage to continue in the steam that gently dances in the air under your nose. 

Arthur is quick to pick up on your fidgeting again. “Just what? Y/N, are you ok?” His face turns down in concern. You are never one to show weakness, so this sudden display of odd behavior doesn’t sit well with him. And worse yet, the fact that you can’t talk to him about it is unsettling. ”If something’s wrong, you know you can tell me.“

You finally tear your gaze from the cup in your slightly shaking hands to meet his. Why does he have to be so sweet? Maybe this is a good sign? Maybe he does feel the same?

“No, nothing’s wrong. At least, I don’t think so.” Your lips get pulled into your teeth.

“Then what in the hell is eatin’ at you?” Despite the harshness of the words themselves, they are delivered with a softness that echoes concern. 

“Arthur,” You swallow hard and close your eyes for a moment. Just say it!, your mind screams. Quit dicking around and do it, for Christ’s sake! 

Arthur’s whole body is rigid as he leans forward on his knees, nervously waiting for whatever bad news it is that you are about to tell him. But what you say next is NOT what he is expecting to come out of your mouth. 

“I’m in love with you.”

Your proclamation is met with stinging silence. And you anxiously wait in anticipation for his answer. And when it doesn’t come, your breathing stops, your knee bouncing slightly as your heartbeat thunders in your ears. 

“Wait…what?” His face screws up, trying to decipher what you’ve just said. 

“I’m in love with you, Arthur, have been for awhile.” You nod in acknowledgement, the sentiment hangs soft and vulnerable in the air like the summer fireflies. 

The outlaw shifts uncomfortably, rubbing his hand along his jawline as he finally comprehends what you’re telling him. And then, the reality of it really sets in. “Shit.”

Your mouth falls open as you clutch the coffee mug in your hand as if it were a lifeline. “What's wrong? Is that a bad thing?”

But Arthur won’t look you in the eye at first, searching for the words that struggle to come. “I just…I just didn’t think I’d ever have to worry about that sort of thing with you.”

“What do you mean by that?” Your eyes begin to sting, causing you to start blinking rapidly as you try to figure out the meaning behind his statement. 

“I don’t know.” He shrugs haplessly. “I just never thought of you as a woman like that, I guess.”

Shit, he may as well have slapped you across the face. It would have stung much less. A huff of exasperation expels from your nose as your head quickly draws back. The anger from yesterday begins to surge within your belly again. You feel stupid, embarrassed. 

“Unbelievable.” You shake your head and abruptly stand, ready to storm off again before he sees the tears rimming in your eyes.

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that!”

You spin on him, then, the frustration displayed all over your features. “Then what did you mean, Arthur? Huh? What, that you don’t even see me as a woman?!”

“No, that’s not-”

“That's exactly what you said!” you bite back, cutting him off.

Arthur is quick to his feet to explain himself. “You and me, we’re friends. Best friends.” He motions emphatically between you two. ”No bull shit, no games. And I always liked that, relied on it. Respected that, even. I’ve never had to watch myself around you.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” you challenge back. “Why does any of that have to change?” You step closer to Arthur now and look up into his face, desperate for an explanation that makes sense to your rapidly- breaking heart. 

“Because! I’m not good at that sort of thing,” he says sheepishly, hand coming up behind his neck.

“I’m not either. But that’s why it could be so good for us.” You reach over and gently take his hand in both of yours. Your voice softens to a level Arthur has never heard from you before. “Regardless of how we got here, Arthur, the fact of the matter is, I love you. So, I’m askin’ you, is there a chance that you love me too?”

He stares into your expectant face, your eyes wide with adoration and anticipation. And Arthur knows that what he has to say next will be the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. 

“I’m sorry, but…I don’t….I don’t feel that way.”

Despite the softness of his voice, the words are deafening. Your chest feels like a thousand daggers have been plunged into your flesh, wedged between your ribs as it knocks the breath out of your lungs just the same. Your skin flashes burning hot before turning ice cold.

But the look of sheer pain in your eyes cuts him. Arthur has fought alongside of you for years. You’ve been through hell and back together, and never has he seen that look of pain and devastation on your face. And to know he’s the cause of it makes Arthur want to die. 

You stand motionless, numb and not sure what to say or do. Exposed and vulnerable, you took a chance and gave yourself to him. And he denied you. 

As if struck by lightning, you turn on your heel to bolt away, to find a shadowy corner of the world to hide, but Arthur is too quick and his arm shoots out from his side and grabs your wrist. “Y/N, wait, don’t go like this.”

Like a wounded animal caught in a trap, you yank your arm from his grasp, bristling at the feeling of his dry, calloused hand on your skin. ”You’re a goddamn fool, Morgan,” you seethe at him. “You’re still going to hold out that she’ll come back to you, aren’t you?”

But you instantly regret bringing up Mary. You shouldn't have done that. Despite your devastation, it is a low-blow and you know it. A tidal wave of apprehension fills your body head to toe when shock darkly scatters across Arthur’s features. The fact that you’d throw his greatest weakness back in his face in retaliation suddenly sets him to anger as well. 

“What do you want from me, Y/N?” he growls out defensively, eyes narrowing at you.

“Tell me you want me. I want you to tell me you want me, Arthur. Tell me you feel the same for me that I feel for you,” you cry desperately, eyes now red as the tears begin their descent down your cheeks. 

A sigh of resignation ripples through Arthur’s lungs. “But I don’t,” he breathes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I can’t lie to you like that. Not about this.”

Your palm comes up to cover your mouth before you get sick in the grass. Your eyes screw shut as you back away from him, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole. “I’m such an idiot,” you whisper with a broken voice. “I should have known I wasn’t good enough.”

“It’s not about that, Y/N.”

“Then what in the world could it be, Arthur? I’ve never been beautiful. Never been ‘dainty’. Never been sugar and sweetness. I’m covered in dirt and smell like my horse. But I had hoped that you, of all people, could see past all that.” Your hand floats up to land over your heaving chest. “To see my heart. And see what I could give to you.” 

But as you stare into Arthur’s ocean-colored eyes, you realize now what his answer to your confession is and that he has no intention of changing it. The tears stream freely down your face, and he watches as they drop one by one off the edge of your trembling chin. “But you don’t want it, do you?” 

“Ah hell, Y/N. I don’t know what to say,” he mutters. You can see the look of guilt and remorse in his eyes. And you know that he is not trying to be mean or cruel. Arthur would never intentionally hurt you. And that is what makes this even harder to endure.

“Don’t. It's okay.” You hold your quivering hands up to hush him from saying anything else, as one more word from his perfect lips may push you over the edge of your sanity. “I shouldn’t have said anything. ‘Cause now I’ve ruined everything.”

“You haven’t ruined anything.” He reaches out to try to reassure you, but you are quick to step out of his grasp and he smartly doesn’t pursue it. 

“Oh, but I have, Arthur. Because how can we even be friends with this oddness between us, now?”

With a heavy heart, you walk away from your friend, all motivation evaporated from your soul. This magnificent thing between you and Arthur took years to build and only moments to destroy.

As you head to your horse, desperate to get the hell out of camp, you halt and make a bee-line for Abigail who is hanging the morning laundry. 

“Thanks for your stupid advice!” you holler at her. 

Abigail startles at your outburst, eyes wide with confusion. “Y/N, are you alright? What happened?” 

“What do you think happened? Now everything has gone to shit. I should have just left things as they were!”

And before Abigail can protest, you are out of earshot and on your horse, headed out of camp.

—------------------------------------------

The days that follow are awkward and ugly, to say the least. You avoid Arthur at all costs and won’t even speak to Abigail. But even worse, you become withdrawn and depressed, a shadow drifting through the camp rather than interacting with it. Gone are feelings of camaraderie between you and the gang, for Arthur IS the gang. His presence is known and felt everywhere within it. And Arthur is the last person you want to be around right now. 

But it doesn’t just stop with the camp interactions. After Arthur’s rejection, something within you breaks and you quickly become less like yourself and more of a ghost, a shell of what you once were. Or maybe you’ve just learned to channel your pain and anger to become someone else altogether. 

You become reckless, taking chances that you would normally never have in the past. You hang out in the bars and saloons, rather than coming back to camp at night. You’ve even started going upstairs with strange men on the nights where you’re too drunk or too heartbroken to care. You do jobs with Bill and Sean instead of Arthur, wanting nothing to do with him. When Arthur returns to camp from his own jobs, you’ll immediately leave. You can’t stand to be in the same place at the same time anymore. And, of course, he notices. So eventually Arthur avoids you altogether, as well. What was once a strong, unrelenting friendship has become nothing more than passing strangers. And when you two are in camp at the same time, you both keep your eyes averted, never looking at each other. Because of course you can’t be friends when you still feel like this.

Dutch, on the other hand, loves it. You become another “Arthur”, hard and fearless. A force to be reckoned with. And now that you and Arthur are not speaking, there is no more distraction and he can split the two of you up to be more efficient, two alpha leads to be sent out on jobs. But you have little-to-no regard for your own safety. Every time you return to camp, there’s another wound, another bruise. Your clothing becomes more and more tattered. The more dangerous the job, the better as far as you’re concerned. You’ll take any job Dutch hands you without question. 

While some in camp consider this bravery, others begin to see it as suicidal.

The self loathing takes its toll on you in a most nasty way. You’ve always had self doubt and low self esteem. But you feel in your bones that no one could ever love you the way that you yearn for. You’re hot tempered and ill mannered. You are far from what most men consider beautiful. But despite that, you and Arthur have always had a connection. He’s never judged you, never made you feel less than what you are. If anything, Arthur makes you feel better about yourself than you ever could on your own. He has always accepted you just as you are, embraced it, even. And he was your only chance, your only chance, at being loved. But if even he can’t bring himself to see you in that tender, loving light, what hope do you have to find love anywhere else?

It isn’t long before everyone in camp avoids you and your toxic attitude. You constantly get into harsh arguments with Grimshaw, standing nose to nose and shouting at the top of your lungs. During one altercation, she slaps you when you won’t back down, to which you immediately respond with an equally hard and fast slap of your own, causing her to reel back at the audacity of your actions. “Don’t you ever raise your hand to me again.” You point your finger in her face, inches from her nose. “Or I will put a bullet in you. Do you understand me, you old crone?!” 

But it doesn’t stop there. At some point, Sean ends up with a black eye when he makes a joke at your expense. You even pull a gun on Micah in camp when you’ve hit your limit. Hosea tries to pull you aside to talk to you about your reckless behavior, but all it does is throw you into a rage, like a cat that’s had its tail stepped on.

And then one day, it all comes to a head. You end up getting caught in town and are set to be hung. 

You are drowning your sorrows at the end of a bottle as usual in the saloon and one of the patrons gets too rough with one of the working girls, smacking her around. Watching the young woman’s head snap violently to the side with a sharp cracking sound causes something to fracture in your brain. Time stands still, all color draining from your vision except red. 

The woman barely has time to stand up straight again before the sound of gunfire ricochets within the small room. Without a moment’s hesitation, you pull your gun and shoot her attacker between the eyes, no questions, no remorse, nothing but a look of emotionless disgust plastered on your face. 

When others try to intervene, you shoot them too. No one is spared from your blind wrath. It is as if you have no control over what you are doing, your body moving of its own destructive accord. You launch your fists into faces that you don’t even take a second look at, and break chairs over anyone who dares to get in your way. It isn’t until you feel something hard shatter against the back of your skull that you stop. The whiskey bottle knocks you off balance just long enough for two men to take advantage of your weakness, each grabbing a dangerous arm. 

It eventually takes five men to bring you down. They beat you into submission, kicking you in the ribs once they have you on the filthy wooden floor of the saloon. Angry faces look down over you and spit on you, jeering and taunting you relentlessly. You are only half conscious by the time they drag you down the steps of the saloon. 

————————————-

Arthur is making his way back to camp and decides to stop for a drink, when he catches the tail-end of the brawl. Before he can even enter the saloon, he can hear the hollering and commotion of broken furniture from the street.

At first he keeps his head down, not wanting to get involved, as whatever is happening inside sounds bad. But his stomach drops when he sees two men dragging someone one out of the saloon, and instantly recognizes it’s you as you continue to hurl insults despite being dragged through the mud. Hand on his revolver, Arthur is about to intervene, but a mob has quickly formed around you. Arthur can’t do anything by himself right now, so he decides to wait until nightfall to break you out and get you out of town. “Goddamn it, Y/N,” he sharply mutters under his breath.

The outlaw gives it a few hours before he creeps along the building walls, keeping to the shadows to avoid being seen. It’s quiet out, no one walking about as the moon sits high, casting its silvery shadows along the world below. It doesn’t take long for him to scout the jailhouse where you are being held. 

Cautiously approaching the premises, Arthur peers through the barred window to find you leaning out on your elbows onto your knees, head hanging. Your face is bruised from where they beat you and your clothing filthy and torn from where they drug you through the street to the jail house.

“Jesus,” he whispers sadly, the word escaping his lips without him even knowing it.

You lift your head at the sound of his voice outside your window. It is a siren song that always sits in your ears just so. Even in your darkest hour, after everything that has happened between you two, Arthur’s voice still makes your heart beat a little faster. 

He is relieved to see your eyes are still surprisingly bright, still burning with that fire that no one could ever extinguish. He holds your gaze as you slowly blink at him, your left eye swollen and red from the broken blood vessels. He can’t believe it’s come to this. 

“What are you doin’ here, Arthur?” you asked tiredly. 

Arthur swallows thickly, resolve settling into his veins. “I gotta get you out of here.”

“Don’t bother.” You shake your head, leaning back against the wall.

“What? Quit being ridiculous. Now, help me figure out a way to get you out of this mess”, he hisses sharply. 

You do your best to hide a painful wince that radiates from what is most likely a broken rib as you shift your weight on the hard bench. “I said don‘t bother. I’m not your mess to clean up. I deserve to be here, Arthur.” 

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” you nod slowly. ”I shot that man. I caused that ruckus in town. And I deserve to hang for it.”

“Y/N, quit screwing around!” Arthur punches the wall with his palm in frustration. “This is serious!”

“I know it is. And that’s why I’m in here. Hell, I’m just as bad as Micah Bell.”

Hearing such a thing cross your bruised lips crushes Arthur’s heart. “You are not seriously thinking you need to be cast with his lot?”

“Why not? I have no shame for what I did. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, too. Besides, they ain’t gonna let a crazy woman like me just walk out of here. The men in this town like to keep their women in line. They plan to make an example of me.”

Arthur’s mouth pulls into a tight, thin-lipped frown. “I asked around. You were protecting that woman.”

“Nah. That was just the catalyst, I’m afraid.“ You wave him off with that smirky grin of yours.  “And, besides, I’m done, Arthur. I’m at the end of my rope. Literally“, you chuckle. 

Your comment lands like a gut-punch to the seasoned outlaw. “That ain‘t funny.”

“Wasn't meant to be.“ You tilt your head slightly as you take in the sight of him, committing to memory all of the details of his handsome face, every little mole and freckle, the crow’s feet along his beautiful eyes, every little thing that you have dreamed of in the privacy of your tent. For you know that this will most likely be the last time you set your tired eyes on him. 

A ragged, exhausted sigh of resignation escapes your battered frame. “But go on, Arthur. Go back to Dutch. Go back to Mary.”

A spark of anger ignites Arthur’s weathered face. “Is that what this is about? Jesus, I can’t believe we’re still on this.”

“No,” you answer him calmly. “This is about me being sick and tired of being ‘sick and tired’. Tired of fighting. Tired of fighting what I can’t change.”

“So you’d rather die if you can’t be my woman? Is that it?”

“I guess so,” you shrug, acting as if this was nothing more than you losing a game of dominoes to Hosea. 

Suddenly Arthur’s tone changes from authoritative to panic as he realizes he’s not getting anywhere and you’re not going to cooperate. Intimidation is his specialty, what he’s known for, was bred for. But it is a tactic that has never worked on you. And all of the anger and resentment of the last few weeks melts away as Arthur realizes he’s going to lose you. And there’s nothing he can do to stop it. 

”Y/N, please,” his voice cracks in desperation. “I’m begging ya. Don’t do this to me. I can’t stand to see you swing.”

But all you can offer him is a sad smile. “Then don’t watch.”

“Goddamn it, Y/N! Will you stop this?!”

Gathering what little energy you have left, you slowly pull yourself from the hard metal bench, taking a moment to get your balance, and walk to the window, standing just a few inches from him now. You can smell the cigarettes and leather on him, filling your nostrils and intoxicating your broken mind.

Arthur is overcome with unease as he gazes into your haunted face. “Look, I know things ain’t been good with us lately. But now’s not the time to be worryin’ about that,” he pleads. 

“It's too late for me, Arthur. But I’m okay with it. Really. I’ve made my peace.” Your unsettling calmness makes him shift his weight, his palms turning clammy and numb. 

“So that’s it? You’re just giving up?” Arthur desperately searches your face for any signs of hesitation, any inclination that you will concede to let him help you. 

“Like I said, I’m tired. And I can’t keep watching you from afar, Arthur. That’s not fair to you or me.”

Arthur rushes forward, reaching to grab your hands through the bars. “Please, Y/N. Come back with me. We can talk about this.”

Your gaze falls to your entwined hands, startled at this show of tenderness. Your fingers flex slightly under his, relishing the feeling of them and burning the sensation of it into your memory. Arthur’s hands are warm, always so warm. 

After a brief indulged moment, you pull your hand out from under his and raise it to float up to cup his bleak face. Arthur’s bearded skin sits in your palm, your thumb hovering slightly over his plump bottom lip. God, how you’ve dreamed to hold him as tenderly as this. But you know in your heart there’s nothing to talk about. You only want one thing and it's the one thing that he cannot give you. You’ll never be happy without it. So what’s the point to all of this?

Another wistful grin ghosts across your lips. “I’m sorry, Arthur.” And before he knows what’s happening, you lift your chin over your shoulder. “Guards! There’s a man at my window!”

Panic makes Arthur’s blood cold as he gasps, clamping down on your hand even tighter as if you are about to be taken from him. “What are you doing?!”

“You better go, Arthur, and fast, lest they catch you, too.”

“Shut it in there!” rings a voice from the front of the jail. 

“There’s a man at my window!” you yell again with more urgency, but never taking your eyes off Arthur’s. “You better get in here!”

Arthur’s fearful eyes quickly dart from you, to the door and back, his mind scrambling to grasp at straws on how to get you out of here. But he’s out of time. 

“Damn you,” he whimpers brokenly, a slight tremble to that chiseled, scarred chin of his. 

Your eyes. Arthur never realized just how striking and beguiling they are, until he watches them flutter like fairy wings for just a fraction of a second at his statement. 

“Yep. Damn me, alright.” And you gently pull your hands back from him entirely and walk backwards back into the darkness of the cell like a stone being dropped into the lake. 

He can hear the rustling of feet and the jingle of spurs along the floor just on the other side of your wall. And reluctantly Arthur takes off before the guards can catch him. 

With his heart racing like a wild mustang, Arthur ducks into an alley, trying to think. He throws himself back up against a brick wall, his mind swirling to try to come up with a plan. He can’t let this happen. He has to get you the hell out of here. If only Hosea was here, he’d know what to do. But Arthur doesn’t have time to race back to camp for reinforcements to free you as you are due to be hung at sunrise. And the town is crawling with lawmen and mob mentality. He won’t be able to spring you on his own. 

For once, Arthur Morgan is helpless.

———————-

The next morning, the crowd gathers at the gallows, the fractured sunlight catching the wooden platform, making it glow like an ominous sentinel looming over the town. You squint slightly as they drag you out into the street, vaguely aware of the rope that bites into your wrists that are bound behind you. You close your eyes and inhale deeply, a bizarre calm settling over you as you take comfort that this will all be over soon. But as you shuffle through the mob, you don’t look up. You know he’s out there somewhere. And you can’t even begin to think of what your heart will do if you see him. You just need to get to the end and your suffering will finally be over. 

Arthur stands in the middle of the crowd, watching as they march you from the jailhouse to the platform. “C’mon, girl. Look at me. Look at me,” he mutters, willing you to acknowledge him. His heart beats fiercely within his chest and his palms sweat. Guilt begins to ravage him. Did he make a mistake? He doesn’t feel that same way about you, but he can’t stand idly by and let you get hung for it. But what happens if he rescues you? For what? More unhappiness and loneliness for you? 

You are now set in place upon the gallows for all in attendance to see. A slight breeze whistles past your ear, lifting the wisps of hair from your neck. The damp smell of mud and horse shit carries in the air. There is a strange silence hanging in the crowd, as if everyone is waiting with baited breath to see if you’ll beg for your life, try to escape, anything relating to the fire you have shown them. But you won’t give them that satisfaction. You meant what you said to Arthur:  you’re tired. You’re ready to go. 

The sheriff asks if you have anything left to say.

“No,” you say calmly. ”Not that anyone cares to hear.”

You step forward, your boots scraping softly on the sun-dried wood. The sheriff places the worn noose around your neck, pulling your hair back and away from your face. 

As the slightly-frayed rope tightens around your neck, you steal a glance upward. And like a magnet to steel, you find those blue eyes amongst an ocean of indifference in the crowd. They are filled with fear and long-standing friendship. You can see his heartache in those eyes. The heavy, worrisome crease in his forehead bearing the weight of your actions in his shoulders.

Your lip quivers slightly, eyes turning glossy knowing that the last thing you will see in this life is Arthur’s face. He looks scared, hurt. You suddenly feel a sharp pang of guilt for causing him this pain. You’ve never wanted to hurt him. You always protected him. Protected him from the harshness of your world, protected him from those who would hurt him. Even protected him from himself at times. But you can’t protect him from this. And you are the one to inflict that pain. 

Maybe you’ve been too selfish in your own misery. But you didn’t want Arthur to see this, to see you dangling from a rope like a fish. Everyone in the gang knows this is a reality of your lifestyle. But still, it's not an easy thing to see. And Arthur sees the apology in your gaze. 

“Wait…” you suddenly whisper, your wilted plea hanging on the soft breeze for a fraction of a moment as all goes quiet. A sharp ache pierces through Arthur’s ribcage when he sees your attempt, your eyes going wide with an acknowledgement that you truly know what’s happening to you, now. But it's too late. The sheriff throws his weight into the lever and the floor creaks as the door drops beneath you. 

“NO!!” Arthur reaches out for you, but the weight of the crowd in front of him swallows his effort.

The sickening crack of your neck is drowned out by the collective gasp of the crowd. Arthur watches in horror as your body comes to an abrupt halt, harshly jolting in an unnatural movement, before swaying gently back and forth. Thankfully, your neck breaks instantly from the force and you don’t have to hang there, lingering and choking. A quick, violent spasm of your small frame and it's over. 

“No”, Arthur whispers brokenly. His gloved hand comes up over his mouth. This can’t be happening. This cannot be happening! Your face goes slack, eyes bulging slightly and almost closed. One could see the color of your eyes should they care to look. Your proud shoulders hang limply, your head tilted at an abnormal angle to the side. And it's almost like a smile sits lightly on your face. A smile of relief. 

Suddenly, you don’t look so terrifying. You look small, fragile. Gone is that hellcat that the law had to cage to contain. You look just like anyone else. Funny how death is the great equalizer of us all. 

This whole thing is just so surreal to Arthur. His mind is screaming and yet void of any coherent thought all at once. You’ve always been like a fox, always able to talk your way out of anything or squirm your way through a crowd. But either way, never have you been caught before. It never ceased to amaze Arthur how you could do that. And a thought suddenly cracks through his thoughts, shattering Arthur’s collective reasoning:  what if you let yourself get caught on purpose? What if this was part of your plan all along?

Arthur tries to swallow the churning of his stomach. He’s failed you. You were the one person that he could always count on and he couldn’t even offer the same to you in return. The one person who was always unquestioningly at his side. His partner, his trusted gun, his confidant.

His one true friend.

And now you are gone. What will he ever do without you?

When the crowd disperses, Arthur gathers his wits and slowly staggers towards the platform. Despite the gruesome sight, he can’t take his eyes off your lifeless body. He stands before you, eyes casting up and down over you, taking in your bluing skin, before bringing his trembling hands up to rest on your boots.

“I'm so sorry, Y/N.” But the words ring hollow in his chest as he knows full well that it’s too little, too late. 

“Do you know her?”

The nasally drawl of the local sheriff cuts into Arthur’s thoughts, bringing him back to the waking world. “Yeah.”

Thankfully, the sheriff recognizes the emotional toll overtaking the man standing before him and wisely chooses a respectable tone. Truth be told, he wasn't all that sorry you took care of those idiots back at the saloon last night. “You family?” he gently asks.

‘You family?’ A simple question in of itself, yet laden with so much meaning behind it. “Closest she’s got,” Arthur manages to mumble out. 

“You want the body, then? For burial, I mean?”

Just the slightest movement to be considered a nod comes from Arthur. “Sure. Yeah, let me take her home.”

————————-

Never has Arthur been so reluctant to return to camp. He sits listlessly in his saddle, shoulders hunched to his ears. Despite being summer, the air carries an unnatural chill to it, the wind snapping at the nape of his neck and sending shivers down his spine. Never once does he turn back to look at the burden atop of your horse that he leads behind him. That would make it all too real, and it’s a long ride home.

It’s late afternoon by the time he crests the hilltop, sighing heavily and preparing for the onslaught of questions and shock that he does not want to deal with. 

“Took you long enough!” The deep baritone of Dutch’s voice is first to reach Arthur’s ears. “Where have you b-” but Dutch’s admonishment is cut short when he sees Arthur’s face and then the wrapped body on the back of your horse.

The gang leader's dark eyes widen in confusion. “What the hell happened?” he says in hushed shock. “You were supposed to go get her.”

Arthur pours himself out of his saddle, keeping his eyes forward and careful not to look back towards your horse. “Yeah, well, I did. And I brought her home where she belongs.”

The next few hours are a blur as the gang prepares to bury you. It didn’t take much discussion of where to lay you to rest, either:  under your walnut tree, of course. Everyone is distraught. Tilly and Mary Beth cry. Karen turns to drinking. Abigail is angry. She doesn't want to blame Arthur, but it is his fault, as far as she’s concerned. If he wasn’t so damn hung up on that other woman who wants nothing to do with him…

After the men help fill in the grave, they quietly meander back to the fire and raise a toast to your memory. It is a solemn sight, a few shared stories, but mostly discreet eye rubs and the occasional mournful sniffle fills the atmosphere. Javier strums a sad, gentle melody that reminds him of you on his guitar. The soothing melody helps to calm his grief-stricken friends. You could be a total pain in the ass, smart-mouthed and obstinate, but you were always one of them, through and through. 

But Arthur remains at your grave, refusing to join the others. The bottle he grabbed from the provisions wagon quickly empties, as gulp after gulp pours down his throat, burning its way down, hoping to chase away the pain until he feels nothing at all.  

Regret hangs heavy on his soul as he stares at the mound of dirt before him. Flashes of your lives together dance in his mind like someone flipping pages of a book. How the morning sun speckled across your face when you drank your coveted morning coffee. How you hated getting wet in the rain. How you bit through Arthur’s belt when he had to pull a knife out of your thigh after a job. How you’d stand back to back with Arthur in a gunfight, a whirlwind of controlled chaos. How he’d bring you tea when your stomach would knot up at your time of the month. How you tended to his bruises when he’d get into bar fights. And, of course, how you held him when he sobbed on your shoulder when Eliza and Isaac were taken from him. Seems like a lifetime ago and yet, at the same time, like it only happened yesterday. So much has happened in your brief time together on this earth. And now, Arthur can’t even fathom one second without you in it 

Hosea knows his son well. He quietly watches from afar and can see Arthur’s heart breaking as he sits motionless under the walnut tree just as you used to do, the guilt eating him alive the way scavengers pick apart a carcass. No one dares approach Arthur in this state. But the old man won’t let him wallow like this for too long. He quietly makes his way back to your grave-site, placing a comforting hand on Arthur’s shoulder as he lowers himself to the ground next to him. 

The two sit in silence for a bit, the birds chirping overhead, the occasional nickering from the horses off in the distance. 

“She was my best friend, Hosea.” The broken sound of Arthur’s voice hangs in the air without him looking away from your grave. “And I couldn’t give her the one thing she really needed. How could I do that to her?”

This whole thing is harder than Hosea thought it would be. And that’s saying a lot. He draws a quick sniff to collect himself before he even tries to speak, swallowing the painful knot lodged in his throat from his own grief. 

“I’ll admit, I didn’t understand it myself, sometimes, how you two couldn't find your way to each other. You and Y/N were two peas in a pod, two halves of an apple.” A lamenting smile graces the older man’s weathered lips. “She understood you better than you understood yourself.”

“She was the only one who could hear all the things I never said,” agrees Arthur. 

“But she wasn’t ’the one’, was she?”, Hosea asks gently. 

“She shoulda been,” Arthur spits out bitterly. ”If I wasn’t so damn stupid! So damn selfish!”

“You can’t do that, son. The heart don’t work that way. It just wasn’t meant to be. And Y/N got caught in the fire.”

“Just like everyone else who gets caught up in my life.” Arthur just sits, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

Hosea’s grey eyes settle upon his son. “Were you in love with her, Arthur?”

He sniffles, thinking on the question. “I cared for her.”

“That's not what I asked you.”

“What the hell difference does it make now?” Arthur finally breaks his dazed trance to look at Hosea. 

The anguish in Arthur’s eyes almost breaks Hosea. “It made a big difference. To her, at least.” Hosea points an arthritic finger at your final resting place. 

“I could’ve tried harder,” croaks Arthur. “Maybe she’d be alive if I would’ve just…”

“Just what? Pretended to be in love with her? Now, you and I both know Y/N was too smart for that. In fact, that would’ve been worse.”

“Worse than her being dead?”

Hosea lets out a deep sigh and brushes off the imaginary dust on his pants. “She made her choice, Arthur. You’re going to have to accept it, no matter how hard it is.”

Arthur’s only answer is an unsatisfied scowl as he turns back to you. With a heavy heart, Hosea pats his shoulder once more before standing to give leave and let his son grieve in peace. 

——————

The girls carefully sort through your things, no sense wasting anything. Arthur can hear them talking in hushed tones as they reminisce, sometimes sweet, often sad.

It’s been two days since Arthur brought you home. And he’s been sitting under that damn tree ever since. At first, everyone just let him be, let him mourn for you in peace and quiet. Then, it became more of a “don’t poke the bear” situation. But when he refused to eat, Ms. Grimshaw made it a point to bring him food. But no amount of coaxing would pull Arthur from your graveside. 

Before long, Abigail tentatively comes over to him with a look that he cannot place. She lingers just out of arm’s reach, her blue eyes darting nervously as she clears her throat. 

“We’ve sorted her things. Thought you may want this.” Abigail’s hands reach out, offering him a small book. Your journal. “Since you gave it to her, and you two were best friends and all, I figured you may want it.”

Arthur’s belly somersaults as numb fingers take the leather book from her. He stares at it for a moment, his rough fingers gliding over the smooth leather binding. 

“Right, then,” she mutters softly, trying to be careful not to provoke him. Abigail hesitates before walking away, trying to find words of comfort that she knows will fall on deaf ears. “I’m sorry about Y/N. I really liked her.” Abigail sniffs back a rogue tear that threatens to unravel her composure. “I will miss my friend, dearly.” 

Arthur tears his vacant eyes from the journal to meet Abigail’s, but she’s already shuffling off, her hand covering her mouth to muffle the sobs wracking her chest. 

Arthur sighs deeply, filling his lungs with the humid summer air. His crystalline blue eyes flit to your grave before back to the book in his hands. He hesitates a moment before pulling back the cover and the very sight of your handwriting leaps from the pages and makes his heart clench painfully in his chest. In the journal are your private thoughts and sketches, just like his own. 

Arthur proceeds to spend the next few hours reading through your journal. And to his surprise, it brings him a bit of comfort. The pages are filled with your anecdotes and adventures together. He smiles despite himself at the memories, can hear your voice and personality within the words on the page. But then he begins to see the passages where you’ve written about your feelings for him. 

He notes how it started out as shy and confused notions that, in time, developed into something so much deeper. And as he continues to read, Arthur realizes just how much he was unaware of your true feelings. He had no idea how intensely you felt for him down in your heart. A brief wave of anger washes over him. God, how he wishes you would have said something sooner. 

This was so much more than a crush, more than a love, even. Arthur begins to see how you saw him through your eyes. Words like “artist” and “tender soul” reach his gaze. “Bravest person I’ve ever known”. He sees that you had found parts in him that he didn’t even know existed, things he could never see about himself.

It’s not just what you talk about in your writing, but how. You notice the most ordinary things about Arthur and act as if they are things of wonderment. His eyes, which are mentioned multiple times, are described as “blue as sapphires with flecks of sunset gold”. His hands are written to be “strong and unyielding, large compared to most. And yet can be so tender and careful.” Arthur stops for a moment and looks at his hand, flipping it over, trying to look past the dirty fingernails and slightly bruised knuckles to see what you’re talking about. 

But it is your longing that sharply startles him. Passage after passage talks about how lonely you are and how you long for touch, long for that sweetness and devotion that other women seem to find so easily. But most of all, you crave it from Arthur. 

You believe you have found the missing piece to yourself in Arthur, and firmly believe that it is him, and only him, that will complete your soul. “I’ve heard tell that you will know if the right hands hold your heart by how it feels. And I can’t imagine anyone else’s hands around mine than Arthur’s. I love him with the fire of a thousand suns. He has found the wildness within my heart. But instead of trying to tame it, he tore open my cage and set me free. And for that, I will be eternally grateful.”

And on and on it goes. Dreams of what your life could be together fill the pages. Everything from simple moments of waking warm and safe in each other's arms, to leaving the gang altogether to start somewhere new, together just the two of you. “Maybe even a family to replace the one he lost years ago. I could only pray I’d be able to provide something so beautiful for him, as he so rightfully deserves.”

Arthur starts to think that maybe he didn't know you as well as he thought, as he is now seeing you in a whole new light. Apparently, you had the ability to look through a lens of shattered dreams and hard realities and still managed to see love.

Just as he sees himself reflected and remade in your written words, he realizes a whole new depth to your soul that he was robbed of and didn't even know it. Here, buried in your journal, Arthur has discovered a love that he never believed anyone could ever feel for the likes of him. It is a love that, like you, he craved for himself but never felt he deserved. And it was you who held the key all along. 

But of course, it makes perfect sense, now that you’re gone and your walls are down, exposed for anyone to see. Of course, it would be you. Who else in this world would it ever be? 

“Goddamn it, Y/N,” Arthur mutters, sniffling back tears that threaten to reveal the depth of his sadness as the profound realization hits him. He feels like such a fool. How could he be so blind? Everything he has ever wanted was right in front of him all this time. 

“Why in the hell didn’t you tell me sooner?” But Arthur knows exactly why. He’s always hung Mary out in front of himself like a carrot in front of a horse. And you had to sit there and watch it, listen to his belly-aching while your own gut twisted with the realization that you’d never feel that sort of love and affection from him for yourself. 

Eventually he finds the entry of the day you confessed. “I told Arthur today. Sat him down and told him the truth over a cup of coffee. But sadly, he don’t feel that way about me. I guess deep down I knew that would be his answer, but I still hoped I was wrong. Funny how it took a cup of coffee to prove that he don’t love me. Maybe this will be where our story ends.”

If only he could go back in time. So much time wasted, so many missed opportunities. All gone now. 

As Arthur flips to the last few pages, a piece of paper flutters out and into his lap. Arthur picks it up, flipping it over and his breath catches in his throat. It’s a photograph of you and him. God, he forgot all about that day. It was something that he indulged you in after a successful job. A few drinks had encouraged him to sit still long enough to get your portrait taken together. You had pretended to be a couple for the photographer. Maybe that’s why he forgot about it. He thought the idea was ridiculous at the time, which is probably why you’ve kept the photograph tucked away, a guilty pleasure of a daydream you saved for yourself while he went about his business like it was nothing. 

Arthur can’t take much more of this. His movements are slow like molasses as he rubs his forehead with numb fingers, shaking his head in utter disbelief.  With a deep, shuddering sigh, his gaze falls to the last entry in the journal. He freezes as his stomach roils with a sour, bitter feeling. It’s a letter. A letter you wrote to him. 

“Dearest Arthur-“ The words almost cause him to retch into the grass right then and there before he can read another damn word.

“Dearest Arthur

If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone, one way or another. I’m hoping you can make some sense out of all these pages. Lord knows I never could. 

I know I could have loved you like no other if you would have just given me half a chance. Maybe we could even have been happy for a bit. But I know now that your heart wasn’t in it, wasn’t mine. It never was and never will be. That’s why I told you I understood how you feel about Mary, to love someone who tries but can’t love you back the same. I know that heartache because that’s how I feel for you. 

Silly notion, ain’t it? People like us, trying to find love in this cold world. I wanted so badly to reach out and touch that flame and feel its warmth on my skin. I had hopes once, but I now understand that that is all it is, hopes. And I can’t live on hopes and dreams anymore. Can’t afford to. So I let you go, Arthur, and myself along with you like a dandelion seed on the wind. No hard feelings, I promise. 

I know you and you’ll brood and be ugly over this for awhile. But don’t be. I’ll think of you fondly and hope you’ll do the same for me. Remember the good times we had, riding out in the prairies, getting into trouble at the saloons, or even just sitting quietly by the fire. 

Take care of the girls for me and make sure John stays in line. Tell Hosea to take his medicine and rest like he should. 

I will miss you something terrible, Arthur. But I will carry you in my heart forever, wherever that may be. And I hope you will do the same for me.

Yours always

Y/N

Arthur chokes out a sob, burying his face in his left hand while he clutches your journal to his chest with his right. He didn’t know a heart could be broken so badly. His countenance crumbles like an avalanche, uprooting and tearing apart everything in its wake. His fingernails dig into his scalp as he clutches his hair in anguish. He wants to open up and scream to the heavens, let his agony bellow out into the air, for it is too painful to keep contained in the flesh and bone of his chest. Arthur is about to break, driven to the brink of madness, because right now, he doesn’t want to feel anything. And yet, even in death, you make him feel everything. 

“You were so right, Y/N,” Arthur sobs. “I am a goddamn fool.”

———————

When he’s sure the tears have stopped and he’s too exhausted and worn out to suffer it any longer, Arthur tears himself away from your grave. He has to leave you eventually and can’t handle sitting on the hard ground for much longer. 

Slowly standing, he brushes the dirt from his pants and places his hat back upon his head, brim pulled way down low to cover his bloodshot eyes. He looks up into the branches of the walnut tree, squinting at the peppered sunlight skipping through the leaves, making them glow warmly. The branches sway gently with the wind as if waving goodbye, thanking him for grieving your loss with it.  Arthur’s lips purse in silent acknowledgement before he stumbles his way back into the camp. 

“Mr. Morgan!” 

The sound of Mr Pearson’s voice cuts into Arthur’s brain like a spike being driven through his temple. He stops, looking briefly at the portly man who rushes over to him. 

“I have something for you. Was in town getting supplies and whatnot and this came for you.” The cook hands him an envelope, but quickly shuffles away, lest he get caught in the aftermath of Arthur’s ongoing foul mood. 

Arthur flips the letter over in his hands in confusion. And then his breath stops altogether as he realizes who it’s from. 

Mary.

The letters of his name blur as angry tears threaten to flood his vision yet again. The sight of her perfect, script handwriting is a sign of Fate’s cruel mockery, ever trying to torture him for his mistakes. 

Arthur takes one look at it, then looks back over to the mound of fresh dirt that hides you from him, keeping you safe for all eternity now. His sad eyes linger, heavy with regret and self hatred. 

He reaches over and tosses the unopened letter into the fire. The flames quickly wrap around the delicate paper and Arthur watches as the handwriting disappears into the ether, reduced to ashes.

Just like his life. 

*This amazing image comes from @papaue00

**If you made it to the end, thank you for reading! I'm kinda proud of this one, actually.

Tagging: @appalachiancowboy99 @rivetingrosie4 @kayleigh--23

[mangostarjam]

knot happening (part two) — bnha, alpha!bakugou katsuki x f!reader, aged up characters, established relationship, a/b/o dynamics, use of "baby", "pipsqueak", "brat", "little shit" as pet names, dubious HR ethics, questionable sex toys, reader wears a skirt at the end, smut, creampies, oral sex, knotting, omegaverse!au for the spring fever collab run by @lorelune ! 10k words lmao

part one

your new company has some interesting policies for employee heat cycles, but your boyfriend and mate has no intention of letting you off easy

It starts with cravings.

All of Bakugou Katsuki's well intentioned efforts to keep you from dying of malnutrition or scurvy fly out the window as you enter your pre-heat. Your Pro Hero boyfriend and mate turns his nose up at the strawberry pocky you crunch on the couch, rolls his eyes at the cherry and dark chocolate chip ice cream you scoop after dinner, and pouts at the mango and sticky rice cups you devour after work.

"It all has fruit in it," you point out. "And besides, you always steal half my daifuku mochi before I can finish it. Complain about that, you thief!"

Katsuki, to his credit, retaliates by making your favorite veggie-laden meals for the cute bentos he puts together for your lunches. You pop open the container and you're greeted by stupidly cute penguins crafted from seaweed and rice, mushrooms and bell peppers nestled next to perfect rolled egg omelettes, carrots cut into little stars and cucumbers that look like clouds.

You take a photo of your lunch and send it to your boyfriend. He texts back "?????" and you frown at your phone.

Katsuki calls a moment later. "Don't tell me you're suddenly allergic to cucumbers."

His voice is rough and low — he must be in the office, if the distant chatter of his fellow heroes is anything to go by — but he's probably turned off into a side hallway because Eijiro's teasing has lately turned into casual remarks about marriage, and… yeah, of course Katsuki's gonna marry you, but he doesn't need his best friend to bring it up every time he's on the phone with you.

"I might be allergic to how cute these are," you say, but there's laughter in your voice and he scrunches his nose, so pleased he can feel the tips of his ears heat up. "How am I supposed to eat this?! This poor rice penguin has never done anything wrong in its life!"

Katsuki snorts quietly into his gloved hand. "D'you want me to make your food look ugly next time?"

You beam down at your bento and kick your feet beneath your desk. "Thanks for making me lunch, loverboy."

"Can't have you dyin' while I'm fuckin' you dumb," Katsuki's already low voice gets lower. The rough timbre of it so intimately in your ear sends a thread of desire straight to your core and you shift uncomfortably, glancing around your office. Luckily, it's empty — everyone's out for lunch because it's such a beautiful spring day, but you forgot to take your allergy medicine and you don't want to tempt disaster. "Leaving you in bed this morning was a crime."

