#i bled to edit this gif

[poke-irs-real]

i imagine this is what having a post reblogged by realpokemon feels like

[fairene]

beneath the moonlight / ln4

vacay lando norris x maxf!littlesister

no use of y/n, as always.

prompt ⋯ ohhh hey ! wanted to stop by to say i love ur fic and wanted to request insatiable lando with max f’s sister like a forbidden summer fling with all their friends and no one’s supposed to know about their secret relationship ( especially max ) — @444mercss

a/n ⋯ this was much longer than i intended, but the words just kept flowing out of me. thank you to all those who beta read my post and helped with grammar!!! ( @jamminvroomvroom , @theonottsbxtch ) you all helped so much. and thank you to mercs for requesting this. i didn't know i'd enjoy it as much as i did, but it definitely was for 20k words. i'll probably take a week ( or maybe not ) off from writing just to give myself a cool down period, but still here to answer any asks. feel free to pop in. hope you all enjoy this, and remember, readers looks are up for interpretation, along with the outfits. colors of coloring are mention only briefly!

warnings ⋯ SMUT 18+++!!! minors DNI!!!, language, drinking, choking, p in v sex (wrap before you tap!), fingering!(f)receiving, oral(m+f)!receiving, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, feral lando. best friends little sister, brothers best friend dynamic, mutual pining, 'games', horny thoughts. much, much more. but even, possession, jealousy. if i forgot any warnings, feel free to let me know.

wc ⋯ 20.1k (WHEWWW WEEE... edited by @jamminvroomvroom, @theonottsbxtch)

the summertime was one of your favorites. you and all of the rest of your girlfriend’s would spend each and every day together without question. but as time went on, they got their own lives. partners, engagements, jobs. not to say that you weren’t an accomplished young lady, but it was starting to show that you were hung up on a life that was starting to fade.

your brother on the other hand, was keen on keeping you in this life. in tip top shape on your toes, he’d always challenge you in a multitude of ways. or annoy you to no end. typically it was the latter. 

but he had invited you this summer on vacation with his friends. you knew them all relatively well, texted here and there, but you never imagined to be trailing along on a villa getaway sponsored by the quadrant house, mainly the famous lando norris himself. 

you would be shy to admit it, but you had a bit of a soft spot for lando. him and his cheeky smile. the moles that donned his face. his starlit eyes that radiated an emerald hue beneath the sunlight. it was intangible the way that you could pick apart the details about his nuanced beauty, but it was a secret for you to keep.  a secret that no one, especially your brother, could ever find out about.

but that’s all that it was, wasn’t it?

a dream. a pathetic fantasy. you wouldn’t ever gain the courage to talk to him, make a move, despite how often him and max talk about going on dates with girls. talking about his love life, or the rather drab there of. he fucked around a lot, max knew that, and would consistently warn you to never get wrapped up in the same lifestyle as the british driver. you’d hold up your hands in defense, shrieking a ‘don’t worry about me,’ though you wish you gave him a reason to.

why did you feel undeserving of lando– because he was a formula one driver? attractive? charming? were you afraid that you were going to be friendzoned–? oh god, that would be the fucking worst, wouldn’t it? you could never imagine the hangouts being the same. so you’d bite your tongue until it bled, even when your body yearned for the heat of his own. 

the villa that you would be staying at was on lake como in italy. it was a beautiful venue, a place that you’d been dreaming of visiting. max knew this, hence why he’d probably sniped you an invite. but it wasn’t like no one wanted you there. everyone did. that was the problem. you were so incredibly loved by all of max’s friends, that he kept them at arm’s length. no one would ever hurt his little sister. not while he was still breathing. 

“wow,” you breathed, stepping out of the uber from the airport. the house before you was a stunning makeup of eccentric architecture that dated decades before your own birth. it was a grand building with tall, marble columns. thoroughly decorated landscaping, and even had running fountains in the front. you were so lost in your awe that you didn’t see the huge pair of mahogany doors swing open. 

“max,” you turned your head towards your brother who was grabbing your bags from the trunk. you shifted to the source of the voice, finding the british driver standing barefoot with a beach flannel and short-inseam khaki shorts low around his waist. you gulped before looking anywhere else but him. 

“lando!” max approached him, arm outstretched for a shake. lando met him half way down the marbled steps, taking his sunglasses off from the top of his head. 

“how was the flight, mate? good?” max nodded for the both of you whilst you fiddled with the accessories around your hands. you didn’t ever know what to say to lando. you found yourself unbelievably speechless in his presence. 

“not too bad, ‘specially if this is what you’ve got.” lando chuckled at your brother’s words, and then his eyes finally landed on you. you and your comfortable outfit from the plane ride over. you and your pulled back hair, respectfully messy, and the jewelry that adorned your fingers. his eyes caught over the bling, and how you anxiously picked away at the skin. 

“never thought she’d grace our presence,” lando said jokingly, which had your head snapping upright. you flushed, sucking your bottom lip with your teeth. 

max rolled his eyes, avoidant of the topic of you in general. “whatever, mate, she’s here now, in’she?” what? what was that supposed to mean? was your presence requested? you suddenly felt wanted above all things. 

“she certainly is.” lando approached you with his tongue tucked behind his bottom lip, hasty in his steps. you stood up straighter with a light smile on your face, eyes twinkling away from his own. you couldn’t keep eye contact with him. “c’mon, love, i’ll take your bags.” 

“are you sure? i can take–”

the bags were grabbed from your hands. you felt the palm of his own for just a moment— the warm flesh, humming low against his own. you felt like he spoke to you through your blood, but you let it go. lando norris wasn’t giving you special attention, that’s for sure. 

you promised yourself that much. this whimsical, airy crush of yours needed to be vetted on the spot. he was your brother’s best friend, older than you, and certainly didn’t have time for a girl who wasn’t a celebrity. 

right?

he took your bags through the exquisite villa. the interior was even more luxurious than you could ever imagine– floor to ceiling windows, candlelit ceiling lights, flora decorating each wall that you turned to. it smelled delectable, too, wafting germanium and coconut oil. the smile on your face couldn’t be ignored, as you shimmered brighter than the summer sun. 

“you like it, then?” came lando’s voice. your head dropped, glancing at him from where he stood, waiting for you to join him on the steps. had he been watching your face? 

“you’re joking.” you assured, hands clasped together. “it’s beautiful.” 

lando smiled then, too, letting his lower lip snatch between his top teeth. he tried hard to conceal his happiness, but you felt like you could feel it amongst the air. you felt warm all of a sudden and cleared your throat, urging him forward up the spiraling staircase. 

you walked in silence with him down the long corridors. you would pause before each door briefly, wondering if he was going to open it, but he didn’t. it wasn’t until you were reaching the ends of the hallway when he stopped, twisting the knob of the white wooden door. he stood aside, letting you in first. 

the room you’d be staying in for the next few weeks was more than you could ever dream of. with its spacious interior, personal bathroom, and private balcony, you felt like the luckiest girl alive to be able to experience this. to live in this moment. to be here. in italy, of all places. 

lando interrupted your dreaming haze by sliding the bags in. you turned to face him in your unruly, exhausted glory, and he stared at you. a hand of his found the back of his neck. 

“so…dinner tonight at seven, pool day tomorrow, um…” he looked around, acting as if he could suddenly have the words appear into his head. “oh and, if you need anything, my room’s just next door.” 

he said it with haste, as if he were shy about the fact, and was already stepping out the door. 

“wait,” you said, stepping forward. lando hung back, gripping onto the door frame, swinging his head back into the room. “thank you.” 

the words seemed to hit him harder than you thought that it would. he blushed a light red, dimming his tanned face, and cleared his throat before nodding. “of course.” he said with out hesitance, making it clear that he would do this for anyone. “‘m glad you’re here.” 

and then he was gone. 

you stared at the shut door in stunned silence. did you really hear him correctly? 

you didn’t let your thoughts linger too long, but you couldn’t help but let it. the curly-haired brunette stayed in your mind whilst you settled in and unpacked. all ounce of his shy, gaunt nature. 

by the evening you were more than settled and relaxed. you’d taken a small nap to rejuvenate your energy, and just in the nick of time for dinner. you got ready amply, sliding a comfortable dress over the surface of your body. the straps were thin and fell loose upon your collarbones. you’d pair an elegant pair of low rise heels on your feet, pointy-toed, that matched the color of your dress.

you stared at your reflection in the mirror, the dim yellow lighting illuminating the corners of your face that you so frequently forgot to appreciate. it was in the hours of the night that you could appreciate yourself, unopposed to the gawking looks of strangers. 

there was a soft knock on your door at 6:57. you turned, dress swaying from your movements, and cracked it open. 

lando stood there on the other side. him and his dark shirt and khaki pants. he wore a pair of leather black loafers that matched his shirt. he smelled good, too, a masculine tint of sauvage. 

no words were spoken between the two of you. you simply stared at one another, lost in each other’s features. you resisted the urge to trace the moles on his face with a finger, whilst he fought himself to not reach out and run his hands along the fabric of your dress. 

his eyes softened when you met his, cheeks filled with a simple kind of joy. the two of you were done ogling at one another, still foreign in each other’s presence. 