"H-huh?" you set your feet on the ground and sit up a little straighter. "Babe, shut up. What if someone overhears you!"

"Then they'd be too damn close to you and I'll need to punch their lights out," Katsuki states matter of factly.

"So protective," you tease, settling back into your seat. He's trying to rile you up — he knows what his low tone does to you — but you're going to make it through your pre-heat without alerting your company even if it kills you. "I'll see you later, 'kay? Kick some ass, baby."

Your boyfriend mumbles something that sounds suspiciously cheesy before he hangs up, and you eat your lunch with gusto. It's day two of your pre-heat and so far it seems like nobody can tell. Your cravings are easy to pass off as a strong sweet tooth, and Katsuki's patrol schedule has kept him away from picking you up after work. You slapped a pheromone suppressor on your neck this morning and then styled up your business casual outfit with a loose silk scarf, so it should be… fine.

Your phone vibrates with a text and you swipe it open without thinking. The sound that leaves your mouth at the sight that greets you is unholy and you slam your phone facedown on your desk.

What the fuck.

"…You alright there, newbie?" Akane from Sales pauses in the act of draping her jacket over her chair. "Did you get a spam call?"

"Just peachy!" you croak out. You clear your throat as more of your coworkers file back in from their lunch break. "I thought I saw a bug, that's all!"

More like a closeup photo of your boyfriend's bulge in his hero suit, clearly stiff and straining hard against the heat resistant fabric, his easily recognizable gloved hand dangerously close to palming the thick outline —

Akane makes a funny face. "And you smashed it with your phone?"

"It was just instinct," you say sheepishly, "I'm fine with bugs where they belong, and they don't belong on my desk!"

Akane and your other coworkers nod at this and the conversation shifts, so you take advantage of everyone's inattention to pick your phone back up. You do it gingerly, as if there really is a bug squished underneath, but really you're just trying not to accidentally flash Pro Hero Dynamight's crotch shot to the world.

You can see the headlines now:

"Pro Hero Dynamight Ready to Blow!"

"Dynamight Explodes Up to the Top Ten Sexiest Pro Heroes with Infamous Shot!"

"Is the Great Explosion Murder God Packing the Heat?"

Katsuki's PR team would kill you. You quickly slide your phone beneath your desk and swipe away from your texts, breathing a sigh of relief when the (annoyingly tasteful) shot disappears from your screen.

Your phone vibrates with texts the rest of the day. No more photos (you can't tell if you should be grateful or mournful about this) but judging from the text previews you hastily swipe away on your screen, Katsuki's clearly out to get you. He seemed normal this morning — his lips brushed your cheek gently as you drew the blankets up to your chin — so what is his problem?

You finally get a chance to read his texts while waiting for your train at the station. Your eyes widen as you scroll through the messages — they're filled with his typical profanity, but he's practically written an instruction manual on all the ways he's imagined fucking you today. Your hand rises unwittingly to your pheromone suppressor patch. Maybe you should wear it at night, too, so he won't get so worked up? Though you kind of doubt it's working at all, since reading his texts is making you shift where you stand, heat pooling in your core.

The station is crowded with evening commuters — packs of students giggling and chattering among themselves, other tired office workers tapping away at their phones, little kids holding hands so they won't get separated — and nobody is paying you any mind. Maybe your suppressors are working after all? Wait — are they supposed to keep your pre-heat pheromones from leaking out or in?

Your ears perk as the pleasant tone signaling the arrival of your train jingles through the crowd. It's a quick ride three stops down to your apartment, which is one stop away from Katsuki's agency Ground Zero. When the two of you were looking for a place together, Katsuki insisted that it be just outside of his patrol range — close enough for him to get there quickly, but far enough that he would be able to actually relax at home. You can hear the familiar sound of a knife meeting a cutting board while you toe off your shoes in the genkan, lifting your nose to the air as the comforting smell of rice cooking wafts towards you.

"I'm home!" you call out, bypassing the kitchen to strip out of your work clothes. You sigh with relief as you toss your pants into the laundry basket, dragging one of Katsuki's well-worn hoodies over your head and tugging a pair of his workout shorts up your hips. They smell like him — smoky and rich and a little bit sweet — and you burrow into the comfort with a hum of pleasure.

The sizzle and crack of veggies and rice hitting the pan fill the air as you make your way into the kitchen. You follow your nose and ears happily, mouth already watering at the thought of eating more of Katsuki's cooking, but you stop dead at the entrance and make a funny strangled sound.

Asshole. Is he doing this on purpose? He's totally doing this on purpose.

"Welcome home," Katsuki says, rising from a crouch to his full, intimidating height and giving the pan another flick of his wrist. Sometimes you forget how broad your Pro Hero boyfriend is, but it's abundantly clear when he's standing in front of the stove shirtless like some kind of wet dream. He barely gives you a once over, just a casual glance of red that sends heat rushing to your cheeks before he turns his attention back to the stove.

You know — and you know he knows — that certain instincts flare up with your pre-heat. Everyone has different symptoms. The food cravings are one thing, for you, but they're manageable and easy to pass off as unrelated. Wanting to be covered in your mate's scent is another thing entirely, and while it's a relatively common symptom, it never fails to embarrass you, especially because you know how much Katsuki secretly likes it.

"What're you making?" you ask. Katsuki keeps his eyes on his pan, so you take the opportunity to ogle him freely, admiring the strong set of his shoulders and the firm lines of back muscle on full display. Stupid Katsuki with his stupid workouts making him look like a goddamn god. From your position at the kitchen entrance, you're close enough to see the pale scars crisscrossing his skin and the way the edge of his lips lift in a smug, self-satisfied smirk as he catches you checking him out. He's easily the hottest man you've ever seen in your life.

"Chicken fried rice," he says, snapping you out of your blatant stare. "It's almost done."

"You're telling me a chicken fried this rice?" you joke, grinning widely when Katsuki snorts and rolls his eyes at you. "Here, lemme set the table."

The two of you prepare for dinner companionably, though Katsuki definitely hovers more than usual. You can't help but lean back into his firm (and very naked) chest as he stands behind you while you reach up for plates, his hands heavy on your hips to help you balance. He also sets your plate piled high with fried rice next to his own at the table instead of across as usual, and when you make a questioning sound he just arches a brow expectantly.

"What? Sit and eat your fucking vegetables, pipsqueak."

"That's not my question," you giggle, accepting the seat he holds out for you. He spins it sideways easily, so that you're suddenly facing his own chair instead of the table, a casual show of strength that sends a shiver up your spine. Then he sits next to you with a grunt and immediately grabs your bare legs to drape them over his lap, forcing you to cling to his arm in surprise. "What the hell!"

"Shaddup," Katsuki mumbles, keeping a firm grip on your bare legs. "You can eat like this, right?"

You can, though you have to wiggle a bit and hold your plate in your lap. The changed angle gives you a perfect view of your boyfriend's profile, and you look at him for a moment, admiring the cut of his jawline and the slope of his nose.

"Quit starin'," he says. The pale scar along his cheek lifts when he shoots you a smug grin. "Your food's gonna get cold."

"You're the one who made me sit like this," you point out. You scratch at the side of your neck absently, but your nail catches on the suppressant patch and you pause. "Do you know if these patches are to keep the pheromones in or out?"

Katsuki takes a big bite of his fried rice and chews carefully. "Nothing's gonna stop your pre-heat from affectin' you," he says evenly. "And normally it'd keep 'em from leakin' out, but," he takes a deep breath and finally meets your eyes, "I'm your mate, so that shit doesn't work on me."

"Oh." Your voice is small even to your own ears. Katsuki's red hot gaze stays fixed on you for another long, torturous moment before he drags his attention to his food. "Is that why… you sent me a dick pic?"

Katsuki chokes on the spoonful of fried rice he just brought to his lips and his hand comes up to slap against the table. You crack a grin and pick up your own spoon. "That wasn't — wasn't a fuckin' dick pic, you perv."

"Sure looked like it to me," you say cheerfully. The fried rice is delicious and you nearly moan with satisfaction, wiggling in your seat as the flavors burst along your tongue. "It was a photo featuring the area of your body where your dick is at, so obviously, it was a dick pic!"

"Fuck off," he mumbles, shoving another spoonful into his mouth. "How was work? Anybody notice?"

"It was great," you say, "and nah, I don't think anyone noticed. I wore a scarf to hide the patch, y'know. Pretty good, huh?"

"You're a smart one," Katsuki says, and you preen under the praise. "You gonna wear a scarf the rest of the week, then?"

You shrug and wiggle your legs a little just to get Katsuki to clamp down on them with one strong arm. You flex your feet, feeling his thighs tense in turn, and eat another spoonful of dinner. "I don't think I can. It's supposed to get real hot this week and besides, I wanna… wear one of your shirts."

"Hah?" Katsuki nearly drops his spoon. "How're you gonna do that? It'll be too big for you, pipsqueak."

"I'll figure it out. I've done it before!" Your grin turns mischievous. "Want me to model for you after dinner?"

Katsuki shoots you a look. "You tryna get into my pants already, sweetheart? What happened to resisting pre-heat?"

"It's not like we'll be doing anything," you point out. "I have faith in you, babe."

Your boyfriend doesn't answer, but his hand tightens around your thigh, leaving indents in the soft give of your body. The two of you switch to safer topics, like the old ladies who ran into Katsuki on patrol (again) because they wanted to pass on their grandkids' sketches, and your new friends Akane and Shimizu who complimented your scarf. You do the dishes afterwards, but Katsuki stays glued to your back, thick arms wrapped firmly around your waist.

"I think you've got too much faith in me," Katsuki frowns, holding one of his button ups against your frame a bit later. You shed his hoodie and your shirt and bra, tossing them in the direction of the laundry basket and holding your arms out for him to dress you in his shirt. He eyes your chest openly, sending a spark of heat zipping down your spine, but slides the sleeves over your arms and helps you button it up without saying anything else.

His hands are careful as he slides the buttons home. You force yourself to breathe evenly as he crowds into your space, that smoky sweet scent filling your nose as he presses his lips to your temple and noses at your ear. His big hands with all their callouses and scars are gentle as he smooths the fabric over your shoulders, leaving a wave of warmth as he slides them around to your back to tug you closer into his embrace.

You hug him back, resting your palms against his shoulder blades and pressing into the skin there as he shifts. It's quiet as he breathes you in, his chest rising and falling against your own. Distantly you can hear trains rattling on the tracks, teenagers being rowdy in front of the nearby konbini, babies wailing for bedtime several doors down. You close your eyes and listen to Katsuki's heartbeat instead, though a furrow forms between your eyebrows as his heartbeat quickens.

"Are you… good?" you whisper.

"…'m fine."

"Okay… are you having a heart attack?"

"Don't be stupid," Katsuki snorts. "As if I'd get worked up over a lil' huggin'."

"Sure, sure," you grin up at him, smiling wider as his eyes soften at your expression. "It's not like I'm your mate or anything. It's fine if you get worked up, babe — I think you're pretty hot, too."

"Aren't you supposed to be figurin' out tomorrow's outfit?"

You detach yourself from him reluctantly, though he doesn't let you get very far, latching onto your wrist and padding along behind you as you go to peruse the closet. Katsuki pulls you into his chest again as you eye the various options. Despite favoring athletic, technical clothes — fabrics that are easy to move in at a moment's notice — he does own a wide range of clothing thanks to his various sponsorships.

"Does it ever bother you, wearing clothes with these brands associated with them?" you ask, rubbing a silky suit jacket sleeve and peering up at him.

"Nah," Katsuki shrugs. "My team's halfway decent 'bout choosin' who we partner with, so it's not a big deal."

"Should I be less sensitive about my company's branded sex toys?" Your voice is small. You turn back to the clothes so you don't have to look at him, but Katsuki presses a kiss to the back of your hair and huffs.

"If it bothers you, it bothers you," he says gruffly. "We're good, baby. You don't hafta tell your company squat. I'm still your mate no matter what."

You repeat Katsuki's words to yourself the next day, swathed in his button up shirt tucked into a pair of his trousers with the ankles rolled up, as Akane and Shimizu show you the storeroom where they keep the company branded sex toys. Everyone's email notifications had pinged this morning with the news that Kensuke in Accounting would be entering his heat soon, so your two new coworker besties had dragged you along on a mission to prepare his celebratory heat cycle package.

"Wow," you say blankly, "they really are branded."

Shimizu holds up a cock ring with your company's name emblazoned along the side. "When you're in the moment, you really don't notice the name, but I guess it is a little garish, huh?"

"It's just so… big," you say, pulling over another box. "Is the company worried we'll forget who we work for or something?"

"I think they just want to be supportive," Akane laughs, holding up a dildo that wobbles wildly in her hand. "We'll need to have our drinking party at the end of the week, I think. Kensuke-san said he'll bring his mate if it's late enough for her to make it. I guess her alpha senses get really sensitive when he's this close to heat."

"You'll come, won't you?" Shimizu asks you. She works in HR and it shows as she packs up a care basket with ease. "Most people don't bring their mates unless it's their own pre-heat party, but I'm sure everyone would love to meet yours!"

You wrinkle your nose before you can help it. The idea of alcohol and Katsuki and your coworkers sounds like a bad combination, especially when you're desperately trying to hide your own pre-heat symptoms from the company. "He doesn't really drink…"

"There'll be nonalcoholic drinks served too," Akane says. "My mate gets her panties all in a twist when I come home drunk."

"It's alright if you don't want to," Shimizu assures you. "We'll just meet him when it's time for your own pre-heat party!"

You freeze in the act of pulling out a package of anal beads where each bead seems to have one character of your company's name stamped on it, but luckily neither of them seem to notice. "Can you do me a favor, in the spirit of our new friendship?" you ask, "Could you guys please choose the toys with the least amount of branding?"

Akane and Shimizu laugh. "Aye, aye, boss!"

"We should just start prepping yours now," Akane says breezily. "That way we'll be ready when it hits you!"

"We can even give it to you early," Shimizu adds, "and I'll just mark it off in your file. You've got next week off, so maybe you can put it to good use ahead of time."

She winks and you laugh nervously, but thankfully they don't know you well enough yet to pick up on it. "That would be great, actually," you say, fidgeting with a packet of flavored lube. "I'm sure my boyfriend will love that."

There's a knock at the door as the three of you dig into boxes and sort misplaced toys into their proper shelves. Someone you vaguely recognize from the IT department pokes their head in and immediately zeroes in on you. "Ah, sorry to interrupt," they say sheepishly, glancing at the fuzzy handcuffs Shimizu is brandishing, "but it looks like your mate is here, and he says it's important."

You stare at them. "My… mate…?"

"Uh. Yes," they say, "Mr. Dynamight?"

What?

You wave goodbye to Akane and Shimizu and thank the IT person for the notice before speed-walking towards the entrance lobby of your building. The elevators always take too long, so you head for the stairs, even though it'll take you out towards the back end of the building. There's no reason for Katsuki to show up at your workplace, especially not when he should still be on patrol. He hasn't messaged you much today, either, but that's not unusual. Did something happen? Is he hurt?

Your heart is pounding so loudly in your ears that you nearly miss the gruff "whoa!" as a densely muscled arm suddenly swings out to snag you by the waist. You're lifted straight off your feet and shoved into a supply closet before you even have a chance to open your mouth and scream, but Katsuki is quick to slap a rough hand over your lips.

"Shh, it's just me, shit, sorry," he grunts, wincing as you bite his hand. "Fuck, your teeth are sharp."

"Katsuki!" You have the presence of mind to keep your voice low as you shout. He must have a reason for ambushing you in the back of your company building, so even if you don't know what's going on, you know better than to risk getting caught. "What are you doing here?"

The closet is dark, though light seeps through the bottom of the door he's shoved you against from the hallway he just caught you in. You can barely make out his deep red eyes with the lighting and his gauntlets and gloves resting on the shelf by his shoulder — everything else is cast in shadows. "I needed to see you."

"… huh?"

"I'm not losing, you got that? I'm just makin' up for yesterday."

"What're you talking ab— hey!" You back up into the door with a thunk as Katsuki leans forward, his thick arms caging you in on either side. "Bakugou Katsuki I swear on your All Might trading cards I'll knee you in the balls if you blow my cover here."

He snorts and ducks his head closer. You can feel the soft puffs of his laughter against your neck as you crane your face away, desperate to maintain the upper hand here even though his proximity is triggering something alarming between your thighs.

"Knew you'd look hot as fuck in my clothes," he mumbles, inhaling sharp along the soft skin of your neck. "You smell so fucking good, too."

"I used a strawberry lip balm today," you breathe, careful to stay pressed back against the door. Katsuki is close enough now that you can feel his chest rumble when he laughs.

He presses his lips to the hammering pulse beneath your jaw. "I'm not gonna blow your fuckin' cover," he says lowly. "I'm just gettin' a little taste."

And then he nips at your skin, mere centimeters away from your scent glands — and you moan.

Loudly.

Desperately.

Fuck him. You're sensitive this far into your pre-heat. Desire thrums through you like a plucked string and you lose your tenuous grasp on your self control. All you can think about is Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki as hormones flood your bloodstream and your subdued omega instincts rise to the surface, pheromone suppressor be damned. Your hands are in his hair before you've registered it, yanking him up to kiss you. It's a testament to Katsuki's iron will and his love for you that he lets you drag him into place, though he can't quite kiss you properly because he's smirking too hard. You bite at his lip in retaliation, but that only makes him groan low in his chest and the sound zips straight to your core.

You're so warm. Hot, even, flames of pleasure licking up your spine. You grab onto his shoulders and tremble as he shoves one hard, muscled thigh between your legs, flexing and pressing upwards until your weight rests firmly on top of him. "K-Katsuki…"

"What's the matter, baby?"

"This is so fucking unfair," you whine, tugging at him until he drags you forward by the hips. The friction is delicious and intense, even through your borrowed trousers and the thick fabric of his hero suit, and you can do nothing but hold on for your life as Katsuki guides you into riding his thigh. The easy way his biceps flex and his overwhelming strength turn your mind a little fuzzy. "Why'd you — why're you —"

"Couldn't stop thinkin' about you, brat," Katsuki grunts, pressing his face into the junction between your neck and shoulder. You bare your neck for him instinctively, presenting for him, but he tilts his face up to nip at your ear instead. "Wearin' my clothes and smellin' like me —"

"You're my mate," you gasp out, fisting his hair. "Don't I always smell a little like you?"

Katsuki laughs and stops dragging you along his thigh, shoulders shaking harder when you whimper in protest. You can feel the sharp wave of your impending orgasm recede with every rough chuckle exhaled against your skin. "You want me to keep goin'?"

"You started this, you asshole —"

"Beg for it, then."

Oh. Wait. "Fuck you," you hiss, shoving at him to let you down. He obeys easily, keeping his large hands on your waist to steady you. Desire is still humming hot in your veins, but the cold logic of your brain is working overtime to bring you back down. He's just trying to get you to lose, huh? "Did you come here just to rile me up? What's your problem?"

"Your pre-heat is gettin' to me," Katsuki says, nosing at your temple. Your already flushed body spikes with embarrassment at the tender gesture. "I didn't wanna leave you this mornin', and you were so fuckin' hot yesterday. You sure we can't just kickstart it early?"

"I thought you said you could resist me," you mumble, "what happened to that?"

"I am resistin' you."

You pull away slightly to shoot a pointed look at his body caging you against the door. You get an eyeful of his firm chest and those strong arms you love so much, which doesn't exactly help your predicament, but Katsuki just grins, sharp and beautiful even in the dim light of the closet.

"Baby, if it were up to me, I'd be balls deep in you right now," Katsuki says. Your toes curl in your shoes as you bite back a whine. "But we're tryin' to keep it a secret, yeah?"

This was a mistake. You know — you know your boyfriend has a competitive streak a mile wide, and there's no way he's going to let you walk away from calling him weak for you. Never mind that he's been behaving himself so far — letting you try on his clothes in front of him, sending dirty texts but not acting on any of them — now it seems like he's ready to fight back. Making dinner shirtless last night was definitely a small test for your own self control, but now he's breaking out the big guns by ambushing you at work.

"You're terrible," you breathe, and Katsuki just grins.

"Better get back to work, or your coworkers'll come lookin' for you."

As if your coworkers read his mind, behind you come the distinct sound of clattering footsteps going down the hall. You hear someone beyond the thin barrier of the door you're still pressed against. "Do you think Dynamight will give me his autograph?"

Katsuki meets your glare in the dim light and his grin shifts into a smirk, though his red eyes are unmistakably fond as he regards you. "I'll let you know when the coast is clear."

"You suck. You're evil. They should take away your Pro Hero license."

Your boyfriend laughs quietly and leans forward to brush his lips along your cheek. You tilt your face up into the smoky sweetness of him and manage to kiss the edge of his jaw as he pulls back. He hums with pleasure, but his smirk is still sharp as he eyes you. "Yeah, yeah. You're the one who poked the big bad alpha, you little shit."

Katsuki gets the two of you out of the supply closet and disappears before anyone in your company can corner him for an autograph. You spend a few minutes splashing water on your face in the bathroom, hurriedly trying to cool down as the lingering aftereffects of nearly getting marked race through your bloodstream. Once you deem your reflection (and raging hormones) passable, you head back upstairs and get back to work.

Or at least, you try to get back to work. The stacks of reports are less enticing to you now that you know Katsuki is really trying to get you to beg for him. It all makes sense to you now. The dirty texts and shirtless cooking were testing the waters — his way of seeing how affected you are by him, as if you haven't been mated for years at this point — and now he's ready to leverage your omega biology against you any way that he can. There's no rule saying you can't fuck during your pre-heat, but neither of you have tried thanks to the unspoken agreement that it would make this silly competition less fun.

But you really, really want to fuck him.

"Is everything alright?" Shimizu's voice snaps you out of your vivid fantasies and you blink at your reflection in the dark screen of your monitor. "Your computer's been asleep for ten minutes now. Is your mate okay?"

"O-oh, he's fine," you flush with embarrassment at getting caught slacking. "He just needed to give me something I forgot at home."

"Oh, was that all? That's so nice of him," Shimizu says. "Make sure you ask if he wants to come to the pre-heat drinking party for Kensuke-san."

"Is that really okay?" you ask. "It won't set anything off for Kensuke-san and his mate?"

"Nah. They're bound to be all over each other, anyway. We're all used to it — the drinking party is always more for everyone else to send them off with well wishes," Shimizu explains. "The company picks up the tab, too. It started out as a one-off, and we didn't think the company would keep doing it, but we're all in agreement that if the company is going to pay, then we're going to go out and play."

That… makes sense. Even in a company as supportive as this one, of course it doesn't erase the fact that you're all working under them. "Is that… what happened with the sex toys?"

"Yeah," Shimizu slides into the seat next to yours as she picks up on your interest. "At first, everyone thought it was super cringe and weird, right? Why would we want company branded toys? But it's free stuff, and even if we've got great benefits and paid time off and work isn't unbearable, it's still free stuff. Nobody passes up on the free stuff. We all need to work, so we might as well take advantage of everything the company is willing to give us!"

"And you said you don't really notice the branding…"

"I mean, honestly, you've gone through heats before, haven't you? Are you paying attention to anything besides your mate?"

You snort in agreement. "Back when Katsuki and I were figuring out our mating bond, he triggered my heat on accident and I climbed onto his lap in the middle of an izakaya. He had to help me through it in one of his friends' apartments because it was the closest he could get to a private space nearby."

The two of you ended up buying Denki a whole new mattress and bedding set to replace everything you irreparably messed up that week. His friends were gentle in their good natured ribbing, but you'd unfailingly blush any time you passed by that izakaya, and Katsuki couldn't eat there after patrols anymore without popping a boner.

"That sounds typical," Shimizu says, grinning. "I don't care about mates, myself, but I love hearing about the crazy shenanigans the bond ends up putting you through."

"Is that why there's a company-wide announcement anytime someone is about to enter their heat?" you ask. It's a little risky, bringing it up, but Shimizu is nice and clearly eager to chat on company time. "Most places just mark it as time off."

Shimizu twirls her hair around her finger as she hums in thought. "That started before I joined the company, but I think it's more like… public image? I heard it's the vice president who fully supports heats and likes buying all sorts of new toys for everyone to try out. And if we're celebrating it all so publicly, the president can't protest without looking bad!"

"That's… good," you say. You don't know what else to say to this — but thankfully Shimizu hops out of her seat and waves goodbye cheerily as a chattering group of coworkers enters the room. You try to refocus on your work, but not even a packet of chocolate dipped dried mangoes is enough to help you through more than a few reports.

Hearing about the company policies from a coworker's mouth and seeing everyone chatting excitedly about the end-of-the-week drinking party lifts your spirits. Like you told Katsuki originally, you know you'll get used to the idea of everyone knowing about your upcoming heat. It's just taken some time, and seeing how nobody treats Kensuke from Accounting any differently helps.

Now that you're feeling marginally more comfortable about the whole thing with your company, you feel like you can turn to the real task at hand: teasing your mate and winning this silly game of who can make the other beg for it first.

You skip your stop on the train ride home and hop off at the station closest to Ground Zero. Eijiro was delighted to conspire with you in sending Katsuki back to the agency a little early on his shift and the front desk receptionist lets you into the upper floors with a wide smile. If Katsuki can ambush you at work, it stands to reason that you should return the favor.

You slip into his private office and silently thank Mina for insisting on having strong frosted glass for the windows separating their offices from the cubicles of the sidekicks outside. Katsuki's office is plain overall — there's a large wooden desk with a cushy chair behind it, but otherwise it looks like a normal office space at first glance. As you walk around in it, however, you spot a few All Might collectibles, and there's an omamori hanging off of his desk lamp that you picked up for him at your first shrine visit of the year. He also has a polaroid photo of the two of you — his arm slung around your shoulders as you laughed, his free hand flipping off the camera — washi taped to the bottom of his monitor.

"The fuck're you doin' in here," Katsuki demands, striding into the room and shutting the door behind him with a slam. You jerk up in surprise. He got back a lot sooner than you expected.

"How'd you know I was here?" you ask curiously. Katsuki rolls his eyes as he begins dismantling his hero outfit, the loud clanking and clicking of his gauntlets filling the room as you walk over to help him.

"Smelled you from the station," he says. "As if I'd miss you tryin' to sneak in here."

You grin to yourself, somehow pleased that he sensed you even though he's ruined your chances of surprising him. "I just wanted to help you out," you say, trailing your hands up his arms. Katsuki raises one ash blonde eyebrow, clearly sensing your aim, but he lets you shove his hero mask up into his hair, exposing his forehead.

"Oh yeah?" His gauntlets hit the floor with a thunk and he rips off his gloves, tossing them aside as well. "Help me with what, brat?"

"Just, y'know," you bat your eyelashes up at him just to make him crack a sharp grin, "returning the favor from earlier today."

You kiss him first, a deep, melting kiss that makes your knees go a little weak even though you're the one initiating it. Katsuki's eyes narrow as you sink to your knees, but he doesn't stop you as you palm at his already hard erection through the fabric of his hero suit. "Oi, don't start something if you're not gonna finish it."

"I just want a little taste," you say, grinning as he glares down at you for throwing his words from earlier back at him. You hurry to unbutton and unzip his pants, dragging it down his hips and catching on his thick thighs as his cock springs free. He's leaking at the tip, pearly white and oozing, and he groans when you lick your lips at the sight.

"Fuckin'… don't stare at it."

You tsk. "So impatient." Katsuki threads his fingers through your hair gently as you lean forward to press your tongue against the slit, sliding his cock into your mouth with a wet suck. His hips jerk forward as he grunts, but his hand is endlessly gentle in your hair.

"Motherfu— oh, that's good," he pants, tipping his head back and exposing the strong lines of his throat as he groans. You hollow your cheeks and suck his cock down, settling into a familiar rhythm of bobbing on his dick, sliding your tongue along the underside and teasing at the slit as much as you can. You keep one hand on his thigh for balance and use the other to grab the rest of his length, squeezing in tandem with your bobbing. Wet, slick sounds fill the air as you choke and drool around his cock, and the way he throbs in the heat of your mouth sends a shiver down your spine.

"Sh-shit baby, yeah, just like t-that, fuck," Katsuki moans, his husky voice cracking a little on the words. He tips his head forward to watch the way his cock disappears down your throat, thumbing at your cheek and the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. "You little — you little shit, you're gonna make me fuckin' come —"

You let go of his cock to cup at his balls, hanging heavy at the base of him, fondling them as you suck him deeper into your mouth. The strain on your throat makes you choke around him and he grunts, all of his muscles straining as he struggles not to blow his load. You choke on his cock a few more times, your omega senses singing in your veins with the thrill of pleasuring your mate, but as soon as you feel the telltale signs of his impending orgasm, you pull yourself off of him.

Katsuki nearly knocks you over. "You little — I'm gonna eat you alive you — fuck —"

You suckle at the tip of his cock, smiling up at him as he throbs concerningly in your loose grip. He huffs with the crash of his ruined orgasm and stares down at you in aggravated silence. "You want me to keep going?" you ask innocently, close enough that your lips get smeared with precum and saliva as you talk. Your voice is hoarse. "Just say the magic words, baby."

Your boyfriend seems to realize what you want a few seconds after you speak, as if it takes him a moment for his brain to comprehend full sentences. You peer up at him, blinking slowly, his cock mere centimeters from your lips as his face goes through approximately three different stages of grief.

"You're the worst," Katsuki grumbles, shoving you away and folding himself into a squat. You swipe at your face with the back of your hand, grimacing at the spit as you clean yourself up. He notices, because of course he does, and you watch with interest as Katsuki shoves himself upright to wobble to his desk. He tosses you a few tissues and pulls up his pants and boxers before crouching beside you to help you wipe your face. "The second your heat hits, I'm gonna fuck you so hard you won't be able to feel your legs, you brat."

You suppress a shiver at his words and scratch at your suppressant patch, hidden beneath the high collar of your borrowed shirt. "Don't threaten me with a good time."

Katsuki laughs, a short bark that makes you grin. "I hope you're ready, loser," he says, eyeing your lips. "C'mere and give me a kiss."

You wrinkle your nose. "I have dick breath."

"Like I give a shit, pipsqueak." Katsuki nips at your lip as you smile into the kiss, holding onto his shoulders for balance and sneakily smoothing your hands over the dense muscle there. "What're you smilin' about?"

"Just feeling you up."

"Hah?" He's so pretty when he blushes, pink rising high on his cheekbones and staining the tips of his ears red. You nuzzle into his strong neck, inhaling his comforting smoky sweet scent with a sigh of relief. You can feel your omega instincts settling as his scent envelops you properly. Katsuki seems to feel it, too, nudging into your hair and wrapping strong arms around you to keep you close.

After a moment, your legs start to cramp up from the awkward position, so the two of you clamber back up to your feet. Katsuki keeps a firm grip around your arm as you wiggle the feeling back into your toes, and you take advantage of his support to lean heavily against him. "Hey, Katsuki," you say, peering up at him sideways, "when did you steal my fruit themed washi tape?"

"I didn't steal it," he says. You arch an eyebrow. "I just borrowed it." You blink up at him. "Quit fuckin' starin'. It reminds me of you."

Oh. Your heart does a funny little flutter in your chest, which is a little ridiculous considering how long you've been together and the fact that he's literally your mate, but you let the feeling wash over you anyway and beam up at him. "I love you, too."

Katsuki's expression promptly freezes before he rolls his eyes, but his smile is soft. "Let's go already. It's gettin' late."

He holds your hand on the walk to the train station and acts as your wall against the crush of evening commuters. You're clingy — tugging on the sleeve of his hoodie, slipping your fingers through the belt loops of his pants — but Katsuki indulges you, clearly feeling the effects of your pre-heat just as much as you are.

Dinner is a comfortable, teasing affair. You bury your nose into the strong lines of his back as he cooks, pinching the skin of his stomach whenever he makes a snarky remark. He asks about your day and makes you laugh while recounting one of the old ladies on his patrol route who's taken to giving him pointers about how to make cuter bentos.

"You could learn a thing or two from her," you giggle, breathing in deeply.

"Watch it, brat, or I'm puttin' those rice penguins in jail."

The two of you refrain from riling each other up the rest of the night, sinking into the other aspects of your pre-heat instead. He watches with a wrinkled nose as you down a strawberry sando picked up from the konbini after dinner, but he lets you pat your night cream onto his skin and nuzzles your neck while you're tending to your own nightly skincare routine. Katsuki keeps a heavy arm around your shoulders as you tuck yourself into his side, throwing a leg over his thighs as he settles into bed with you.

This is your favorite part of the day — listening to the steady thump of his heart with his scent all around you, teasing him and feeling the low rumble of his voice as he snarks back, running the pads of your fingers over the scars crossing his chest idly and basking in the safety and security of Bakugou Katsuki being in your arms. It's always nice when you can fall asleep with him, when he isn't holed up in his office poring over mission reports or out on the streets taking down villains. You know he'll never say it out loud, but he always kisses you before leaving for patrol in the early mornings, always tucks the blankets back up to your chin to keep out the pre-dawn chill. He has spans of time where he's out more often than not working on taking down big missions, but he always comes back to you.

And with your heat approaching quickly, he starts pawning off his later patrols in order to pick you up from work. This is something like torture for you, personally, because he always smells so fucking good and looks so hot all rumpled and cozy in his post-work clothes. Katsuki makes a funny sound in the back of his throat when you greet him with a hug, slipping his hands a little lower than normal to squeeze your ass and smirking when you squeak and rip yourself away from him.

Luckily he's agreed to meet you a few blocks away from your company building, so you can escape before any of your coworkers notice the two of you. Katsuki gets handsy the closer you get to your heat, but he doesn't push it any further than blatant groping when you pass by him at home, so you retaliate by feeling him up whenever possible. You have no idea if blue balling him at work earlier in the week put the two of you in a stalemate, but you keep your guard up anyway and play by his unspoken rules to keep it to touching only.

It sucks, though.

Every touch makes you shiver; every graze of his lips makes you warm. You can feel the deep, intrinsic ache of your heat simmering just below the surface, the wellspring of desire thrumming through your veins. You're tense — Akane and Shimizu cajole you into fancy beverage breaks because they think you're stressing out too much about work — but your omega senses quiver like a roiling sea being brought to boil, only partially satiated by Katsuki's frequent touches and attention.

It all comes to a head at Kensuke's pre-heat party. Honestly, you should've begged off, but you didn't want to draw suspicion and everyone kept saying how they wanted to meet your mate. Kensuke himself brings along a Dynamight t-shirt in the hopes of a signature, which is just so cute you can't bring yourself to ditch the party.

"Congrats and good luck with your heat," you beam, toasting with Kensuke and his mate, a very pretty brunette who keeps her hand firmly around Kensuke's arm. She gives you a grin and a wink.

"Thanks," she says, "though we shouldn't need it. Ken-chan and I are old hats at this now."

"Your mate's scent is pretty strong, huh?" Kensuke says, tilting his nose up in spite of the grilled skewers being handed around. "It's almost like you're the one in pre-heat with how overpowering his scent is over yours."

"Haha," you swipe a skewer and pretend to be intensely interested in the slightly charred yakiniku. "You're probably just confusing my scent since you're in pre-heat, Kensuke-san!"

"Hm, I guess so," he says easily. His expression suddenly perks up, but you don't need to turn to see why. Every hair on your body raises as that comforting, overwhelming, smoky sweet scent washes over you. "Oh look! It's really Dynamight!"

Fuck.

You feel his red hot stare burrowing into you, and you know without a doubt that he's caught the way you've tensed up. You can feel your nipples perk against the silk fabric of your shirt, straining through your bra, and your panties get undeniably damp as his gaze drags along your form. You feel warm, warmer than you should be in this partially outdoor izakaya, and the air suddenly feels stifling, like you're swimming in smoke.

Katsuki's hand is heavy on your shoulder. You feel his touch like a brand, searing straight through your meager defenses, a spark that flickers as it drifts down to the well of your desire. You know — you know that once it catches, once it alights — you're both screwed.

"Hey, babe," you chirp, leaning into his arm as if your entire body isn't thrumming with want. "This is Kensuke-san and his mate! He brought one of your shirts — would you pretty please sign it?"

Katsuki's red eyes flash as he nods. To everyone else at the party, he probably looks normal. Just a regular Pro Hero alpha, strong and exuding power, all dense muscle and grace and skill, little sparks flying from his hands as he adds a tiny explosion smudge to the end of his signature on Kensuke's merch shirt. The guest of honor and his mate thank Katsuki profusely, and you take advantage of their distraction to slide away towards the bathrooms inside the izakaya proper.

This isn't good. You need to figure out how to get out without anyone noticing that Katsuki's been eye-fucking you since he got here, and then you need to bolt home so you can collapse into your heat in peace. One more touch from your mate and you'll probably drop right into it, but there's no way Katsuki will be able to keep his hands off you tonight.

You press yourself flat against the concrete wall in the hallway for the bathrooms, heart hammering in your chest. Forget worrying about your company's pre-heat shenanigans — you have a new fear unlocked: going into heat at a party full of coworkers.

"Whoa, hey!" Akane's a little louder than usual, a little wobblier on her feet. "The bathrooms are here, yeah?"

You manage to laugh, though there's a pitch of desperation in it that she thankfully doesn't notice. "Yup, they're right here! I just needed a breather. Hey, what happened to sticking to the nonalcoholic stuff?"

"Aw, yeah, I'm having those next," Akane flaps her hand at you breezily. "I'll sober up before I get home! Don't worry your pretty little head 'bout me! Hey, have I ever told you how nice your skin looks? Like, whoaaa."

This makes you giggle. "Do you need help in the bathroom?"

"Nope!" She shoots you a thumbs up. "See ya soon!"

You watch with amusement as she stumbles into the bathroom, but she doesn't hit anything on her way inside, so you lean back against the wall again and take a deep breath. You're aching — a deep, insistent pulse throbbing between your legs as a rich smoky caramel scent tickles at your instincts. Oh, shit.

You barely manage step away from the wall when suddenly Katsuki's there, looming big and broad and setting off every alarm bell ringing in your head. He eyes you with a flinty glare that's more black than red for a moment before he huffs and grabs your hand.

"Uh —"

"Zip it or I'll fuck you right here," Katsuki grits out. Oh, god. Your panties are sticking to your folds, tacky and damp, and you bite back a whimper as he pulls you along. His hand is warm around yours, and even though he's tugging you towards the back entrance of the izakaya, he never moves too quickly for you to keep up.

The two of you burst out into the back alleyway and Katsuki spares a quick glance around before he's on you.

He keeps a hand on the back of your head as he slams you into the dirty brick wall, shielding you even as he wrenches your waist towards him to grind his incriminatingly hard length against you. He kisses you like he wants to eat you alive, wiping out all coherent thought in your brain as your senses strain towards him. "You're gonna kill me," he grunts. You whimper into the kiss and clutch at his shoulders for dear life as he licks into your mouth, filthy and wet, swallowing down your pitched moans as he rocks his clothed cock against your center.

"What d'you want? Fingers or mouth?"

Your eyelashes flutter open in confusion. Your mind feels hazy, lost in the smoky sweetness of your mate, your focus entirely zeroed in on the throbbing of your pussy as Katsuki swears low beneath the clattering of the izakaya door opening.

"Wh— whoops!" the voice sounds familiar, but you can't quite place it. You blearily try to turn your head towards the sound, but Katsuki anchors you closer to him, covering you with his broad shoulders. "I was just — oh! You two should head home! I'll let everyone know you had an emergency!"

The roar of the crowds inside the izakaya rises in volume again before the door clangs shut. Katsuki picks you up before you can figure out what's happening, a strong hand tucking beneath your thighs as you cling to his neck. "Hold on tight."

"What're you— Katsuki, what the fuck!?" The loud, snapping, popping sound of explosions echo in the night before you're suddenly shooting straight into the sky, air rushing past you like you're flying. You tuck your face into his neck and swallow down an aborted scream, because, well — you are flying, propelled through the city skyline by Katsuki's explosive power.

Your boyfriend laughs. The shaking of his chest is familiar, at least, and you concentrate on that and the strong, sweet scent of his scent gland right beneath your lips. It would be downright disastrous for you to bite him now, while you're soaring through the city leaving fireworks in your wake, but you can't help kissing and sucking at the skin of his neck and shoulder as your body shivers with want.

There's a thud as he lands heavily and then a muttered curse before the tinkle of glass meeting concrete filters into your ears. You take a peek and catch sight of your apartment's balcony curtains fluttering in the wind, but the perspective is all wrong — why're you looking in as if you're —

"Katsuki," you pinch one of his strong shoulders, "did you just break into our apartment?"

"I'll get the glass replaced next week," Katsuki says, stepping inside and kicking off his boots. You're shivering, hot, feverish. He's warm, too — as usual — but sweat beads across his brow and you know you're close. "Bed, now. Or all our neighbors'll hear you screamin' my name."

Katsuki doesn't put you down. He carries you in a princess hold, the hand supporting your back smelling like smoke and soot, and he kicks the bedroom door shut with one socked foot. "Katsuki, Katsuki," he mocks, and suddenly you realize you've been chanting his name, fingers clenching tight to the hairs on the back of his head. "What d'you want, baby? Fingers or mouth?"

"I want you —"

His laugh is rough, a tortured sound spilling from his lips as he drops you on the bed and immediately kneels between your legs. Your breath catches in your throat as he slides your shoes off and tosses them aside. You lean up on your elbows to watch, wide eyed and breathless, as he trails his lips along the bare skin of your calf, hiking your skirt up with every beat of your heart. "I want you, too," he mutters, pupils blown wide with lust, his smirk pressing into your thigh. "But answer the question."

Your body thrums with anticipation. You can feel your heartbeat in your core like a siren song. "Katsuki, please —"

Katsuki snaps. A loud riiip tears through the air as he tosses aside the ruined fabric of your panties and then he's on you, his tongue licking dirty and insistent through your folds. You choke on a moan, hips canting into the air as pleasure sparks in your synapses, chasing the feeling as he eats you out like a man starved.

"Katsuki, Ka— nghh, Katsuki, please —"

Your boyfriend swirls his tongue around your clit and you nearly sob as you clench around nothing, your inner walls spasming with your near orgasm. Your thighs are tense, locked tight around his head. Katsuki doesn't seem to mind, lapping at your slick and groaning into your warmth, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs to hold you down.