“ready?” he asked. you nodded, grabbing a matching handbag from the countertop and slung it over your arm. you shut the door to your room behind you and walked a few paces behind lando. you weren’t close with him like that to walk side by side.

or so you thought.

he dragged his feet to slow his pace, coming parallel to your side. he held his breath for a moment, turning to look at the exposed skin from your dress. you caught his wandering eyes and looked up at him, wandering beneath his emerald depths. 

“what?” you asked tenderly, voice hitching in your throat. 

“nothing.” he turned his head to face back forward. “just haven’t seen you in a while, that’s all.” 

that was an understatement. you haven’t seen lando in almost three years. max had done a stellar job of wanting to keep you separated from his friends, though you weren’t upset about it. you had your own life, and that was perfectly enough for you. 

but you were a girl with a heart full of wanderlust, and often dreamed of what you could’ve had. there was a marksmith of delusion prodding the hidden parts of your brain, working tirelessly to pick apart the small interactions you’ve had with lando over the years. 

when you turned 18, he brought you to an exclusive club and showered you with gifts, alcohol, and even more. it was a night you wouldn’t forget, feeling lucky enough to manage a dance with him on the dance floor. his hands hovered above your body, the warmth seeping through your skin, rattling your bones. he even got so close to your face that you could feel his breath. smell the alcohol that reeked from him. 

you thought you were going to kiss. 

and so did he. 

but your brother separated the two of you, calling lando over for a group shot. you were left there, stranded on the dance floor, with the phantom touch of a man that you knew you could never have. it pained you to admit such a truth to yourself, but it didn’t loiter. you had a life to get back to, not indulge some silly, fanatical dream that kept you up late at night as a teenager. lando norris was the fantasy, never to become a reality. 

though, every time in presence, you’d manage to falter. set those delusions free the second he’d act kindly to you; gentle, tender tenacity that you believed would be special to you. max’s little sister. that’s all you were, though, weren’t you? 

“you’ve been well, haven’t you?” you asked him with a hum, holding your bag with both hands in front of you. the leather piece bucked against your abdomen. lando watched, peering to see if he could hold it for you. 

“‘course. living my dream, aren’t i?” you’d made it to the end of the hallway. the top of the staircase. 

“it’s not a dream.” you said with a softer intonation. he looked back towards you with a raised brow. “it’s reality now, i’d reckon.” 

he smiled. 

the two of you made it down the steps. you lingered in the grand foyer, beneath the candlelit chandelier. it was still light outside, but the sun was beginning to set. it had created a pink and blue hue over the water’s edge. 

but you weren’t looking at the water’s edge. 

you were looking at lando. your brother’s best friend. he had his hands in his pockets, facing the open living room, rocking back and forth on his heels. you cut your way to his line of sight staring upward at him. he looked down at you, wondering what you were searching for.

you had considered not doing what you were about to do. you really did!

but your hand was already outstretched, the tips of your fingers grazing over the grown facial hair on his chin. he didn’t jolt from the action and merely stared into your eyes, pupils blown wide from the warmth of your touch. 

“i like it,” you commented before taking your hand away, finding yourself into much deep trouble if max had seen the two of you. 

“yeah?” lando asked, suddenly much closer to you. 

“makes you look older and manly.” you rolled your eyes. 

“what? i wasn’t manly before?” 

your hand rolled over your mouth to withhold a laugh. “i’ve seen you weep at the sight of fish.” 

lando’s face lit up and his tongue prodded the inside of his cheek. “doesn’t make me any less of a man.” he crossed his arms. 

“really?” 

“just enthusiastic. don’t see a problem with having a bit of character.” you didn’t argue with him further when you saw your brother and other group friends join one another in the living room. they made their way closer to the two of you.

you took a step back from lando. he couldn’t take his eyes off the action, his face falling instinctively. it’s nothing. his expressions mean nothing. they’re not for you. 