Distantly you hear yourself whimpering and whining, but Katsuki continues to torture you, bringing you to the brink and pulling back as soon as you start to spasm. Somewhere in the depths of your mind you know there's a way to get him to — to fuck you properly —

You release the blanket you've been twisting in a death grip and scrabble for the pheromone patch on your neck. It takes a few tries as you pant helplessly, your fingers sliding off your sweaty skin, but as soon as your nail digs under the edge you rip it off and drown.

"Haah, fuck you —"

Katsuki rips himself away from your fluttering pussy with a groan and shoves his pants down awkwardly, the thick fabric catching on his thighs but low enough that his cock springs free. You whine at the sight, reaching for him, and he huffs out a laugh as he clambers over you. "You asked for it," he warns, but his voice cracks as the tip of his cock nudges against your wet folds.

"Oh, god, please please please. In," you grab at his arms and tilt your hips up, "Please get inside me."

"Fucking — hell —" Katsuki groans as he pushes inside, but his self control is at an all time low. He doesn't want to hurt you, but you're so wet and warm and your velvety walls are practically squeezing him in a vice grip.

He shoves every hard inch of his cock into you with a grunt, kissing you hard as you fall off the edge into bliss.

White. Sparks. It takes you a moment to come back to your senses, a moan punching through your chest as Katsuki pants into your neck. "Fuck."

"Yeah?" He rolls his hips and you whine at the sensation of being stuffed full of his cock, wiggling as best as you can beneath him. His skin is sweaty and sticky against yours, and you realize pulled his own shirt off. He's shoved your borrowed shirt up and off so that you're nearly naked, and out of the corner of your eye you spot your bra dangling from the doorknob where he tossed it away.

"Katsuki, c'mon, move," you plead. He digs his elbows into the mattress on either side of your head and rolls his hips again, dragging every rock solid inch of him against your insides. You clench around him, sparks skittering up your veins as he bullies his way back in, and then he's gone.

Katsuki fucks you into the mattress. You can barely string together a sentence, holding onto his arms as he shoves himself deep with every thrust. The overpowering scent of him fills the air along with the smell of sex and sweat and your choked off moans. You cling to him as best as you can, tilting your neck up as an offering as his thrusts get deeper and harder, crying out when he reaches to rest your legs on his shoulders, ankles dangling by his head as the changed angle lets his cock kiss a spot inside you that makes you sob.

"Oh, oh, Katsuki, fuck please I need you I want you please please please —"

"I — I got you," he grunts, "just fucking — hah you've gotta —"

"Oh I'm gonna cum, I'm — Katsuki I'm gonna cum!"

Katsuki growls as you leap off the edge again, pressing a strangely sweet kiss to your lips before leaning down further and licking along the side of your neck. You barely have a moment to register what he's doing before his body locks up and he bites you, marking you as his cock spurts and kicks inside you.

"Oh, fuck —"

The heady rush of pheromones sends you spinning dizzily higher, a pleasure so intense lighting up your nerves you nearly black out. Distantly you can still feel Katsuki cumming, thick ropes of white painting your insides as he rocks his hips in tiny, incessant motions against you. He lets go of your neck with a grunt. And then you feel it.

"Ah. Ah." The swell of his knot is thick and alarming, but you force yourself not to tense as he locks up with you. The overwhelming feeling sends your nerves buzzing and you tilt your head to kiss him, languid and sweet.

"How's it?" he asks, breaking the kiss just to press his sweaty forehead against yours. You meet his deep red eyes and brush a kiss along the pink swell of his cheekbones. "I didn't hurt you?"

"I'm fine," you sigh. Your heart is still thumping like a drum in your chest, but Katsuki is warm and solid and unyielding around and inside you. You're so full. You nuzzle into the neck of your mate. "You're lucky I'm so damn bendy."

The first knot is always the most lucid, the relief of sliding into heat lending clarity to both of your senses before dissolving into a messy, incoherent sex fest. By the end of the cycle you'll have lost track of how many times and how many ways Katsuki takes you — though you know he's fond of the shower and he used to like propping you up against the balcony doors…

"Did you really break the balcony door?" you ask suddenly, disrupting Katsuki's careful kiss to your jaw. Your boyfriend snorts, slowly sliding your legs off his shoulders and wincing lightly as his knot jostles inside you.

"If I had to go through the apartment I would've taken you in the goddamn elevator."

"Oh." You wince as his knot slips slightly. Another thought leaps unbidden to the front of your mind. "Who was that at the izakaya?"

Katsuki shrugs. "Some chick. The one you were helpin' to the bathroom."

Your brain still feels fuzzy with endorphins and the afterglow of white hot pleasure, so it takes you a moment longer to figure out who he's talking about. You groan. "Oh, no… not Akane…"

"She said she'd take care of it," Katsuki assures you, nosing along your neck. "And 'sides, that's not what you should be worried 'bout."

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh? And what's that?"

The grin Katsuki shoots you is shit-eating and terribly, annoyingly endearing.

"You begged for it first."

A few days later, while Katsuki heats up some premade food so neither of you die of malnutrition, you finally remember to turn on your phone. It pings! with notifications, but one flagged as "important" catches your eye.

Shimizu: Hey friend, hope your heat's going well! I've sent along your company care package to be delivered to your apartment, and once you get back we'll have a post heat drinking party for you! I also sent out your pre-heat company-wide congratulations email a few days ago, but don't worry, I'll send it out earlier next time so we can celebrate you properly!

Katsuki pokes his head into the bedroom at your loud groan, two plates piled high with food balancing on his strong forearms.

"What's the matter, pipsqueak?"

"Did we get a delivery?" you ask. Katsuki sets the plates down on the bed beside you and disappears for a moment, but then you hear a loud bark of laughter and he reappears with a large box. "Oh, no. Don't tell me…"

Katsuki reaches in and whips out a dildo with your company's name stamped along the base. "They found out?"

"I'm gonna die," you say. "I can never face any of them ever again."

"So dramatic," Katsuki snorts, setting the box down. He braces his hands on either side of your thighs as he leans down to kiss you. "Wanna see which one makes you beg hardest?"

"We are not using those toys, Katsuki!"

"We'll see how you feel when I've got you beggin' for me again."

[throatgoat4u]

breakfast

word count: 10k

summary: matt moves to la and ghosts you, breaking your heart, but when the opportunity arises, you decide to get your revenge

warnings: emotional abuse, psychological manipulation, gaslighting, toxic relationships, exploitation of vulnerability, heavy emotional distress

a/n: guys this might be a long read...... also this is for @bernardsbendystraws song writing challenge thingy. i'm actually shocked i was able to even write this cause like i'm lazy and procrastinate a lot and the fact that the challenge had a deadline too?!?! i'm amazed. i worked pretty hard on this one and i think this just might be one of my favorite things i've written. ps and by the way, i will be calling the reader cherry in this so that's what people will call her and what she introduces herself as! also one last detail, this doesn't happen in the span of like a few weeks or like 1-2 months, this story takes place in the span of like almost a year. so yeah... enjoy!

toodles sluts :)

matthew bernard sturniolo.

god, you couldn’t stand the man. but looking at him now, his life a complete mess, there was nothing sweeter. and the best part? it was all because of you.

four years ago, the two of you were in high school. you and matt had this sort of relationship where you did practically everything like a couple—going on dates, giving gifts, whispering sweet nothings to each other, cuddling, kissing, the pda, fucking—but you were never actually official. matt didn’t do labels until he was sure. and you, like the naive girl you were, went right along with it, telling him you’d wait until he was ready.

he had promised you the world, swore up and down that you were the only one who truly understood him. it’s you and me against the world, baby. one day, i’m gonna marry you, you know that? but they were all lies. lies, lies, lies. the only thing that high school failure was good at was lying—and making it sound so convincing. and you? you had been dumb enough to believe every word.

when you two graduated, he left for la to pursue youtube with his brothers, and naturally, he fed you more lies. baby, i’ll come visit you every few months. we’ll call and text every single day, i swear. i’d never leave you, you know that, right? i love you.

it still astonished you how easily those words had slipped from his lips, how effortlessly he could say them without meaning a damn thing. but the saddest part? you ate it all up like a starving man who hadn’t eaten in years. you believed every single word because—why wouldn’t you? he was the love of your life.

for a while after the move, you and matt stayed in touch, talking almost every second. ten-hour calls, facetime marathons, endless text messages—the works. but slowly, you noticed the shift. he started withdrawing, calling less, ending conversations quicker, taking longer to reply—or not replying at all. when he did, it was just to blow you off. i’m busy. shit, sorry, next time. and you bought it. of course you did. he had just moved to la, and being an influencer wasn’t easy. you gave him the benefit of the doubt.  that was—until he just stopped. he never replied. all calls and texts went unanswered. he had ghosted you.

you were left utterly broken. he had promised you so, so much. you two were supposed to spend the rest of your lives together. you were supposed to be endgame.

but the wallowing didn’t last long.

one day, you opened instagram to find a post—matt shamelessly making out with some girl at a party. a flood of emotions hit you all at once. sadness, confusion, hurt, betrayal. but most of all—anger.

how could you have been so blind? you gave him everything. your time, your trust, your heart. and he threw it all away like it was nothing.

you weren’t going to let it slide.

so you started planning.

now, four years later, you executed it perfectly. it wasn’t easy—oh no, it was tedious. every step had to work seamlessly for the next to fall into place. one wrong move and the entire plan would collapse.

and what plan exactly?

well, in theory, it was a very simple nine-phase plan. you didn’t even mean for the tenth phase to happen, but it did.

phase one: move to la

this was easy. you had finished college with a degree in fashion marketing, and job offers from la weren’t exactly uncommon. all you had to do was pick the highest-paying, most reputable one, and you were on your way.

you settled into the city faster than you expected. the air was thick with ambition, the streets buzzing with influencers and socialites desperate to be seen. it was a world fueled by image, where clout mattered more than character. and if you played your cards right, it was a world where you could thrive.

phase one: complete

phase two: befriend an influencer (preferably one with connections to matt, preferably tara yummy)

why tara yummy? simple. she threw some of the biggest parties in la, meaning tons of other influencers—some of whom could have connections to matt—would be there.

befriending tara? well, that was a process. you had to admit, you stooped to some pretty unethical and borderline pathetic measures to make it happen. and all for what? revenge on a boy. pathetic.

still, you stalked her obsessively, tracking where she would be and when. you knew her schedule for every day of the week—surprising, right? like, tara yummy having an actual schedule? technically, no. but she did go to the same coffee shop every day at exactly 12:43 p.m.

why 12:43? who the fuck cares? as long as you could follow her to her next location, you were fine with whatever time she picked for her little coffee rendezvous.

saturday, february 15, 12:42 p.m.

you were parked outside the coffee shop, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel, the hum of the engine filling the silence. your eyes flickered to the time on your phone.

what if she decided to go somewhere else today? what if something came up? had you picked the wrong day?

then, at exactly 12:44, you spotted her—rushing inside, her oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, phone in one hand, car keys in the other.

you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding, watching as she ordered her iced oat milk shaken espresso with one pump white mocha, one pump caramel, light cinnamon powder, and vanilla sweet cream cold foam. (don’t ask.)

when she finally got her coffee and walked out, you turned on your car, keeping an eye on her as she made her way back to hers. now, all that was left was to follow her—hopefully to somewhere public where "accidentally" running into her wouldn’t be suspicious.

you waited a few moments before pulling out behind her, keeping a safe distance—close enough to track her, but not close enough to look like you were tailing her.

she drove for about ten minutes before pulling into target’s parking lot.

your eyes lit up almost instantly. perfect.

you parked a few spots away on the opposite side, ensuring a clear view of her. watching carefully, you waited until she stepped out of her car and started toward the entrance before making your move.

inside, you immediately noticed—no basket.

an idea formed in your head.

you trailed behind her, watching as she browsed the aisles, picking up items—a blanket, a book, some makeup, shampoo, conditioner—until her hands were completely full. she stumbled a bit, dropping things occasionally.

this was it. your chance.

you turned down an aisle, walking toward her while she unknowingly walked in your direction. just as you neared her, you looked down at your phone—pretending not to see her—before crashing right into her.

her things tumbled to the floor, and you let your phone slip from your hands for added effect.

"oh my god! i-i’m so sorry, are you okay?" you asked, putting on the best fake concerned voice you could.

she looked up at you and smiled. "yeah, no, i’m okay. how about you?"

"i-i’m fine, don’t worry about me. i’m so, so sorry again. i should’ve been paying attention."

"hey, no, don’t be sorry. it wasn’t really your fault. hell, it wasn’t really either of our faults," she said, laughing as she bent down to pick up her stuff. but you beat her to it.

"no, here, let me get that for you," you said, gathering her things. as you handed them back, you put on a puzzled expression. "wait, you don’t have a basket?"

she shook her head, and you tsked softly before placing each item into yours.

"what are you—" she began, but you cut her off.

"no, it’s okay. i didn’t really have anything in my basket anyway. it’d probably be more useful to you," you said, handing it to her.

she smiled, taking it from you. "stop, thank you so much, you’re so sweet."

"no, stop. it’s really nothing, i don’t mind," you replied, playing it off casually. then, after a brief pause, you added, "oh, and by the way, you’re like… really, really pretty."

"o.m.g. shut up. like, actually. you’re too sweet," she giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"no, i’m dead serious. you’re gorgeous."

"well, you too. like, oh god, you look like one of those really hot girls i see who just seem so unapproachable and intimidating," she mused, eyeing you up and down.

"why, thank you," you replied with the kindest smile you could muster. "sorry if this interaction is kinda awkward… i’m new to la and sort of looking to make friends." you lowered your voice a little, trying to sound just the right amount of shy.

her eyes widened, and her mouth parted slightly. "well, consider me your first friend. i’m tara."

"…cherry," you responded.

"nice to meet you, cherry. c’mon. you’ll be walking with me now," she smiled, grabbing your hand and dragging you along.

phase two: complete.

phase three: get invited to a tara event

over the next few weeks, you spent most of your time with tara, considering she was your only friend.

you went shopping together, got your nails done, hit the gym, had spa days, and she even showed you all the best clubs and bars in la. the two of you really hit it off, and it kinda made you feel bad that you were using her. kinda.

wednesday, march 5, 2:54 pm

you and tara were sitting on her bed, planning out her next big party. but this party wasn’t just any party—it was for you. she wanted to throw an event so you could branch out and meet new people because, being a loner in la? yeah, no, you weren’t going to let that happen. especially not with your plan in motion. if you stayed invisible, everything would be ruined. matt would win, and you'd lose once again.

"so, um… tara… how big is this party going to be, exactly?" you asked, carefully faking a nervous tone as you sat cross-legged on her bed, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. you needed to convince her you were an introvert. playing that part would help you blend into the background and make it easier to focus on your real goal.

tara barely looked up from her phone, scrolling through pinterest, tapping on various pins as she pulled ideas for the event. “well, i’m inviting the usual crowd, so it won’t be too big,” she replied casually. “just enough to get the party vibes right.”

"right..." you sighed, casting a quick glance at the laptop screen, pretending to chew your lip nervously. your act was flawless, but the truth was, you weren’t anxious about being around people—you were just anxious about matt. you knew him all too well, and if he didn’t show up, everything would fall apart. matt was a big homebody, after all. if he didn’t come, you’d have a much harder time achieving your goal.

you needed to know exactly who matt would hang around at the party, and that meant focusing on his closest friends. it was a given that he'd stick close to his girlfriend, macy, but you had to make sure you pinpointed the others—the ones who would be your best shot at making things happen.

the two of you spent the rest of the day bouncing ideas around for the party. tara wanted to host it at her place, and you both decided on a theme—black, white, and a rich, dark red. it was bold, dramatic—something that would definitely make a statement.

tara had already invited a ton of people. for her, it was just another night to throw a party, another chance to be around her usual influencer crowd. but for you, this was more than just a party. this was the perfect opportunity to get closer to matt's friends and, eventually, get closer to matt himself—so you could finally tear him down.

“so, who all did you invite?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but your mind was already mentally listing off everyone who might be there.

tara smirked, eyes flicking up from her phone as she responded, “oh, you know, the usual bunch. larray, quen, carrington, jake, johnnie… some of the other la influencers. then, of course, there’s the triplets—matt, chris, and nick.”

you nodded along, your expression neutral, though internally, you were bracing yourself. you already knew the triplets, of course. but this party wasn’t about them. it was about the other people who would be there.

“that’s a lot of people,” you said, trying to keep your voice light, but your mind was already working overtime. “what’s the vibe like with everyone? how do they all mix?”

tara shrugged nonchalantly as she tapped away at her phone, her attention already shifting back to the planning. “honestly, they’re all chill. some can be a little extra—like, really extra—but nothing you can’t handle. you’ll fit right in. just make sure you make an entrance, you know?”

you gave her a knowing smile, nodding along, though your mind was elsewhere. you weren’t here to fit in. you were here to observe, to learn who matt’s closest friends were, to subtly insert yourself into their world. and then, you’d take him down. piece by piece, without him even realizing it.

this party was just the beginning.

phase three: complete

phase four: figure out just who’s in matt’s inner circle

you looked in the mirror as you fixed your hair, making sure everything was just right. the tight black dress hugged your hips in all the right places, the slit riding high enough to leave barely anything to the imagination. your hair was perfectly blown out, sleek and cascading down your back like silk. but still, something was missing.

your eyes landed on the red lipstick sitting on the vanity. you grabbed it, uncapping it with a flick of your wrist before carefully applying it to your lips. the deep, sultry shade coated them perfectly, adding just the right amount of boldness to complete the look.

perfect.

you pressed your lips together, ensuring the color was flawless. now, you were ready.

tara walked into the room, and her jaw practically hit the floor. her eyes widened as she took you in, her gaze trailing from your perfectly blown-out hair to the curve-hugging black dress and the deep red lipstick that added just the right amount of danger.

“oh my god.” her voice was barely above a whisper before it quickly turned into an excited squeal. “cherry, you look stunning! you might’ve just been my lesbian awakening because what the fuck?!?” she said, walking toward you with wide eyes.

you giggled, rolling your eyes as you turned slightly to check yourself in the mirror one last time. “oh, shut up,” you mumbled, but the slight flush on your cheeks betrayed you.

“no, no, i’m being dead serious.” she placed her hands on her hips, giving you an exaggerated once-over. “like, i cannot believe you’ve been hiding this version of you. you look gorgeous.”

“thanks, t,” you murmured softly, your lips tugging into a small, satisfied smile. but before you could revel in the compliment for too long, tara’s expression shifted.

“but,” she said, her tone a little more serious now, “i actually came up here to tell you a lot of people are here now. i know you’re not the party type, but… it’s your party. you need to come down.”

you almost laughed out loud at that. not the party type? oh, if only she knew. at least you’d done a good enough job convincing her that you were shy and reserved. it was all part of the plan.

“yeah, yeah, i know,” you mumbled, tugging your dress down ever so slightly, playing up the nervous act just a bit longer. “can… can you come with me? and maybe… stay with me? i don’t really want to be alone with so many people around.” your voice was soft, almost timid, as if the idea of walking into a crowded room made you anxious.

tara’s features softened instantly, her eyes filling with warmth as she gave you a reassuring smile. “of course i’ll stay with you,” she said, reaching out to squeeze your hand gently. “i won’t leave you alone for a single moment tonight, ‘kay?”

you nodded, offering her a small, grateful smile as you took a deep breath.

perfect.

you followed tara as she began to walk out of the room, her arm loosely linked with yours as the two of you made your way downstairs. the muffled bass of the music grew louder with each step, the sounds of laughter and conversation drifting through the hallway.

as you reached the bottom of the stairs, you scanned the room quickly, your mind already working.

the party was in full swing. influencers, tiktokers, and la’s finest were scattered everywhere, drinks in hand and smiles plastered on their faces.

but you weren’t interested in any of them.

your eyes swept the crowd, zeroing in on the people who mattered most. matt’s friends.

they weren’t hard to spot. matt—whenever he did decide to show up at events like these—always stuck close to the people he felt most comfortable with. usually, that meant nick, chris, and a couple of his closest friends. and tonight was no different.

one person caught your eye almost immediately. larray.

he was laughing, completely immersed in whatever conversation he was having. matt had never looked happier in a group of people and it was sort of like a stab to your heart but you quickly shook the feeling off, refocusing on the small group that surrounded matt. nick, chris, larray… and macy.

macy. matt’s new girlfriend.

the girl who had everything you ever wanted.

she was perched right beside him, her hand casually resting on his arm like it belonged there. she looked so comfortable, so secure in her place next to him. it made your stomach turn.

but not with sadness.

with determination.

there they were—laughing, chatting, blissfully unaware that they were about to become pawns in your little game.

but timing was everything.

you weren’t about to make your move too soon. not when there was so much at stake. so, for now, you waited.

you stuck close to tara, mingling with other guests and keeping up appearances. you laughed at jokes, smiled at compliments, and made small talk with influencers you barely cared about. to anyone watching, you looked like you were just another girl trying to blend into la’s social scene.

but your focus never strayed too far.

your eyes flicked back to matt’s group every chance you got, tracking their every move without being obvious.

nick and chris were in their usual spots, close to matt but engaged in their own conversations. larray was his usual vibrant self, effortlessly making everyone around him laugh. and macy… well, she was glued to matt’s side, just as expected.

you kept waiting, biding your time as the night dragged on.

and then, finally, it happened.

matt, nick, and chris stepped away, heading toward the backyard—probably to get some air or escape the chaos for a moment.

perfect.

your heart pounded in your chest as you took a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“tara,” you murmured softly, leaning closer so only she could hear, “i’m gonna go grab another drink. be right back.”

“want me to come with?” she asked, her eyes flickering toward the crowded bar area.

“nah,” you smiled, shaking your head. “i’ll be fine.”

she nodded, giving you an encouraging smile before turning back to her conversation.

and with that, you made your move.

your eyes locked onto larray, who was still standing near the bar, chatting and laughing with a few other people.

game on.

you made your way to the bar, grabbing some random drink that had been left unattended, and started to move toward larray. you made sure to stumble a bit, really selling the whole oops, i’m tipsy act. when you were close enough, you “tripped,” falling forward and spilling your drink all over him.

“shit. my bad. i didn’t mean to do that. i’m so sorry. are you alright?” you asked frantically, eyes darting around for anything to help. you spotted a napkin nearby and quickly handed it to him.

“yeah, i’m okay. chill, girl, damn!” he said, laughing it off as he wiped the drink off his shirt, giving you a playful side-eye.

“gosh, i’m sorry. i might be a little more drunk than i thought. i usually don’t trip over my feet like this,” you mumbled, shifting nervously.

“bitch, it’s okay. i promise, it’s not that deep. my clothes will dry.”

“yeah, i know. but i still feel bad.”

“well, don’t.” he waved you off, flashing you that bright, easy smile. “anyways, i’ve never seen you ‘round. you new here or what?”

“uh, yeah. i moved to la about a month ago for my job.”

he hummed, grabbing his drink off the table and taking a sip. “what do you do?”

“i actually work in fashion marketing.”

his eyes widened instantly, his interest clearly piqued. “wait, so like… do you get all the tea on the brands? tell me everything.”

you giggled softly, shaking your head. “sadly, not yet. i just started. but, trust me, you’ll be the first to know when they let me in on all the juicy shit.”

“you better.” he gave you a pointed look, but his grin was playful.

“cross my heart.” you smirked, making a little x over your chest.

“mm, i like you already.” he gave you a wink before glancing around the room. “but, babe, why are you stuck talking to me when there’s a whole party happening?”

“honestly?” you shrugged, flashing him a sheepish smile. “you’re the most interesting person here.”

“aww, stop it, i’m blushing.” he fanned himself dramatically, making you laugh.

“seriously, though,” he leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice, “stick with me tonight, and i’ll make sure you have fun.”

perfect.

throughout the entire night, you stayed glued to larray’s side. he was the perfect guide to la’s influencer scene, introducing you to a lot of people—some of whom you already recognized from social media. but your focus wasn’t on them.

no, your interest was piqued when he introduced you to madison and quen.

it quickly became clear to you that they were probably the closest people to matt—along with larray.

you watched closely, noting the way they spoke about him, the way they laughed at inside jokes that only came from years of friendship. it was subtle, but the familiarity was there.

these were the people who mattered.

and they were exactly who you needed to get close to next.

you slipped seamlessly into conversation with them, playing up the charm and matching their energy effortlessly. it was easy, really—madison was sweet and warm, and quen? well, she was sharp, funny, and didn’t seem to take shit from anyone.

by the end of the night, you weren’t just some random girl who just moved to la. no, you were now on their radar.

the party came to a wrap and as you exchanged goodbyes and promises to hang out soon, you couldn’t help but smirk to yourself.

they had no idea what was coming.

phase four: complete.

phase five: get close to macy

you realized at the party that it wouldn’t have been a good idea to try and talk to macy because she didn’t leave matt’s side once, and matt would’ve immediately recognized you if he had seen you, which would’ve completely jeopardized the plan.

see, the thing is, macy is a model, and your agency just so happened to be looking for some new faces. after the party, you made sure to keep macy in the back of your mind because you knew it was only a matter of time before you’d be working with her in person. it wasn’t long before you got the chance—both of you were assigned to the same photoshoot for a big brand that the agency was promoting.

the first time you saw her in person, she was a lot quieter than you expected. maybe it was because she was surrounded by other models and people she worked with, but she didn’t seem nearly as outgoing as she came off on social media. you had no intention of just jumping in to get to know her right away, but you did make sure to get in a few casual hellos and comments about how excited you were to be working with her.

the shoot itself was long, and there were a lot of down moments while the crew set up shots or adjusted lighting, which gave you plenty of time to talk. you started by talking about the job itself—what it was like working with the agency, the constant hustle, and how draining it all could be. at first, macy wasn’t very open, giving you short answers, but you could tell she was warming up.

after a few hours of talking about everything from the industry to personal stuff, you noticed she seemed a little more relaxed around you. when the crew took a break, you casually offered to grab coffee with her, making sure it didn’t seem like you were trying too hard. macy agreed, and the two of you grabbed a quick coffee from a nearby shop.

over the next few weeks, you found more opportunities to work together, whether it was at another photoshoot or event. each time, you made sure to keep the conversation going, offering small, relatable advice about the industry and connecting on more personal levels. she started confiding in you more—about the pressure to maintain a certain image, the loneliness that came with constantly being on the go, and how hard it was to find genuine friends in a world full of fake ones.

you didn’t push her. you just listened, offering support when needed and being someone she could trust. eventually, she started to reach out to you first, asking for your opinion on various things, and you could tell she was beginning to see you as a friend, not just another coworker.

the real turning point came when the agency booked you both for a big event. during the event, things were relaxed enough that you had a chance to talk one-on-one. this was when you dropped the suggestion—about how your agency had been looking for fresh faces for future campaigns and how they were always interested in bringing in new talent. it was subtle, but effective. macy took the bait, and the next time you talked, she mentioned she’d been thinking about it and was considering taking the next step.

the seed had been planted. you’d gotten closer to her, built the trust, and now you had her in the perfect position. it wasn’t long before macy was fully onboard with the agency's next big campaign, and just like that, your plan was moving forward.

things were falling into place—slowly, but surely.

phase five: complete.

phase six: start spreading the rumors

now that you were getting closer to macy, madison, and quen, it was time to move to phase six of the plan: spreading rumors. subtle, harmless ones at first, ones that wouldn’t immediately seem like an attack, but that would eventually create tension in matt’s friend group. you knew matt’s friends well enough to know that they would start questioning his actions if the right things were said at the right time.

you decided to start with larray. after all, he was the easiest to get to. you’d spent a good amount of time with him, and he was an open book—always down to gossip and willing to listen. it didn’t take much for you to casually bring up the fact that you’d heard a little something about matt during one of your late-night conversations.

“so, like, i don’t know if i’m the only one who’s noticed, but…” you’d start, lowering your voice, like you were sharing some kind of secret. larray, always keen on gossip, would immediately lean in.

“what? spill it,” he’d say, raising an eyebrow.

you’d shake your head, pretending to hesitate. “it’s probably nothing, but i’ve been hearing stuff about matt… like, he’s been kinda distant lately. i don’t know, maybe it’s just me, but i heard he was kinda flaky at the last couple of events. like, not showing up or leaving early.”

larray’s expression would shift slightly, as though he was mulling it over, but he wouldn’t say much at first. you could tell he was processing the information. the next time he was hanging out with matt and the crew, he’d likely file that tidbit away in the back of his mind.

from there, you’d move on to madison. she was always more perceptive, more cautious about things, but you were good at working your way into people’s trust. one day, as you sat together, sipping your drinks, you’d casually bring up something you’d overheard.

“you know, i’ve noticed matt’s been kinda off lately. like, i don’t know if it’s just me, but he seems different. like, more withdrawn? you know, i’ve been hearing that he’s been talking behind people’s backs about his friends.”

madison would pause, taking a sip from her own drink, but her eyes would narrow just a little. “seriously? that doesn’t sound like him,” she’d say. “who’s he been talking about?”

“i mean, i don’t know if it’s about any one person specifically, but i’ve heard him say stuff about the larray before. not, like, bad stuff, but, like, you know, a little judgmental. he’s always got something to say when he’s not around, which is kinda weird, right?”

madison would probably just shrug it off at first, but you'd know that this type of gossip would linger in the back of her mind, especially when she started noticing the little things that seemed off in matt’s behavior.

last but not least, you’d work on quen. she was sharp, observant, and you knew that getting her to trust you enough to believe what you were saying would be a challenge. but you were up for it. your approach would be a little more direct with her.

one afternoon, you’d be hanging out, and you’d make sure to mention something that would start getting her wheels turning.

“i don’t know if you’ve noticed, but matt’s been acting really off lately. like, he’s not as, i don’t know, present? when he’s around the group, it’s like he’s just not… engaged. he’s distant. i heard him say some weird stuff about how he feels like he’s outgrown a lot of the people around him.”

quen would furrow her brows, not immediately responding. “outgrown? huh. that’s… odd. i mean, he’s always been the one trying to keep everyone together.”

“right? and now he’s just, like, pulling away. it’s strange. especially with how close he used to be with everyone.” you’d pause and look at her, as if genuinely concerned, adding, “maybe i’m reading too much into it, but it’s not just me noticing.”

quen would likely stay quiet for a moment, processing it, but deep down, she’d start to think about it. the next time she was with matt, she'd start paying more attention to the way he interacted with the group. the little things would start to show.

with each of them—larray, madison, and quen—you carefully planted just enough doubt to make them start second-guessing matt’s intentions, his loyalty, and his true feelings toward his friends. nothing too drastic at first, just small seeds of uncertainty. but soon enough, the tension would begin to rise. they’d start noticing what they hadn’t before.

and once they did, it would only be a matter of time before matt’s world began to shift.

you let the information sit with them for a while before starting to up the stakes—making the rumors a bit more… compromising.

“girl, don’t even get me started. i heard matt’s been real weird lately,” you say casually, swirling the straw in your drink as you sit next to larray. it’s subtle, but you know exactly what you’re doing.

“uh-uh, hold up.” larray’s eyes widen as he sets his drink down, giving you that signature side-eye. “what do you mean weird? like… weird weird or just matt-being-a-man weird? ‘cause you know these men don’t know how to act.”

you let out a small, dramatic sigh, playing it off like you don’t want to say too much. “i mean… i don’t know, it’s probably nothing. just heard he’s been kinda distant with macy lately. you didn’t notice?”

“not you trying to soft launch tea and then leaving me hanging,” larray gasps, placing a hand on his chest. “spill, bitch. don’t play with me like that.”

“nooo, it’s not that serious!” you laugh, shaking your head. “just… i saw him the other day and he barely acknowledged her. like, he was all up on his phone the whole time. it was just… weird.”

“not him treating macy like she’s on do not disturb,” larray snorts, rolling his eyes dramatically. “ugh, men are so exhausting. they can’t even pretend to care when they’re in public. disgusting.”

you shrug, acting nonchalant, but you know his perception of matt was changing.

onto madison

one night, when you and madison were grabbing drinks after work, you casually brought up matt’s name again, this time in a more pointed way.

“you know, i think i’ve been seeing something with matt,” you’d say, your voice almost too casual, too innocent. “well, not me personally, but macy has been telling me all these things about how matt’s being all secretive with her and stuff. like recently, that’s been our whole topic of conversation while we’re at work. she tells me he’s on his phone more often and how he’s always so dismissive of her questions when she asks him why he’s been distant lately. i don’t know ‘bout you, but it sounds like to me that he might be seeing someone on the sid

madison frowned, clearly uncomfortable. “seriously? that doesn’t sound like him at all.”

you’d nod, looking concerned. “yeah, i don’t know, but it’s been bugging me. i mean, macy doesn’t deserve that. and maybe he isn’t cheating. but why is he still being weird towards her.”

“yeah no, that’s really fucked up.” madison says, feeling a little sad for macy

“i know i shouldn’t be telling macy’s business like that but it was gnawing at me. and what’s worse is that macy doesn’t even consider that he could possibly be cheating on her. like i don’t know. i just- do you promise not to tell anyone?” you ask, trying your best to sound like you’ve been overcome with guilt.

madison nods, giving you a soft smile. “baby, of course i won’t tell anyone. secrets safe with me. in the end, these could all be rumors and a shit ton of overthinking so i wouldn’t really jump to conclusions but i’d definitely keep it in the back of my mind.”

you nod, returning the smile. “thanks. you’re a really good friend.”

“anytime”

you’d pulled off larray and madison, now all you had left for this round of rumors was quen.

after one evening, when you and quen were hanging out after work, you casually said, “have you noticed something with matt?”

quen raised an eyebrow. “what do you mean?”

“i don’t know, it’s just… i’ve noticed that matt is just… different. but like only with one person.”

her eyebrows furrowed in curiosity as she tilted her head slightly. “who?”

“macy.” you said carefully, like her name was some sort of taboo subject. “it’s weird. he’s like a whole different person when she’s not around. like i feel like he’s more of himself when he’s away from her. when she comes around though, he gets all agitated and annoyed. i might be reading into shit but like… i don’t know.”

quen scoffed, but there was a slight hesitation in her voice. “that sounds like some weird shit, honestly.”

“yeah, i mean, it’s not like macy hasn’t caught on either,” you’d say. “she has! but she’s kinda brushing it off, choosing to ignore it. i just feel like she’s making excuses for him. god i just- i feel bad.”

“well who wouldn’t? like no one should treat their girlfriend like she’s trapping them.”

“yeah no, it’s bad. could you like… not mention this to her. she just- she gets all defensive and mad and she’ll probably realize i told you and i’m not trying to be messy i just needed to get this off my chest and stuff.”

“girl i gotchu. don’t worry.”

“thanks.” you mumble.

now it was time for the even bigger ones. the rumors that would really leave them questioning matt.

you sat beside larray, pretending to scroll through your phone as if what you were about to say was nothing. casual. just another piece of gossip in la.

“okay, so tell me why macy was saying matt’s been so busy with filming and working yesterday’s problem lately,” you murmured, keeping your tone light but just loud enough for larray to catch it.

larray raised an eyebrow, already intrigued. “mmm, okay… and?”

you sighed dramatically, like you didn’t want to be messy but just had to spill. “and… quen told me she saw him at a bar the other night.” you paused for effect, giving larray a pointed look. “like… not the filimg. not working on his project. a bar.”

larray’s eyes widened, lips parting slightly. “bitch, what?!” he blinked, processing the information before shaking his head. “oh no. not this man lying through his motherfucking teeth and playing her in her face.”

“right?” you scoffed, biting your lip to hide the satisfied smirk threatening to form. “i mean, maybe there’s a good explanation, but… doesn’t it seem kinda weird?”

larray leaned back, crossing his arms, and gave you a look. “girl, ain’t no way. if my man told me he was working but was out getting going to bars n shit? he’d be single faster than he could even say single.”

“i knowwww,” you drawled, shaking your head, “but macy doesn’t suspect a thing.”

larray sucked his teeth, already mentally adding this to his list of things to bring up later. “ugh, these men. always something. i swear.”

you nodded, pretending to be concerned, but deep down, you knew this was exactly what you needed.

a few days after your conversation with larray, you decided that you’d get madison again. you and madison found yourselves grabbing drinks again, just like before. but this time? you came prepared even more.

“so… remember what i told you about matt last time?” you started, swirling your straw around in your drink, eyes carefully avoiding madison’s as if you were hesitant to even bring it up.

madison’s expression shifted, her brows furrowing slightly. “yeah… what about it?”

you bit your lip, leaning in a little closer like you were about to spill something big. “okay, so… i wasn’t gonna say anything ‘cause i didn’t wanna let macy’s business out into the open again, but… i’ve got more shit on that situation.”

madison’s eyes widened slightly. “girl, what happened?”

you sighed, feigning reluctance, but you wanted this. “so, macy mentioned something again the other day. she said matt’s been going out more—late nights, no explanation, just saying it’s ‘work stuff.’ but like… get this. when she asked him about it, he got defensive. like, super weird.”

madison’s frown deepened, concern flickering across her face. “defensive? over what though?”

“exactly!” you leaned back, arms crossed as if you were just as confused. “like, why get all worked up if you’ve got nothing to hide? and… i don’t know, macy mentioned she checked his location once and he wasn’t even where he said he’d be. she brushed it off, but…” you trailed off, letting the weight of your words hang between you.

madison’s lips pressed into a thin line. “no… that’s shady as hell. if he’s lying about where he’s at?” she shook her head. “girl, that’s not a good sign.”

“right?” you gave her a look that said you get it. “i mean, maybe it’s nothing… but macy’s too trusting. she doesn’t wanna believe he’d do anything like that. but…” you paused, lowering your voice slightly, “what if he is?”

madison’s jaw tightened, her protective instincts clearly kicking in. “ugh, poor macy. i hate that she’s going through this.”

you nodded, your expression perfectly laced with fake concern. “same. that’s why i told you… i didn’t wanna keep it bottled up. but, you know, i just… i feel bad keeping it all to myself.”

“no, no,” madison said softly, shaking her head. “i’m glad you told me. i’ll… i’ll keep an eye on things.”

after that night, things started falling into place exactly how you wanted.  

a week or so later, you and quen were hanging out again, this time lounging at her apartment after a long day. casual vibes, just the two of you unwinding, but your mind? it was working overtime.  

you waited until the conversation lulled, until the timing felt just right before you spoke up, your tone light but laced with just enough concern to hook her.  

“so… remember what i told you about matt and macy the other day?” you said, fiddling absentmindedly with your phone like it wasn’t that big of a deal.  

quen glanced over, her interest piqued immediately. “uh, yeah. why? what’s up?”  

you sighed, leaning back against the couch like this was weighing heavy on you. “ugh… i wasn’t gonna say anything else, but i’ve been noticing it *a lot* more now. like, girl… it’s bad.”  

quen’s brows furrowed, her attention fully locked in now. “how bad are we talking?”  

“like… okay, so macy told me that matt’s been avoiding spending too much time with her lately,” you started, keeping your voice low and almost hesitant, like you were scared of even saying it. “she says he’s been making excuses. work, friends, whatever. but get this…” you paused for dramatic effect, watching quen lean in a little closer. “the other day? she said they were supposed to hang out, but matt bailed last minute, saying he had something with the boys. but… quen…” you bit your lip, looking conflicted.  

“what?” quen pressed, her eyes narrowing slightly.  

“one of my friends saw him that night. and he wasn’t with nick or chris,” you said, lowering your voice. “he was *with another girl.*”  

quen’s jaw dropped, her expression flipping from curiosity to full-blown disbelief. “*bitch, what?!*”  

“i know,” you murmured, shaking your head like you hated even saying it. “i didn’t believe it at first either. but then i heard it from *two* people. like… what the fuck is going on?”  

quen sat up straighter, her lips pursed in frustration. “nah, that’s wild. and macy doesn’t know?”  

“nope,” you said softly, shaking your head. “and i don’t know if i should be the one to tell her. i mean, she’s already brushing off so much. she’d probably just think i’m stirring shit.”  

quen’s face hardened, her protective side flaring up. “that’s some *bullshit.* she deserves to know if matt’s acting shady like that.”  

“i know,” you sighed, looking down, feigning conflict. “but… i don’t wanna be the one to ruin things, you know? i just… i don’t know what to do.”  

quen shook her head, clearly irritated now. “girl, don’t worry. i’ll keep an eye on him. if he’s up to something shady, we’ll know.”  

you gave her a small, grateful smile, nodding. “thanks, quen. i just… i needed to tell someone. this whole thing’s been eating at me.”  

“don’t worry,” quen said firmly, her tone serious. “if that boy’s up to something, he won’t be able to hide it for long.”  

and just like that, the wheels were turning. quen was on high alert now, watching matt like a hawk. you didn’t even have to do anything more—she’d handle the rest.  

phase six: complete

phase seven: introduce macy to the matt treatment

phase seven was the hardest part.

everything up until now had been about laying the groundwork, planting little doubts in everyone’s minds. but this? this was about making macy feel something that wasn’t even real.

the thing is, matt was a great boyfriend. he wasn’t distant, he wasn’t sneaky, and he wasn’t out here treating macy the way he treated you. and that was the problem.

because if macy never felt the way you felt—if she never experienced the gut-wrenching, soul-crushing matt treatment—then she’d never leave him.

and that? that wasn’t part of the plan.

so, you had to get creative.

step one: distance. but not from matt—from macy’s side of things.

it started small.

“girl, why don’t you ever come out with us anymore?” quen had asked her one night after work, and you made sure you were just within earshot.

macy had laughed it off. “ugh, i know. matt and i have just been spending so much time together lately.”

“damn, glued to his hip, huh?” quen had joked, but the seed had been planted.

and you? you watered it.

“you know,” you said softly the next day, when it was just you and macy grabbing coffee, “it’s great that you and matt are so close, but… don’t you miss having time for yourself sometimes?”

macy frowned a little but shrugged. “not really. i like being with him.”

“of course,” you smiled, keeping your tone light. “but… i don’t know. sometimes too much time together can make things feel… suffocating, y’know? like, matt’s great, but maybe a little space wouldn’t hurt?”

she didn’t agree. not yet. but that’s the thing about seeds—they take time to grow.

step two: fake tension.

if matt wasn’t going to create the tension, you’d have to do it for him.

“ugh,” macy groaned one afternoon while scrolling through her phone. “matt’s been so stressed with everything lately.”

you leaned in, feigning concern. “what’s wrong?”