“c’mon, i’m starvin’.” max called, slapping lando on the back. sure enough, you were walking out the door behind your brother, everyone trailing in an orderly manner. 

you heard lando call your name from in front of max. you hummed in response. “you’ll ride with me, yeah?” you blushed. how could you not? max turned his head over his shoulder, his voice saying nothing, but his eyes telling all. he knows how you felt about lando when you were younger. 

he knows, he knows, he knows. but surely, surely you’ve gotten over that little crush of yours. and lando, too, hadn’t harbored any feelings towards you either? surely, surely he couldn’t. you were his little sister. and max knew how lando treated girls as of late. 

it left a sour taste in his mouth, but he said nothing when you nodded, brushing past him. 

lando opened the door for you. his mclaren was a two seater, comfortable, and roared to life when lando turned over the engine. you couldn’t help but laugh feeling the seat vibrate beneath your thighs. it was a feeling of exhilaration that you hadn’t felt in a long time, but a feeling that came perpetually with lando’s presence. being with him made you feel alive, more alive than the years you’d walked this earth. 

your excitement had done things to him as well. his eyes were glued to how you reacted, enthralled by your visceral enthusiasm to being in such a tangible sports car. your fingertips grazed across the leather interior of the door handle. 

“gonna jump out on me?” 

you shifted in the leather seat, crossing your legs over one another. there was a heat building inside of you, deep in your core. 

“not if you don’t give me a reason to.”

he chuckled at that. “i’ll try.” 

you smiled to yourself, looking down at your fiddling hands. lando stepped on the gas and pulled out of the villa’s extraneously long driveway, leading the pack of friends behind him. 

“you look fit.” came his voice, nervous, beneath his breath. your eyes caught his side profile, all rough edges of it. “beautiful, but your brother’d have me by the balls if he heard me say that.” 

your breaths were heavy in your chest. “then don’t let him.” 

lando’s head whipped to meet your eyes, hand white-knuckling the steering wheel. you weren’t even sure what you were implying with your words, but he hoped that he wasn’t misinterpreting them. god forbid he didn’t understand. you didn’t brush him off like you did as a child, didn’t stumble away bashfully. now, in your grown state, you faced him head on. you challenged him, just as he suspected you would. 

“between us, then?” 

you nodded, tongue coming to wet your bottom lip. you made a motion of a lock and key against them, throwing the key out the window. he watched, but was drawn back to the road. that was one of the fastest car rides you’ve ever been in with that roaring engine, feeling like you had stepped into the biggest unknown of your very existence. 

the restaurant that lando had made reservations for was absolutely beautiful. you couldn’t count the amount of times you’ve been awed by the sites you’ve seen, but you couldn’t help yourself. you were simply one of the luckiest girls with even richer friends. 

lando opened the car door for you, sprinting to the other side. you found yourself laughing at the action, finding his urgency cute. 

you stepped out of the car and you immediately found your brother, his stance idle before he marched over to you. 

“he say anything to you?” 

you flushed. between us, then?

“no. what would he say?” 

max didn’t elaborate and simply settled for a huff from his nose. lando had been handing off his car to the valet man when he met up with the two of you. your other friends were in tow, eight of you in total, and made it inside the restaurant with ease.

you didn’t even think about what the seating arrangement would be. not until lando pulled out a chair for you, beside him, and you had no other choice but to settle in. not like you were complaining though. 

but max was going to. you could see the look on his face when he sat opposite to you, flashing you a pair of warning eyes. but you didn’t know what warranted them– you didn’t even say anything to lando, more or less. 

you furrowed your brows at him, feeling far too old for these insolent glances, and picked up the menu. lando sat next to you, mirroring your actions. you placed the napkin on your lap, a polite etiquette you’ve always precluded dinners with. 

“ah– look,” you leaned into lando’s space, the heat from his body, the cologne from his shirt, sifting through your nose. it was tempting. “for you.” 

your finger pointed to the blackened cod that they had on the menu. lando met you half way, looming over your shoulder at what you were pointing at. as soon as he read it, he scoffed. “fuck off.” you couldn’t help but giggle, attempting to stifle the sound the best you could.

“don’t do that,” lando’s voice came firm, but soft against your ears. he was talking just loud enough for the two of you to be able to hear. you glanced quickly at max, who was lost in conversation with his buddies. 

“what?” 

“hide your laugh.” you guessed you didn’t realize how often you muffled yourself. your hand lowered to your lap. “you used to do it when you were a teenager, too.” he pointed. you thought for a moment, realizing that he was right. “never understood why. especially since it’s so pretty.”

you froze, staring up at him with weary eyes. he looked confused at your expression. your hand came to slap his bicep. “stop it.” but you were teasing him. he saw right through your tone. 

“don’t let him, ‘s what you said, right?” 

you swallowed. nodded your head. 

his mouth dipped to your ear. his breath hot, just like your cheeks. “he won’t hear a thing then, will he?” lando’s nose brushed against your scalp, and you thought for a moment, dreamed, that he would plant a kiss upon your head. but his lips simply hovered, breaths warming your strands of hair. 

but you turned your head to meet his eyes, shaking his contact off. he noticed. tensed. “but he can see, you imbecile.” 

that had lando laughing. your face broke with a smile, unable to resist his intoxicating gestures. he simply shrugged, letting you win this one, and his arm came to sling over the back of your chair. his fingertips grazed the strands of your dress, dipping down to your bare shoulders. your posture straightened against the chair, legs crossing over one another beneath the table. he watched you shift, his teeth catching his bottom lip to retain his smile. 

the waiter came to take your orders. you ordered your preferred choice and drink, lando following suit. when the table received their drinks, you lifted your glasses for a collective ‘cheers’. 

when the main course was finished, you were handed the dessert menus. short a couple, you had to share with the man next to you. you nudged lando’s shoulder with your own and like a dog to a whistle, he was over your shoulder once more, his stubble barely pinching your skin. the thought burst through your head: what would it feel like on your neck? on your thighs, your cunt? you blushed again for what felt like an infinitesimal number, but turned your attention back to the menu. 

you pointed at the option that you thought was best. lando hummed, his eyes tracing over the features of your face. you glanced at him. “what?” you asked. 

he simply huffed a short laugh and nodded his head at your choice. 

it arrived sooner than later and the two of you split the sweet dessert. your brother was still lost in his own conversations, leaving you to your ministrations with lando. whatever they may be, you’d want them all. 

when you had your fill and so did he, you couldn’t help but look at him. he turned, and you laughed quietly between the two of you. he raised a brow. 

“you’ve got–” you pointed to his lip, but you figured your words were fruitless. you licked at your thumb and raised it to his mouth, cleaning him. his eyes darkened, becoming hooded with the shadows of lust. you even dared to bring your thumb back to your mouth, popping the remnants across your lips with a ‘pop’. lando never thought his dick could be so hard. 

“there,” you breathed. “all clean.” 

there was a brief silence. one second. two. “you’ve always been trouble, haven’t you?” 

your own eyes were hooded. “maybe.” you teased, cleaning your fingers with the napkin. “guess you have to find out?” 

lando’s hand gripped tighter on the back of your chair. 

“guess so.”

the drive back was tense. tense with your excitement. on the way out, lando and you lingered at the back of the pack. his hand was on your lower back, warm and electric, reminding you that you had stepped into the deep end with him. 

you still couldn’t believe what had happened. 

lando was speeding down the freeway, weaving his way in and out of cars, a dangerous task that you only felt comfortable with him performing. you’d lose your mind if anyone else was the driver, but he was the professional here, wasn’t he? 

you were even so bold to roll the window down and stick your hand out, feeling the harsh slipstreams beneath your nailbeds. you relaxed in the seat, head lolling against the cushion, hair flying into the wind. lando turned his head to look at you, his elbow leaning on the interior beneath the windowsill, and almost swerved into oncoming traffic. you were a picturesque beauty, lounging freely in his passenger seat, legs crossed, free. 

you were at peace for the time being, and it was the only way he’d wish to see you. but he could think of other things. 

he pulled into the house with ease. it was well lit amongst the long, windy driveway, and he made sure to let you out first. you two were the last to arrive at the house this time, taking your sweet time. you were in no rush to race back to your room, and neither was he. 

it was well past 10pm. when you reached the foyer, max was waiting for you.

“bright and early tomorrow?” he asked. 

“bright and early.” you confirmed. he pulled you in for a swift hug, rustling the top of your head with that familial brother love that you adored him for. 

he patted lando on the back briefly, before narrowing his eyes at him. you didn’t understand what was happening between the two of them, bro code, but lando seemed to understand well enough. max and his buddies traipsed up the steps, and you felt at ease when you heard their doors shut. 

it was just you and lando, now, idling in the foyer. 

you said nothing but began to walk, trailing forward through the grandeur villa. you were ample with your pace and heard him moving behind you. with a push of your hand, you opened the door to the grand balcony, leaving it ajar for lando to sneak out from. 

he did. 

there was a patio set there, waiting, and you let your handbag drop onto the coffee table. you sauntered over to the cobblestone walls, the balustrade meeting post to post for about thirty feet. you leaned against the stone. it was cold against your bare back. 

lando seated himself in one of the chairs, his legs spreading wide. he watched you lean forward, then spin to face him. your back was illuminated by the halo of the moonlight, drenching you in a pale visage of beauty. 