“just the usual… filming, editing, meetings… he’s been overwhelmed.”

you nodded, playing your part perfectly. “yeah… that’s a lot. has he been… different with you because of it?”

macy’s face scrunched up a bit, her mind already working through a scenario that didn’t exist.

“different how?”

“i don’t know,” you shrugged, keeping it vague on purpose. “sometimes guys get quiet when they’re stressed. pull away a little. they don’t even realize they’re doing it half the time.”

she didn’t say anything after that. but her silence? that was exactly what you wanted.

step three: paranoia.

this was where things got tricky. you had to be subtle, careful not to overplay your hand.

“hey, have you noticed matt texting more lately?” you asked casually one evening, like it was just a passing thought.

macy blinked, looking up from her drink. “huh?”

“oh, nothing,” you waved it off with a smile. “i just… i don’t know. when we were out the other night, i noticed he was on his phone a lot. but it’s probably nothing.”

but it was never nothing.

because now? macy’s mind was already spiraling.

and it worked.

little by little, macy started to feel the things you had felt.

the distance.

the doubt.

the sinking feeling in her gut that something wasn’t quite right, even though matt was still being the same perfect boyfriend he had always been.

but to macy? it wouldn’t feel that way anymore.

because now?

everything felt off.

phase seven: complete.

phase eight: start encouraging macy to break up with matt

phase eight was all about patience.

you knew macy wasn’t ready to let go just yet. she was still holding on, hoping things would get better with matt—even after all the doubts you’d planted.

but that was fine.

because this wasn’t a sprint. it was a marathon.

so you kept playing your part.

you spent more time with her, slowly becoming her confidant.

hangout one: thursday, july 17th, 12:14 pm

another brunch.

macy looked exhausted, her smile just a little less bright than usual.

“you okay?” you asked, keeping your tone light but concerned.

she gave a small shrug, stirring her coffee absentmindedly. “yeah… just tired, i guess.”

you let it go. didn’t push. just offered a soft smile and changed the subject to something easy.

hangout two: wednesday, july 30th, 11:37 pm

a late-night target run.

the conversation was effortless, jumping from one topic to another.

“ugh, i swear, i’m gonna end up living off frozen pizza and sour candy,” you joked, tossing a bag into the cart.

macy laughed, but her response was softer, almost distracted. “at least you know what you like.”

it was nothing. just a passing comment.

hangout three: friday, august 22nd, 10:43 pm

movie night at her place.

you both sat curled up on the couch, the glow of the tv flickering across the room.

“thanks for coming over,” macy murmured, almost too quietly to catch.

“of course,” you said softly, not making a big deal of it.

she didn’t say anything else.

but the way her shoulders relaxed just a little more as the night went on?

that wasn’t nothing.

but none of it stood out.

no lingering looks. no obvious smiles. no heavy silences.

just… a quiet comfort.

she started replying to your texts a little faster.

her invitations to hang out came a little more frequently.

and maybe—maybe—she seemed a little more at ease when it was just the two of you.

but it was subtle.

so subtle that even you didn’t catch it.

because phase eight wasn’t about that.

phase eight was about planting doubt.

and that?

that was working perfectly.

phase eight: complete

phase nine: watch as matt’s life falls apart completely

and this all brings us back to now.

matthew bernard sturniolo.

god, you couldn’t stand the man. but looking at him now—his life a complete mess—there was nothing sweeter. and the best part?

it was all because of you.

his friends had all turned their backs on him. larray, madison, quen—they didn’t look at him the same anymore. the doubt you’d planted in their minds had festered, grown, and twisted everything they once believed about matt.

larray? couldn’t trust matt after the whole “bar incident.” he’d barely speak to him now. anytime matt tried to reach out, larray would leave him on read or reply with some dry-ass response that made it painfully obvious he wasn’t interested. and when he did talk to him?

“girl, i’m busy. find someone else to lie to.”

madison? she kept her distance. she hadn’t confronted matt directly, but you could tell she was piecing everything together. the seeds of doubt you’d planted had bloomed beautifully, and now she didn’t even look at matt the same.

quen? she was the most direct.

“nah, matt,” she had said the last time he tried talking to her. “i don’t fuck with that weird shit. you’re different.”

and then there was macy.

sweet, sweet macy.

she had been the hardest to break. her love for matt was deep—genuine. it took time to unravel that.

but you did it.

every rumor. every carefully crafted conversation. every doubt you whispered in her ear.

it all led to this moment.

she had finally broken up with him.

you weren’t there to see it, but you could imagine how it went down. the tears in her eyes, her voice breaking as she confronted him.

“i just… i can’t do this anymore, matt.”

and matt?

probably standing there, dumbfounded, begging her to believe that none of it was true.

but it was too late.

you had made sure of that.

now, matt was left standing in the wreckage of his own life.

his friends? gone. his relationship? over. his reputation? in shambles.

and he had no idea who was pulling the strings.

you stood on the sidelines, watching it all crumble, a satisfied smirk tugging at your lips.

all that heartbreak? all that pain?

now, it was his turn to feel it.

and the best part?

he never even saw it coming.

but it wasn’t enough.

watching matt’s life fall apart had been… satisfying. no doubt. but it still didn’t give you the closure you needed. not yet.

because he still didn’t know.

and what fun would it be if he never found out?

no, matt needed to see you—face to face. he needed to look you in the eyes and realize who was behind it all. he needed to feel the weight of everything crashing down around him and know that it was your doing.

you needed that moment.

and as fate would have it, that moment was just around the corner.

macy had left something at matt’s place. she didn’t want to go back for it herself—too painful, too fresh—so, naturally, she asked you to grab it for her.

at first, you weren’t sure if it was a good idea. walking back into his space? after everything? but then, you realized…

this was your chance.

you’d have matt all to yourself. no macy. no friends. just you and him.

so, here you were. standing outside his apartment, heart pounding, pulse racing.

you knocked.

once.

twice.

the door swung open faster than you expected, and there he was.

matthew bernard sturniolo.

and he looked like shit.

dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, his expression was… tired. broken.

“cherry?” his voice was barely above a whisper, pure disbelief written all over his face.

you felt a sick sort of satisfaction bloom in your chest.

“matthew. it’s been a while. how’ve you been lately?” you asked, an almost sadistic smirk tugging at your lips.

he blinked, eyes wide, like he was seeing a ghost. “i-i… wha-what are you doing here?” his voice was barely above a whisper, shaky and unsure.

you tilted your head, feigning innocence. “you really haven’t figured that out yet?” your hand rested on your hip, your tone dripping with impatience. all this hard work, months of planning, and the boy didn’t even have a damn clue. how rude.

but what was even more insulting? the way this idiot had the nerve to shake his head. “n-no.”

wow.

“ugh, you’re as stupid as ever,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “it was me, goddamn it. i did it. i’m the reason your sad, pathetic life is crumbling to pieces.”

the color drained from his face, eyes widening—not with confusion this time, but pure, unfiltered terror.

“why… why would you do something like that?” he asked, his voice barely holding together.

you rolled your eyes, a bitter laugh slipping out. “god, are you stupid?” your tone dripped with disdain. “you really don’t remember?”

his silence was answer enough.

“jesus christ, matt,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “four years. four fucking years, and you can’t even remember the shit you put me through?”

his lips parted, but no words came out.

“let me refresh your memory then.” you stepped closer, just enough to watch the panic build behind his eyes. “remember high school? how we did everything like a couple but you never wanted to put a label on it? all that ‘i’m not ready for a relationship yet’ bullshit? and me? i was so fucking stupid, i waited. i waited for you.”

matt’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.

“but it didn’t stop there, did it?” you went on, voice dripping with venom. “no, you kept feeding me lies. you’re the only one who gets me, baby. one day, i’m gonna marry you, you know that?” you scoffed, eyes narrowing. “and like an idiot, i believed it. i believed you.”

his breathing was heavier now, chest rising and falling a little too quickly.

“then you left,” you hissed, your tone colder now. “moved to la. promised we’d make it work, that we’d talk every day, visit whenever we could.” you let out a bitter laugh. “but those calls? they got shorter. the texts? less frequent. until, eventually…” you paused, your gaze hardening as you locked eyes with him.

“you ghosted me.”

his face paled even more, if that was even possible.

“left me wondering what the fuck i did wrong. wondering why i wasn’t enough for you,” your voice cracked, but you swallowed the emotion down, refusing to let him see you break. “and just when i finally started to accept that maybe you weren’t coming back…” you tilted your head, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“i saw the pictures.”

matt’s breath caught in his throat.

“you. at that party. all over her.” the venom in your voice was impossible to miss. “while i was sitting at home, waiting for a text you were never going to send.”

matt opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“and that’s when i realized,” you said, leaning in just enough for your words to cut deeper. “i was never going to be enough for you. but that’s okay. because now?”

you smiled sweetly, though your eyes were anything but kind.

“you’re the one who’s left with nothing.”

you stood there, staring at him for a few seconds, letting the weight of your words sink in. you could see the way he was struggling to process it, the panic mixed with guilt. but it wasn’t your problem anymore. you had done what you came for, and that was all that mattered.

you let out a deep breath, shaking your head in disbelief.

“god, matt,” you muttered, the contempt thick in your voice. “you really are the worst.”

you turned your back on him, hearing him call your name weakly, but you didn’t stop.

"you're nothing but a liar and a coward," you threw over your shoulder. "so enjoy the mess you made. you deserve every bit of it."

without looking back, you walked towards your car, your heart pounding, but not from anger—no, from a strange kind of satisfaction. for the first time in years, it felt like everything was finally in place. like all the puzzle pieces had clicked together, and you had everything you needed.

you slid into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut. you could still hear him shouting your name, but it didn’t matter anymore. his voice was nothing now.

you put the car in drive, the engine rumbling to life, and slowly pulled away from the curb.

as you made your way home, your mind wandered back to macy.

phase ten

you couldn’t help but smile, the anticipation building. it had been a slow burn, but now, things had shifted in ways you hadn’t even expected. what started as a plan to destroy matt had turned into something much more unexpected. you had gotten under his skin—and now, macy’s too.

the thought of macy, her soft lips against yours, the way she started leaning into you more and more, her touch lingering a little longer than it should’ve—none of it had been planned. but here you were, with a beautiful, broken mess of a boyfriend’s ex, and she was yours now.

you smiled to yourself as you sped down the road, your thoughts consuming you.

phase ten: ravish your new girlfriend's body completely.

and just like that, the plan was over. the game had changed. you didn’t need revenge anymore—you had her.

dividers: @bernardsbendystraws

© throatgoat4u

[filthyjoelslvr]

memorial day

Content: Dbf!Joel x Reader

Synop: What was supposed to be a quiet Memorial Day at the lake turns into something far more complicated when long-held tension finally snaps. In the stillness of the woods, boundaries blur and secrets take root—ones that can’t be easily forgotten once the sun rises.

Warnings: No!Outbreak Joel, No use of y/n, degradtion kink, pet names (babygirl, little girl, sweer heart), Mean joel (kinda, calls reader a slut), Joel tries make you feel guilty kink?, Creampie, No protectipn pnv, fingering, honestly just kind of disgusting in a sexy way? Public (kinda but no one’s around), in front of your daddy but he’s sleeping (so sorry for this)

Word Count: 10k

(dividers by: @strangergraphics)

Memorial Day in Texas feels less like a holiday and more like a dare — how long can you stand the heat before it breaks you? The sun comes up early and mean, baking the pavement by 9 a.m., turning leather car seats into griddles and the air into something thick enough to choke on. That’s why you escape to the lake every year, just far enough outside Austin that the water feels cleaner, cooler, like a secret. You pack light: cutoff denim shorts, a thin knit sweater, and the one bikini you know will get noticed — black, high-cut, a little more grown than anyone at the lake last saw you in. Joel shows up in his usual: a faded black tank that hugs his shoulders and clings in all the wrong places once it’s soaked through, swim shorts, and that same damn baseball cap he’s had for years, sweat-stained and stubborn. He looks like summer and trouble, and maybe that’s why you hate the heat a little less when he’s around.

Joel and your dad go way back — not college buddies or some childhood thing, but the kind of friendship that forms in real life, under pressure. They met working construction in their twenties, two guys figuring it out as they went, both with young families, both struggling to make ends meet but still finding a way to laugh at the end of the day. Joel had Sarah, just a baby then. Your dad had you, and your mom — back when life was loud and full, and holidays meant cookouts, not silence.

Every memory you have of childhood, Joel’s somewhere in the background. Fixing the AC in the middle of a heatwave. Bringing over brisket and cheap beer. Holding a sleeping Sarah while your mom made peach cobbler. The two families blurred into one, easy and natural — until your mom got sick. And after she passed, it wasn’t your dad who held things together. It was Joel.

He never made a big show of it. Just… showed up. For you, for your dad. Quiet help — rides to school when your dad forgot, groceries in the fridge, fixed leaky sinks without asking. Never stepped into your mother’s space, but never let either of you fall too far, either. And when your dad was too broken to be fully present, Joel was the one who kept you grounded.

Sarah’s grown now — lives a couple states away, working, in love, building her own life. Joel’s divorced. Has been for years. It wasn’t messy, just one of those things that runs its course. He stayed in Texas. Stayed close. And you? You never really stopped orbiting him, even when you left for school, even when life moved on.

Now you’re older. Old enough to see Joel not just as the man who helped raise you, but as a man. Strong, steady, familiar in a way that feels dangerous now. Your dad still calls him his best friend. Still trusts him more than anyone. And that’s the line you know you’re not supposed to cross.

But sometimes Joel looks at you like he’s not sure if you already have.

Memorial Day at the lake was tradition — not something anyone ever questioned, just something that happened, like clockwork. Every year, the same plan: your dad would pack the truck with coolers full of beer and whatever meat he felt like over-seasoning, Joel would bring the boat and the old rusted grill that somehow still worked, and you'd toss in towels, sunscreen, and the too-small duffel bag that always carried your swimsuit and a second pair of dry clothes you never ended up needing. The three of you had been doing it for as long as you could remember — back when Sarah was still small enough to cling to Joel’s back in the water and you were too shy to take off your shirt in front of anyone. Back when your mom would make cold pasta salad in a giant plastic bowl and yell at your dad for forgetting the ice. Even after she passed, even when Sarah got older and stopped coming, the tradition didn’t break. It shifted. Tightened. Became something quieter and more sacred. Just the three of you — a long weekend of sunburns and smoky air, Joel manning the grill with a beer in hand, your dad blasting classic rock from a busted speaker, and you stretched out on the dock, toes in the water, pretending not to notice the way Joel’s voice dipped when he talked to you. It wasn’t about the holiday. It was about the ritual. About holding on to something that still felt right, even when everything else had changed.

The drive to the lake always felt longer than it was, but maybe that was just the heat — or maybe it was because you were crammed into the backseat of Joel's truck, half-napping against the window, pretending not to listen to the familiar back-and-forth between your dad and him. They talked like they always did — like no time had passed. About work, traffic on I-35, the price of gas, whether the water level at the lake would be high or low this year.

You kept your sunglasses on and didn’t say much, letting their voices hum in the background like static. The sun was already hot, even before noon, and the AC in Joel's truck gave up halfway into the drive. You were sweating through your sweater and silently cursing the denim shorts that now felt painted on. Still, you didn’t regret what you’d packed — especially the black bikini tucked under your clothes. It was a little bold, sure, but after last year’s Memorial Day trip, when Joel didn’t even look twice at you, you’d decided this year you weren’t going to fade into the background. Not again.

The truck finally turned down the familiar gravel road, and the air changed — lighter, full of cedar and lakewater and something nostalgic. The trees parted to reveal the same sagging dock, and that wide, glinting stretch of water that made it all worth it.

You were the first one out of the truck.

Joel didn’t say anything as he grabbed the rope from the bed and headed toward the water. You watched from the edge of the dock as he worked — pulling the cover off the boat, checking the fuel, tying off lines with practiced ease. He hadn’t changed much, at least not in ways that made him any easier to look away from. His tank top was sun-bleached and clinging just enough to show the shape of him — broad shoulders, strong arms, tan skin gone golden under the sun. His hat shaded his face, but you still caught glimpses of his eyes when he glanced up, squinting toward the glare.

He hadn’t even taken his sunglasses off yet, and still you felt like he could see right through you.

There was something hypnotic about watching him work — the steadiness in his hands, the little grunt he made when something stuck, the way he wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, unaware or just unaffected by the fact that you were staring. He’d always had this calm, capable energy that made you feel safe without even trying. But now, older, clearer-eyed, it hit different. It settled low in your stomach. Pulled at you.

Your dad was still fiddling with the cooler in the truck bed, grumbling about forgetting charcoal, oblivious. But Joel? Joel caught your eye for just a second as he stepped onto the boat. He smirked — subtle, knowing.

“Water’s perfect,” he called out. “You bring that swimsuit or just plan on lookin’ hot and sweaty all day?”

You blinked, then laughed, heart kicking.

He turned away before you could answer, already back to work. But that one line sat with you. Because he said it so easy. Like he didn’t even realize what it sounded like.

Or maybe he did.

It didn’t take Joel long to finish up with the boat. He moved with that quiet focus he always had — checking the motor, untangling ropes, kicking open the storage compartments to toss in life vests and the warped foam noodles your dad refused to throw away. Once everything looked good, your dad finally hauled the first cooler down from the truck, grunting like it weighed more than it did, and Joel stepped in without a word to help. The two of them moved in sync, loading up the boat with bags of chips, beer, and the pre-wrapped burgers your dad insisted on grilling even though it was already 90 degrees.

You lingered on the dock, pretending to scroll through your phone, but really just watching. Waiting.

Joel hopped back onto the boat and opened a beer with the edge of the cooler, leaning against the railing like it was second nature. His tank top stuck to his chest now, damp with sweat, and his skin had already started to flush from the sun. He wasn’t looking at you — not directly. But you caught the shift in his stance when you stood up. The way his body stilled. The flick of his eyes under the brim of that damn hat.

Time to make it worth it.

You peeled off your clothes slow — first the sweater, then the shorts — and folded them with deliberate care, placing them neatly at the edge of the dock. The air hit your skin all at once, and the black bikini felt suddenly bolder than it had in your bedroom mirror. High-cut, low-backed, with just enough give to make you feel dangerous.

You didn’t look at him right away. You just walked over to the lounge chair and grabbed your tanning oil from your bag, unscrewing the cap with one hand while the other smoothed your hair back off your shoulders. Then, you started to apply it — slow, intentional, dragging your palms over your arms, then down your legs, gliding over your stomach like you had all the time in the world.

Only then did you glance up.

Joel was mid-sip of his beer, but it had stalled halfway to his mouth. His gaze was locked — not openly, not in a way anyone else would notice — but you saw it. The way his eyes trailed down the curve of your body and then quickly darted back to the boat like he hadn’t just undressed you all over again with one look.

You smiled to yourself.

This swimsuit was a good choice.

He tried to play it off, mumbling something to your dad and rummaging through a bag that definitely didn’t need rummaging. But you caught it again — the second glance, lower this time. And when you lifted one leg to rub oil into your calf, his jaw flexed hard enough to make your chest flutter.

You leaned back on your elbows, soaking up the sun. Letting him look. Letting him want.

For the first time, you weren’t the one being watched like a kid. And Joel? He wasn’t hiding it nearly as well as he thought.

The boat eased away from the dock with a low hum, the water shimmering under the sun like molten glass. Joel was at the front, one hand on the throttle, the other resting on the wheel like he’d been born to drive this thing. He wore those same dark sunglasses, and the breeze whipped his shirt against his chest as the boat picked up speed, slicing through the lake with smooth confidence.

You laid back across one of the cushioned benches, sunglasses on, letting the sun kiss every inch of your oiled skin. Your dad was futzing around with a Bluetooth speaker that kept cutting in and out, alternating between classic rock and static. Occasionally, he’d call out to Joel to steer left or point out a cove they’d used to fish in, but mostly, it was quiet — lazy and warm, the kind of afternoon that felt suspended in time.

Eventually, Joel cut the engine. The boat bobbed gently in the middle of the lake, surrounded by nothing but water, hills, and heat. He stood up and stretched, back arching just enough to make your mouth go a little dry, then kicked off his shoes.

Without a word, he jumped.

The splash was loud, and when he surfaced a few feet from the boat, his hair was pushed back and dripping, face slick with lake water and sun, his grin wide and boyish in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time. The wet tank clung to his chest for a second before he pulled it off and tossed it onto the deck behind him.

You didn’t even try to pretend you weren’t looking.

His shoulders, tanned and cut, gleamed in the light, droplets racing down the planes of his chest. His laugh was low and easy as he treaded water.

“C’mon,” he called out. “Water’s perfect.”

“Don’t pressure her,” your dad said — right before cannonballing in beside him, creating a second wave of water that sloshed against the side of the boat.

You groaned and pushed your sunglasses up. “I’m good right here.”

They both resurfaced, grinning, ganging up like clockwork.

“Aw, come on,” your dad called. “You used to be the first one in!”

“Used to,” you shot back, stretching out further, crossing one oiled leg over the other. “Now I’m grown and civilized.”

Joel smirked, running a hand back through his wet hair. “Grown, huh? That why you’re afraid to get your hair wet now?”

You narrowed your eyes behind your sunglasses. “Not afraid. Just not stupid.”

Joel floated closer, arms lazily pushing through the water. “Yeah, yeah. You’re just scared we’ll splash you.”

“You will splash me.”

“We will,” he agreed, grinning. “That’s half the fun.”

You shook your head and leaned back with a sigh of exaggerated contentment. “I’m on beer duty. Go play.”

Your dad laughed and turned away, swimming toward the back of the boat.

Joel just lingered there, watching you.

“I give up,” he finally said with a dramatic sigh. “Toss me a beer, will ya?”

“Fine.” You sat up, grabbing a cold one from the cooler, condensation already sliding down the side of the can. You shuffled over to the edge of the boat where Joel was floating and leaned over the railing to hand it to him, the sun warming your back.

And that’s when he struck.

His hand shot up, wrapping around your wrist, and before you could even yelp, he tugged — hard.

You gasped, tried to pull back, but the slippery deck offered no grip. The world tilted for a split second — sun, sky, Joel’s smirk — and then you hit the water with a splash that stole the breath right out of you.

Cold and shocking, but somehow still perfect.

You surfaced with a sputter, pushing your wet hair out of your face, eyes wide as Joel laughed loud and unrepentant. He backed away in the water, arms raised like he was innocent.

“Joel!” you shouted, splashing water at him furiously.

He just grinned. “Told you it was perfect.”

Your dad howled with laughter in the distance.

You blinked the water from your lashes, glaring — but it was hard to stay mad when Joel was right there, water dripping from his jaw, that same damn smirk on his face, and your heart beating just a little too fast in your chest.

Maybe falling in wasn’t so bad after all.

After Joel yanked you into the water, it was full-on war.

You splashed him until your arms ached, trying to keep up with how fast he moved in the water. Your dad jumped in to “defend” you, which really just turned into him dunking Joel under like they were ten years old again. The lake echoed with laughter — yours louder than it had been in a long time — and the heat of the afternoon felt less suffocating when you were weightless, drifting in cool water, surrounded by two people who’d known you your whole life.

You forgot about the sunburn slowly forming across your shoulders. Forgot about time.

At some point, Joel disappeared under the surface, only to pop up right behind you and lift you up out of the water in one strong motion, tossing you with a triumphant shout. You hit the water laughing, kicking toward him, yelling his name like a threat, even though you weren’t really mad.

Eventually, the chaos quieted. You all settled into the stillness that always came after the burst of play — muscles heavy, voices softer, the heat stretching out like molasses.

Joel pulled a pool noodle under his arms, head tilted back, eyes closed behind his sunglasses. You found a floatie — one of those half-deflated recliner ones — and climbed on, letting your legs hang over the sides. Your dad drifted between you, occasionally humming along to the music still playing faintly from the boat’s speaker.

The water rocked everyone gently. It was the kind of peace that didn’t need words.

After a while, your dad cleared his throat. “Alright,” he said, paddling toward the boat. “Time to get the grill set up before I pass out from hunger.”

You cracked one eye open.

Joel just grunted a lazy, “Mmm.”

Your dad laughed and climbed back aboard, the boat tilting slightly under his weight. He moved around the deck, opening the cooler again, mumbling about lighter fluid and forgetting to bring the damn tongs.

You stayed where you were — drifting, warm, weightless.

Joel floated a few feet away, arms still hooked over the noodle, chest rising and falling slow. He glanced your way, and for a second, it felt like the sun paused in the sky.

The water between you shimmered. Quiet. Charged.

And your dad was just close enough to feel like a buffer, but far enough not to hear a word.

The water lapped gently around you, lazy and warm now in the late afternoon heat. Your float rocked with each soft ripple, and somewhere behind you, your dad moved around the boat, metal clinking as he got the grill ready. The smell of charcoal drifted faintly on the breeze, mixing with cedar, sunscreen, and the soft churn of lakewater.

Joel was still there — a few feet away, noodle tucked under his arms, sunglasses low on his nose. He hadn’t said anything in a while. Just floated. Watched.

You tried not to look at him. You really did. But the way the sun hit his skin, all bronze and wet, his hair slicked back from the water, neck beading with droplets—it wasn’t easy. He looked like something out of a dream you didn’t even know you had permission to have.

“You’re quiet,” you said finally, your voice soft, breaking the thick silence between you.

Joel’s lips quirked just a little. “So are you.”

You shrugged. “It’s peaceful out here.”

He hummed in agreement, eyes scanning the sky, the tree line, the lazy ripple of the water before finally settling on you again.

“You always liked it out here,” he said. “Even when you were little. You’d float around like you were made of water. Never wanted to get out.”

You smiled at the memory. “That hasn’t changed much.”

Joel let out a quiet chuckle, deep and low in his chest. “No. Guess it hasn’t.”

A beat passed. Then two. The space between your float and his noodle shrank slightly with the movement of the water, just enough to feel noticeable. Intentional.

“You surprised me today,” he said, not quite looking at you. “With that suit.”

You turned your head toward him slowly, heartbeat ticking up.

“Why’s that?”

He finally looked you dead-on, and even through the sunglasses, you could feel the weight of his gaze. He didn’t smile this time. His voice dropped, lower than before.

“Because you’re you're getting older.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than they should’ve been. You swallowed, throat tight.

“Yeah,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I guess I am.”

The water between you stilled.

Joel ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back again, the movement slow — almost nervous. You’d never seen him like that. Not around you. He cleared his throat and looked away, but not before you caught the flicker of something in his expression. Hunger. Conflict. Restraint.

Your float drifted a little closer.

“Joel,” you said, voice soft. “You don’t have to pretend you didn’t look.”

That got his attention. He looked at you again, this time with something raw in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to—” he started, then stopped. “Well. Maybe I did.”

Your stomach flipped.

Behind you, your dad cursed loudly about the propane tank, and the spell broke. Joel sat up straighter, turned toward the boat, jaw tight again like he’d reeled himself back in.

You let the silence take over again, but it felt different now — full of everything that had just passed between you. Everything that had almost happened.

And maybe still could.

The quiet between you stretched out, heavy but magnetic. Joel hadn’t moved much — just floated close, close enough that the water brushing your leg might’ve been him. You didn’t know for sure until you felt it again — firmer this time, deliberate. A hand, slipping beneath the surface, fingers grazing the curve of your hip where the waterline met your bikini.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He didn’t look at you. Just kept his face turned toward the boat, the sun glinting off the water between you. His fingers moved slowly, barely there — a slow stroke of skin just under the surface, hidden from view. He wasn’t grabbing, wasn’t pushing, just touching. Like he was testing if he could. If you’d let him.

You didn’t stop him.

You didn’t say a word.

Your pulse fluttered in your throat, and the rest of the world faded down to water, skin, and the electricity building in that sliver of space between your float and his.

And then—

“Alright, you two, let’s go,” your dad called, loud and casual, from the boat.

The hand vanished instantly, like it had never been there at all. You jerked upright a little too fast, water splashing against your float. Joel cleared his throat and turned, swimming a couple strokes toward the boat.

Your heart thudded hard, heat crawling up your neck — not from the sun this time.

You glanced at your dad, trying to read his expression, but he didn’t look suspicious. If he’d seen anything, he didn’t let on. He was leaning against the railing, grinning like always, waving you in.

“Got the coals lit. We’re losing daylight,” he called. “Come on before Joel drinks all the beer.”

Joel climbed aboard first, grabbing your hand to help you up like nothing had happened. His grip was firm, steady, but when your eyes met, there was a flash of something there — something unspoken and sharp. He let go a beat too late.

You dried off quickly and pulled your sweater back on, trying to steady your breath while your dad moved around the grill, humming off-key to the music now coming in clear from the speaker. Joel cracked open another beer and stood beside him, the two of them falling back into their usual rhythm — arguing about burger doneness, who forgot to pack the cheese, and whether it was too late to drive into town for firewood. Then Joel drove everyone back to land.

You busied yourself spreading the picnic blanket across the little patch of shaded grass just off the dock once the boat was tied. You laid out the paper plates, napkins, the tub of potato salad your dad insisted on bringing every year even though it always got warm too fast. Your skin was still damp, hair clinging to the back of your neck, but your hands moved automatically. Anything to give you something to do. Anything to keep from glancing at Joel too much.

Dinner was easy. The way it always was — plates balanced on laps, beer bottles sweating in the grass, food that tasted better because it had been earned by sun and laughter and a long day on the water. The three of you sat in a triangle on the blanket, your dad telling a story you’d already heard twice before about the time he and Joel got stranded in the middle of the highway with a flat tire and a cooler full of melted ice.

You laughed. You always did. Joel added the same sarcastic commentary he always did, flicking a bottlecap at your dad’s arm mid-story.

But every now and then, you felt his eyes on you.

Quick glances over his bottle. A flash of tongue licking grease off his thumb. His knee brushing yours and staying just a moment too long before shifting away again.

The food disappeared fast. Your dad leaned back with a satisfied sigh, his plate empty, beer in hand, already talking about grilling breakfast tomorrow. But you weren’t listening to the words.

You were listening to the tension. To the silence pulsing just under the surface — not between all three of you, but between you and Joel.

Something had shifted.

And even if no one said it out loud… it was there now.

Undeniable.

The sun had started to dip behind the lake by the time you were clearing the last of the paper plates, the sky washed in deep orange and fading gold. The lake glimmered in the distance, still and endless now, and the heat had finally loosened its grip, replaced by a breeze that whispered through the trees and lifted strands of your damp hair off your shoulders.

Joel had already gotten a fire going, the crackle of burning wood filling the space where conversation had died down. They had made the drive into town for firewood, and he’d stacked it just right—tight and efficient, like he did everything. He stood nearby now, feeding another log into the flames, face lit up in flickering amber, a cigarette tucked between two fingers and a beer balanced in the other.

Your dad was off to the side, tying the last corner of the old camping hammock he swore by. It hung between two trees just a little ways back from the fire pit, swaying gently in the breeze. He always staked that spot for himself come nighttime—said it was the best seat in the house for stargazing and s’mores.

You tossed the last bag of trash into the bin and wiped your hands on your shorts, making your way back toward the fire just as Joel lowered himself into one of the folding chairs with a groan and a muttered, “My knees weren’t built for this much swimming.”

You grinned and sat in the chair next to him, close enough that your knees brushed his for a moment before you tucked them up under yourself.

Your dad had finally settled in his hammock, beer in one hand, bag of marshmallows resting on his chest. He’d already started humming to himself, eyes barely open, the kind of blissed-out contentment only someone who’d grilled three burgers and floated in the sun for hours could feel.

Joel passed you the cigarette without a word. You took it between your fingers and inhaled, the smoke curling warm in your chest as you exhaled into the fading light. He lit another for himself and leaned back in his chair, his free hand lazily strumming the strings of the battered old acoustic guitar he kept in the truck. He hadn’t played all day, but now, as the sun gave way to dusk, he let the music slip out like muscle memory.

It was low and slow — something old and familiar, something that melted into the firelight like it belonged there.

You sipped your beer and watched him, your legs stretched out toward the warmth of the flames. His fingers moved with casual grace, the melody floating softly into the night. The guitar glowed in the light, the wood darkened from years of playing, his hand resting easily on the neck like it was part of him.

Your dad let out a soft snore, the marshmallows rolling off his chest and into the hammock with a rustle. Neither of you moved to wake him.

You just sat there, under a sky turning dark, with the lake at your back and the fire between you and Joel. The smoke, the heat, the music — it all felt thick and quiet and close.

Joel didn’t say anything, but he looked at you once through the smoke, the firelight catching in his eyes. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a statement.

It was just there.

Whatever this was between you — it was burning too.

The fire had burned down to a slow, steady glow, casting everything in warm gold and flickering shadows. Crickets chirped lazily in the brush, and the trees creaked quietly in the breeze. Your dad was fully asleep now, gently rocking in his hammock with a soft snore escaping every few breaths, a beer bottle still clutched loosely to his chest like a trophy.

You and Joel hadn’t spoken in a while. You didn’t need to.

He kept playing — quieter now, slower — until even that faded into silence. His hand stilled on the strings, and the only sounds left were the crackle of wood and the distant lap of water against the dock.

He set the guitar down beside his chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, cigarette burning low between two fingers. For a moment, you just watched the smoke curl up into the night sky, your heart beating slow but loud in your chest.

Then his voice, low and rough, cut through the quiet.

“You ever think about how different everything would’ve been if life had gone the way we planned?”

You turned your head, eyes catching the way the firelight touched his face — carving out every line, every shadow. He looked older here. Softer, in the dark. Like he didn’t have to hold up the weight of everything for once.

“I try not to,” you admitted, tucking your knees closer to your chest. “Doesn’t do much good.”

He nodded slowly, like he already knew what you were going to say.

“I used to think there was only one way to be a good man,” he said after a pause. “And I followed that as best I could. Worked hard. Stayed in my lane. Kept my hands clean.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully.

“But then life starts rewriting all your rules,” he murmured, flicking ash into the fire. “And suddenly… there’s this person you shouldn’t want. Someone you can’t want.”

The words hung there between you. Unsaid, but completely understood.

Your breath hitched. You didn’t look away from him.

“You didn’t stop yourself earlier,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” he said, eyes meeting yours now, steady and heavy and raw. “Didn’t want to.”

Neither of you moved. The night was a living thing between you, breathing and buzzing and watching. Your heartbeat was in your throat. In your fingertips. You wondered if he could hear it.

His voice dropped, barely more than a rasp. “You didn’t stop me either.”

“I didn’t want to,” you echoed back, just as quiet.

Joel’s hand shifted slightly, resting on his knee. Close to yours. Not touching, but close. You could feel the heat of him there, even in the night air.

He leaned in, just a little.

“I think about you more than I should,” he said. “Been tryin’ not to. But it’s gettin’ harder.”

The admission landed like a weight in your chest. A tremble ran through your limbs — not fear, not nerves. Just want.

You looked at him — really looked. His face was lit by fire and memory. His eyes weren’t guarded now. They were open. Vulnerable. Honest.

“I think about you too,” you whispered.

Neither of you moved right away.

But the shift had already happened.

And nothing was going to be the same after tonight.

The fire crackled, shifting slightly as a log split open with a soft pop, sending a shower of embers drifting into the dark like fireflies. Joel watched them float up, his hand still near yours, his knee brushing against you when he shifted, like he didn’t even realize he was reaching for closeness—or maybe he did.

You didn’t pull away.

He exhaled slow, like he was choosing his next words with care.

“I notice things about you now,” he said quietly. “Things I didn’t let myself see before.”

You turned toward him, pulse picking up. “Like what?”

His jaw flexed, and for a second he didn’t answer. Then he looked at you — really looked. Like you were something fragile and dangerous all at once.

“The way you look when you think no one’s watching,” he said. “How quiet you get when you’re trying not to say what you’re feeling. The way you walk around like you don’t know how beautiful you are.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight. Your fingers twitched in your lap.

“And it’s wrong,” he added, softer now. “You’re—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, your voice just above a whisper. “Don’t pull that card.”

Joel stared at you, something stormy in his eyes. “He’s my best friend.”

“And I’m not a child,” you said firmly, but not harshly. “You know I’m not.”

He didn’t argue.

The silence that followed was louder than the fire.

You leaned back slightly, heart thudding, the space between you sparking like it had its own pulse.

“I used to think you didn’t see me at all,” you admitted. “Like I was invisible to you.”

Joel turned his head slowly, regret written clear in the lines around his mouth.

“I saw you,” he said. “I saw everything. That was the problem.”

Your breath caught. You felt it, then — how much he meant it. How long he’d been holding this in. The restraint hadn’t just been recent. It had roots.

“I used to convince myself it was just a crush,” you said. “That it would go away. But it didn’t. It got worse.”

Joel’s lips parted like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He just looked at you—like he was trying to memorize you. Like maybe if he held your gaze long enough, he’d find the strength to walk away… or the excuse not to.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he said finally, voice rough. “Don’t want to be a mistake you regret.”

You reached for his hand then, slowly, your fingertips brushing his knuckles.

“Then don’t be,” you said softly. “But don’t pretend this isn’t real either.”

Joel didn’t move at first. Just stared at your hand against his like it might burn him.

Then—finally—his fingers turned, lacing with yours.

The touch was simple. No rush.

But it meant everything.

The line had been crossed, not with a kiss, but with the truth.

And there was no going back now.

Joel’s hand stayed wrapped around yours, warm and steady, the callouses on his fingers rough against your skin in a way that made your chest ache.

He looked down at your joined hands like he didn’t quite believe it was real. Like part of him still expected you to pull away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you gave his hand the faintest squeeze.

That was all it took.

He stood without a word, still holding your hand, and gave a subtle nod toward the tree line just past the fire. You understood him without needing to ask. Not here. Not with your dad half-snoring in the hammock just ten feet away.

You rose and followed him, the fire casting long shadows behind you as you stepped off the blanket, your bare feet brushing over dry grass and soft pine needles. Joel led you just far enough away that the firelight flickered at your backs, barely kissing the edge of your shoulders now — just far enough for the dark to feel like privacy.

The air was cooler in the trees. Quieter.

He stopped near the base of a tall cedar, the branches low and swaying gently above. He dropped your hand slowly, like it hurt to let it go, but didn’t step away.

You were standing close now. Closer than you’d dared all day.

The silence between you was no longer awkward or tentative — it was expectant.

Joel looked at you for a long moment, something stormy and unreadable behind his eyes.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice rough, low.

“I’ve never been more sure,” you whispered.

That was it.

Whatever thread had been holding him back finally snapped.

He stepped forward and reached up, his fingers brushing your jaw, then settling along the curve of your neck. His hand was warm, steady. Your breath hitched as his thumb dragged slowly beneath your ear, the gentleness of the touch at complete odds with the fire in his eyes.

He leaned in.

Not fast. Not greedy.

Like he was memorizing every second before it finally happened.

And then, with a low breath that barely touched your skin—

His lips met yours.

It was careful at first. Tentative. A test.

But the moment you exhaled against him — the moment your mouth parted and your hands found his chest — Joel deepened the kiss with a quiet, broken sound in his throat, like he’d been holding it in for years.

His hand slid down, resting at your waist, the other cupping the side of your face. The pressure of his mouth grew more certain, more hungry, and your body tilted into his instinctively, drawn to his warmth like gravity.

The kiss wasn’t rushed, but it was full — of everything you hadn’t said, everything you hadn’t dared to let yourself want until now.

And as the fire crackled behind you and the stars blinked into the dark sky above, Joel kissed you like he’d wanted to for a long, long time.

And now that he finally had you, he wasn’t letting go.

The kiss deepened, his lip biting your bottom one for an invitation inside. You parted your mouth wider, allowing his tongue to slip through, tasting every inch of your hot, wet mouth. Meeting his tongue with yours in a war of dominance that he, of course, won.

His hands trailed down from your waist to the front of your shorts, unbuttoning the silver stud that glowed in the fading firelight. The zipper was loud in the quiet of the night, and you instinctively turned your head around the trees to look back at your dad — make sure he was still sound asleep.

"Don’t worry about him, babygirl," Joel said, his voice low and rough as his hand came up and gripped your cheek with just enough force to make you gasp. He turned your face back to his, eyes dark. "He’s too deep in the beer to know what year it is.”

His hands continued fumbling with your shorts, dragging them down your thighs and revealing the black swimsuit underneath — still damp from the earlier swim. His hands grab at the revealing skin of your ass, pulling you closer until your rubbing against the hard outline of him.

You drop your mouth in a moan — feeling how big he is just underneath the polyester material of his shorts. His hands slip under your bottoms now, giving him full access to the plump skin. He harshly grabs and pulls at your ass, grinding you against himself — sucking in sharp breaths everytime you meet his already wet tip soaking through his shorts.

His hands, now feeling like fire against your skin, trail up your stomach, tracing the thread of shadow on your skin. He pulls your shirt off, exposing just how tiny your bikini really is.

“You did this for me, didn’t you?” He smirks, letting a small laugh escape.

You try to shake your head no, but he can see right through it.

“No, you did. Can’t lie to me, sweetheart.” He assures, as his fingers trace the outline of your hardening nipple through the material of your swimsuit.

“God, Joel, just fuck me.” You beg, bucking your hips to meet his. You want to rip off your swimsuit—and his—and reveal the naked bodies hidden underneath. You want to see him, all of him. And you want him to see all of you too.

But he only shakes his head, a slow, deliberate smirk tugging at his lips. “So desperate for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, voice low and rough with want. His fingers trail just shy of where you need them, deliberate in their torment. “I’m not rushing a damn thing. I’ve waited a whole year for this—ever since last Memorial Day, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Dreaming about this.”

The confession catches you off guard—your breath stutters, heart skipping a beat—because last Memorial Day, he’d barely looked at you, all cool glances and casual distance, while you’d spent the whole day trying not to stare. You had no idea he’d been thinking the same things, wanting the same things, all that time.

He pulls down the black material, your tits bouncing out—begging for his attention, stealing the show. Your nipples are perked so painfully, needing his touch, his mouth. But he just watches them, gaze slow and heavy, like he’s memorizing the way they look—like the sight alone is something he means to savor.

Finally, his fingers brush over the nubs, sending an electric sensation down your spine, all the way to the wetting of your bottoms.

“Fuck, look at you. Beggin' for me.” He growls, never meeting your eyes. “Want my mouth? Huh, babygirl?”

You nod, too quickly to be graceful, too eager to hide—and maybe it would’ve been embarrassing, how desperate you are, if not for the heat curling low in your belly, if not for the way the air between you feels too thick to breathe. There’s no room for shame, not with this kind of need.

The desperation is enough for his head to dip down, mouth meeting your nipple—sucking ever so slowly but harsh enough to cause your back to arch into him. His fingers grab at your free breast, twirling and pulling.

You want to moan so badly, to allow him to hear exactly what he’s doing to you, but with your dad only yards away, you can’t risk the moment. So you let the harsh breaths spill from your lips, unrestrained and deliberate—each one a quiet plea, a wordless invitation. Loud enough for him to hear your want, raw enough to show you crave more.

His mouth pulls away from your hardened nub with a loud pop, causing you to shake at the loss. But the feeling doesn’t last long when he slides his hand down your bikini bottom, feeling your slick between your folds.

“So wet for me.” He groans, rubbing your clit in slow, deliberate motions—a gasp leaving you. “Fuck, is this what I do to you, baby girl?” he murmurs, voice thick with awe and heat, like he can’t quite believe the way you’re falling apart for him.

His mouth finds the tender hollow beneath your neck, lips claiming the skin with bruising intent, each mark a promise that will bloom dark and visible by morning. But he doesn’t care—can’t. His tongue follows in slow, soothing strokes, tracing over the wounds he’s made like an afterthought of kindness, like a quiet act of worship for the damage he’s left behind.

His fingers trial slowly down from your aching clit, throbbing at the loss, and to your entrance. He pauses when he meets just where you need him most, fingers slick with your need and want.

You grind down on his fingers, needing him—desperation overcoming you, making you look like a complete mess under his gaze. His eyes lock with yours, molten with desire, thick with unspoken want—and yet, behind the burn, there’s a glint of playful cruelty, like he’s savoring every second of your unraveling.

“Beg for it.” He demands, fingers still hovering under your entrance.

“Wh– What?” you manage, thrown off balance by the weight of his voice. But his expression doesn't waver—there’s no joke in him, only something deep and commanding, something that leaves no room for doubt.

“I said,” he breathes, leaning in so close his lips nearly brush your ear, his heated breath stirring a trail of tingling fire down your neck. “Fucking beg for it.”

You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the change—the gentle words vanished, leaving only a teasing edge behind. Somewhere deep down, you know he won’t call you “sweetheart” again tonight. Not now. Not while this game is just beginning. You know you’re going to like this, what with you now dripping all over his hovering hand.

“Joel…” you whisper, breath trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation. You’ve never dared to cross this line before, but the unfamiliar thrill pulls at you—electric and intoxicating. “Please…”

“Please… what?” He growls, fingers trailing ever so slightly between you. You almost got him…almost.

“Please…please put your fingers inside me. Please, Joel, I can’t stand how empty I feel. I need you.” You finally beg.

His eyes darken as a smirk displays across his face. “All you had to do was ask.” His fingers finally enter you, your mouth shaping into an Oh at the feeling. “Now, are you going to be a good girl for me?”

You nod fervently, every fiber of you aching to please him, to offer exactly what he desires—an unspoken promise carried in your desperate submission. Two of his thick fingers enter easily inside your soaked walls. You can feel this stretch around his fingers, the fiery burning that sends chills down your spine.

“Please, faster. I want you to go faster.” You plead, riding his fingers and gripping at his biceps with your nails.

“Such a slut. Riding your daddy's best friend's finger when he’s right there sleeping. Begging him to fuck you.” He rasps, shaking his head in a lingering but teasing disappointment.

That should’ve stirred something in you—a warning, a flicker of regret for the path you were on. But instead, it fanned the flames inside you, setting your blood ablaze, a fierce heat boiling low in your belly.

He grabs your torso, pushing you against the back of the tree—stopping you from grinding against him. He holds you tight, leaving a red mark beneath his hold as you try to wiggle free. He pushes deeper inside of you, fingers curling in the perfect spot that dares the heat pooling in your belly to spill over.

His arms finally move, fingers going faster and faster—just as you had requested. Pulling completely out just to bury himself knuckles deep inside over and over again. A wet squelch fills the night air, just under the fading, cracking, uncared-for fire that’s daring to put itself out.

You writhe under his clutch, you know his hand will be bruised against your hip. Your legs start to shake as you feel an undeniable closeness threatening to spill into Joel's hand.

His pace starts to slow, the feeling leaving just as quickly as it came. A groan escapes your lips.

Joel’s hand, impossibly large and fierce, sweeps over your mouth, silencing you with a roughness that feels both unforgiving and utterly possessive.

“You’re not going to come till I fuckin' tell you to.” He seethes. You might be afraid—if desire didn’t drown out every shred of fear burning inside you.

His fingers exit your body, and emptiness overcomes you. He brings them to your mouth, giving a look daring you to open, to taste yourself.

You gulp, the weight of the moment pressing down—can you truly go this far? But with Joel, distance and limits dissolve. Whatever he wants, you’ll offer willingly, as if your very soul depends on it.

Your mouth parts, inviting him in with an innocent look fading across your eyes. A look that makes Joel quiver, fucking quiver. You could come with that sound alone.

You wrap your tongue around his fingers—slowly, intentionally—before pulling them inside. Tasting yourself coated on his digits. You suck them clean, swallowing, letting him know you’re not afraid of what he has to offer. He drags his fingers out—curling around your bottom teeth and pulling your mouth open before his lips meet yours.

He can taste you in your own mouth, and that alone could make him crumble into you, if he allowed it. He sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, pulling away at it with a pop. Blood immediately forms around the wound left before he wipes it away with this fingers that just fucked your mouth.

“Look at you,” he mutters, voice rough and laced with something dangerous. “Such a disappointment to your daddy, aren’t you? … if only he knew what you’re up to right now.”

“Joel, please.” You whimper, need overcoming you. Submission ready to give in.

“What does my little girl need?” he murmurs, mock-sweet and laced with heat, each word a thread of temptation pulling you further under.

“I- I need you to fuck me. Right now, Joel. I- I need to feel you inside of me.”

With that, Joel pulls your bikini to the side—pulling his own shorts low enough to reveal his glistening tip. How big he is shocks you, you’re not sure if you’re prepared for this, but you know you want it, need it.

He lines himself up with your entrance, tugging your hips closer to him. Your back now leaning against the tree, scratches etching into your skin from the bark. Your hips bent to meet his, legs spread and ready. The sight of you—ready to be fucked, dripping down your own thighs—Joel cant wait any longer.

He grabs the hem of his tank top, aggressively pulling it into his mouth so that he can see him fuck into you better. This movement exposes his belly. How dark hair runs down his navel and meets into his now revealed shaft. His abs are shadowed by his shirt, but you still get a good look. The way his teeth clench around the bottom of his shirt drives you crazy, saliva darkening the edges.

He pushes himself slowly inside of you, stretching your hot walls around him. He can feel you clench as you get used to the size.

“So fuckin' tight.” He groans, words muffled by his shirt in his mouth. “Don’t worry, gonna open ya up real nice.”

You whimper at the words, the sight, the feeling of his thick shaft stretching you endlessly. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried deep inside of you, pushing against your cervix. You look down and realize he’s all the way in —you can't see him anymore, just croch to croch. Clit brushing against the hair just above him.

“Look at her, takin' me all in like a good girl.” He looks up, meeting your eyes. “She’s a good girl, ain’t she?”

You nod, realize he’s talking about your aching cunt. You can feel him throb inside of you. You need him to move, now. But you remember, he wants you to beg. He won’t do anything without you asking him for it.

“Fuck me Joel.” You groan. “Fuck me hard. Ma-make me scream.”

He finally pulls himself out, your walls clenching and begging him to stay.

“Such a dirty girl.” He huffs, slamming himself into you in one harsh movement. Making you scream just like you asked. “Your daddy know his little girl has such a filthy mouth?”

You shake your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the sting—but this is what you asked for. What you begged for. And now, you’re unraveling beneath the weight of it.

He pulls and slams into you faster now. The sound of skin slapping fills the air, the fire now dead, bodies only lit by the moonlight. Joel pulls himself into you, your bare breast now rubbing against his ruffled-up tank top. His teeth now focused on biting at the sweet, soft skin of your neck.

He can hear the way his moans sound, gruff and airy as if he’s trying to keep quiet—trying to keep in control. The sound opens you up, invites him in deeper.

His hand reaches down in between your legs, rubbing harsh circles on your clit. You shake violently as his free hand pulls at your hair—your back arching into him at an impossible position. You’re going to be so sore tomorrow.

“I can feel how close you are.” He breaths into your ear, hands still circling around your aching, swollen clit. “Wanna come on my dick?”

A whisper escapes your lips. You try to nod, but his hand his gripped so tightly into your hair it makes it impossible to move.

“Use your fuckin' words.” He growls, biting the lobe of your ear in punishment. His hands let go of your hair, your neck thankful for the loss, and he pinches your nipples harshly.

“Yes…”

“Yes…what?” He commands. His teeth now biting the skin around breast before sucking it soothingly. He’s being so rough with you, something you weren’t expecting, but you can't deny the way your body reacts.

“Yes. I want to come on your big dick. I want you buried deep inside of me while I do it.” You cry.

He lifts up from you. Hands gripping both hips harshly, you know this is to keep you upright for what's about to come. “Fuck, such a dirty mouth on my girl.”

And then he slams inside you at an impossible pace. His tip slamming into your cervix—that’s definitely going to bruise. Screams leave your mouth; you'd cover your mouth to muffle them if your nails weren’t digging into Joel's wrist for support.

The tree’s bark bites into your back, jagged and unforgiving, the sting blooming with every shift—warm and raw, a quiet confirmation that it’s tearing you open. Just like Joel.

The boiling sensation returns deep in your belly as Joel slams into you unforgivingly, moans escaping his lips as well. This time he doesn’t stop, doesn’t pull out before you can finish. You clench hard around him, causing him to twitch inside of you.

“Yea? Ya like that? Like me buryin’ myself inside you pussy?” He says—a low grovel in his voice, almost like he’s about to lose himself too. “That’s right. Come on your daddy's friend's dick. Nasty fucking girl.”

That’s enough for you to spill over. You collapse into his grip, legs shaking mercifully, as your juices soak him, escaping out the sides and dripping down your legs, into the grass underneath your feet.

White, slick thread now connect Joels shaft and your cunt, bubbling each time your slide back down into him. A disgusting, sticky sound now entering the night air. You come down from your high, stomach cramping at the sensation—but Joel isn’t finished with you yet.

He lifts you up, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, and pushes you pully against the tree. His hands that were once wrapped brutally around your waist now grip violently into he bark of the tree. Some of the bark lifting and falling by the trunk.

His thrust start to falter, he’s getting close now, as he ruthlessly burries himself deep inside your aching cunt, white heat pooling low inside once again.

“Fuck.” He groans, teeth grazing your collarbone. “You’re ruinin' me, babygirl.”

“Joel… please, cum inside me.”

“God. You’re such a slut, aren’t you?” He smirks, but never denies your request. “How badly you want me to cum inside you, huh?”

“So bad. Ple-please. I-I’ve been imagining it for so long. Want it to come true.”

“You been dreamin’ about your daddy's best friend? Been dreamin’ about him cuming deep inside your begging pussy? Now, now… that’s not how a good girl’s supposed to behave.” He mocks, thrusting, getting deeper and harder. “That how you behave for me?”

“Only you, Joel. I- I’m about to come.”

“Come for me, babygirl. Wanna finish at the same time.”

Your nails dig violently into his back, drawing blood that will definitely stain under your nails. His movements start to falter as he throbs deep inside of you. It’s only when you start grinding your hips to meet his movements that he finally falls apart.

White, hot ropes shoot deep into your hot—swollen walls. You finish at the same time, come mixing while creamy slick leaves you and pools at the base of Joel's shaft.

The two of you collapse to the forest floor in a tangle of limbs, the cool earth pressing against your skin. Loud, ragged gasps fill the air, mingling with the distant hum of the woods as you both struggle to catch your breath. Your chest heaves, heart still pounding in the aftermath, the silence between you thick with everything unspoken—raw, breathless, and electric.

Joel finally pulls out of you, removing his shirt and cleaning the sticky come off of himself—before he turns to focus his attention on you. He slowly drags his shirt up the sides of your legs, cleaning the forgotten slick from just minutes ago, before he makes his way to your swollen, fucked out cunt. He cleans the mess, making sure to not miss anything.

Your swim bottoms are ruined and stained. He tears them off before fetching your shorts, shaking them off in case any bugs tried to make them their home on the grassy floor. The mean Joel disappeared—bringing back the sweet one as he dresses you, readjusting your swim top to cover you, and pulling your sweater back over your head.

After he redresses you with an unexpected tenderness, his rough hands gentle as he helps you back into your clothes, straightening the hem with deliberate care. There’s a softness in his gaze you hadn’t seen earlier, something quiet and real beneath the hunger that had just devoured you. When he’s done, he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Enjoyed every damn minute of that,” he murmurs, voice low, still thick with the weight of everything that had just passed between you. “Never had anything like that before. Not ever.”

The words land heavy, full of meaning that tightens something in your chest. You nod, cheeks flushed, lips parted as if to speak—but there’s nothing to say that could match the gravity of it. Instead, you follow him in silence, legs still unsteady as he leads you back through the trees, the scent of pine and summer and sex clinging to your skin. The embers of the dying campfire come into view, and relief floods through you when you see your dad still slumped in his hammock, snoring softly, blissfully unaware.

Joel moves with practiced ease, beginning to pack up the remnants of the night—folding chairs, dousing the fire, the clink of metal and the rustle of canvas loud in the quiet. Eventually, he shakes your dad awake with a muttered, “Time to head home,” and the older man grumbles, groggy but compliant, stumbling toward the truck.

The drive back is uneventful, quiet except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional snore from your father in the passenger seat. You steal glances at Joel from the backseat, and though he doesn’t look at you, his hand tightens on the wheel every time your eyes linger too long.

When the truck finally pulls into your driveway, your dad mumbles something half-asleep before stumbling into the house without a backward glance. You start to follow, but Joel’s hand catches your wrist, firm and unyielding. He pulls you back just enough to press you against the side of the truck, eyes locked on yours.

“Can’t wait till next Memorial Day,” he says, voice quiet but rough with promise. And before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you—slow, claiming, and utterly certain. The world fades for a moment, everything else falling away under the press of his mouth against yours.

As he pulls back and you finally turn to head inside, legs still trembling from more than just the walk through the woods, one thing is undeniably clear.

Memorial Day is your favorite holiday now.

a/n: Happy memorial day! (:

[dreamersworldduh]

A GAME OF DESIRE

PRINCE FIYERO x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — From the moment Prince Fiyero arrived at Shiz University, he captured the attention of nearly everyone with his charm and carefree attitude. You, however, remained indifferent, focused on studies and not interested in his flirtations. But Fiyero was intrigued by your lack of interest and began to pursue you with teasing words and touches, breaking down your defenses

WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing.

WORDS! 11.1k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! You know I really have this addiction to write these 10k—11k works. It's almost 4AM and I needed to get this out. Enjoy your reading!✨

Prince Fiyero's arrival at Shiz University sent waves of excitement through the student body, turning the once-serious halls into a flurry of hushed whispers, stolen glances, and barely contained swoons. His effortless charm, striking good looks, and undeniable charisma made him the center of attention from the moment he set foot on campus. Nobles and commoners alike vied for even a sliver of his attention, their eyes lingering on him as he passed by, hoping to be the one he chose to dazzle with his easy smile.

But you were different. While others found themselves utterly enchanted by the exotic prince from the Vinkus, you remained unmoved. It wasn't that you failed to recognize his allure—anyone with eyes could see he was handsome, and his reputation for being carefree and flirtatious only added to his mystique. But unlike the rest of Shiz, you had no interest in chasing after a prince. You had your own ambitions, your own studies to focus on. You weren't about to let some charming aristocrat, no matter how effortlessly magnetic, distract you from your goals.

Yet, much to your surprise—and mild annoyance—it seemed that Prince Fiyero had taken a particular interest in you. While you ignored him, he noticed you. While others competed for his attention, he sought yours. It was as if your disinterest intrigued him, drawing him closer rather than pushing him away. His gaze lingered on you in class, his words seemed to carry an unspoken challenge whenever he addressed you, and despite your best efforts to remain indifferent, he had a way of making his presence known.

You weren't interested in him. Not in the way everyone else was. But it was beginning to seem as though he was very interested in you.

The grand stone halls of the university library loomed in eerie silence as you carefully pushed open the heavy wooden door, wincing at the faint creak that echoed through the vast space. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and ink, the dim candlelight casting long shadows between towering shelves of books. It was well past curfew, and by all rights, you weren't supposed to be here. But rules be damned—you needed a quiet place to think.

Your dorm room had long since become unbearable. Your roommate was loud, obnoxious, and seemingly incapable of understanding the concept of personal space. If it wasn't his raucous laughter filling the room, it was the constant chatter of his equally boisterous friends, their presence turning your once-private retreat into a social hub you wanted no part of. Studying there was impossible. Thinking there was impossible. Even sleeping had become a gamble.

But here, in the vast, empty library, there was peace.

You made your way deeper into the maze of bookshelves, the sound of your footsteps muffled by the thick rug beneath you. The flickering candle sconces barely illuminated the high ceilings, leaving much of the library cloaked in shadow. You relished the stillness, the quiet hum of solitude that settled over you like a comforting cloak. This was what you needed—a space where you could breathe, think, and read without the constant interruptions of the outside world.

Choosing a secluded table near a towering window, you let out a slow breath and dropped into the chair, the weight of the day easing off your shoulders. The moonlight filtered through the stained glass, painting soft colors across the worn wooden surface. You reached into your satchel, pulling out the book you had been trying to finish for days.

Finally. No distractions. No unwanted company. Just you, the words on the page, and the stillness of the night.

However, that precious silence didn't last long as the stillness of the library was abruptly broken by the sound of footsteps—light, but unmistakably approaching. You stiffened, your fingers instinctively tightening around the edges of your book. No one else was supposed to be here. You had been careful, slipping through the halls undetected, ensuring that not even the nosiest students or patrolling professors caught sight of you.

And yet, someone had.

A shadow shifted between the towering shelves, and before you could so much as contemplate slipping away unnoticed, a familiar figure emerged into the dim candlelight.

Prince Fiyero.

He stood there, a curious smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, his striking blue eyes flashing with amusement as he took in the sight of you sitting alone, past curfew, in a place where no one would have expected to find you. His finely tailored jacket was undone, his shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar—he looked like someone who had carelessly wandered into trouble, which, knowing him, was probably the case.

"Well, well," he mused, folding his arms as he leaned against the nearest bookshelf. "I never would've pegged you as the type to sneak into the library after curfew. Isn't this more my kind of thing?"

You let out a slow breath, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. "I needed some peace and quiet," you muttered, casting a pointed glance at the book in your hands.

Fiyero, of course, took that as an open invitation to do the exact opposite of what you wanted.

With an exaggerated sigh, he pulled out the chair across from you, the wooden legs scraping against the floor as he carelessly dropped into the seat. He sprawled out in his usual fashion, limbs draped lazily, as though he had all the time in the world. His gaze flicked to your book, then back to your face, mischief gleaming in his expression.

"Peace and quiet, huh?" he mused, tapping his fingers against the table. "Funny, considering you just got yourself some very unexpected company."

You narrowed your eyes at Fiyero, barely suppressing a sigh as he leaned back in his chair, looking completely at ease despite the fact that he, like you, was very much breaking curfew. His presence was already an irritation, and the last thing you needed was his signature brand of playful arrogance invading what was supposed to be your quiet, distraction-free night.

Trying to redirect the conversation—and, with any luck, get him to leave—you arched a brow and said, "Shouldn't you be off chasing after Glinda? That seems to be your favorite pastime."

Fiyero's lips curled into a knowing smirk, and he tilted his head slightly, studying you like you had just said something particularly amusing. Then, with a low chuckle, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"Jealous?" he asked, his voice dripping with teasing amusement.

You scoffed immediately, rolling your eyes as you leaned back in your chair. "Not even remotely," you shot back, your tone dry. "I'm not attracted to you, Fiyero."

He hummed thoughtfully, as if he didn't quite believe you, his smirk widening just enough to set your teeth on edge. Then, after a moment of silent consideration, he tilted his chin slightly, mischief flashing in his blue eyes.

"Wanna bet?"

His words were smooth, deliberate, and undeniably challenging. It wasn't just an idle taunt—it was a dare.

You felt a flicker of irritation at his confidence, at the way he always carried himself like the world bent at his will. You knew exactly what he was doing, trying to get under your skin, to see if he could make you flustered like so many others who had fallen for his effortless charm.

But he was wrong about you.

You met his gaze steadily, arms crossing over your chest. "You'd lose," you said flatly.

Fiyero only grinned wider, as if that was exactly the response he had been hoping for.

The atmosphere between you shifted in an instant.

One moment, Fiyero was lounging in his chair, that smug, self-assured grin still playing on his lips. The next, he was leaning forward, closing the space between you with slow, deliberate ease. His voice dropped to a low, knowing whisper, the warmth of his breath ghosting against your skin.

"You know," he murmured, his tone almost conspiratorial, "I've noticed something about you."

You stiffened slightly but held his gaze, refusing to be the one to back down first. "Oh? Do tell," you said, keeping your voice even, though you could already sense where this was going.

His smirk deepened, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief as he studied you, far too closely for comfort. "I've noticed the way you stare at me," he said smoothly. "Almost as much as I stare at you."

Your fingers curled against the surface of the table, but you willed yourself not to react, not to give him the satisfaction. "You're imagining things," you muttered, though even you could hear the lack of conviction in your voice.

Fiyero, of course, caught it instantly.

"Oh, am I?" he mused, tilting his head slightly. His eyes roamed over your face, sharp, assessing, taking in every flicker of expression as though committing it to memory. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he leaned in even closer, his voice barely more than a whisper now.

"I've also noticed how your eyes scan me when you think I'm not looking," he continued, the teasing lilt in his tone making your pulse flicker with irritation—or something else entirely. "Like you're trying to see through my clothes."

Your breath hitched, just slightly, but you masked it quickly, shooting him a sharp glare. "Don't flatter yourself," you muttered, your jaw tightening.

Fiyero just chuckled, low and amused, as if he could hear the tension in your words, as if he had already decided he was right and nothing you said could convince him otherwise. He shifted back just a fraction, but not enough to break the crackling energy between you.

"No need to be shy," he said, flashing you a grin that was all challenge. "If you wanted to see me naked, you could've just asked."

You didn't miss a beat.

With a slow, unimpressed arch of your brow, you leaned back just slightly, enough to create the illusion of distance—though it did little to cool the heat creeping into your skin. "You know," you mused, voice perfectly level, "they say men with big egos are usually compensating for... well, something."

Fiyero blinked, and then his lips curled into an even wider smirk, his amusement flaring like a spark catching fire. "Oh?" he drawled, tilting his head with mock curiosity. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, determined to keep the upper hand. "I'm just saying, for someone who loves to be the center of attention, you seem awfully desperate for mine."

It was supposed to be a smooth deflection, a way to turn the teasing back on him. But Fiyero wasn't like most people—he didn't back down, and he certainly didn't let go of a game once he realized you were playing it too.

Instead of retreating, he leaned in again, close enough that the scent of him—warm, rich, something faintly spiced—wrapped around you. His gaze flickered down briefly, sharp and assessing, before locking onto yours again, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of unease. Not because you were intimidated—but because you knew he had caught something.

Something you didn't want him to.

His smirk turned knowing. "You're trying awfully hard to prove you don't want me," he murmured, voice lower now, more deliberate. "But your body says otherwise."

Heat pooled in your gut as you fought to keep your breathing even. Your jaw tightened, hands clenched under the table where he couldn't see them. But it didn't matter, because he wasn't looking at your hands. He was watching you—watching the way your posture had stiffened, the way your thighs pressed just a little too tightly together, the way your pulse had betrayed you.

Damn it.

You knew exactly what he meant, and the worst part? So did he.

Still, you refused to let him win. Your lips curled into a smirk of your own, forcing yourself to keep your tone casual. "You must be imagining things, Your Highness," you said smoothly. "Maybe all that attention from Glinda has finally gone to your head."

Fiyero chuckled, low and wicked, shaking his head slightly. "Oh, I don't think so," he murmured, his voice like silk against your skin. Then, after a pause, he added, "And if you don't believe me—"

His gaze flickered downward just for a split second, and you nearly cursed at how bold he was being, how much he was enjoying this.

"I could show you better than I could tell you,"

The moment Fiyero's hands gripped the edges of your chair, a sharp, sudden scrape echoed through the quiet library as he pulled you closer—too close. Your body tensed instinctively, your breath hitching as the wooden legs groaned against the floor.

Now, there was barely any space between you.

His face was mere inches from yours, his breath warm as it fanned over your lips, his scent intoxicatingly close—earthy, spiced, and unmistakably him. The smirk never left his face, but his eyes had darkened, sharpened with something that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

"You know," he murmured, his voice low, rich, dangerously smooth, "I could make you admit it."

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up the back of your neck. "Admit what?" you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, unaffected.

Fiyero chuckled softly, his lips barely curving, but the sound alone made something coil tight in your stomach. "That you want me," he whispered, his words deliberate, each syllable drawn out as if savoring the effect they had on you. "That no matter how much you pretend otherwise, you feel it."

His hand moved.

A slow, deliberate movement—starting at the side of your chair before it ghosted over your knee. His fingers were light at first, barely there, teasing as they traced just above the fabric of your trousers. Then, they slid upward, his touch trailing along your thigh, achingly slow, deliberate in a way that sent heat rushing through you despite every effort to keep your body still, to keep your expression impassive.

Damn him.

You clenched your jaw, but the way your breath faltered—just slightly—betrayed you. And Fiyero, ever the predator when it came to games like this, noticed. Of course he noticed.

His smirk deepened, his thumb brushing over your thigh in a way that was almost casual, almost innocent—if not for the way his eyes locked onto yours, drinking in every twitch, every tiny reaction, like he was waiting for you to break.

"You can keep denying it," he murmured, his voice so close now, so damn smug, "but your body is already telling me everything I need to know."

His fingers pressed just slightly into your thigh, a wicked promise in the way they lingered.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, heat curling at the edges of your self-control. You needed to say something, to do something before he got exactly what he wanted.

Before you proved him right.

Your mind screamed at you to act, to push him away, to end whatever dangerous game Fiyero was playing before it got out of hand. You wanted to challenge him, to grab his wrist, to force that cocky smirk off his face with sheer defiance alone. But you didn't.

You let his fingers continue their slow, torturous ascent.

The heat of his touch burned through the fabric of your trousers as his fingertips grazed higher, slipping past the safe zone of your outer thigh, inching toward something far more dangerous. Your pulse pounded in your ears, your breath coming slightly shallower, but still, you didn't stop him. You should have—gods, you should have—but some stubborn, reckless part of you refused.

You weren't going to be the first to break.

Fiyero's smirk deepened, his gaze flickering between your face and where his hand wandered, his expression smug, almost lazy—like he had all the time in the world to push you, to unravel you bit by bit. His fingers reached your inner thigh, his touch featherlight yet electrifying, sending a sharp jolt straight through your core.

And then—

A firm, possessive grasp.

Your body betrayed you instantly, stiffening beneath his touch, a sharp breath hissing past your lips before you could stop it. His fingers curled around you through the fabric, confident, unapologetic, testing the weight of you in his palm as if he already knew the answer to the question neither of you had spoken aloud.

Fiyero let out a low chuckle, one that sent shivers down your spine, his thumb brushing over the sensitive fabric-covered length of you in an infuriatingly slow caress.

"Well," he murmured, his voice dark with amusement, "would you look at that."

Your fingers clenched into fists against your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you fought against the fire threatening to consume you. You could still stop this. You could still shove him away, throw some sharp remark that would wipe that insufferable smirk off his face.

But you didn't move.

And neither did he.

The tension between you was electric, thick enough to drown in. Fiyero's smirk never wavered as his hands slid from your thigh to your knees, pushing them apart with a slow, deliberate force. You let him, even as your heartbeat pounded against your ribs, your breath catching as he moved between your legs.

Then, without a word, he dropped to his knees.

The sight of him there, positioned so brazenly in front of you, made something coil tight in your stomach. His hands were warm against your legs, fingers curling just slightly as they rested on your parted thighs, his eyes flickering up to meet yours with that same wicked glint. He was waiting—watching.

You sucked in a sharp breath as he reached for the waistband of your pajama pants, his fingers hooking into the fabric with clear intent. That was when you finally moved, your hand snapping down to grip his wrist before he could pull them down.

"Fiyero," you hissed, your voice low but urgent. "We're in the damn library."

He only grinned, completely unfazed by your resistance. "And?" he mused, tilting his head slightly. "No one's coming in anytime soon. Trust me."

You shot him a glare, but he simply chuckled, shaking off your grip like it was nothing. And before you could argue further, before you could remind him that anyone could walk in at any moment, he moved.

In one smooth, unhesitating motion, he yanked your pajama pants and underwear down in a single sweep.

Cool air rushed over your skin, and your breath hitched as you felt the sudden freedom, the way the fabric no longer confined you. Your dick sprang free, thick and aching, twitching slightly at the sudden exposure.

Fiyero let out a low, satisfied hum, his gaze dragging down to take in the sight of you. His fingers tightened just slightly against your thighs, as if restraining himself—or savoring the moment.

"Well," he murmured, his smirk turning positively sinful. "Now that's a sight."

Heat surged through your body, embarrassment and desire warring inside you as you clenched your jaw.

"Fiyero—"

But whatever protest you were about to make died on your tongue the moment his hands slid up your legs again, his touch burning, his eyes dark with intent.

Fiyero's fingers gripped your thighs with a firm but teasing touch, holding you in place as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your exposed skin. The anticipation alone sent a shiver through you, your body tense, bracing for what was coming.

Then, his tongue made contact.

A slow, deliberate lick from the base of your dick to the very tip, his tongue warm and slick as it traced along your length with maddening precision. A sharp, involuntary gasp escaped your lips, and before you could stop yourself, a low, breathy moan followed.

Fiyero stilled for a fraction of a second before chuckling against your skin, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through you. "Now that," he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something darker, "is a sound I wouldn't mind hearing more of."

He went in again, his tongue moving with practiced ease, flicking over the sensitive head before dragging back down, swirling in just the right places, mapping you out like he already knew exactly what would make you tremble.

It was infuriating how good he was at this.

You barely managed to bite back another moan, your fingers twitching at your sides, unsure whether you wanted to grip the edge of the chair or bury your hands in his tousled golden-brown hair. He was enjoying this—there was no doubt about that. The way he worked you over, the way he hummed softly in satisfaction every time your body betrayed you, the way his fingers pressed a little harder against your thighs whenever your breathing stuttered.

He was in complete control, and he knew it.

Fiyero pulled back just enough to glance up at you, his lips glistening, his smirk utterly devastating. "You can try to stay quiet," he teased, tilting his head as his fingers traced lazily along your inner thigh. "But I'd much rather hear how much you're enjoying this."

And then he went back down, his mouth wrapping around you with slow, agonizing intent, his tongue working you with the kind of expertise that made it clear—he wasn't just good at this.

He loved it. And he loved making you lose control.

Fiyero was relentless.

His tongue moved with maddening precision, swirling and flicking in ways that made your entire body tighten with pleasure. His lips wrapped around you, dragging up and down your dick with slow, deliberate movements, taking his time, savoring every reaction he pulled from you. Every hitched breath, every low moan that slipped past your lips only seemed to encourage him, his fingers digging into your thighs as he kept you firmly in place.

You barely had the presence of mind to glance down, but when you did, the sight nearly undid you right then and there—Fiyero on his knees, his head bobbing in perfect rhythm, his dark lashes fluttering as he worked you over with infuriating expertise. He was enjoying this far too much, and the worst part? So were you.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your fingers gripping the armrests of the chair with a white-knuckled hold as heat coiled dangerously tight in your core. He knew exactly what he was doing, pushing you closer and closer to the edge, drawing out every ounce of pleasure until you were trembling beneath him.

"F-Fiyero—" You barely choked out his name, your voice strained, warning.

But he didn't stop.

If anything, he doubled down, hollowing his cheeks as he took you deeper, his tongue pressing in just the right way that sent a sharp, electric jolt through you. A strangled groan tore from your throat, your body arching slightly as the pressure in your core snapped.

Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your release spilling forth in a rush of heat. You expected him to pull away, to recoil—but he didn't.

To your utter shock, Fiyero held firm, his lips sealing around you as he took everything you had to give. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, not a drop escaping, as if this was exactly what he had planned all along. The sensation alone made your legs tremble, overstimulation shooting through you like lightning as his mouth lingered for just a moment longer, drawing out every last aftershock.

When he finally pulled back, his tongue flicked out, lazily licking his lips as he gazed up at you with a smug, satisfied smirk. His blue eyes were dark with satisfaction and mischief, locked onto yours, and then—without hesitation—he leaned in.

The kiss was slow and deliberate, his lips warm and teasing against yours, tasting of heat, arrogance, and something undeniably intoxicating. He kissed you with the same ease he did everything else, like he had all the time in the world, like he was savoring the moment, knowing it wouldn't be the last. His mouth moved against yours with a lazy sort of confidence, drawing you in, making your pulse spike all over again.

And despite everything—you kissed him back.

Your hand twitched against the armrest of the chair before you let it move, fingers tangling briefly in the loose strands of his tousled hair. Fiyero let out a low, pleased hum at that, deepening the kiss just enough to make your breath hitch before he finally pulled back, a satisfied smirk playing at his swollen lips.

His voice was a husky murmur, brushing against your skin as he whispered, "We're not done, you know."

Your stomach twisted at the certainty in his tone. There was no hesitation, no question—just pure, infuriating confidence. He knew exactly what he had done to you. And he knew you weren't going to forget it anytime soon.

He gave you one last teasing peck before finally pulling away, stretching lazily as he got to his feet. You barely had time to process the shift before your gaze inevitably dropped—and that was when you saw it.

Even through the dim candlelight of the library, it was impossible to miss.

The prominent bulge pressing against the front of his trousers.

Large, heavy, undeniable.

Heat shot through you all over again, your breath stalling for just a moment as your mind caught up with the realization—he was just as affected by this as you were. Despite the smug exterior, despite the teasing, despite the way he had controlled everything—he wasn't untouched by it.

Fiyero noticed your lingering stare instantly. His smirk widened, one brow quirking up as he casually adjusted his belt, making a show of it, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

"Careful, darling," he mused, his voice dripping with amusement. "If you keep looking at me like that, I might just have to stay."

You snapped your gaze back up to his face, scowling, but the warmth at the back of your neck betrayed you.

Fiyero only chuckled, taking a step back toward the library's exit. "Guess we'll have to save the rest for later," he murmured, winking before slipping into the shadows.

And just like that, he was gone.

Leaving you alone in the quiet, in the dim candlelight, still catching your breath, still feeling the ghost of his touch on your skin—and still knowing, with absolute certainty, that this wasn't over.

From that night on, you couldn't deny it—there was a part of you that looked forward to being alone with Fiyero again. The way he had touched you, kissed you, left you utterly wrecked in the library lingered in your mind far longer than you cared to admit. It was maddening, how his smirk, his voice, his hands still haunted you in the quiet moments when you let your guard slip.

But that didn't mean you were desperately waiting for him.

You refused to be one of those people who fawned over him, who tripped over themselves just to catch his attention. You were better than that, and if Fiyero thought otherwise, he had another thing coming.

So, every time you saw him—whether it was in class as you sat beside Elphaba, diligently taking notes, or in the courtyard where he lounged with Glinda, flashing that easy, effortless grin at anyone who so much as glanced his way—you played it cool.

When his eyes flickered to you across the lecture hall, you barely spared him a glance, keeping your expression neutral, focused. If his lips quirked in a smirk, as if daring you to react, you simply turned your attention back to your work, refusing to take the bait.

Even when you passed him in the corridors, when his arm was slung lazily around Glinda's shoulders and he looked at you with that glimmer of amusement—like he was waiting to see what you'd do—you gave him nothing. Just a casual nod, a fleeting look, and then you moved on as if that night in the library hadn't set fire to something deep in your core.

But Fiyero wasn't stupid.

He saw through it.

And that was the problem.

Because every time you pretended not to care, every time you played it cool, he enjoyed it. You could see it in the way his smirk turned just a little sharper, the way his gaze lingered a second too long, the way his fingers tapped idly against his knee in class, as if counting down the moments until you were alone again.

And, damn it, a small, infuriating part of you was waiting for that moment too.

The library was quiet, save for the soft rustling of pages and the occasional scratch of quills against parchment. You sat beside Elphaba at one of the long wooden tables, your books and notes spread out between you as you went over her latest assignments for her training with Madame Morrible. The flickering candlelight cast shadows over the ancient texts, the scent of parchment and ink thick in the air.

Elphaba, as usual, was focused—her sharp green fingers tapping against her temple as she read through a particularly dense passage. You were about to make a comment, something about how Morrible always seemed to assign the most convoluted texts, when—

A firm hand suddenly grabbed your wrist.

Before you could react, you were being pulled from your seat, your chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. A few students turned to look, but by the time Elphaba even lifted her head, you were already being dragged past the towering bookshelves and deeper into the library's shadowed corridors.

You barely caught a glimpse of who had grabbed you before your back was suddenly pressed against one of the towering shelves, the scent of something warm and familiar—spiced, earthy, unmistakably him—filling the space between you.

Fiyero.

His grip loosened just enough to let you breathe, but he didn't step back. His body was close, too close, his blue eyes flashing with something unreadable in the dim candlelight.

"What the hell are you—" you started, voice low, annoyed—but before you could finish, Fiyero cut you off, his smirk sharp, teasing.

"Miss me?" he murmured.

Your pulse spiked, but you kept your face carefully impassive, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted. "I was in the middle of something," you muttered, casting a pointed glance back toward Elphaba, who was probably scowling at your now-empty seat.

Fiyero didn't care.

"If you were really focused," he mused, tilting his head, "you wouldn't have let me drag you all the way back here without a fight."

Your jaw clenched. You hated that he had a point.

He leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against your skin. "We never did finish what we started," he murmured, his voice dark with amusement. "And I'd hate to leave anything unfinished."

Heat pooled low in your stomach, but you forced yourself to keep your expression unreadable. "You do realize we're still in the library?" you deadpanned.

Fiyero grinned, his fingers grazing your wrist again, light and teasing. "That didn't stop us last time."

Damn him.

Fiyero's smirk lingered as he remained close, his presence a force you couldn't quite shake. His fingers, still ghosting over your skin, were warm, teasing, deliberate. The dim glow of the library's candlelight caught in his blue eyes, making them gleam with mischief and something deeper—something you weren't sure you were ready to name.

"Come by my room later," he murmured, his voice a low, velvety promise. "After curfew."

You swallowed, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "And if I don't?" you asked, arching a brow in an attempt to keep your composure.

Fiyero chuckled, his fingers trailing lightly up your arm before stopping just below your collarbone. His touch sent an infuriating shiver through you, one he most certainly noticed. "Then," he mused, tilting his head, "I suppose you'll be lying awake all night wondering what you missed."

His smirk widened as he leaned in, his breath brushing your lips now, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. "And trust me," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, heavier, "you don't want to miss it."

Before you could react, before you could push him away or—gods forbid—pull him closer, he closed the distance.

His lips met yours in a slow, intoxicating kiss, a deliberate tease rather than an overwhelming demand. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, his mouth soft but certain, coaxing rather than taking. It wasn't hurried, wasn't rushed—it was confident, controlled, and devastatingly effective.

Then, just as you started to sink into it, just as your body betrayed you by leaning the slightest bit forward, he pulled back. His lips barely left yours, his breath still mingling with your own, his fingers tracing one last, lingering path down your chest.

"I'll leave the door unlocked," he whispered, his voice thick with amusement and promise. "Don't keep me waiting."

With that, he stepped back, letting his touch fall away completely before turning on his heel. He strode off between the bookshelves as if he hadn't just unraveled you, as if he hadn't just left your skin burning and your thoughts spinning.

And as much as you wanted to pretend otherwise, you knew you'd be at his door when the time came.

It was a no-brainer that you were going to meet up with Fiyero.

You told yourself otherwise for most of the night, stubbornly keeping your mind occupied with anything but the invitation he had whispered in your ear. You paced your room, flipped through books you weren't really reading, and even attempted to get some sleep—though that was laughable, considering your thoughts were already tangled up in the what ifs of what waited for you behind his door.

And so, despite your better judgment, despite the part of you that wanted to resist his arrogant, teasing confidence, your feet carried you through the dimly lit corridors of Shiz after curfew, the halls eerily quiet, the only sound your own steady footsteps.

When you finally reached his door, you hesitated.

Your hand hovered just over the handle, your pulse slightly elevated—not from nerves, you told yourself, but from the thrill of sneaking through the halls at this hour. At least, that's what you wanted to believe. But the anticipation clawing at your stomach, the lingering heat from his earlier touch, said otherwise.

Exhaling sharply, you shook off the hesitation and pushed the door open.

The sight that greeted you was enough to make your breath hitch.

Fiyero was already waiting.

Reclined against the headboard, shirtless, the soft glow of candlelight flickering over the golden-brown skin of his chest, casting shadows over the defined muscles of his arms and torso. He looked completely at ease, his fingers lazily drumming against the sheets, his smirk appearing the moment his gaze flickered up to meet yours.

"Took you long enough," he mused, his voice warm, rich, and laced with amusement. "I was beginning to think you changed your mind."

Your throat felt suddenly dry, but you forced yourself to remain composed, stepping inside and shutting the door behind you with a quiet click. "You wish I changed my mind," you countered, keeping your tone as indifferent as possible.

Fiyero chuckled, tilting his head slightly as he eyed you, his gaze trailing down your body before flicking back up to your face. "Oh, I knew you'd come," he murmured, his smirk deepening. "I just like hearing you pretend otherwise."

The air between you crackled, thick with the same unspoken tension that had been following you both since that night in the library.

Fiyero stretched, his movements slow and utterly unbothered, his bare chest shifting with the motion as he patted the empty space beside him.

"Well?" he drawled, cocking a brow. "Are you just going to stand there, or are we going to finish what we started?"

You hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping forward, closing the distance between you and the bed. The soft candlelight flickered over Fiyero's bare skin, highlighting the sharp lines of his collarbones, the toned muscles of his chest, and the relaxed way he sprawled across the mattress as if he had no cares in the world. He watched you with an unreadable expression, his blue eyes dark and knowing, like he had been waiting for this moment all night.