“you wanna know something?” you asked. lando perked up, humming with curiosity. he was too busy admiring your figure, having to pull himself back from such tumultuous thoughts. “i had a crush on you when i was a kid.”

that stifled a laugh from the british driver. “you did not.” 

you shook your head. “sure did.” you didn’t know why you were telling him this all of a sudden, but it was weighing heavy on your mind. “max was pissed. knew i only came around when he told me you’d be there.” 

the pieces began melding together in lando’s mind. he had been such an idiot boy that he couldn’t see what a prized beauty you were. there was a trace of second hand guilt. a pattern of ‘what-ifs’ trifling through his mind. 

“‘was just a stupid girl. tried so hard for you to notice me.” your hands covered your face for a brief moment. 

“you always wore skirts,” he recalled, looking at his hands in his lap. he looked up at you, smirk building. “that why?” 

you were shameless when you nodded your head. 

“so embarrassing, i know–” 

“what about now?” he cut you off, clearly wanting to ask this question the moment it left your lips. 

“what do you mean?” your mouth went dry, your hands clasping at the balustrade as if you were going to faint. your heart pounded in your chest. 

“what do you feel for me now?” 

you couldn’t meet his eye. you looked anywhere else but him, in fact, and opted to over your shoulder to admire the view of the ocean beneath the starlight. the ocean wouldn’t judge you. it would wash away your problems, in fact, and not stare you down. 

there was a deep intake of breath that had your head settling from its dizzy state. you looked back to lando and he sat there, cocky, upright. but there was a genteel nature about him that didn’t have you as afraid as you thought you’d be. 

he raised his arm, outstretching his hand for you. 

you swallowed, pushing yourself off from the balustrade. you sauntered towards him, earnest in your steps, before letting your palm rest on his. 

he pulled you close, fingers wrapping against your wrist. he was warm to the touch and he could feel your erratic heartbeat in your veins. 

lando’s legs spread for you to settle between. you stood above him, looking down at his brunette curls, his stubble, his cheekbones. his own hands were experimental against the planes of your body, touching sweetly against your hips. 

“you didn’t answer me.” he repeated.

you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“some dreams just remain dreams.” 

he waited a beat. you felt his chest rise and fall. 

“do you want to dream forever?” 

no. no. you didn’t. you wanted your fantasies to become reality. being with him. being loved by him has always been what you wanted. 

you lowered yourself on his lap, straddling his waist. you felt his cock thrum beneath the guard of his pants. did he want you the same? 

his forehead collided with yours. his nose brushing against your bridge. you shook your head, closing your eyes. 

“wake me up,” you mewled quietly, voice deep within your throat. it was a desperate plea, one that you thought he may not understand until he caught the glint in your eye. the wanting. the years of pining from a distance. how he was so wrapped up in his boyhood that he couldn’t appreciate a woman at his side. “please.” 

he didn’t wait any longer to meet your lips with his own. 

you were cautious with your touches. your hands were on his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. but your kiss was deep by his own volition, gripping your chin with his forefinger and thumb, earning a groveling sound in your throat. 

his other hand was stroking your back, pushing you against him until your breasts were firmly against his chest. you gasped at the firm contact, him using it as an excuse to slip his tongue into your mouth. he explored every corner with an expertise you didn’t know was possible. no place went untouched by his saliva, marking a cavern of his own, and perhaps awakening a fantasy that had been dormant for years. 

he lied when he said he didn’t notice you. 

he lied. 

lando would always await your appearance when he went over to max’s house. he’d hear you skip down the steps in whatever mary-jane heel you wore for that day. max would groan when your head popped through the archway, waving at his friends, but your lashes fluttered when you settled on lando. 

‘course he fucking noticed. 

he thought of you a sweet girl, caring for her brother, with an exquisite taste in fashion. he’d remember the skirts you wore–  black ones, pleated ones, plaid ones– they were all committed to the vaults of his memory. he thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world. 

and he still did. while you were perched atop of his lap, huffing in nervous breaths, your hands anxiously skirting across the plane of his dress shirt. you shook atop of him as your lips moved coincided with one another. two bodies, melding together beneath the moonlight. 

your tongue swirled against his own, hips bucking against the bulge in his pants. your cunt tightened aimlessly, drenching his pants below. he could feel the patten of fabric become lathered in your slick, and it brought him back to earth.