Slowly, you sat down beside him, the mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight.

Before you could settle fully, Fiyero moved.

Effortlessly, he shifted, his hands finding your waist as he guided you into a more comfortable position—his touch firm but unhurried, like he wanted to savor the feeling of you beneath his fingertips. He adjusted your posture, angling you slightly toward him, his leg brushing against yours, his warmth seeping into your skin despite the minimal contact.

"There," he murmured, his voice low, satisfied. "Much better."

You swallowed, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral, though the way his fingers lingered against your side didn't go unnoticed.

Fiyero let his hand drift away, resting it lazily against the sheets as he leaned back against the headboard, studying you with a look that sent something unsteady coursing through your veins. Then, after a pause, he spoke.

"You know," he mused, tilting his head slightly, "people always assume I go for the obvious choices."

You raised a brow at that. "Obvious choices?"

He smirked, eyes flickering with amusement. "The ones who throw themselves at me," he clarified, his tone almost bored. "The ones who bat their lashes, hang onto my every word, do whatever it takes to get my attention." He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "But they never keep it."

You didn't say anything, waiting for him to continue.

Fiyero's gaze flickered over you, slower this time, more deliberate. "But you," he murmured, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. "You don't try."

He leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against your skin. "You don't chase," he continued, his fingers idly toying with the hem of your sleeve, barely grazing your wrist. "You don't throw yourself at me like the others. You just are. And that—" he let out a slow breath, his lips curving in something softer than a smirk but no less intense—"that drives me insane."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to let him see how much they affected you.

Instead, you scoffed, arching a brow. "So what, I'm interesting to you because I don't want you?"

Fiyero chuckled, but there was something knowing behind it, something deeper. "Oh, you want me," he murmured, his fingers trailing just barely over your wrist again, enough to make your pulse stutter. "You just don't want to admit it."

His smirk deepened as he watched you, waiting for your response, waiting for you to push back—because that was part of the game, wasn't it?

And damn it, you weren't sure who was winning anymore.

You let out a slow breath, schooling your expression into something neutral, something unreadable, though your heart was still thudding a little too hard from the way Fiyero's fingers had lingered against your skin. His confidence was infuriating—his words, the way he leaned in like he already knew exactly how this night would end, how you would end up. But you weren't going to let him have the upper hand so easily.

So, you met his gaze steadily and countered, "You've got it all wrong."

Fiyero's brow arched, amusement flickering in his eyes as he leaned in a fraction more, his smirk widening. "Do I?"

You tilted your head slightly, letting your own lips curl just enough to challenge him. "You're acting like I'm the one pining after you," you said smoothly. "But let's be honest here, Fiyero." You let your gaze sweep over him, slow and pointed, before flicking back to his face. "You want me."

For a second, there was silence.

Then, to your complete lack of surprise, Fiyero laughed—not in shock, not in denial, but in pure, shameless amusement. His grin widened, his teeth flashing in the dim candlelight as he tilted his head slightly, like he was genuinely impressed.

"You're not wrong," he admitted, voice low, warm, dripping with that lazy, arrogant charm that had driven so many others to their knees. "I do want you."

His fingers traced absentmindedly over the sheets between you, his gaze still locked onto yours. "I don't just kiss anyone, you know." His smirk deepened, his voice dropping an octave. "And I certainly don't invite just anyone into my room after curfew."

He leaned in again, closing the space between you, his breath fanning against your lips now. "If all I wanted was an easy distraction, I could've had that with anyone." His hand slid up your arm again, slow, teasing. "But I didn't want anyone." His fingers curled lightly around your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. "I wanted you."

His words sent a shiver through you, your pulse betraying you for the briefest moment. You knew he could feel it, could see it in the way your throat bobbed slightly as you swallowed.

Fiyero chuckled softly, his thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist in a way that made it suddenly very difficult to breathe. "And the best part?" he murmured, his voice a near-whisper now, thick with satisfaction.

"You want me too."

Damn him.

The tension between you snapped like a cord stretched too thin.

Maybe it was the way Fiyero's voice had dropped into that low, velvet murmur, thick with confidence and something darker. Maybe it was the way his fingers traced over your wrist, his thumb brushing against your skin like he already knew what you were going to do before you even did it. Or maybe it was just the simple, undeniable truth hanging between you—one that you had spent too much time pretending didn't exist.

You wanted him.

And, as much as he had teased, challenged, and played this game—you knew he wanted you just as much.

So you kissed him.

You didn't hesitate, didn't second-guess it. One moment, you were staring him down, determined not to let him win this little game of his. The next, you were leaning in, your lips crashing against his, erasing any space that had existed between you.

Fiyero responded instantly.

A low, satisfied hum rumbled in his throat, and then his hands were on you—gripping, pulling, claiming. His fingers curled around your waist, his touch firm and possessive as he guided you forward. Before you could process it, you were being pulled into his lap, straddling him as his body pressed against yours, warm and solid beneath your palms.

The kiss deepened, all slow-burning heat and urgency. His lips moved against yours with effortless confidence, like he had been waiting for this, like he had known this would happen eventually. His hands slid up your back, his fingers digging into your hips just enough to make your breath hitch, to make you realize how little control you had left in this moment.

Fiyero grinned against your mouth, his breath hot as he murmured, "Took you long enough."

You didn't even have it in you to glare at him. Not when his hands were holding you like that, not when his lips were trailing down to your jaw, pressing slow, teasing kisses along the curve of your throat.

Not when every single nerve in your body was screaming for more.

Fiyero's hands roamed your back lazily, his touch firm yet unhurried as he held you in his lap. The warmth of his bare skin beneath your fingertips was almost distracting, but not nearly as much as the way his lips ghosted along your jaw, trailing heat in their wake.

Then, he pulled back just slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, his smirk still in place but laced with something more curious now.

"So," he murmured, his fingers tracing small, idle circles against your lower back. "Tell me something..." His head tilted slightly, blue eyes sharp and full of mischief. "Is this your first time?"

For a second, you just blinked at him before a laugh escaped you—short, unexpected. The sheer audacity of the question, the way he asked it so smoothly, so casually, as if it was a mere formality, made it impossible not to react.

Fiyero's brows lifted slightly at your amusement. Clearly, he had expected a different answer.

"Oh, Oz no," you said, shaking your head, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Not even close."

That wiped the smug certainty off his face in an instant.

For once, Fiyero looked genuinely surprised, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly, as if reevaluating everything he thought he knew about you. His gaze flickered over your face, studying you like you were suddenly an entirely different person.

"Huh," he mused after a beat, tilting his head as his smirk returned, albeit with a little more intrigue this time. "You had me fooled."

You arched a brow. "Oh?"

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "You just seem so... I don't know," he mused, his fingers trailing up your spine. "Innocent."

That made you scoff, your smirk widening. "That's your mistake, then."

Fiyero's grin turned downright wicked, his hands squeezing your hips as he pulled you even closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"Oh," he murmured, voice low, dark with promise. "I'm definitely going to have fun proving myself wrong."

The room felt warmer now, the air thick with something heady. Fiyero's hands were firm against your waist, fingers teasing at the hem of your shirt as he watched you with that dark, knowing smirk. There was no rush in his movements—just confidence, a slow unraveling of anticipation, a game he was savoring.

You didn't stop him.

You let him push the fabric up, let his fingers skim over your skin, warm and deliberate as he peeled your shirt away and tossed it aside. The cool air ghosted over your now-bare chest, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Fiyero's gaze as he took you in, his lips parting slightly, his hands smoothing over your sides with an appreciative hum.

Then, before you could think too much about it, before you could catch up to the shift in his expression, he moved.

His lips found your skin—hot, soft, teasing—as he pressed slow kisses along your collarbone, working his way downward. His breath fanned over your chest, sending shivers down your spine as he trailed lower, lower, his hands gripping your hips just tight enough to make your pulse stutter.

Then, his mouth closed around your nipple, and a sharp jolt of heat shot through you.

A low, involuntary sound escaped your throat as his tongue flicked over the sensitive skin, slow and deliberate, testing what made you react. His lips curled slightly in satisfaction at your sharp inhale, and he did it again—this time with more intent, his teeth grazing just enough to make your fingers twitch.

Your hands, which had been gripping the sheets at your sides, moved on instinct. They tangled into his hair, tugging slightly as you exhaled a shuddering breath, your body arching just a little under his touch.

Fiyero hummed in approval, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you. His hands slid lower, fingers tracing patterns against your sides as his mouth switched to your other nipple, his tongue teasing, working you over like he had all the time in the world.

And maybe he did.

Because, judging by the satisfied gleam in his eyes when he finally looked up at you, he was nowhere near finished.

The air between you was electric, thick with heat and something far more intoxicating than just lust. The last scraps of clothing had been discarded, forgotten, leaving nothing between you but the weight of anticipation.

Fiyero towered over you, his body lean and golden in the candlelight, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths. His hands rested lightly at his sides, fingers flexing as he watched you—watched you with dark, half-lidded eyes, full of heat and satisfaction at seeing you exactly where he wanted you.

On your knees.

The flickering glow of the room cast shadows over his skin, emphasizing every sharp line of his torso, every curve of toned muscle leading down to the heavy, aching dick but standing proudly before you. He was already hard, thick and flushed, the evidence of his arousal obvious, impossible to ignore. And gods, he knew it.

His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk as he looked down at you. "You look good like this," he murmured, voice dripping with amusement and something more sinful.

You didn't dignify him with a response—at least, not with words. Instead, you leaned in, your fingers wrapping around the base of his dick, feeling the warmth of him, the way he twitched slightly at your touch. That wiped some of the smugness off his face, though the satisfaction only deepened in his gaze.

Fiyero let out a slow breath, his hand sliding into your hair, not forcing, just there, lingering, waiting.

And then, you parted your lips and took him in.

The first drag of your tongue along his dick made his breath hitch, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair. You worked slowly at first, savoring the way he responded—the subtle way his stomach tensed, the soft groan he let out as your mouth wrapped around him properly.

"Fuck," he exhaled, his voice slipping into something rougher, less controlled.

You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, feeling the weight of him against your tongue. Fiyero's grip in your hair tightened just enough to send a thrill down your spine, his hips twitching slightly forward before he caught himself.

His head tilted back for a moment, his lips parting as he let out another low groan, before looking back down at you through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Shit," he murmured, his smirk still there but weaker now, his voice ragged. His thumb brushed over your cheek, a slow, reverent touch. "And here I thought I was supposed to be the one ruining you tonight."

Fiyero's fingers tightened in your hair, not forceful, but guiding—his touch firm, confident, completely in control. His breath hitched as your tongue dragged along his dick, slow and deliberate, tasting him, feeling the weight of him against your lips. His body was warm, his skin flushed, his muscles taut beneath the golden glow of candlelight.

"Just like that," he murmured, his voice low, rasping with pleasure. His thumb traced along your cheek as he tilted your head slightly, adjusting the angle, guiding you exactly how he wanted.

You followed his lead, hollowing your cheeks as you took him deeper, feeling him twitch against your tongue. His reaction was immediate—a sharp inhale, a quiet groan that sent another rush of heat through your own body. His hips shifted, just slightly, his restraint evident in the way his fingers trembled against your scalp.

"Fuck," he exhaled, his grip flexing as he stroked your hair, his thumb brushing along your jaw in a touch that was almost tender despite the intensity between you.

You licked again, swirling your tongue around the head of his dick before taking him deeper, your hands gripping his thighs for balance as you let him set the pace. His breath came in heavier now, his control fraying with every flick of your tongue, every slow, wet drag of your lips.

His head fell back briefly, his throat exposed, his chest rising and falling in deep, ragged breaths. Then his gaze dropped to you again, heavy-lidded, dark with desire, his smirk returning—lazier this time, more affected.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick, dripping with satisfaction. His fingers traced the line of your jaw, tilting your face up slightly so he could watch you work. "So fucking pretty like this."

You hummed around him, feeling the way his body tensed at the sensation, and he let out a sharp, breathy chuckle, his grip tightening again.

"Shit," he muttered, his voice rasping, his control slipping just a little more. His fingers flexed in your hair as he groaned, rolling his hips just barely forward, chasing the heat of your mouth.

He was close. You could feel it in the way his breath hitched, the way his muscles strained, the way his grip on you faltered between restraint and the desperate urge to pull you down completely.

And gods, you wanted to see him come undone.

Fiyero suddenly pulled back, a sharp exhale leaving his lips. His blue eyes, dark and blown with desire, locked onto yours as he reached down, his strong hands sliding under your arms, over your waist, and down to your thighs.

Then, with effortless strength, he lifted you.

A startled gasp escaped you as he pulled you up to your feet, barely giving you time to steady yourself before his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was fierce, hungry, his mouth moving against yours like he was determined to claim every inch of you. His tongue slid past your lips, deepening the kiss as his hands roamed lower, gripping your thighs, pulling you even closer against him.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your breath hitching as he hoisted you up with ease, holding you firmly against his body. His skin was hot beneath your fingertips, his muscles tensing as he adjusted his grip, pressing you back against the nearest surface—the cool wood of the wall a stark contrast to the heat radiating from him.

Fiyero groaned into your mouth, his fingers digging into your thighs as he held you effortlessly, his broad shoulders supporting your weight as if you weighed nothing at all. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, nipping at your throat, savoring every sound you made, every tiny reaction.

His hips shifted, and you felt it—the hard, aching length of him pressing between your legs, sliding against your skin as he adjusted his stance.

"You ready for me?" he murmured, his voice rough, teasing, full of dark amusement. His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear as he rocked forward again, his dick sliding against your hole, teasing you, making your breath catch.

He grinned against your neck, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Because I promise—I'm going to make this worth it."

His hands flexed against your thighs, gripping you tighter as he lined himself up, the anticipation making your pulse thunder in your ears. You could feel the heat of him, the sheer size of him, and you swallowed hard as he rolled his hips just slightly, just enough to press against you, just enough to make you want more

And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he began to push in.

Your back was pressed against the cool, solid wood of the wall, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from Fiyero's body as he held you in his arms. His grip was strong, secure, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he kept your legs spread wide, completely at his mercy. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips brushing along the curve of your jaw, teasing, savoring the way you trembled beneath him.

His body pressed flush against yours, his toned chest firm against your own, the warmth of his skin seeping into you, making your head spin. And between you—him. Hard, thick, ready, pressing insistently against your hole, teasing you, making the anticipation coil tight in your stomach.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice a low, velvety promise against your ear. His lips curled into a smirk as he rocked his hips forward, the head of his dick pressing just barely inside. "I've got you."

His fingers flexed against your thighs, gripping you tighter as he pushed forward, slow and deliberate, stretching you inch by inch. A sharp gasp escaped you as the pressure built, your body instinctively tensing around him, adjusting, taking him in.

Fiyero let out a low groan, his head dropping to your shoulder as he stilled for a moment, letting you breathe, letting you feel every inch of him. "Fuck," he exhaled, his voice rough, strained with pleasure. "You feel incredible."

He shifted his stance, pressing you harder against the wall as he buried himself deeper, filling you completely. The stretch was intense, overwhelming, but there was pleasure beneath it, a slow-burning heat curling through your veins as he gave you time to adjust.

His lips found yours again, his kiss slower this time, more indulgent, as if he wanted to drown in the moment, in the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him. His hands slid up your thighs, gripping your hips, grounding you before he pulled back just slightly—only to thrust in again, deeper this time, stealing the breath from your lungs.

A strangled moan escaped you, and Fiyero grinned against your mouth.

"There it is," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "I knew you'd sound beautiful like this."

And then, with another slow, deliberate roll of his hips, he really started moving.

You were starting to understand.

Why people were so obsessed with Fiyero.

Why they whispered his name in the halls, why they giggled behind their hands whenever he passed by, why so many threw themselves at him, hoping—aching—for even a fraction of his attention.

Because Fiyero didn't just take. He didn't just fuck.

He devoured.

His body moved against yours with practiced ease, every thrust calculated yet effortless, filling you completely, setting your nerves alight with every deep, rolling motion. But it wasn't just the way he moved—it was the way he spoke.

His voice, low and velvety, curled around you like warm honey, thick with satisfaction, amusement, and something dangerous.

"You feel so fucking good," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "So tight, so perfect around me."

His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you spread wide for him as he pressed you harder against the wall, his pace slow but deep, forcing you to feel every inch of him.

And gods, you felt it.

His lips brushed against your neck, his teeth grazing over your pulse as he chuckled, dark and knowing. "You're taking me so well," he praised, his voice thick with heat. "Didn't think you would, but here you are—so fucking eager for me."

A strangled moan tore from your throat before you could stop it, your fingers clenching against his shoulders.

Fiyero grinned.

"There it is," he purred, his thrusts quickening just slightly, the pressure mounting, the pleasure building. "Don't hold back on me, love—I want to hear you."

And fuck—fuck—you couldn't hold back anymore.

Because every snap of his hips sent fire licking up your spine, every filthy word that left his mouth sent another jolt of pleasure coursing through your veins, and every teasing, knowing laugh he let out made you crave more, more, more.

You understood now.

Fiyero didn't just get inside your body—he got inside your head.

And the worst part?

You wanted him to.

Fiyero's grip tightened on your thighs as he pulled back slightly, his movements still slow, deliberate, teasing. His lips curled into a smirk against your skin, his breath warm as he murmured, "As much as I love having you against this wall, I think we need somewhere... more comfortable for what I have in mind."

Before you could process his words, he moved.

With effortless strength, he adjusted his hold on you, keeping you securely in his arms as he carried you across the room. His bare chest was firm against yours, the heat radiating from his skin making your pulse pound in anticipation.

Then, the world tilted slightly as Fiyero lowered you onto the bed, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the warmth of your flushed skin. He hovered over you, his toned body casting a shadow over yours in the dim candlelight, his blue eyes dark with intent.

He didn't rush.

Instead, he took his time, his hands trailing over your body, mapping you out as if he wanted to commit every inch of you to memory. His fingers ghosted over your chest, teasing, his touch featherlight as he traced the sensitive skin beneath your collarbone. His lips followed soon after, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down the length of your throat, down your chest, tasting you, claiming you.

"You're beautiful like this," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with heat. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips as he settled between your legs, pressing himself against you once more. "Flushed, breathless, wanting."

A shiver ran through you at his words, at the sheer confidence in his tone, at the way he looked at you like you were something to be worshiped.

Then, without warning, he rolled his hips forward.

A sharp gasp left your lips as he filled you again, slow, deep, purposeful. Your fingers instinctively gripped his shoulders, your nails pressing into his skin as he began to move, setting a steady, intoxicating rhythm.

Fiyero groaned, his forehead pressing briefly against yours as he exhaled shakily. "Fuck," he muttered, his hands squeezing your thighs, holding you open for him. "You feel so damn good."

His pace quickened, his thrusts growing more insistent, more desperate. But even then, he didn't stop touching you—his hands never left your skin, his lips never strayed far from yours. He wanted you to feel everything, to know exactly how much he was enjoying this.

And gods, you did.

Because Fiyero didn't just fuck—he pleasured. He consumed.

And he was nowhere near done with you yet.

By the time you and Fiyero had finished, the room was thick with the lingering heat of your bodies, the scent of sweat and satisfaction hanging in the air. The sheets beneath you were tangled, evidence of just how much had transpired between you. Your limbs felt heavy, spent, the kind of exhaustion that came not from fatigue but from pleasure so intense it left you breathless.

Fiyero lay beside you, his bare chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths, his skin still warm against yours. The candlelight flickered lazily, casting golden shadows over his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw, the slight sheen of sweat on his skin, the lazy, satisfied smirk that hadn't left his lips since he had finally collapsed beside you.

He looked pleased with himself.

More than pleased—smug. Like he had won some unspoken game, like he had expected this all along.

You turned your head slightly to glare at him, but the effect was ruined by the way your body still trembled slightly from his touch. He noticed, of course—because of course he did.

His smirk deepened, and he shifted onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow as he lazily trailed a finger down your arm. "Well," he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and lingering desire. "That was fun."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, though your breath still came slower than you would have liked. "Glad you're enjoying yourself," you muttered.

Fiyero chuckled, and before you could react, he pounced.

In one fluid motion, he rolled over, pinning you beneath him again, his body warm and solid against yours. His grin was wicked now, his blue eyes glinting with mischief as he leaned in, his lips barely brushing your ear.

"Oh, I'm more than enjoying myself," he murmured, his voice a low purr. His fingers ghosted over your ribs, making you shudder involuntarily. "And judging by how many times you moaned my name, I'd say you were too."

Your face heated instantly, and Fiyero laughed, his chest vibrating against yours.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his smirk never wavering. "Admit it," he teased, brushing a loose strand of hair from your forehead. "You loved it."

You huffed, turning your head away in defiance, but the way your lips parted slightly, the way your body still reacted to his touch, betrayed you.

Fiyero grinned.

"That's what I thought."

Fiyero's blue eyes glinted with mischief as he smirked. "You know," he mused, his voice dripping with lazy amusement, "we should definitely do this more often."

You let out a short, incredulous laugh, tilting your head to the side to glare at him. "Oh? Already planning the next time?"

Fiyero grinned, completely unrepentant. "Obviously," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He propped himself up on one elbow, his fingers dragging lightly over your arm in a lazy, teasing pattern. "I mean, I had my suspicions before, but now that I know how good you feel..." He trailed off, biting his lip playfully before continuing, "I'd be a fool not to take advantage of this opportunity."

You rolled your eyes, though the way your stomach twisted at his words—at the way he was looking at you—was something you tried very hard to ignore.

"And here I thought I was supposed to be the desperate one," you teased, raising a brow.

Fiyero laughed, full and rich, before leaning in, his breath warm against your cheek. "Oh, make no mistake," he murmured, his fingers trailing down your waist, his touch featherlight but promising. "I am desperate—for you."

The sheer boldness of his words sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to let him have the satisfaction of knowing that. Instead, you smirked, tilting your head as if in mock contemplation.

"Well," you mused, tapping a finger against your chin. "I suppose I could be convinced..."

Fiyero's grin turned wicked as he rolled over you once more, his lips barely brushing against yours.

"Oh, trust me," he whispered, his voice thick with amusement and something deeper. "I will convince you."

[somuchforahobby]

how many secrets can you keep?

Summary: An arranged marriage to everyone's fav tsar

Part 2: crawling back to you Words: 10K Tags: Fluff & angst Warnings: women used as bargain to win wars ? Gifs stolen from: @goatsandgangsters Read on AO3

The Palace was much bigger than you were told. As soon as you stepped off the carriage you were led to what would be your rooms. On the right was a big bed, a sitting area in front of a chimney and a bathroom. At the end of the room there was a door to the balcony. 

You stood on the balcony for what felt like hours thinking about all of this. An arranged marriage, a bitter laugh on your lips. Damned your father to have sold you off to Ravka and damned the King for buying you off in exchange for an alliance with Kerch. The irony of it all would drive you crazy.

“It is a nice view” a voice behind startled you. It was a man in ragged and dirty clothes. “Do you ice-skate?” There was a shit eating grin on his handsome face.

“No”

“Perhaps you will learn this winter” he pointed to the lake, “it becomes a ice rink”

“Does the tsar skate?”

His grin turned into a half smile, “he does, or tries to.”

“Who are you?” 

“A friend”

“Of who?” You looked him up and down.

“Hopefully yours”

“I don’t think I’ll be allowed to have male friends” you looked at him again, “not that handsome at least” a blush raced to your cheeks.

“Yeah, you should ask your fiancé” The stranger leaned against the balcony, next to you.

“When I meet him” a disdained sight left your mouth, “do you work here?”

“Yes”

“What do you do?”

“A little bit of everything but first and foremost I’m an inventor” 

“Of what?”

“Mmmm” he tapped fingers against his mouth, thinking, “ships, aircrafts” 

“Are you part of the army?” 

“Yes I am”

“Is it true that Ravka has flying ships?”

He laughed, “it is true, I invented them myself” 

“The groom is not supposed to see the bride before the wedding!” A beautiful red haired woman shouted from inside of the room. She was wearing a kefta and glaring daggers at the man next to you. 

“Your highness.” You bowed your head slightly to him.

“Please don’t.” He took a step forward, his hands raised awkwardly at his sides, uncertain what to do with them. “Please don’t ever do that again, it is just Nikolai.” 

You raised your eyes to see him and nodded.

“You can have all the friends you want” he smirked, “none of them will be this handsome anyway”

You nodded, suddenly ashamed of your bolt of honesty.

“Hey” he lifted your face to see him, “we will see a way to make this work.” He gave you a half smile that told you he was not comfortable with this either.

“I am sure we will.” You gave him one of your own, “Nikolai.”

And with that, his smile was complete.

***

The ceremony was beautiful, you had to thank Genya for all the attention to detail in the decorations as well as to your dress. The white and golden gown worthy of fairy tales had been a perfect choice.

You drank and danced with your husband and guests, and although every single member of Nikolai’s court treated you wonderfully, your smile could not quite reach your eyes. There was an unspoken sorrow in your heart, no matter how handsome and kind your husband was, you did not know him and yet you now had to devote your life to him.

You thanked the servant who helped you out of the dress, walked into your joint bedroom in your nightgown and your heart stomping out of your chest.

Your husband was taking off his jewelry when he spotted you through the mirror, a shy smile on his face.

“Hey” he greeted first.

“Hi” you walked to him, “would you like me to call someone to help you?” 

“No, thanks. I can do it.” He continued with the buttons on his jacket. Although the gloves made the task much more difficult.

“I can help you, then.” His hands laid nimbly at his sides as your fingers did the work efficiently. “You looked very handsome today.” You complimented, trying to get the conversation flowing.

“Thank you. I must admit I felt quite jealous, I don’t think I could ever look as good as you, my queen.” 

Your face flushed at his compliment, quickly finishing with his jacket and taking a step back, looking down.

“Are you alright?” 

You figured it was best to be honest about it. “I am nervous, Nikolai. I have never done this and I hope I can, well, please you.” Your face was crimson by the time you finished the sentence, but his��� was puzzled.

“Done what?” His brows furrowed.

“Consummate a marriage.” You looked away in shame.

He scoffed. “Neither have I, I’m afraid this is my first marriage.” 

His joke release tension from you, making you smile, “you know what I mean.” 

“I do, but you don’t have to worry about that.” His gloved fingers guided your chin to look back at him. “I have no intentions of doing it tonight, or any other night, as long as you do not want it. I do not find your fear desirable.”

A breeze of relief fell on you.

“I asked for your room to be ready for tonight, you can stay there as long as you like. This thing-“ his hand gestured to the space between your bodies, “will take time, and I have no intention in hurrying it.”

“Thank you. But I know why I am here, Nikolai. If this thing” you mirrored his gesture, “doesn’t work, just know I know my duty.”

He contemplated you for a minute before speaking again. “I will not bring a child product of fear and disdain into this world. It would not make a good king.” He leaned in and placed a tender kiss on your forehead. “Good night, my queen.” 

With that, you left his room for the night, grateful that you had not married an ape.

***

“I did not know I had married a little myshka.” Your husband smiled from the door of the library, bringing one to your own face.

“Moi tsar.” You teased, “what a surprise to see you this afternoon.” 

He walked to you, hands clasped on his back, looking at the books on the table.

“Ravka’s history and myths.” When you looked up he extended a bouquet of flowers to you. “Thank you!” 

“The least I can do for my queen” he sat in front of you, “how are your studies going so far?” 

“Good, the life of Saints is a bit confusing, but it is going well.” You took a quick look at your notes, leaving the flowers aside, “Hopefully I can get a good idea soon enough so I can join your court, maybe?”

“Oh” he smiled, “is that what you wish to do?”

“I think so.”

“Why?” He seemed intrigued.

“Well, I was on my way to become a scholar in Ketterdam, I think I could do decent work.” 

“I went to College in Ketterdam as well, quite a nice place.”

The declaration surprised you, “Oh? Never saw you there, I think.” 

“I doubt we frequented the same places, darling.” He smirked.

“What was your major?” 

“Law and politics.” 

“Same as me.”

“Yeah but I barely spent any time in classes.” 

“Were you a drunken moi tsar?” You teased.

He laughed, “I will not entertain this nonsense of accusation.” 

“You were!” You laughed as well. “That is why I never saw you there.”

“You are also younger than me!” He tried to defend himself.

“Just two years, I still could have seen you in some classes.”

He scrunched his nose, “good thing you did not”

“Why?” 

“I would have asked you out, of course.”

You scoffed, “I don’t think so”

“Are you joking?” a pretty girl who can do all of my homework? Darling you would have been my number one target.”

It was your turn to laugh, “then good thing you didn’t because I wouldn’t have done your homework.”

He shrugged, “I would have done mine with you, for sure.”

You blushed at his comment, feeling your face warm at the insinuation. “But we did not meet.”

He raised his shoulders, dismissing the missed opportunity.

“So… a law and politics advisor in my council. I like that. Right now it is filled with soldiers, Ravka is in urgent need of a brain there.” 

You matched his smile with your own. “I’d be honored.”

His eyes were kind on you, as if he was amazed to hear you want to be part of his life. “Please let me know when you feel ready and or if you have any doubts.” He took a look at his watch and then stood up. 

“Nikolai, I do have one question.” He looked back at you tenderly. “What is myshka?” 

A sweet smile lightened his face, “mouse, my little library mouse.” He leaned in to kiss the top of your head before leaving you for the day.

***

Time passes so slowly when you are in a trial.

“She bleeds again.” One of you maids said during your second month in the Palace. 

“You shouldn’t be running everyday, moi tsaritsa. Your eggs will fall.” the doctor ordered, little did he know you had barely seen your husband.

“It is not her bleeding we should be checking.” Some girl whispered during your breakfast at the patio, while you pointlessly drank all sorts of beverages to ‘help’ your fertility.

“He doesn’t like her because she is not noble” a whisper on your back, “neither is -“ she shut up when you looked.

“Your duty to the Lantsov Dynasty remains” a letter addressed to you from Queen Tatiana was stamped in your brain. You tossed it in the trash when you read it. 

“Nikolai wants you to visit the Hospital today and send the ill his regards.” Genya announced with a smile that brought sickness to your mouth at the mere thought that everyone in the Palace knew your husband’s wishes better than you.

Whispers and voices filled your days, until it was nighttime.

Because every night, you had dinner at the quietness of your chambers and then, you would stay awake to listen when your husband came into his room, next door from your own. When he did you counted the steps that accompanied and then waited in the hall to see who and when they left.

Every night your heart sank a little deeper, because every night the same person walked out of his chambers.

And not a single time General Nazyalensky could hold your stare.

***

You were not speaking to him. You were actually avoiding him.

You ran at breakfast time, ate at council time and read in your bedroom. It was not so hard considering he didn't try to find you either and he was away constantly. Away with her, your mind shouted.

A month or so went by since the last time you had seen your husband. Until one night a servant announced the King wanted to have dinner together.

You chose the most beautiful dress in Lantsov blue, simple but elegant, to drag yourself to the dining room. He was already there in his First Army uniform, smirking at you.

“My beautiful wife.” He stood and walked to you, bringing your knuckles to his lips and placing a soft kiss. He helped you in your seat before returning to his. “I missed you, I haven’t seen you in forever.” He complained with tenderness. 

You did not answer.

“I just returned from a trip with General Nazyalensky and Count Kirigin, can you believe he is crazy for her?”

You bit down a growl. The audacity of this man, you thought.

“I was hoping you’d join the council soon, how are your studies going?”

You did not answer.

“I am running out of ideas for a conversation here, darling. I think I need your help.” His tone was firm and you finally raised your eyes from your plate to his face.

You sighed, “leave us” The waiters left the room, giving you the much needed privacy. “Perhaps you should ask General Nazyalensky to join you for dinner.”

Every hint of amusement and his signature smirk were gone in an instant. “Why would I?” 

“Well if you can’t help to have her in your chambers every night then perhaps you should have dinner with her as well.” Your tone was also firm.

His eyes did not falter, “it is not what you think”

“Then explain it.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me”

“You have my word, dar—” 

Your scoff interrupted him. “Nikolai,” your patience thinned, “I would rather you behave like a jerk than keep up the good boy facade while you’re mocking me.” 

“Because I am not!”

You covered your face with your hands, it was the lie that hurt the most. “I knew this would happen and I only ask you to be more discreet.” You sighed, keeping your face down, “the whole damn castle talks about it and I am the idiot wife who can’t even do what she was brought to do. I can’t compete with her, Nikolai. She has it all, the beauty, the power, the king’s attention. It’s excruciating.”

“Look at me.” A firm order, your eyes caught his again, only that this time you did not see Nikolai, you were looking at the King. “You do not have to compete with her or anyone else, you are my queen.” His gloved hand captured yours on the table, drawing circles on your skin with his thumb while guiding it to his chest, you could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, “I swear to you, there is no one else, General Nazyalensky is not in my bed. You must believe me. I will do anything for you to believe me.” 

“Everything but the truth.”

His heart beat faster. “What can I do to make you trust me? What do you want?”

Tears pricked your eyes, “Your attention.”

“You have it, but now I will make sure you have no doubts about it.” He closed both eyes, then swallowed, defeated. “Would it be ok with you if I paid you a visit every night, and then returned to my rooms?” 

“That would be a place to start.”

“Although, the Second Army General will continue to make a brief visit afterwards.” 

“Can I be there as well?”

“No.” That was definite. It amazed you how easy he changed from Nikolai to The Tsar.

“This would be easier if you told me the truth.” 

An exasperated sigh left his mouth and he stood from his seat, “my word will have to do for now, myshka.” 

Removing your hand from his chest, he laid a tender kiss to your knuckles before leaving the room.

***

Later that night he knocked on your door, you opened it widely and he walked all the way to the couch in front of the fireplace. “How was your day?” 

You sat next to him, facing the fire, his arm extended on cushions and your shoulders. “It was alright. I have been looking for books or writings about your father’s reign but I haven’t found any.” 

His gloved fingers picked a strand of your hair to toy with. “I think I can help you with that, if you’d like?”

“Please.”

“Well, umm” his gaze was lost on your hair, “what would you like to know?” 

“Anything a member of your council should know.”

He thought for a minute or two, immersed in your hair, “I do not think he was a good king. All he did was send troops to borders, give power to the darkling and the apparat, I don’t think he cared for the needs of the working class.”

“And do you?”

“Of course. I’d be a fool not to, they’re the only ones who want me to keep my throne.” He gave you a lazy smile.

“Why is it different what your father did with the darkling than what you do with the triumvirate?”

He leaned back, getting more comfortable, as he weighed your question. “Because I am not relying on one person but a council of Grisha, and because they would never do the atrocities the darkling did.”

“Such as?” 

“Separating families, sending children to be abused by powerful men, even to the king himself…” 

“Nikolai,” you turned your whole body to face him, “that is an awful thing to say about your father.” 

He released a hopeless scoff, “good thing I am not.”

Your head leaned to a side at his statement, “so it is true?” 

“I am afraid so.”

“Well that is also important information for a political advisor.” 

He smirked, “and to my wife.”

“I don’t think she’d care as much as Fjerda.”

“Is that a fact?” He asked playfully.

“A hundred percent.” 

He leaned towards you, leaving a kiss on your temple, “That is good to know.” He mumbled against your hair.

“How was your day?” 

“Awful.” He looked at the fire. “There are a bunch of people wanting to Sanctify the Darkling and my wife hates me.” He looked at you with what you guessed was some sadness in his eyes.

“I don’t think she hates you.”

The tiniest of smiles tugged at his lips, “no?” 

“No. I think she is just insecure.”

“Well she shouldn’t. As a victim myself I would never inflict the pain of lies on someone else.”

“Thank you.” You whispered and his face warmed.

“Trust me, please.” 

You simply nodded. 

You both sat by the fire for a good while, his arm on your shoulders as you slowly dozed off.

The next morning you woke up in your bed, alone. The other side, as usual, untouched.

***

“It is not up for discussion” one of your maids had said. So now here you were, dressed in a beautiful gown, alone in the balcony while strangers celebrated your Birthday in the saloon.

The leaves on the trees had just started to fall, early signs of the upcoming autumn visible in the palace gardens. The night breeze stirred your arms, making you shiver. A warm jacket fell on your shoulders then, making you turn to find a man standing beside you.

“My apologies, moi tsaritsa. You seemed to be cold.” A tall man with dark hair said. “I am Count Anton Nerenski, your highness.”

“Thank you for your kindness, Count Nerenski.” You turned to the gardens again.

“Beautiful party, I assume that tulips are your favorite?” 

Since the whole Palace was filled with them it was a fair assumption, “No. Roses are.” 

“Then why haven’t I seen any?” He quipped.

You sighed, “because nobody asked me anything about this damned party.”

“If I had known roses were your favorite I would have brought you a hundred of them.” 

You turned to see him, there was tenderness in his eyes, “thank you Count Nerenski.”

“Please, call me Anton.” 

You smiled and he matched. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, Your Highness, Where is the King?”

You sighed, unable to hide your disappointment. He left in the morning and promised to come back before the celebration, yet he had failed his promise. “He is on an important business trip.”

“And how do you feel that he is away?” 

Your jaw tightened, your whole body turned to face him, “I do mind your questioning, and I am nothing but proud of the King’s work. As should you.” 

“My apologies, your highness. I didn't mean to offend the King.” 

“You have spent far too much time on this conversation apologizing, haven’t you?” You pressed.

He scoffed, “I have, and I am further willing to get on my knees if my queen requested so.” 

A blush crept your face, understanding the nature of his intentions. “I wish for no such thing.”

“Yet,” his features softened, “but the path you are on is a lonely one, moi tsaritsa, I wish to extend you my friendship if you ever need it.” 

You merely looked at him: he was a handsome man, taller than you, his eyes were the color of sapphires, and a full beard filled his face. Black hair fell to his shoulders, which were wide and built like a soldier’s. Was this how your life would be now? Men throwing themselves at you offering an affair to deal with your loneliness?

“Your beauty does not belong to a balcony, moi tsaritsa, you have not danced all night, would you like to change that?” Count Nerenski extended a hand to you.

“As caring as always Anton, but I am afraid I must steal my dashing wife’s first dance.” Nikolai’s voice took you out of your thoughts, your eyes instantly finding him. Your heart swelled on your chest at the sight of him, already taking off his First Army jacket and walking towards you. “I fear other men might try to take her for a swing, forgetting altogether that can be considered treason. Although, I would too forget protocols and loyalties at the sight of her.” Nikolai’s voice was cheerful, yet a slight treat could be found in it.

Nikolai removed Anton’s jacket from your shoulders, replacing it with his own and pressing a chaste kiss on your cheek.

Anton grabbed his jacket from Nikolai’s hand, “Your Highness” bowed towards both of you and returned to the saloon. 

“My savior” you looked up to your husband.

“Would you dance with me?” He offered, his hand lingering on your waist. “I’m afraid I have to remind everyone in this Country who your husband is before they try to steal you from me.”

“Are you jealous, moi tsar?” You teased.

He huffed, “of Count Nerenski? Don’t make me laugh, dear.” His fingers tapped your waist to the rhythm of the background music.

“Then laugh.” You dared, “laugh and take the jealousy off your face.”

“I’d be jealous if you had enjoyed his company.”

“I enjoyed the warmth of his jacket.”

He scoffed, “enjoying another man's warmth, darling please just put a bullet in my head, it would wound me less”

“I am sorry, Nikolai.”

“Don’t be, unless you are actually interested in him?” There was a silent sorrow behind the question.

“I am not.” 

“Then I am sorry for not arriving on time.” His gloved hand touched your cheek, you leaned to his palm. “I brought you a gift though.” From the pocket of his pants he pulled a paper and handed it to you. It was a list. 

“You bought… nineteen, twentyfiv, THIRTY books?” You looked up to him to find him smiling.

“Well I could not fit them all in my pockets so I figured I’d show you the list. If you want to change them we can go to the bookstore tomorrow morning. The order sails in the afternoon to Ketterdam.”

“Nikolai” tears gathered in your eyes, touched by his present. “You didn’t have to do that, thank you.” 

He placed a lock of hair behind your ear, “I might have not known you loved roses but I knew you loved books.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Let’s go back in there and give them a nice show, shall we?” 

You nodded.

He helped you get your arms through his own jacket, “such a condecorated and beautiful soldier.” 

With both hands on your nape, you pulled your hair out of the jacket. “What can I say? I'm a catch.” 

He smirked, “of course you are” he guided you towards him with a hand on your waist, pushing your body against his, as you both walked back to the salon.

One of Nikolai’s valets stepped in front of you. “Your Highness, it is against protocol for the Queen to wear a military uniform as it is for the King to have an incomplete one. Also please be aware of the closeness.” The man’s eyes moved between your bodies, clashed together. 

“Thank you for your suggestion, Mikhail.” Nikolai pulled you towards the dance floor. 

Gasps filled the room when you both bowed before the music started; the King without his jacket and said jacket on his wife’s shoulders must have been a whole show. Anxiety left your body as soon as his hands guided your waist through the waltz.

***

You left the bath in a sheer gown, your hair wet falling on your back after your usual bath post run, and found your husband waiting for you in the same spot he had taken the day before, but instead of toying with your hair, he had one of your books in his hands and his long legs stretched on the couch. At the sight of you he raised his eyes to your body, taking an embarrassing amount of time admiring you before turning away. 

“I am sorry I should have-“ 

You grabbed a robe and pulled it on your shoulders, “that’s fine, you can look now.” 

When you saw his face, a faint blush still colored his cheeks. 

“How can I be of service, moi tsar?” 

He rearranged himself, allowing you to sit on the other side of the couch, nervousness could still be found in him, oddly enough. “I came to ask you to join me at the council today.”

“Yes, sure, when is it?” 

He looked at his watch, “In 10 minutes.”

“Oh.” You walked to your wardrobe in a rush, trying to find something to wear.

“Punctuality is important but not mandatory for a queen, myshka. Take your time.” He leaned back and returned his gaze to the book in his hands.

Without Genya or a maid to help you, you put on a dress and dried your hair as much as possible before leaving your chambers with your husband. You had never been to the war room before, and you were just as surprised to see it as the people inside were surprised to see you.

Nikolai held your hand during the entirety of the meeting, drawing circles on your skin with his thumb, what you had now identified as an anxiety tick.

Every time some decision was to be made, he turned to you and asked your opinion, every time you said you’d rather listen this time and every time he announced again you were a political genius to the group. Shy smiles could be spotted between all of them as a blush betrayed you. 