“we can’t.” he breathed against your lips. his chest was beating up and down, unable to calm himself. though he attempted rejecting you, his hand tightened around the fabric of your dress. 

your nose brushed against his as you chuckled. “a bit late, isn’t it?” your teeth bit at your swollen, bottom lip. you could see his eyes flash downward at your action, his own tongue wetting his own. 

“your brother,” he began to shake his head, still clutching around the fabric of your dress. 

“he doesn’t…” you began to say, kissing the sides of his stubble. you were even so bold to take his free hand, guide it to your inner thighs, and let his fingertips caress the wet fabric covering your cunt. it was swollen, desperate for his touch. you’d been desperate for his touch. desperate for as long as you could remember. “have to know.” 

lando’s fingers curled upward to apply pressure right on your clit. he didn’t even have to search for it, and you shifted your hips, bucking them across his palm. “fuck, baby…” he groaned into your cheek, followed by a crass chuckle. “you always get this wet?” 

your head buried itself into the junction between his neck and shoulder, whining with embarrassment. “jus’ for you…” the words came quietly, but they rang loud in lando’s ears. he could feel the vibrations from your throat, your aching cunt. you were laid atop of him, dripping down your thighs. 

“yeah?” he breathed, finding his heart beating rapidly beneath the weight of your body. his fingers began a pattern of motions across your clothed clit—back and forth— and you mewled into his shirt. there was a patch of drool beneath your lips. “look at you, then, made a mess all over me…” 

your lips sucked on the skin of his neck, biting at his chest. attempting to shift closer to him, if it was possible, had your cunt aligned over his clothed cock. 

“‘n i’ve barely touched you.” 

lando wasn’t even sure he could bring himself to. this was his best friend’s little sister. the amount of lines he’s crossed. the friendship he’s had for years suddenly feeling vulnerable, out the door. but he can’t say he hasn’t thought about a moment like this. fantasized about it once or twice. 

“touch me,” you pleaded, tilting your head to look at him. your eyes were wide, glossy with your pleasure, whilst his darkened at your contact. “more, i need…” your hips grinded against his palm. “more.” 

“fuck,” he cursed beneath his breath. fuck his self control. fuck whatever this was going to do to his friendship. you are real, pining for him in his lap, begging you for his touch. anything from him, really, you would take. this moment felt like it was going to flutter away any moment, and you’d be waking up from a sick, yearning dream. 

the hand upon your back steadied you against his body, whilst the fingers of his other moved the fabric of your panties aside. here, with his sensitive fingers, he could feel the heat from your cunt. it washed over him like a wave, retracting, tightening when he flexed his middle finger. you were utterly drenched for him, the cool breeze of the night raising goosebumps along your skin. 

you shivered above him, watching how his hand worked beneath your dress. his hand against your back curled around the base of your neck, angling your eyes back up to his own. “eyes on me.” you listened, melted at his soft, demanding tone, and nodded your head. you shimmied frantically across the plane of his hand, but he tsked. “be patient.” 

you seemed to understand well enough. he would give you what you wanted, in time. you would be patient, holding back the whimpers deep within your throat. you were just about to implode on yourself when he finally inserted his middle finger into your folds, taunting you dangerously. you gasped, unable to keep yourself still as your back arched. your head fell back into his hand, lando’s thumb swirling around your bare neck. 

the straps from your dress fell loose with the motion and you could feel the breeze harden your already taut nipples. his eyes clinged downward at the sight before him, head bending forward to kiss your exposed chest. one of your hands came to clench around his wrist, the other to his neck, holding him fiercely to your body. 

your fingers were thrusted deep into the base of his neck, the fade of his hair. you tugged when his finger curled deliciously inside of you, his thumb– acting so expertly– applied gentile pressure to your clit, toiling with your impetuous lust. you felt exposed to him, putty in his hands, weightless against his body. 

the british driver’s lips were relentless on your skin. your chest was claimed by his tongue, swirling around the top of your breasts, edging you further to a spectacular orgasm. he sucked tight against your skin, but your head raised to meet your lips to his ears.

“no marks,” you requested, but you heard him growl against your chest. his hands flexed– his wrist clutched with your palm, his hand on the back of your neck– the contact with your neck had you breathless, clenching around his singular finger, and he took blatant notice. 

“a secret, yeah?” he confirmed, holding back his groveling tone. the words were bitter when they hit your ears. there was a layered amount of surplus emotions that guarded his heart, held him at arm's length, and he knew it would tear him apart. but now, he focused on you atop of him, and getting you to come. 