Once the meeting was over and everyone had left the room, Nikolai turned to you with the brightest smile you had seen in him yet.

“Thank you.” He placed a chaste kiss on your knuckles.

“Thank you for letting me in. I have so much to learn from all of you.”

“Nonsense.” He hooked your hand on his arm, walking out of the room with you. 

***

“I have been wanting to ask you something.” You said after a few minutes of silence. 

He nodded, asking you to continue. 

“In Ketterdam, there were some places where people had stuff and you could go in and get it for a price.”

His eyebrows furrowed, confused. “Yeah?”

“Every month, my father gave me a certain amount of money for me to be able to get whatever things I wanted.” 

Nikolai tilted his head.

“And since I have been here of course I have not yet needed to buy anything, because the Palace has it all.” You started speaking faster, “But I heard there will be an art bazaar downtown and I would like to go. However I do not have any money and I was wondering if maybe you could lend me some?”

“Lend you?” His voice was firm yet confused.

“Yes”

“And how would you pay me back?”

You had not thought about it, “I could send word to my father so—“ his laugh interrupted your rant. He had bent over his stomach laughing while you stared, not sure what was so funny.

“You are the queen of Ravka!” He said between paths, “you do not need to carry money around !” He said it like a dirty word.

“I do not understand?” 

He took a long breath to rearrange himself. “You can go downtown whenever you please, you get whatever you want and ask for the tab, then bring it to my valet and forget about it.” 

“Oh” you blushed, suddenly ashamed of your question. “And I can do that anywhere?” 

“Nearly, yes.” 

Now it was your turn to smirk. 

“But please measure yourself, do not bring this country to bankruptcy.” He teased.

“You should have thought about that before laughing at your queen!” You teased back.

He sighed and sank deeper into your bedroom’s couch, “either with her beauty or her boldness, but this queen of mine is gonna drive me crazy.”

***

You hugged your legs close to your torso, leaning your face against your knees, watching him as he told you yet another story of his life at Sea. By now the only thing you wish to have done before marrying him was getting to know the notorious Sturmhond. 

Nikolai was so passionate about his privateer past, the way he told the tales was so detailed, you could picture them in your head and soon after you could swear you had been there. He talked about Kaz Brekker and the crows, and your mouth opened to know he knew and was friends with your father’s biggest headache, both laughing at the thought of him finding out.

“What do you desire, Nikolai?” You asked after a few minutes of silence and looking at the nostalgia on his face.

“For peace in Ravka.” A well rehearsed answer.

“I asked Nikolai, not the tsar.” 

He finally looked at you, “what I desire has no consequence since I am no longer a man but a Sovereign.” 

“And if you were just a man again, what would you desire?” 

His shoulders dropped with a sigh, “to sleep” he stared at the fire for a long time, then asked, “what would you desire?”

“To hold your hand.”

He grabbed your hand in his, kissing your knuckles before tangling his fingers with yours.

“Without the gloves, Nikolai.”

He did not speak for a while, just looking at your hands intertwined. 

“I was cursed by the darkling.”

“I have heard, Korol Rezni.” 

He looked back at you with profound sadness in his eyes, “yes, which is why I can not let you see my hands.” 

He dropped your hand and stood up abruptly.

“Nikolai, plea—“

“No” again, when he turned it was the Tsar. You kept your place and nodded when he said good night.

***

You had ten people around you, all of them working to get you ready for your agenda of the day. Genya was working on your hair when you realized nobody was working anymore and instead they were bowing. You turned to find Nikolai leant against the door frame, looking at you.

“Moi tsar.” You teased and returned to look at Genya.

“My beautiful wife.” He walked to your line of sight. “Busy day?”

“Yes, I will visit the primary school today.” A bright smile lightened your face.

“By yourself?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Tamar is going with me.”

“Mmmm” he contemplated for a minute, “Tolya will go as well.”

“And what about you?” As much as you appreciated his concern, he could not be left without a bodyguard.

“I’ll be right in front of him the whole time.” He smirked, “if you don’t mind of course?” 

You smiled, “I’ll be honored.”

That night you were crying on the balcony when he let himself into your room. The weight of everything you had seen that day was starting to get you. 

“Darling?” His voice echoed from your bedroom.

“Over here!” You cleaned your face best as you could hoping he wouldn’t notice, but failed.

“What’s wrong?” There was concern in his voice, “are you hurt?” 

You scoffed, “It’s nothing, don’t worry.”

“What’s wrong?” He guided your shoulders to him, then drew your face upwards.

“What we saw today made me a little sad.” 

“The school?” 

You nodded.

“I don’t think I understand?” His brows furrowed. “I saw children very happy to meet their queen.”

You turned your body towards the garden again, leaning your forearms to the balcony. “I saw boys, mostly. Little girls, that started to be less and less around the age of nine.” A long sigh left your mouth, “they are not in school because they are married, Nikolai.”

“No, that’s” 

“What?” You turned to him, his brows were furrowed, he was piecing together a puzzle.

“Illegal” he muttered.

“Just because it’s illegal doesn’t make it undoable.” There was hate in your voice as you said it.

“That is what illegal means.”

“It means nothing if you don’t do anything to stop it!” You tried to regain control over yourself, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry. It’s just that I feel for all those girls who will never get to experience their lives because their parents sold them off to the highest bet.”

“Like you.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Panic flooded you, “No! Nikolai, don’t! I am so very lucky to have you!” Your hands landed on his chest, as if you were trying to keep his heart inside.

There was a sad smile on his face as his hands circled yours, “I understand, I often wonder how different my life would be if I had been born a woman, I understand you are upset.”

“Every day I thank the Saints for the luck I have to be your wife, Nikolai. I swear.” You looked him deep in the eye, not a single doubt on your words. “I just grieve for those girls that did not have the luck I had to marry a kind man.” 

He kissed both your hands and then held you into a tight hug. “Then good thing you are the queen of Ravka and can change things for them.” He mumbled on your hair.

***

You had taken your reading to the gardens. The Palace was just too much noise, too many people, so many whispers. You laid leaning against a tree, reading the Story of Saints again, trying desperately to distract your mind from the aura surrounding you.

You stared at the Palace from afar, how could a place so beautiful be so obsessed with finding other’s flaws? No doubt why the royals often went crazy.

“I have been looking for you” Nikolai’s voice startled you, making you drop your book from your hands to the floor. He sat next to you on the grass. “What are you doing?” 

You did not turn to him, “just reading”

He took the book from the grass and gave it back to you, “Do not let me stop you.”

“Please do, I can’t even focus.” 

“mmmm” His arm rounded your shoulders, “come here” You leaned your head on his chest. “Does that have anything to do with my trip to the Fold?” 

“Not the trip, really.” 

“The crew.” 

You shrugged.

“Darling, I beg of you not to listen to that nonsense.” His hands moved up and down your arm. “It’s not easy when people laugh around me.” 

“You could have them hanged for treason, you know?” 

You scoffed, “Yeah, that would make me a very beloved queen.” 

He sighed, with his free hand, he guided your chin upward to face him, “Then let’s issue a statement.” There was a sassy smirk on his face.

“A statement?” 

His eyes fell from your own to your lips briefly, “yeah.”

“what would it say?”

“Have dinner with me today, I’ll send Genya to your room to have you ready at 7.” 

You just stared at him, not sure what to say nor what to think.

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t think I can say no to you moi tsar.” a shy smile threaded on your lips.

“For the sake of my intentions I’mma say that is correct.”

After a romantic dinner in the garden, he walked you to the main saloon.

When the door opened your mouth did as well. The whole floor was filled with short little candles.

You turned to see him in awe and he merely shrugged like it was nothing. A runway leading from the door to the center was lit by larger ones, where a wide circle was also free of fire. He walked with you through it and once you were in the middle of the room, a quartet of musicians started to play a waltz. 

“Would you honor me a dance?” He offered his hand and you nodded.

He grabbed your waist in a heartbeat, like if your body called to him. Your hand on his chest felt meant to be. He swayed you like a doll, like a well rehearsed play. His signature smirk was permanent on his face.

“What is this, Nikolai?” You asked, blushed.

He made you swirl and you caught servants looking from the balconies above.

He shrugged, “a statement.” He leaned to your shoulder, his lips gracing your skin, “may I?”

“I don’t think I can say no to you, can I?” 

You felt him smile, “I don’t think you can, no.” He mumbled before leaving a path of chaste kisses on your exposed shoulder.

“Nikolai”

“Mmm?” He mumbled against your skin.

“What does this statement say?”

He raised his head to see you, a gilded smile on his face, “that the King of Ravka is head over heels for his wife and that he would do anything to show her how he feels.”

“And is it true?” 

His forehead leaned on yours, not granting you an answer.

“Nikolai?”

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?” 

Like it was an order, his lips found yours immediately. He guided your hand to his neck and his arms moved to circle your waist, his lips evolved into a soft, romantic kiss. He was tender, kind, his lips were begging you for more in the kindest of ways.

Your chest tightened in desire, and you could feel the thread where his control was hanging, you pulled back to regain yourself, leaning against him again.

His breath was agitated, but so was yours, he stole a short kiss and then continued his path on your shoulder.

A few waltz later, he guided you to your room. apologizing for not being able to stay any longer, He went into his chambers and soon after you heard someone else walk by. 

The next morning he was gone before sunrise, but your room dawned with a bouquet of fresh roses and a goodbye note from him.

***

Protocols aside, you nearly jumped to hug him when he finally returned. You heard his chest rumble with giggles as he wrapped his arms around you, “Did you miss me, moi tsaritsa?” He whispered in your ear.

Pushing away you answered, looking up to him, “Greatly.” 

His eyes were fixed on your lips, “May I kiss you? You know, so everyone sees it.”

“You may.” 

He leaned down to kiss you, a soft yet needy kiss for every witness to see how much the King had missed his wife; the tenderness of a devoted husband along with the urgent need of a man. It was a display, yet your heart had not gotten the memo, since it was stomping out of your chest.

He pulled away first, his eyelashes fluttering against your brow, his breath hitching your face.

“I missed you too.” He said before kissing the top of your nose and finally taking a step back.

***

Since he returned, he made it his personal goal to kiss you whenever you were surrounded by other people, he had even said so the first time he did. You found him as you walked out of the library towards the garden, he was leaving his study with the council, and the second he saw you his hands cradled your face and kissed you briefly, for then tilt his head sideways and deepen the kiss. When he pulled away you saw everyone around you was flushed and trying to look away, except for Genya who had a genuine smile on her face. Nikolai then winked at you, and continued his path. 

***

When he was focused he would not even look at you. Sitting on his desk and with a thousand papers in front of him, his eyes were reading page after page, immersed in paperwork about the year expenses and needs, you knew this was your chance.

You walked to his desk, until your thighs graced his forearms. Almost instinctively, his hand landed near your hip.

“Yes, love?” He asked, not raising his eyes.

“Nikolai, could you please sign this?” You put the paper in front of him, without hesitation he drew a signature on the bottom of the page and continued his reading. 

You bent down and kissed his cheek then started your path out of his office.

“Darling” he called when you were near the door. 

“Yes?” You turned with feigned innocence on your face.

“What did I sign?” There was a small smirk on his lips and light amusement in his eyes.

You smiled playfully, “A law.” 

“Oh?” His smirk grew. “About what?” 

You returned to his side and gave him the paper, he took it with a playful smirk and read it.

“Mandatory school for girls?” He looked up to you.

You nodded.

He stood from his chair, taking you in his arms. He smelled like woods, like sea, like fire, like freedom and class, like a prince from a fairytale. your arms wrapped around his waist briefly before he let you go. “Please see it published first thing in the morning.”

He sat again but his gaze remained fixed on you, a mix of admiration and fondness emanating from him. “And please keep doing this.”

“That you can be certain of.”

“Darling” his hand hovered above your knee, he was not touching you but you could feel the warmth of his skin even through the gloves and the heavy fabric of your dress. He looked up tenderly, “I have plenty of work to catch up tonight, I’d recommend you to get some sleep, I don’t think I can join you today.” 

“I understand.” You bit your lower lip and turned to leave the room.

“Think of how you want me to make it up to you.” 

You turned to see him again, there was a boyish smirk on his face, and you matched with your own. “I already know.”

“And what do you want, moi tsaritsa?” 

“I want you to take me on a date outside the Palace, I want to see Ravka.”

His brows lifted in surprise, a shadow crossed his face. 

“Have I offended you in any way?” 

He sighed, leaning back on his chair, “not in the slightest. I find it disappointing that I have not done my job courting you properly and I apologize for that.”

“A king does not need to court, your highness.” You teased.

“Not out of need, but of desire. The day I met you I promised you we would make this work, I intended to make it so by courting you and hopefully making you fall in love with me, and look at us: you have to beg me to spend time with you.”

You walked to his desk, a playful smile on your face, “I have not begged yet.”

That brought a slight blush to his cheeks. He placed both elbows on the desk, his gaze intensifying on you “and I am certain you’d look delightful but if I am to make you beg it won’t be for time.” Now it was your turn to blush. “I will take you out on a date, the day after tomorrow. I’ll send you something to wear.”

“You already know where we are going?”

His smirk deepend, “I always have.”

You bit your lower lip to hide your smile and nodded once before leaving the room.

For about fifteen minutes you considered going to Tolya since you felt your heart was leaving your chest right away.

***

Nikolai spent the day submerged in meetings, from one room to another, you heard people passing by all day as you were in the library, which is why you were not expecting him that night. You guessed he was either too tired or still too busy to come to your rooms, and given you were almost certain your hand was injured from all the writing you had done, you made yourself comfortable and dipped your strained hand in a bucket of warm water. That’s how he found you, sitting on the couch, in your spot, with your hand up to the elbow in water while you calmly looked at the fire. 

“Are you alright?” 

You turned to him with surprise on your face, “Nikolai” 

He walked to you, looking at your hand, then repeated himself, “are you alright?”

“Yes, it’s just that I wrote too much today.” 

He grabbed a towel and sat next to you, taking your hand out the water and drying it before massaging it softly. “Was it another Law?” With a raised brow he lifted his gaze to you.

You merely shrugged. 

“I appreciate your service but not to this point, myshka. Your wellbeing is this country’s priority, do not forget that.” 

You pouted at his scorn, leaning against his shoulder. “How was your day?” Your voice was dipping in tenderness.

He sighed, “exhausting” he kissed your hand before extending an arm on your shoulders, you rearranged yourself on his chest. “As much as I wanted to come home to read in the gardens with my wife, a lot happened while I was away that required my attention.”

“Your wife requires your attention as well.” 

A dark smirk formed on his lips, “she does?” He shifted, from being relaxed against the couch to sitting straight with his body angled towards yours, a hunter lurking his prey, “And how can I oblige to her needs?” 

“Take a wild guess” 

“I fear I might take one that turns out to be too wild.” His gaze was fixed on your lips.

“And?”

“Might scare you off”

“Impossible”

He let out a scoff, “Sturmhond would say that you mean improbable.”

“Oh? I wonder what the notorious privateer would do in this situation?” You teased.

An amused sigh left his mouth, “things that are far too scandalous to be even mentioned in front of a queen.” 

“I’d suggest not to say them and just do them, then.”

“Even worse.”

“Ummm” you feigned deception, “too bad, I would have loved to meet the guy. I heard he has quite a reputation.”

“Really?” Nikolai’s ego shone through his smile.

“Oh, yes. I’d like to know if what I have heard turns out to be true.” You laid on your back, him following closely.

“And what have you heard?”

“Things that are far too scandalous to be even mentioned in front of a King.”

He was practically on top of you know, his lips roaming yours.

“Then it is probably true.” He was practically on top of you now, his face millimeters above yours. “Please tell me what you want, love.” A jolt of honesty and vulnerability dominated his eyes, pulling the lust and desire away to accommodate your needs first. 

“You, Nikolai.” 

“Nobody is watching now.” 

It screwed your brains that he might think you only wanted him when you could be seen. One of your brows lifted in a challenge, “Then do your worst.”

His lips crashed against yours, but this time his tempo was slow and cautious, not a hint of urgency and need, but a patient lover with all the time in the world. Your hands rounded his neck and his’ supported him while cradling your face. 

His legs moved in between yours, applying light pressure in your core with his hips, earning a muffled moan from your lips. He pulled away, his eyes dark with desire and mouth open with adoration. “Tell me what you want” 

“I can not move further without the touch of your hand, Nikolai, please.” 

A half smile crossed his lips, “you truly are a delight begging” his sight roamed your face, “close your eyes” a firm order, you obliged. 

Rough and cold fingers wrapped around your hand, lifting it over your head, while the other set touched your face lightly, you could feel all calluses and scars roaming your cheek, then your neck, and after a brief lack of touch, climbing up your ankle.

“Nikolai” you moaned.

“Shh” he let go of your hand to touch your lips with his thumb, “you’re so soft” you could hear him near, the pressure on your core harder every second. He pushed his thumb in your mouth, a weird taste of charcoal in your tongue as you licked it, he groaned in your ear, “can’t wait to feel more of you” his hand finally stopped on your hip, pulling his thumb out and resuming his kiss. His hands were still cold, but somehow made you feel even warmer.

He was toying with your undergarments, cold fingers stretching the soft fabric and touching all around, except where you needed him the most. You wondered how it might be, cold fingers against your hot core, and it made you dizzier.

It was becoming too much: the warmth of the chimney, his body on top of you and the coldness of his hands. You wanted to scream, to beg him to please take you now, but you could only continue under his torturous pace, kissing him back, your hands roaming his chest and making a mess of his hair, pulling his curls out of its perfect place. A gentle tug of his hair earned you a groan, which nearly pushed you off the edge.

“Can I take these off?” He tugged your undergarments, panting.

“Yes.”

“Beg” he said in your ear.

“Nikolai, please.”

“That is not begging.”

“Nikolai, I beg you to take them off.” 

“That’s my girl” he bit your ear while pulling the fabric.

A loud knock made you open your eyes abruptly to see him hide his hands from your sight “close your eyes” he instructed. 

You heard the sound of fabric, steps and a door open. “Nikolai” General Nazyalensky’s voice filled the room, “We received correspondence from the Termite, there are Fjerdan troops marching south. The council is waiting for you in the war room.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes” 

The door closed and he was back in your eyesight. He sat between your legs again, admiring you for a minute.

“Care to continue?” You teased.

“We’ll have to put a raincheck on that” He said and you blushed at his blunt rejection, turning your face away from him. Suddenly he was on top of you again, his now gloved hands guiding your face towards his’, “because I only have a couple minutes and with you I need so much more than that, myshka.” He kissed you deeply again, it felt like a natural thing now. “Get some sleep, I’ll see you in the morning for our date.” He stood up, extending a hand to help you do the same. You took it.

“Don’t you have a war to attend?” 

“It will have to wait for another day.” With that he kissed you again before rearranging himself and leaving with a flirty wink.

***

The smell of flowers woke you up. When your eyes opened you realized your room was filled with roses of all colors. On every surface of the room there was a thick bouquet and on the nightstand a note that read

I am not sure if they are a hundred, but I brought you all the roses of Ravka. 

-Nik.

There were more than a hundred, for sure. You stood on your tiptoes, careful not to kick any, as you inspected every single vase, each one had a card sending you regards from the flower shop, each of them further away than the other. How had Nikolai gathered them all this morning, you had no clue.

Minutes later one of Nikolai’s valets left a box with clothes in it. After you changed into them, a plain white shirt, trousers and boots, you met your husband in the dais of the main stairs.

“Dashing as ever” His signature smirk greeted you. 

His outfit was similar to yours, way too simple for a king. He escorted you out and towards the lake, where you found a ship.

“Am I meeting Sturmhond today?” You asked with a smile.

“Maybe” 

He helped you on the ship, and after putting on a green jacket, he instructed the squallers as the ship caught the air and rose. 

A gasp left your mouth in terror and your husband was at your side in an instant, holding you close to him. For a while there was only him, your face buried on his chest, his smell grounding you. Then everything was calm again, and softly he pulled away and guided you to the bow, one hand on your waist and one on the railing.

“You wanted to see Ravka… I thought to show you your whole kingdom.”

Out of words, you explored the frozen woods of the North and the border with Fjerda; the vastness of the city of Os Alta, the desert on what used to be the Fold, all the cultures and colors of the southern cities, the clarity of the shore. All the while Nikolai whispered stories in your ear, his chest pressed against your back and his hands on your waist.

You ate at Os Kervo, where you both had to be tailored to go undercover, his now ginger hair bouncing free. 

You stood on the docks, looking at the sea. 

“Missing home?” His chin leaned against your shoulder.

“You are my home now, Nikolai.” 

He turned you and kissed you fiercely. There, in the docks of Os Kervo, tailored away from your royal faces, you were just two idiots in love. No protocols to respect or whispers to feed; just two lovers intertwined, hypnotized by their most animalistic needs of each other. Sturmhond took risks Nikolai wouldn’t; like pulling your hair and letting his fingers dig your skin, biting your lips and tasting your tongue, he pulled muffled moans out of you like a child takes cookies out of a jar. Your knees buckled, but his strong arms were there to hold you and continue his quest. When he was done, he leaned your foreheads together, gasping for air. 

“Such a conqueror” you whispered, panting.

“And I am not done yet.” His threat made your legs weak again.

You barely kept your hands off each other on the way back, but your control was completely lost as soon as you arrived at the Palace.

Your legs were on his hips, and his hands supporting them as you both walked in, the welcoming party waiting for you quickly dissipated as he carried you up the stairs and to your bedroom. 

He pushed you against the wall, and once the door was closed and secured, he carried you to the bed.

“Careful with my roses” you teased.

“I’ll plant you a whole new garden” 

His body was pressed on yours, both of you working on taking your clothes off. You pushed him making land on his back, straddling him, his naked torso to your bare chest.

“No objection to that” a lopsided grin on his face

You took his hands, touching the fabric of his gloves, your eyes kindly asking for permission. His breath was ragged when he nodded.

Softly, you pulled the fabric from each finger, making them loose enough to pull out the right hand first. His eyes were closed, defeated, ashamed, as you completely removed both gloves. You laid a wet kiss on each one before kissing his palms and then moved to intertwine your fingers to his. They were black and cold, different, for sure, but not worth hiding and definitely better than those stupid gloves.

“Nikolai”

“Mmm” his eyes remained closed, his chest to yours while you sat on his lap.

“touch me”

“I don’t want the darkling’s curse on you.”

“Please”

“Are you not” he swallowed, “disgusted?”

“Not in the slightest”

He finally touched your face, his palm on your cheek felt cold but you leaned to his touch nonetheless.

“Does your night visitator have anything to do with this?”

Nikolai’s head fell forward in shame, “yes”

He remained silent as you pampered his face with kisses, falling back on the bed but now with a defeated aura.

“The darkling turned me into a monster”

“Don’t say that” your head was on his chest, your whole body wrapped on his.

“I wish this was a theatricality, love” You looked at him tenderly. “He literally turned me into a monster, Alina saved me or so I believed, when she destroyed the Fold. But the monster is still in me, it comes back at night sometimes. That is why Zoya chains me to bed every night.”

Your gasp broke his heart in a million pieces.

“That is why I do not sleep with you, I am afraid I might hurt you, kill you, while I am that damned monster.”

You took his hands and guided them to your waist, the cold of his fingers giving you chills. Softly, you left a trail of wet kisses on his ear, his neck, until he undoubtedly lost himself in you again.

The weight of his arm on your waist dulled you to the deepest, coziest sleep you have ever had, until a metallic clac woke you up. There was a slim figure standing on the foot of your bed, as you blinked the darkness away you realized it was Zoya toying with a set of keys. Her beautiful face was pursed, at least she was not enjoying this.

“I am sorry, I must take Nikolai to his rooms.” She whispered.

Nikolai moved next to you, his fingers wrapping on your waist as he laid sleepy kisses on your shoulder. “Mmmm?” He mumbled deep in sleep.

“He is asleep, he won’t turn into a monster tonight.” 

“We do not know that, Your Majesty.”

“Zoya?” Nikolai asked, blinking.

“I will be waiting in your rooms, Nikolai.” She turned to you, “good night, moi tsaritsa.”

“I’ll go with you.” You turned to him.

Your husband got to his feet, buttoning his shirt, “No.”

“Nikolai”

 He kissed your forehead and left. 

***

Nikolai knocked on your door every night for five nights, not a single one you opened.

***

“I know we are not on speaking terms” Nikolai spoke from the other side of the desk where you had spent your afternoon.

You did not look up to him.

“But I have a gift for you.”

You raised your eyes to him, sneering. 

“Ouch”

“A gift does not change anything, Nikolai.”

“I do not expect it to.”

You raised one eyebrow, insting him to continue.

He flexed his fingers and a man carrying a machine entered, placing the machine in front of you. It took you a few minutes to see it: it had … buttons? with the alphabet, although it was not in order. It had two rollers behind the alphabet and a paper sheet in between.

“It is a typing machine” he leaned near you to explain, “you can use this to type the laws instead of writing them down by hand and hurting yourself.”

Your eyes were glued on the machine. “Where did you get it?”

“I built it”

You raised your eyes to him again, but this time they were filled with wonder and admiration. “Thank you.” 

“I don’t want you to get hurt, love” he said looking at the machine, but you knew he wasn’t referring only to it, “everything I do, I do it aiming for that.”

With that, he left the library, leaving you and your typing machine alone.

***

That night he knocked on your door once again, but this time you opened, leaning against the frame, opening just enough for your body to fit.

“Yes, Moi Tsar?” 

“I…” he swallowed, “was wondering if I could join you for a moment?” 

“You can join me for the night or not at all.” 

His eyes closed in annoyance, “love you are taking this too far now”

“Am I? Or am I merely demanding my husband to trust me half as much as he trusts his soldiers?” 

He faced the floor, exasperated. “As much as I hate to say this: they are replaceable. You are not.”

A scoff, “I’ll make you wish I was, Nikolai.”

With that you closed the door on his face.

[okaylikeschaewon]

Exchange Part 1: Behind the Stage

10k words, 10k more in part 2, male reader, smut

“What’s your name?”

“What?!”

“I said, what’s your name?” you shouted, trying your best to be heard over the blaring music.

She looked confused for a second before shrugging her shoulders, smiling, not caring about anything - but why should she? This was supposed to be one of the most prestigious parties of the year, she was young and cute and somehow found her way in, she should enjoy it.

The way she moved her body was impeccable - she must have some sort of formal training because no average girl knows how to move like she did. Her perfect body control, matching the music, oddly impressive attention to the little movements that just made her so much more appealing to you. Top it all off with the fact that it just looked like she was having a good time, this girl knew how to have a presence.

“You’re really good at this!”

She just smiled, you weren’t entirely sure if she heard you - not that it mattered.

“Come!” she shouted, pulling you by your hand towards the middle of the dance floor, finding a little area with some more space.

This girl knew no embarrassment, not that she had any reason to be, she was unbelievably confident in herself. Her hands were all over you, even though you were just an average dancer, she guided you, made you look like an expert while she did almost all of the work.

A few people started to take notice of her, giving a bit more space while cheering her on. She clearly loved it, a smirk plastered across her face as she knew her skimpy little outfit was flashing her body to the whole room. She was thin, small, petite, yet her thighs were full enough to make you lust for her, to want her, unable to take your eyes off her.

Then she turned around, and for the first time you got a view, a beautiful view, as half of her ass was hanging out of the tiny garment that could barely be called a pair of shorts. You were a bit taken aback, but she didn’t allow you to fester in nerves; She grabbed your hands and placed them on her hips before she pressed backwards, grinding her cute little ass on your crotch.

The jeering from the crowd could barely be heard over the music, but it could be heard nonetheless. The more they cheered her on, the harder she went. At this point pretty much every eye in the room was on the two of you, or rather it felt that way, as the girl was grinding her little ass against you.

Fueled by the attention, the girl pressing her ass into your body bent over at her waist and turned back, looking at you over her shoulder. That seductive smirk of hers made you realize her attention was all you cared about, all these other people were just bystanders. This was your little moment.

She winked like a professional, as if such a thing existed, before she began to twerk her ass up and down on you. The makeshift audience erupted in shouts, everyone watching as the cute girl bounced her backside against you. Her ass was so soft, especially for such a skinny girl, and the little side to side move she did further emphasized how this girl was not an amateur.

The song eventually came to an end, leaving you face to face with the cute girl again as the crowd around you began to dissipate. You still had your hands on her hips gently swaying side to side, both of you smiling to the fullest.

“Wanna take a break?” she asked, communication finally possible as the music calmed down.

“I’d love to,” you answered as she began to guide you through the room towards the bar.

“You’re pretty good at dancing!” she complimented, flagging down the bartender.

“Me? Are you kidding, you’re the one who looked like a damn pro out there!”

“I have some practice,” she giggled as the bartender walked up.

“It’s a pleasure to serve you,” he said respectfully. “What can I get for you, and of course it’s on the house.”

“Thanks!” she said cheerily before turning to you. “What do you drink?”

“I’m good with whatever you’re having,” you answered, slightly taken aback at how the bartender greeted her.

“Whisky please! Something nice.”

“You got it, I have the perfect bottle in the back for you,” the bartender replied before quickly scurrying away.

“Huh, didn’t chalk you as a whisky girl,” you said, leaning against the bar. “You’re just full of surprises aren’t you?”

“What, do you think I’m cool because I drink whisky?” she chuckled, leaning next to you.

“I’d think you’re cool even if you got us some cosmos.”

She smiled brightly at you, her eyes squinted in the most adorable endearing way.

“By the way, what’s your name?” you asked as the bartender returned with the drinks.

The girl picked up the two glasses and handed you one.

“Lisa.”

—

“Oh my God just look at her, she has the whole room gawking at her.”

“They’d be gawking at you, too,” Jennie replied casually, sipping on her vodka cranberry. “These rich execs are all so horny, you could just stand up there and you’d have like six guys on you.”

“I don’t want six guys, I’ll leave that shit to you,” Rosé scoffed, her attention fixated on a booth across the room. “Just one.”

“No need to be so defensive,” Jennie slurred, clearly tipsy, as she wrapped her arm around the bitter girl. “You should go for it, he has a huge cock.”

“You’ve already been with him?” Rosé spat, glaring at Jennie in disgust.

“Please, I’ve sucked more than half the cocks in this room,” Jennie laughed, leaning back again on the couch while stirring her drink with the little plastic straw. “Let’s not forget how many years it's been.”

“Don’t worry, none of us forgot how quickly you became a slut,” Rosé muttered, her eyes once again locked on the man.

“Oh stop being such a bitch about it,” Jennie rolled her eyes, tossing a keycard on the table in front of Rosé. “Go take him to the suite, you’re just as much of a slut as I am at this point.”

“That would be impossible, no one is as slutty as you,” Rosé fired back.

“Oh really?” Jennie raised her eyebrows. “Oh oppa, thank you so much for the song!” Jennie mocked her voice before pretending to gag on a cock. “Oppa I’ve never sucked a cock this big before.”

“That was one time!” Rosé argued.

“Oh oppa thank you for the ride,” Jennie continued, once again making gagging noises. “Thank you for lunch oppa!”

“How did you know-”

“Oh oppa I ruined my new dress, I need to be spanked.”

Rosé snatched the keycard off the table, glaring at Jennie for a moment before the two of them broke down and started laughing. Rosé leaned over and gave her a quick hug before standing up and grabbing her bag.

“I’m going to have to talk to our staff about kissing and telling,” Rosé whined playfully.

“It’s not their fault, I basically forced them to tell me,” Jennie laughed, leaning back into her seat.

“You sure you don’t need it?” Rosé asked, holding up the card.

“Half the execs here would suck my cock if I had one, I’ll just get another one if I need it,” Jennie replied nonchalantly. “Go have your fun, I wasn’t joking about him having a huge cock.”

“Thanks,” Rosé said excitedly, waving goodbye. “I’ll meet you two in our room later tonight!”

“Yeah, if you ever stop getting dicked by him,” Jennie laughed as Rosé rushed off.

It only took probably three minutes before Rosé had snuck off with the man.

“Why’re you so down?” Jennie asked casually. “We’re just fucking around, coming to one of these doesn’t actually make you a slut.”

Jisoo bit her lip, looking around the room, stirring the little plastic straw of her barely-touched drink.

“Hey, come on, it’s basically just a formality for you to be here,” Jennie continued. “You’re allowed to have some fun.”

“I don’t know if this is for me…” Jisoo mumbled. “I might just head back.”

“I told you, I’ll do that stuff for you, you just have to be in the room,” Jennie tried to reassure her while sending one of the waiters a silent message. “Please, stay.”

“Why are you even doing this for me?” Jisoo asked quietly. “You didn’t do it for the others.”

“Because those two are already huge sluts,” Jennie chuckled briefly before abruptly becoming serious. “I’m kidding!”

“So why, what makes me so special?” Jisoo demanded, putting the glass down, about to spill tears.

“I just… it’s not that big of a deal for me, and I want to help you out,” Jennie answered as the waiter approached the table with four shots of tequila. “Also I know they’ll never give you your solo if you don’t make an appearance.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Trust me Jisoo, I do,” Jennie sighed. “Rosie and Lisa were the same, at first they also didn’t believe me, and look how long they waited.”

“You don’t…”

“Jisoo, please, it hurts me knowing you’re the only one left,” Jennie begged, grabbing Jisoo’s hands and staring earnestly into her eyes. “You deserve this, one night and then you’ll get everything you deserve.”

“One night…” Jisoo whispered, a dead look penetrating deep within her pupils.

“It’s really not as bad as it sounds,” Jennie attempted to bargain. “It’s actually a lot of fun, and I’ll be the one actually doing everything. You literally just have to sit there and look pretty, at most you’ll strip down a bit.”

She nodded slowly, finally accepting her fate. Jennie, ecstatic as could be, quickly grabbed two of the shots and held one out to Jisoo. After staring at it, hesitating, she accepted the drink.

“To the final solo!” Jennie cheered, holding the glass up before the two of them downed the drinks simultaneously.

“I still hate tequila,” Jisoo shuddered, slamming the glass down on the table.

“Good thing I got us two each then.”

—

“Holy shit, why is your room so nice,” you marveled at the luxurious suite. “And how many people are staying in here?”

“Four of us,” Lisa mumbled as she made her way over to the minifridge, stumbling slightly. “What do you want… to drink…?”

“Whoa there Lisa,” you quickly ran up behind her, grabbing her by her armpits to hold her up. “I think maybe we slow down on the alcohol, just for a bit.”

The two of you had spent far too long drinking downstairs. You were finding out a lot about her, and the bond the two of you seemed to naturally have felt unreal. Never before has a girl had this type of effect on you, it felt like she might be something special. Despite talking for so long, there was still so much you didn’t know about her.

“Why!” she whined, putting all of her weight on your arms as she craned her neck to look up at you. “I’m not… drunk…”

“Right, not drunk,” you agreed with her as she slowly fell down to the ground, sitting there giggling.

“I’m not drunk!” she giggled while on her knees.

“Yeah, I got that, you’re not drunk.”

“You think I’m drunk, don’t you?” she asked, her voice suddenly becoming unexpectedly dispirited.

“No no, really, I believe you,” you lied, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Do you want to come on the bed for a bit?”

“No,” she replied softly. “Can we hold hands?”

“Uh, yeah of course,” you said, taking her outstretched hand in yours. It was odd, having her sitting on the floor next to the bed, but it was also somewhat wholesome in a way. “So, Lisa, are you a celebrity or something?”

“Do you really not know?” she asked slowly, as if each word required immense mindpower to get out. “I figured everyone knew.”

“I’m sorry-”

“I’m part of Blackpink!” she said cheerily, letting go of your hand turning to face you, sitting cross-legged. “Have you heard of us?”

“Oh umm, yeah I think I’ve heard of you guys.”

“Liar,” she laughed, leaning back on her hands.

“No really, that name sounds familiar!” you argued, racking your brain trying to remember.

“If you knew, you’d know.”

The name did sound familiar, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was mentioned by your boss, something about tonight?

“Can I suck your cock?”

Your train of thought immediately crashed; Surely you misheard her. There was no way she actually just said what you think she said.

“Sorry, what was that?”

She got up onto her knees and crawled towards you, reaching for your crotch.

“Whoa,” you quickly grabbed her hands. “What are you doing?”

“I want to suck your cock,” she said casually, trying to pull down your pants. “I’m really good at it, I promise.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you hesitated, trying to hold her back.

“Why?” she snapped, suddenly extremely ferocious. “Do you still think I’m drunk?”

“No!” you lied again, trying to make sense of the situation you got yourself into.

“Am I not pretty enough?” she asked, her anger replaced by sorrow.

“No, that’s definitely not the issue.”

“I’m not drunk,” she pouted, looking like she was about to burst into tears.

“I’m not saying you’re drunk,” you attempted to cheer her up. “I’m just saying-”

“Let me suck your cock or else I’m going to find another man,” she growled, her eyes full of rage, but then just as quickly as she got angry she flipped the switch again and began smiling at you sweetly. “Please!”

This girl was insane, but she was so unbelievably cute that your tipsy self decided fuck it, might as well go with it. How could you refuse her when she was literally on her knees begging, and you were pretty sure she wasn’t making empty threats when she said she’d just find another cock to suck. Why should someone else get the pleasure anyway?

“Fine, if you really want to,” you sighed, as if you were doing her a favor.

“Oh please,” she scoffed, enthusiastically undoing your belt. “I can see how hard you are, stop playing games.”

“Of course I am, you’re fucking gorgeous,” you replied.

She looked up at you with her hands on your waistband. Her smile was so pure and precious, she was adorable, sitting there on her knees. That soft smile she flashed at you, it almost felt like you were falling for her in this moment - or perhaps you were more inebriated than you realized.

“Can you hold my hair?” she asked, snapping you out of the wholesome thoughts as she yanked down your pants.

“Sure- ahhh,” you cried quietly out as her mouth immediately plunged down your cock.

She wasted no time at all, within just seconds she was bobbing her head down your cock. There was no doubt in your mind that this girl had sucked a few cocks in her days, that much was painfully clear based on how she moved, and her experience just made it that much better for you. You quickly bunched her hair up in your fist, making sure you could clearly see her cute face as she thoroughly coated your shaft with her saliva.

“Holy shit Lisa,” you moaned softly. “You don’t mess around.”

No response, just continuous shoving of your cock down her throat. She started going deeper and deeper, you began to feel your tip poking against the tightness of her throat each time she plunged downwards. She was focused, extremely precise yet still sloppy - perhaps she wasn’t as drunk as you thought.

Most girls started slowly, maybe lick around a bit, a few kisses here and there. Lisa, however, was not like most girls. She was hungry, and apparently only your cock could feed that appetite. There was zero apprehension, she eagerly sucked your cock, her pretty little face completely stuffed, and she liked it.

“Does that feel good?” she asked as her lips flew off your cock, replaced by her hand. She stroked your length, spreading the saliva from her throat along your shaft as she shoved her face against your balls, licking them with all the passion in the world.

“Yeah Lisa, it feels good,” you moaned, closing your eyes. “Really fucking good.”

The touch of her hand disappeared from your shaft, as did her tongue from your balls. Then, suddenly, your cock was engulfed in a warm tightness. Your eyes shot open to see Lisa’s lips pressed against your crotch, your cock all the way down her tight little throat. She held her face there, staring up at you the entire time - apparently this girl didn’t know the meaning of gag reflex.

“Mmmmmphmmmph,” she moaned with her mouth stuffed full of your cock, her lips moving up and down your length slowly. She had absolutely no difficulty throating your whole cock, and she even seemed to enjoy it as she repeatedly brought her lips down all the way.

The back of her throat was opening up comfortably for you, offering very little resistance while it still squeezed your cock. You were throbbing. She was just so beautiful, her cute little face partially shielded by her bangs, that grip you had on her hair that made you feel in control - but let there be no mistake, she was in control.

Lisa had you under her spell, using her mouth to satisfy every need your mind and body could possibly have. She began bobbing up and down quickly, this time bringing one fist to the base of your cock to join her mouth’s movements. Her other hand firmly gripped your balls, but very gently rubbed them around. Her hand was so soft, her slender fingers massaging your cock from every angle.

“You’re going to make me cum,” you moaned softly, bringing your other hand up to her hair as well. With two hands grabbing her head, you could feel yourself nearing climax.

She wouldn’t let up. Knowing that you were about to come didn’t dissuade her at all, she continued to suck your cock with her exuberant passion. Lisa moved both of her hands onto your thighs, sitting up a bit more, and began throating your cock as fast as possible.

Her new leverage offered so much more control as she slammed her lips into your body with power, with burning passion. Each time her mouth bobbed down on your cock, you felt yourself get just a bit closer to the point of no return. She began to thrust her mouth hard, using a lot more power with each one, holding your cock down her throat for a moment each time she went down.

Grunting and moaning, you finally hit the wall. Those couple of seconds where you had hit your climax, right before your cock began unloading, those couple of seconds lasted an eternity. Time might have frozen entirely, not that you would have noticed. The warmth of her mouth around your cock felt divine, unreal, out of this world. Reality smacked you in the face just like that, your release began to fill her mouth.

Shot after shot of your cum flew down her throat, and she didn’t even flinch. You knew that you were filling her mouth just by feeling alone, but confirmation arrived swiftly as the white goo began to spill out of the sides of her lips. She didn’t care one bit as she held her mouth glued to your cock, even as your cum overflowed.

With a mouth full of your cum, she throated your cock a final few times, leaving the white mess all over your shaft, before removing you from her mouth. A hefty glob spilled before she could tilt her head back, mouth wide open to show you the white pool of your seed coating her tongue. She closed her mouth, gulped without any hesitation, and then smiled brightly at you.

“What the fuck Lisa,” you moaned, falling onto your back and staring at the roof. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Told you I was good at it,” she bragged before her tongue returned to your body, licking up any remnants of cum off your cock. “Your cum tastes so good.”

“I think I love you,” you moaned as her tongue poked at your tip, greedily trying to coerce some more out of your body, sending shivers up your spine.

“I get that a lot,” she giggled before standing up and laying down on top of you, her face on your chest. “Could a drunk girl really do that?”

“You’re not drunk,” you whispered absentmindedly, still recovering from the blowjob as you squeezed her butt.

“So, how long do you need before you are ready to fuck me?” she asked casually. “It’s only nine, the night is young.”

“It’s nine?” you gasped, quickly returning to your senses.

“Yeah, why?” she asked, her hand rubbing your thigh.

“Lisa, I hate to ruin the mood, but I have to leave,” you informed her remorsefully.

The rubbing ceased abruptly, but she refused to look up at you, letting only one word fill the room; That one word wasn’t one of anger, or frustration, but rather it was filled to the brim with heartbreak.

“Why?”

“They do this thing, a sort of hazing, I don’t really have a choice,” you explained. “It shouldn’t take too long, I can come right back after.”

“I just asked you to fuck me, and you’re leaving?”

“I know and I wish I didn’t have to, but I’d lose my job if I didn’t show up.”

“Am I not worth losing your job?”

“Lisa…”

“Forget it, I know how these things work, it’s not my first time at one of these parties,” she sighed.

“I really want to stay, but I just can’t,” you said with exasperation.

“That’s what they always say,” she said quietly. “I fall for it every time.”

“Fall for what?”

“All you guys are the same, coming here all dressed up pretending you want to get to know me and all that bullshit just to fuck me and leave,” she sniffled, failing to hide her emotions. “This is why I don’t bother getting invested.”

“It’s not like that,” you tried to explain.

“It’s fine, just go,” she snapped, rolling off and turning away from you. “There are a hundred men just like you downstairs who can fuck me instead.”

“Lisa, I promise I’ll come back,” you argued, reaching for her shoulder.

“What kind of hazing is this anyway?” she snapped again, her whole body jerking away at your touch. “What exactly do you have to do?”

“They didn’t give me details,” you answered carefully. “I promise I’ll come back after, if you let me.”

She turned around to face you again, her eyes welling up; She looked so incredibly vulnerable right now, full of emotion, and you felt terrible knowing you caused this. You never wanted to hurt this girl, she was adorable in the best of ways.

“Don’t make empty promises, you’re the first guy I’ve met at one of these who…” she muttered quietly. “As soon as you’re done, alright?”

“As soon as I’m done,” you repeated.

“I’ll be waiting here,” she continued. “I’m not heading back out there, I’m going to wait here. Waiting for you.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” you whispered before hesitating.

You wanted to kiss her, she looked too cute, yet despite her sucking the life out of your cock just a few moments ago, you were being shy. Why did it take so much courage? You had no idea, but you mustered up that conviction and went for it, hoping for the best.

—

The club was just as rowdy now as it was when you were here with Lisa earlier. If anything, it was even more full of energy now as you went deeper into the night. You maneuvered around the edge of the room, noticing far more audacious activity going on in the booths. Not that it shocked you, these booths were reserved for the more prestigious members of the event.

After walking past a dozen or so blowjobs, some more subtle than others, you noticed the balcony your company reserved was full of people. You had access, and part of you wanted to see what was going on, but instead you focused on getting over with your little adventure - you wanted to return to Lisa as soon as possible.

It was as you continued making your way towards your meeting spot that you noticed what was happening on the balcony. There was a girl, she must have been popular because there was a literal crowd watching as a man picked her up. You only got flashes of what was going on through the mass of bodies, but you filled in the blanks as you saw two guys holding her up between them.

“Crazy shit right?”

You turned to see a man wearing half a mask sitting in a booth, watching you.

“Yeah, she must be someone special,” you replied casually, taking a seat in the booth. There were two other guys also at the booth who nodded at you as you sat, but they were very much preoccupied by two skimpily dressed girls. “Where are the masks?”

“She is, but we get to work with someone just as special,” the masked man said while handing you one of your own - a bunny mask. “Apparently earlier she was also there,” he continued while nodding at the balcony. “Guess one of the execs really wanted her for himself.”

“Yeah I don’t think she’s being very exclusive up there,” you commented as the bodies parted for a brief moment, giving you a view of the girl bent over getting spit roasted. “Kinda looks like it was her idea.”

“You’re probably right,” he laughed. “She’s definitely the biggest slut in the group.”

The group of you sat there for a bit, watching the scenes unfold around you. Random girls kept walking up to your booth, knowing that anyone with a booth would have some relevance. The masked guy you were talking to now also had a girl on his lap and another between his legs. You had been refusing every girl who offered to join you - Lisa was the only girl on your mind right now.

“Alright who’s next,” an extremely burly man asked while walking up to the table. “Looks like you’re new,” he added, looking at you.

“I’d go another round,” one of the other guys in the booth piped up.

“Get yourself another promotion and then you can join them up there,” the bodyguard laughed before turning to you. “Come on, I think you’re the last one.”

You stood up and followed him out of the club and down a hallway. There were a few other masked guys in the hallway which you walked past, knowing that they all had some level of power in their respective companies if they were here.

“She doesn’t look as enthusiastic as some of the others,” the bodyguard commented while walking you towards a door. “Did they explain how it works?”

“Not exactly,” you replied, your mind still preoccupied with Lisa.

“It’s just a facial,” he explained. “Touch her as much as she lets you, if you want to fuck her then you have to convince her yourself. Do whatever you want as long as she is fine with it. She is allowed to stop whenever she wants. If she says stop, listen to her.”

“Got it.”

“There’s a camera in there, take a picture of it after you’re done,” he continued, holding the doorknob. “Take as long as you want, go a couple of rounds if she lets you, just make sure you take at least one money shot picture, got it?”

“Yeah, got it,” you answered, Lisa finally slipping from your mind as the bodyguard began to open the door.

Immediately inside there was a little curtain which you walked through, just to be greeted with another one. Behind you, the bodyguard closed the door as you walked through the second curtain into a large, luxurious room. There were bookshelves up to the roof, a large table, a number of big couches, some nice chairs, but the middle of the room was where your attention went.

On a king size bed sat one of the prettiest girls you had ever seen in your life, wearing nothing but a pair of floral purple underwear. She was the type of girl who could have the whole room’s attention by just breathing. It was your job to coat her face in your cum, this would be an absolute dream come true if it weren’t for one little issue - she was crying.

“Excuse me,” you said softly, trying not to startle her.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, quickly turning away from you and furiously wiping her face. “I didn’t know you were ready.”

“Don’t apologize, take a second and then we can talk,” you said while walking over to the table and picking up the camera.

Your jaw dropped as you looked at the picture preview. There were at least nine pictures, unique pictures, of this girl with her face coated. Your heart sank, and you didn’t have it in you to scroll and see how many there were in total.

“Okay, I’m ready,” the girl sniffled, turning back to face you. “I’m really sorry about that, please don’t tell them.”

“I’m not going to say anything,” you tried to calm the frantic girl down. You carefully took a seat on the bed next to her, purposefully not staring at her almost-nude body. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she stammered as she moved closer to you. “Is my hand fine or would you like me to use my mouth?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you asked nervously, unable to get past the image of what this beautiful girl had been through so far tonight.

“I have to do this!” she replied with a raised voice before immediately apologizing again. “Please, I didn’t mean it.”

“How about we first start with this,” you said while reaching up and grabbing one of the pillows from the top of the bed. You placed it on her lap, returning just a touch of her dignity. “What’s your name?”

She looked at you in pure astonishment, as if you were some kind of alien.

“Jisoo,” she muttered, her eyes still wide open.

“Tell me about yourself, Jisoo.”

“I’m…” she paused, her eyes twinkling in the dim light of the room. “I’m a singer.”

“And how does a singer end up in this kind of… situation?” you asked, trying to make sense of it all.

“I… volunteered,” she said quietly, her lower lip trembling in your periphery. You turned to look her directly in the eyes, those eyes which were quickly filling with tears when she suddenly started crying again. “It’s the only way,” she sobbed, burying her face in her hands.

“Jisoo, I’m not going to force you to do anything,” you said softly while patting her back. “It’s not too late to stop all of this.”

“I’ve come this far,” she muttered, wiping her eyes carefully with her fingers, trying not to further damage her makeup. “I can’t stop now.”

It was difficult for you, but you also knew how these things worked. If you refused to comply, she would most likely get blamed, revoking whatever rewards she was working towards. The rows of facials on the camera flashed before your eyes as you stared at her, you didn’t have it in you to be the reason she failed tonight.

“Alright,” you sighed. “Just the hand is fine.”

Her jaw dropped in shock - you immediately realized you were probably the first person tonight who refused the blowjob. That at least made you feel a little better, making you the best of the worst for this girl. She got over the surprise after a couple of seconds and wrapped her arms around your body, slowly tugging down your pants.

“You’re the first one,” she confirmed as you lifted yourself just enough for her to remove your pants. “Touch me as much as you want, just promise you’ll warn me before…”

“Of course,” you replied, keeping your hands off her.

Tenderly, she wrapped her fingers around your shaft. She moved slowly, painfully slowly at first, getting used to the details of your cock. With how the two of you were seated, you had a perfect view of Jisoo’s little cleavage, with a backdrop of her thighs.

“Do you like it faster or slower?” she whispered, lifting her face towards you while her hand pumped a bit quicker.

“Faster,” you replied, glancing at your cock to see her hand steadily stroking away.

It’s not that she was bad at it, but you could tell something was missing. She was nervous, apprehensive - almost as if she was scared to touch you. Making her comfortable became your goal, the question was just how?

“Stop me whenever,” you whispered softly into her face before placing your hand on her thigh.

Inch by inch, you moved up her leg, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time. Your gaze was deep, looking directly into the retinas of her gorgeous eyes as they sparkled, still slightly dewy from earlier. Your hand eventually made it right up to her purple panties where you paused.

Jisoo’s hand also briefly stopped pumping, but after a couple of blinks, fluttering of her eyes, she resumed her handjob, slower now. You slid your hand up some more, rubbing just above her nether region. Slowly, giving her every opportunity in the world to stop you, you slipped your fingers into her underwear.

She exhaled sharply out of her nose, her hand involuntarily pumping your cock faster, as your fingers made contact with her pussy. You moved your hand a bit lower until you had three fingers pressed against her clit. Your fingers began rubbing in a circular motion, pushing her to release a moan from time to time.

Her eyebrows began to angle upwards, those beautiful features of her face gently contorting in pleasure as you toyed with her. The faster you rubbed her, the faster her own hand moved, in a way giving you control over everything.

Your fingers began to steadily collect her liquids, lessening the friction of her body as you rubbed her pussy even faster. You could feel her breaths hitting your face now, her pretty winces, eyes shut tight. She was really getting into it.

Then you pressed a little bit lower down her body, two fingers rubbing up and down while your middle finger toyed with the idea of entering her pussy. She gasped, eyes shooting open as your finger teased her hole. Those deep breaths of hers turned into sharp grunts as your fingers touched her without regard.

You ran your middle finger over her entrance again before pulling your hand back up, returning to her clit - you had no intention of inserting. She looked relieved, or perhaps she was just overcome with pleasure, it was hard to tell anymore. One thing that was easy to tell, however, was how much wetter her pussy was now.

She was definitely getting close, and her grip on your cock began to falter. She was still trying her best, but it was clear her own pleasure was taking precedence over yours - which you were completely fine with. You rubbed circles around her clit some more, just like you did when you first started touching her, but this time you were far more aggressive.

Making her cum became your drive as she squirmed, panting and grunting. She was as close as she could physically be to her limit, it would just take a little bit more on your end. With her pussy flowing all over your fingers, you decided to keep your movements steady, not switching anything up anymore.

Her hand was barely holding onto your cock at this point, and stroking was a long forgotten act. You could physically feel her orgasm coming. Suddenly, it shot through her body, the initial waves forcing her into a frenzy of writhing as her thighs clamped down on your arm.

“Ahhhh,” she cried, her eyes wide open but not seeing anything.

She began to moan - loudly - as her body thrashed around on the bed. She came all over your fingers, her purple panties completely soiled. Crying out, her body jerked backwards, and she lay there with her back on the bed, slowly trying to control her breathing. You watched her chest heave up and down until eventually her legs relaxed enough to let you slip your hand out from between them.

“You’re the best,” she moaned, voice breathy, as you lay down on your side next to her. Her eyes were leaking, not from despair like earlier, but from pleasure. She took a couple of minutes to just recover until her breathing finally calmed down. “Now, let’s get back to what you’re here for.”

“If you insist,” you said with a smile as she climbed on top of your body.

“Can I use my mouth?” she asked softly.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Please, out of all the men I’ve…” she said before pausing, the pain in her face showing for a second before she continued. “You’re the first one who I actually want… the first one who deserves it.”

With both of your hands, you held her face and kissed her passionately. At first she was hesitant - perhaps from the shock of your confidence - however, it wasn’t long before she accepted the kiss. Not only accepted it, but returned it. This level of passion should be impossible from such a short time together, yet for some reason Jisoo felt different. For some reason, you felt like you had known her for years, and kissing her just felt right.

“Forget all those other men,” you whispered into her face, holding your mouth right in front of her. “You did what you had to do, tonight doesn’t define you.”

“Then let me do things I shouldn’t do,” she whispered, running her fingers down your chest while sliding down between your legs.

After contemplating it for a second, you agreed, leaning back on the bed and pushing your crotch forward. She smiled bright, her eyes squinted again, it was extremely cute, but cute wouldn’t be an apt description of what was to follow as she moved her face over your lap. 

Admittedly, she lacked the skill of Lisa, but Jisoo’s touch was so tender that it made up for her lack of experience; You had to ignore the sharp tinge of guilt you felt, thinking about Lisa, reminding yourself this was something you had to do for your career.

Jisoo wasn’t just trying to get you off; She was making love to your cock with her mouth. It wasn’t a lusty blowjob, it felt like she was your partner. Ridiculous, obviously, as you had just met her, yet for some reason she made you comfortable, just like Lisa did.

“That feels so good,” you moaned, reaching your hand onto her shoulder and massaging it gently while you placed a pillow below your head, making it easier to watch her work. “You deserve the best, Jisoo, you are the best.”

Her inner pride must have ignited because her lips began moving just a bit faster, pressing down just a bit harder, and her mouth became just a bit wetter.  She must love the praise, you were probably the first man tonight to actually appreciate her efforts.

“You’re so fucking good at this,” you groaned softly. “The prettiest girl in this whole club, maybe in the whole world.”

Perhaps it was part of your imagination, but you could have sworn you saw the corners of her lips curl up in the most subtle smile possible - all that was allowed while you had your shaft in her mouth.

“There’s no face more perfect,” you whispered, pushing the few strands of her hair that fell forward behind her ear again. “The perfect canvas.”

She released your cock with a gasp, breathing heavily, staring seductively up at you.

“Cover my face,” she whispered as she jerked you off, her hand moving twice as fast as before. “Please cum on my face.”

The dichotomy of her pretty face and her filthy words drove you insane. A girl this pretty had no right begging to have her face coated in cum, her face was one for magazines and photoshoots, not one to be used as a target for your orgasm.

“You’re so fucking hot,” you moaned as she once again brought her mouth to your cock. “Just a bit more.”

No rest, no complaints, she put in the effort, and you body appreciated it. Getting sucked off was one thing, getting sucked off by a girl who wanted to was a whole different experience. Jisoo, falling into the latter category, felt phenomenal with her lips hugging your cock warmly.

Watching her orgasm earlier had primed your body, alongside the fact that one of the prettiest girls you have ever seen had your cock in her mouth, and you could feel yourself dangerously close. You had to remind yourself of your goal here as a fleeting thought flashed through your mind: If you finished in her mouth, you’d get another round with her.

Not to Jisoo, though, you simply did not have it in you. She was special, and the way she was sucking your cock made it seem like the feelings were mutual - or you were being delusional because you were about to cum. Either way, you reached down with your hands until she got the hint and grabbed on.

She locked eyes with you, her fingers intertwined with yours, her lips pouted on your cock, and her face bobbing up and down. A few strands of her hair blocked her gorgeous face partially, but she couldn’t look prettier if she tried. Your cock was heating up, about to release into her mouth, when you let go of her hands.

“I’m-” you moaned, luckily that was enough of a heads up for her.

Jisoo gave you a final few hefty pumps, squeezing your cock tightly with her lips, before pulling back. She slid down your body until she fell off the bed and onto her knees. You quickly picked yourself up, standing right in front of her.

Cock in hand, you brushed her hair out of her face and behind her ears, stroking yourself right in front of the unrealistically beautiful girl. She was looking up in anticipation, chin up, eyes ready to shut as soon as the first streak landed.

She did just that. After a violent recoil from the first gush of cum landing on her upper lip, she shut her eyes tight and held her face steady. It didn’t look like she particularly enjoyed it, but she remained fixed in front of your cock, accepting each and every pump of your cum onto her face. She was beautiful before, but having your seed plastered across her nose and lips made her look so much better.

With cum all over her mouth and nose, your final, less forceful, spurts dripped down onto her chin. She moved her face forward slightly, catching it all, not wanting to waste a drop. Once your cock stopped pulsing in your hand, you squeezed from your base, adding the remaining cum to the pool on her mouth.

“Camera,” she mumbled, holding her face up in an attempt to hold all the cum before it spilled.

You quickly rushed over, grabbing the camera and snapping a picture of her. After carefully placing the device aside, you crouched down next to her and put your hand on her back. For a few minutes the two of you simply sat there, taking in the events of what just happened. You met an unrealistically beautiful girl, and now she was sitting next to you with your cum plastered all over her face, dripping down onto her thighs.

“I don’t quite know what to say.”

“If you wanna be like the others, this is when you start begging to have sex with me,” she laughed, the pain in her voice sneaking through again.

“I’m really sorry you had to go through this,” you said, gently rubbing her back. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“No,” she answered softly. “Thank you, for being the most tolerable one tonight.”

“Thank you for…” you replied. “Yeah…”

It was a relief that she still had the ability to laugh after the events of the night, especially since her laugh was so endearing. You hoped she would succeed in achieving whatever goal she was pursuing given how diligently she worked tonight, it wouldn’t be fair to deny her now.

“Well, I should probably get going,” you said awkwardly. “There’s actually a girl waiting for me.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No, I met her tonight.”

You received a judgmental glance from Jisoo.

“She’s not that type of girl,” you defended yourself. “I really like her.”

“Then I hope you two have a lovely night,” she said with a chuckle while wiping her face on the bed sheets. “Sorry that you had to do this, maybe don’t tell her about it.”

“You, too,” you replied, leaning in for a hug. “I’m glad we met, even if the circumstances were a bit… weird.”

“Can I ask one thing before you go?”

“Anything.”

“Do you mind taking off the mask?” she said shyly. “I know you’re not supposed to, but-”

“Here,” you silenced her, lifting the half-mask up and smiling. “Now you know I’m a real person.”

“Oh there was no doubt about that,” Jisoo laughed. “Your cum felt very real.”

“I hope we meet again one day, under different circumstances,” you said finally before standing up.

“Me as well.”

After leaving the room, you met the guard from earlier in the hallway as well as two others.

“Just head back to the booth and sit tight while we check on her,” he instructed as two other men walked into the room.

“Sorry, but would it be possible for me to head out?” you asked, once again thinking about Lisa waiting for you.

“Not just yet, might need you for the finale,” he replied. “You definitely don’t want to miss that one, if you get picked you get a hefty reward.”

—

“My God she is such a slut.”

“Come on boys, why is my throat so empty?” Jennie asked the crowd of suited executives around her. “It’s almost like you don’t even want to fuck me.”

A rush of bodies began shuffling around, trying to get closer to her, begging to be picked - begging for a turn with her. Jennie knew there was a never-ending supply of cock for her to take, she just loved seeing how badly they wanted her. It turned her on like nothing else knowing these men would do anything to put their cocks inside her.

“No one? Are we done, then?” she teased as a few of the men stroked themselves in front of her nude body. She leaned back on the beanbag she was seated on, lifting her legs wide for everyone to see. “No one? I kinda want my asshole filled up again, can’t anyone do that for me?”

“Please Miss Jennie!” one of the men shouted, dropping to his knees in front of her with his head down.

Jennie pressed her foot against his forehead, pushing it upwards so that he was looking at her in the eyes.

“Are you going to fuck my little asshole?” she asked while sliding her foot around his mouth.

“Yes, Miss Jennie, if you’ll allow it,” the man begged as the crowd began laughing. Even though they were laughing, most of them were secretly wishing to be in his position right now, jealous that he had the nerve to act.

“But my little asshole is still so full of cum from the last person,” Jennie whined frivolously while turning around onto her hands and knees, looking back at the man over her shoulder while spreading her ass for him. “Can you at least clean it up first?”

The man didn’t hesitate for even a second before shoving his face between Jennie’s cheeks, not caring at all about how filthy the act truly was. The crowd was cheering, a few of the men were moving closer to Jennie in hopes that she would pick a couple more of them. They all knew Jennie was rarely satisfied with just one cock in her - at least that’s what the last hour or so would indicate.

They were right, Jennie beckoned for a few of the men who had their cocks out to move closer. She effortlessly took one in each hand, and a third into her mouth, all while the first man was still eating her ass out. Her face bobbed back and forth aggressively, random drops of cum from earlier falling off various bits of her body.

“Miss Jennie, you’re requested downstairs.”

Jennie released the cock from her mouth and turned to see a trio of bodyguards in front of the crowd.

“What happened?” she asked, still stroking the two cocks in her hands. “What’s so important that you’re ruining my fun?”

“Miss Jisoo is ready for part three, the finale.”

“Part three? I thought she was done already?” Jennie asked with her eyes wide open, her hands releasing the cocks. “What was part two?” she demanded, angrily pushing the man licking her asshole away as she stood up and grabbed her long coat.

“Facial train,” the bodyguard answered, motioning to one of the other guards to collect Jennie’s clothes before following Jennie as she hurried towards Jisoo’s room. 

“She did a facial train?” Jennie gasped, speeding up her pace. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“We thought you knew,” the bodyguard said, speeding up as well to keep up.

“No I didn’t fucking know!” Jennie screamed, basically running at this point.

She slammed the door behind her as she pushed past the man guarding the door to enter the room. Jisoo was inside, sharing a bed with a man.

—

“She chose you,” the bodyguard explained as you followed him back to Jisoo’s room. “She didn’t even hesitate, you were the only one she even considered.”

“What do I have to do now?” you asked while following.

“The instructions are written here,” he said while handing you an envelope. “I don’t think she knows yet, so you’ll be the one to tell her.”

“Thanks, I guess,” you said as you approached the door.

“Hey, you’re an insanely lucky man,” the bodyguard said, turning to you. “Ignoring the fact that you’re going to be fast-tracked for a promotion thanks to her picking you, you also get to be with one of the prettiest girls at this entire party. Do you have any idea how long the regulars have been waiting for her to finally come?”

“No, this is actually my first one as well,” you replied.

“First… you seriously are the luckiest son of a bitch in this whole building,” he laughed. “Alright, go treat her well, she obviously took some sort of liking to you.”

Hesitantly, you walked into the room, past the curtains where you found Jisoo sitting on one of the couches wearing a purple bathrobe. In her hand she held a little makeup kit, applying mascara to her bare, just-showered face.

“Hey,” you announced as you approached her.

“Hey,” she replied back, flashing you a very short smile, somewhat awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I know you said you had a girl waiting, but when they asked me… I didn’t know who else…”

“It’s fine,” you quickly said while rushing to her side as soon as you noticed she was about to break down again. “Don’t worry about that, let’s just get you through this, alright?”

She looked up at you and smiled warmly, her eyes leaking down her cheeks. You reached up with your sleeve and wiped her face before holding up the envelope.

“Do you want to read it together?”

“Read it to me,” she said quietly. “If you don’t mind.”

“Absolutely,” you said softly while taking a seat next to her and opening the envelope. “Dear Miss Jisoo, if you’ve made it this far that means you have done an amazing job. You’re almost done now, there’s only one final request if you would be so kind to cooperate. You’ve surely already picked your favorite participant from part two by now, and for part three you and your chosen will…”

“Will what?” Jisoo asked as you paused. “What does it say?”

“You and your chosen will also be recording a…” you hesitated again. “Jisoo, remember you can stop this at any time, you do not have to go through with it.”

“Recording a what?” she demanded despite already knowing the answer, tears forming in her eyes again.

“Furthermore, if your chosen is unable to produce a video up to our standard, we will provide a replacement. You have our sincerest assurance that the video will never leak, it will be exclusively for company use,” you quickly finished the letter, skipping the line.

“They’re all going to watch me get…” Jisoo’s voice faltered.

“We don’t have to do this,” you replied, empathy filling every fiber of your being. “I’ll be here for you, I’ll support whatever decision you make.”

“You’ll also get a huge promotion for doing this,” she mumbled, her eyes glued to the floor.

“Forget about what I get, this is about you.”

She looked up at you with a face full of emotion - appreciation, maybe?

“I’ve never…” she whispered, nervousness dripping out of each syllable. “It would be my first time.”

“Jisoo,” you whispered back, taking her hands into yours. “It’s entirely your call, take as much time as you want to think about it.”

“I know we just met,” she said quietly after a moment of contemplation. “But if it had to be with someone…”

She waited, thinking about it some more, and you sat patiently, holding her hands still. They weren’t shaking anymore, she even seemed calm.

“I’ll only do it if you’re one hundred percent sure,” you said firmly. “The only thing that matters is what you want to do.”

Before she could answer, the door shot open and another girl ran through the curtain.

“Jisoo I’m so sorry!” she screamed, running up to the bed and flinging herself into Jisoo’s body. “I had no idea, please please please forgive me.”

Jisoo said nothing, she didn’t even move. No reaction at all to the girl hugging her, not until she let go and a single tear slid down her cheek.

“Jisoo please, say something, I’m sorry!” the girl begged to no avail before turning to you with a sour expression. “Who are you? Did you also join in-”

“Do not attack him,” Jisoo scowled, finally speaking up. “He was here for me when you weren’t.”

“I said I’m sorry!”

“Sorry doesn’t undo what I went through tonight,” Jisoo replied coldly. “This was your idea, I never wanted to do any of this, yet somehow I’m the one who had guy after guy paint my face with their cum.”

“Jisoo…”

“And what were you doing?” Jisoo screamed. “Queen Jennie was too busy getting fucked by the whole club. The Queen of dick doing what she does best, but she still just couldn’t keep her promise.”

“Please,” Jennie pleaded, dropping to her knees in front of Jisoo. “Tell me how I can fix this.”

“You tell me,” Jisoo hissed. “For the finale I’m going to lose my virginity in front of an audience, and it’s going to be recorded. You tell me how you can fix this.”

“Let me talk to them,” Jennie begged. “I’ll convince them to let me make the video instead.”

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat. “Maybe it’s best if the two of you figure this out without me.”

The two girls turned to you in shock, it was like they completely forgot you were also there.

“You can’t leave,” Jennie said dismissively, barely even shooting you a glance.

“I’m sorry,” Jisoo apologized a bit more empathetically. “If you leave, it looks bad on me.”

“Uh,” you hesitated. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Jennie turned away from Jisoo to face you. She looked you up and down with her arms crossed before sighing heavily and tossing off her long coat, exposing her completely nude body underneath.

“Stop pretending you’d pass on this,” Jennie said with an eyeroll.

It suddenly dawned on you, this was the girl from the balcony earlier. The girl getting gangbanged right in front of everyone.

“Why are you just staring,” Jennie snarled before grabbing your hand and placing it between her legs. “Can you fuck this pussy or not.”

“Jennie stop,” Jisoo shouted, her eyes full of a focused rage. “I like him, don’t treat him like one of your fucktoys.”

Jennie let go of your hand and turned sideways to face Jisoo again. The curves of her body right in front of you as she casually stood there in the nude, facing sideways. You won’t lie, in a purely physical way, she was definitely fuckable.

“Fine, then you talk to your boyfriend,” she complained. “Or better yet, you can just fuck him.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Jisoo retaliated angrily.

“Then stop acting like he’s interested in more than shoving his cock in you,” Jennie snorted. “I bet he also made you use your mouth, just like all the-” Jennie’s train of thought was abruptly interrupted as the loud crack of your palm slapping against her bare ass echoed throughout the room.

“What the fuck?” she turned to you again, her jaw dropped in utter shock.

“Yeah I’ll make this video with you,” you said while standing up. “Let’s go talk to them about it.”

After taking a couple of steps towards the door, you stopped and turned around to see Jennie still standing there like a statue, stuck in place.

“Coming little slut?” you asked. “Let’s get this over with so you can go back to taking four cocks at once.”

Jisoo tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle her giggle, earning her a sharp glare from Jennie. When she turned back to you, her eyes were full of fire, she was still unable to believe someone would treat her like this. Odd, considering her actions earlier, you thought as you walked back in front of her.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to me like this?” she hissed into your face.

“I’ll talk to you however I want,” you replied, not taking your eyes off hers for even a moment as you shoved your hand between her legs. “If you’re going to act like a little slut, I’m going to treat you like a little slut.”

“I’m still…” her voice trailed off as an unsolicited moan escaped her lips in response to your two fingers jamming up her pussy.

“Still a little slut?” you mocked her, forcefully groping her tits with your free hand. “You’ve started leaking, does the little slut like being called a little slut?”

“Fuck you,” she said with a crack in her voice that made her cheeks glow pink. She shoved your hand away and stormed off towards her discarded coat as you released a puff of air from your nose. “Shut the fuck up,” she added while stomping towards the door.

“I’ll be right back,” you whispered to Jisoo who was smiling at you, tremendously amused by how you were treating Jennie.

---

Part 2

[userlando]

all my love for you — lando norris

lando norris x fem!reader [3k] summary: you and lando had never really properly breached the topic of children, but you were starting to see the appeal of making them. warnings: 18+ explicit smut & language, breeding kink, unprotected sex, pwp a/n: this was supposed to be a simple blurb but I had to make it long and complicated waaah. i just couldn’t resist, so I hope y’all like this! as always, don’t be a ghost reader, i’d love to hear your thoughts x and also THANK YOU FOR 10K!!! this is all for you guys 🤍

It was just supposed to be a simple make out, a few presses of the lips and a little innocent groping but suddenly Lando found himself on his back with you straddling him in his childhood bed. There was a familiar grin stretching your raw and bitten lips, a smile that spelled mischief and it simultaneously terrified and excited him to no end.

You’d been handsy ever since this morning, clinging to him and giving him small kisses when no one was looking and it only escalated when his sister dropped by their parents’ house with his niece. It had been like someone had flipped the switch in you, because suddenly you found yourself feverish with the need to have a baby and even further in love with your boyfriend. His interactions with the baby wasn’t something you ever thought you’d need to see, but you got it and damn it, it was the most precious thing you’d ever witnessed.

Dinner had been torture for you, not that his family wasn’t quite literally the sweetest bunch you’d ever had the pleasure of interacting with. But you’d sat across from Lando by the dinner table, giving each other looks that conveyed so much and then everyone had migrated to the living area to watch a film.

Lando had called it a night when your head started dropping, tired from a long day of activities and he didn’t really blame you because the weather had been quite warm today, borderline suffocating and he knew how exhausted you got if you spent too long out in the sun.

His innocent mind had wandered to the bed, how you’d go to sleep and wake up to a new day. You’d managed to brush your teeth and get changed, and then you’d pawed at his shoulders and brought him into a kiss that Lando was too weak to resist, realising that you weren’t tired at all.

That’s how he found himself staring up at you, eyes wide in the dim light and hands reaching to grasp your hips. You placed one palm against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat as you slipped the other hand into your panties to rub your clit; Anything to relieve yourself, if only for a few seconds.

Lando’s mouth gaped open, feeling himself thicken up in his shorts as he watched your eyelids flutter shut at the pleasure you were feeling.

“Fuck.” He laughed quietly, almost in wonder and the answering smile you gave him almost did his head in. “What the fuck’s gotten into you?”

You scooted down a bit, just enough to slip his shorts along with his underwear down to free is cock of its confines. The cool air hitting his heated skin had Lando hitching his hips up, teeth sinking into his bottom lip and you gripped him gently in your hand.

“You, soon, I’d hope.” You answered, letting go of him to lick your palm noisily and it was like static in Lando’s ears as he stared, mesmerised. “I’ve been wet all day.”

He couldn’t get a word out when you started jacking him off, the slick of your saliva like heaven and he didn’t try very hard to muffle the moan that spilled out of his lips. Your eyes widened just a fraction because you knew that his parents were in the bedroom a few doors down, and you weren’t sure exactly how soundproof the walls were. You weren’t too keen to find out either.

You hurriedly slipped your other hand into your underwear again but Lando was quick to yank it out with a noise of protest, getting his fingers wet between your folds before sliding them into you. The gasp you let out echoed in the quiet room and you leaned forward, pushing against his fingers as he scissored them.

“Bloody— I’ve barely touched you, baby.” He blinked up at you, slow smile overtaking his face and you gave a huff of laughter.

“It’s you and the damn babies.” You admitted, shuddering when he curled his fingers up to stroke against the spot inside of you.

“Oh?” His eyebrows climbed on his forehead, pulling his fingers out and wiping them on his cock. He pushed the crotch of your underwear to the side and notched the head against your hole, waiting for your eager nods before pushing in. He gave off a deep groan. “Maybe we can make one of our own.”

Something about the way he whispered it made you whimper, grinding down and taking more of him into you. Lando groaned from his throat, hips jumping when your tight warmth enveloped him little by little.

“Don’t joke about that.” You said, placing both of your hands on either side of his head to get more leverage.

Lando glanced up from where his eyes had been stuck on watching you take him in, exhaling heavily around a dirty smile. He reached up a hand to tangle in your hair, getting a good and hard grip to bring you down to his lips. The sting in your scalp made you clench around your boyfriend, prompting a moan from him. You hurried to kiss him, poorly muffling the sound.

“I’m not joking.” He murmured, cursing when you started moving your hips. “Wanna fill you up.”

“Lando.” You whispered his name around a moan, grinding down and moving your hips in circles that probably didn’t do much for him in terms of stimulation.

But the way his pubic bone was dragging against your clit made stars burst in your eyes when you clenched them shut, mouth open as you panted heavily. Lando couldn’t tear his eyes off of you, leaning forward to suck a love bite into your throat that you’d absolutely tear into him for, tomorrow. He couldn’t wait to sit by the table at breakfast and see you try to conceal it from the prying eyes of his mum’s.

“Want to get this belly round.” He slid a hand from your hip to your stomach, and something about that sent a wave of heat rolling down your back. “You’d look so pretty with my baby in you, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

The both of you had never really properly breached the topic of children, having only dated for two years and deciding on waiting for marriage when life wasn’t as hectic as it currently was. You were perfectly content with the way life was, but you’d began to see the appeal of having a family with Lando lately. It was hard to not want that life.

You could only manage a whimper as a response, but it was enough for Lando. He grinned at you as you slowly sat up straight, putting weight on your knees as you started riding him more insistently now. You were getting wetter and tighter, and he did everything to not come too soon because the sensations along with the view he had of you was too much for him.

“Feel so good.” You got a hand between your thighs, fingers finding your clit to hopefully bring you over the edge.

Lando gritted his teeth and braced his feet against the mattress, fucking up into you and the sheer depravity in his face as he gripped your hips tightly had you throwing your head back.

He was starting to make these little noises, growing in octaves and he probably wasn’t aware of it but you most certainly were. You still had two days to spend at his parents’ house. That meant two days of looking them in the eyes while thinking about how they probably knew what you were up to with their son behind closed doors. The thought of it made you shudder in mortification.

“Baby, you have to be quiet.” You slowed your pace but Lando clearly didn’t like it, moaning in protest and grappling at your hips in a silent request for you to pick up pace.

You laughed, swatting at his insistent hands but he was resilient; Grabbing a hold of your hips and pulling you forward, sinking even deeper into you in the process and making you gasp. He guided your hips in small thrusts, grinding upwards and feeling you go tight whenever your clit dragged against his skin. You were getting wet, slicking his pubic area up and it was the hottest thing Lando could ever witness.

He was crawling closer to release, breaths hitching with every thrust forward and you knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold on long enough to get you to finish first. He must’ve had the same thought because he glanced up, frown marring his face.

“I can’t —“ He trailed off into a moan so loud that you panicked slightly, slapping a hand over his mouth but it had the opposite desired effect, his eyelids fluttering shut as his eyes rolled back. You could feel the harsh pants against the palm of your hands, his nose flaring when you began picking up pace.

You watched him press his head back against the pillow, one hand letting go of your waist to circle your wrist in a tight hold. It made you grin, something powerful flaring in your chest at the sight beneath you because here Lando was, losing his mind and it was all because of you. You never grew tired of it.

His eyes fluttered open when he felt you lean forward, putting more pressure against his mouth where your palm was still stifling his moans, yearning to kiss you when you brought your face right up to his.

“Are you gonna come?” You asked in a breathless whisper and Lando nodded urgently, flexing his fingers where they were still holding onto your wrist. “Yeah? Gonna fill me up nicely?”

The guttural groan coming from him had you clenching around him, and it made his eyes roll as his hips hitched upwards; Meeting your downward thrusts.

You slotted your lips right next to his ear, giving it a chaste kiss. “Get me pregnant, Lando. Please, please. I need it.”

His mouth went slack under your palm, body going rigid and hips hunching up in a slight bow before a low moan rang through the room, shooting off so hard inside of you that you could feel it making a mess of your insides. Spurt after spurt, eyes clenched shut and hands grasping at you to keep you as close as possible.

It was when he started shuddering, his come slowly trickling out from where he was still buried in you, that you removed your hand from his mouth; deeming it safe enough. You watched him as he silently came back from his high, chest heaving and the occasional tremor shaking his body.

It was truly a sight to behold and you couldn’t help the smile that overtook your face when he finally blinked his eyes open and looked up at you.

“You’re the fucking devil.” He said with an exhausted laugh, making you giggle and clench around his sensitive cock. Lando groaned and gripped your waist tightly. “Don’t. I need at least three to four business days to recover.”

A laugh slipped your lips, giving his cheek a gentle swat in chastisement. It was barely a brush, but Lando made a huge dramatic show of grabbing his cheek and moaning in mock pain; only to hear you laugh harder.

You leaned forward to give him a kiss, something he was all too happy to reciprocate. It was soft, just a brush of the lips but it didn’t take long for you to turn it dirty, sucking on his bottom lip and hearing him hum in delight. Lando circled his arms around you and rolled the two of you over, grinning at you when you let out a squeal of laughter. He reached a hand up to brush a few strands of hair from your face, nuzzling his nose against your cheek in a loving manner and it took everything in you not to preen under his attention.

“We’ve never done that before.” You whispered, smile turning shy and cheeks warming up.

Lando’s eyes narrowed as they searched your face, mildly confused.

“Done what?” He leaned down for a peck against the side of your mouth.

“Have you... You know, finish in me.” You squirmed in slight discomfort, which made your boyfriend raise his eyebrows in mild amusement. “It’s leaking out.”

You couldn’t place your finger on what exactly changed in Lando, but his eyes turned darker and cheeks a deeper pink at your little confession. His hands wandered down to touch the pudge of your stomach, inching his body down the bed until he was face to face with your abdomen. You blinked down at him, confused and a little aroused when he placed an open mouthed kiss just beneath your belly button.

“What are you doing?” You asked him dubiously, placing your hands over his.

Lando blinked up at you, and the downright predatory look in his eyes made you stop breathing for a quick second because holy shit. You’d never seen him look like that.

“Helping my girl out.” He said simply, hooking his fingers into your panties and dragging them down your legs. You squirmed when he pried your legs apart, widening them until your hips ached deliciously.

“Lando.” There was a warning in your voice, one that didn’t faze the man at all. He ran a sole finger down between your folds, breathing out at the slick combination of him and you. “Lando we can’t, I won’t be able to keep quiet.”

He glanced up at you and grinned, “That’s your problem.”

You scowled at him but it was quickly wiped off your face when he suddenly buried his face between your legs, mouth sealing over your pussy and tongue tasting himself. A flash of heat zipped down your spine, making you gasp at the sudden friction of the wetness of his tongue against your sensitive center.

“Fuck!” You gasped out quietly, voice high enough for him to hear but not for the sound to travel outside the bedroom walls.

Lando hummed in what sounded like absolute smugness, sending vibrations against your clit and you shot up the bed into a sitting position with another curse. It only made the curly haired man suck harder against your clit, pulling all kinds of sounds out of you. It felt like electricity in your body, warmth rushing up your face and numbing your toes when he pushed his face into your pussy, tongue laving against your opening; Like he was trying to eat all the come out.

In moments like these, you’d turn your head up to the sky and thank whatever deity for bringing Lando into your life. He’d been a bit shy and timid at first, the epitome of a perfect gentleman when you first started dating. But he’d transformed into himself over the past few years, a person you’d come to adore and love. Someone who took time to learn your body, how to set it on fire with just a couple of fingers and his tongue.

He always went beyond your expectations, like now where he was working his tongue and mouth to bring you, to what you were sure would be, an explosive orgasm. Your hands gripped his hair, your thighs caging him in and it must’ve surely made it a little hard to breathe for Lando but he moaned like he was thanking you and something about that made you so very dizzy.

“Gonna -- gonna come.” You panted and Lando gave off a hum of acknowledgement. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The string of whispered curses made Lando laugh, but you were too far gone to hear it properly as your legs locked up around his head, losing the ability to stay upright when your orgasm washed through you. The moan you let out was loud in your ears, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care much when Lando was licking and sucking; Forcing your climax to carry on until your legs started shaking in overstimulation.

Lando wasn’t letting up, only detaching himself when you started whimpering and pushing at his head with your shaking hands. He looked up at you, mouth sinfully wet and face red, hair sticking up in every direction and the sight of it made you laugh in exhaustion.

“I think we’re gonna have to leave tomorrow.” You murmured as Lando crawled up your body, settling down between your legs.

“Why?” Lando laughed, nipping at your fingers when you reached up to wipe at his chin.

“Because I think the whole house heard us.” You grimaced. “And there’s no way I’m staying for another two days, knowing that your mum and dad knows and heard everything.”

It sent Lando into a fit of giggles, which set you off as well. It took a few seconds for the both of you to calm down, to which your boyfriend nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck with a deep and sated sigh. You wrapped both your arms and legs around him, smiling happily when he pecked your throat.

“Might as well make the most of tonight then.” He joked and you hit his shoulder blade with your hand, making him laugh and bite your neck, putting a little more pressure until you squirmed. “I think I have another one in me.”

“Insufferable.” You said, hiding your smile in his curls but Lando could hear the smile in your voice without taking a look at his face. “You know I’m on birth control, right?”

He pushed his face up just far enough to look at you.

“Don’t ruin the illusion.” He chastised you playfully. “It’s about time I put a baby in you.”

You sucked your lips into your mouth to stave off the smile threatening to overtake your face, shaking your head like you were tired of his obnoxious manners but you were feeling something very differently inside.

Hope and anticipation for the future.