“mhmm…” you had to clamp your mouth shut from bursting with a wanton moan. it was too much– the way that he swirled his thumb, how his finger was just the perfect length to bottom out inside of you. your hips moved relentlessly, despite his grip around your neck, and you pushed down on his wrist when it started to become too much for you. 

but lando had other plans. he shook his head, let out a tsk between his lips, and let his ring finger slip into you with ease. you let out another moan, deeper than the rest, but he responded with a tug on your hair. 

with his lips still against your breasts, his motions froze. “quiet.” you hummed a disapproving sound. “want me to stop?” 

you shook your head. “no– no!” 

you could feel his teeth against your breasts, a cocky smile no doubt with how flustered you became at the thought of him stopping. 

“gotta be quiet, love–” and then his lips were back on you, sucking amply at your skin. his head lowered until he captured a nipple between his teeth, letting the ridges toy with your sensitive buds. your head lowered to the top of his as you breathed him in– his shampoo, his cologne– and it didn’t help with containing yourself. 

his pace against your cunt quickened. dual fingers sliding in and out of you with ease, thumb riding aggressively on your clit. you could feel the coil inside of you wringing with heat. 

lando’s lips found your other nipple, treating it with the same voraciousness that the other received. it was beginning to become too much for you. no man had ever had you this way– putty, liquid, melting– beneath his touch. you feared that you’d never be able to have an orgasm again. 

you became antsy in his hands. your grip on his wrist was shaking, your thighs desperately clenching around his waist. he took it as a sign that you were close, and the words fell easily from his lips. 

“gonna cum for me?” his chin rested on your chest, angling to look up at your sweating, flushed expression. your eyes fluttered shut as you nodded. his grip around your throat tightened against the columns. you’d never trusted a man so much to not hurt you. 

“come on, sweet girl, ‘ve got you.” he promised to you, “bet you’re so pretty when you cum.” 

you felt the skin of your lip break into a light gash beneath the weight of your teeth. you’d been so focused on keeping quiet, that you went ahead at your own expense. lando saw the way your eyes opened, and lurched to meet your lips with his own.

the iron upon his tongue didn’t frighten him. perhaps it turned him on in some manner. the lengths that you were willing to go to keep your sweet lips tightened. but as his own tongue swirled around the stinging cut of your lip, you moaned into him. he absorbed the sound, locking it into the expanse of his memories. you had such a sweet voice. he’d never hear something like it again. 

“come on, baby,” he urged you once more, speaking into your mouth. his breath was hot, spinning a knot of thread with your own. you felt him laugh at your oncoming orgasm, taking joy from eliciting such pleasure from you. “let me see how pretty you are.” 

it didn’t take much longer for your orgasm to reach you. you went taut, shaking in his hands, eyes rolling into your head. you swore you saw stars, and that was just from his fingers alone. it had you wondering what his cock felt like. 

your head fell limp against his shoulder, breathing heavily, clutching the fabric of his shirt. you didn’t want to let him go. his fingers laid idle inside of your tightened walls, not wanting to release the feeling either. not with his hand drenched, his pants soaked, and his forehead dripping with his own sweat. his cock had been painfully hard, a pool of his precum seeping through his pants, combining with your own. it was a beautiful, disastrous mess that he’d initiated between you two, but he felt no regret. 

you sniffled against his shoulder, breezing with the cold air, and let your arms wrap around his neck. you hid your face against his body, attempting to bury your embarrassment within him. you had just come on the balcony atop lando’s lap. what fucking world were you living in? you’ve had feelings for him for what felt like a century, and now a dream that you didn’t even know was possible of coming true, came at the palm of his hand. 

lando couldn’t believe it either. you were tucked against his body like a hand to a glove, a perfect fit, breathing heavily, shaking, against his palms. your cunt roared with a beating heat, swimming with the orgasm he had given you. proud wasn’t a word that could surmount to this feeling. 

and he said nothing when he fixed the straps of your dress, gauging a more presentable you. he tucked your hair behind your ears, fingertips loitering on the expanse of your cheek. you smiled into him, coming to raise your head to meet his eyes. 

his eyes fell to your blistering lip. the swollen buds that he sucked the blood out of. his forehead met yours, and neither of you said anything; just a soft breath and heartbeat between the two of you. 

within seconds he took his hand from your cunt, washed his fingers against his tongue, and let it fall to your bare back. you were stunned at the motion, but drool pooled in your mouth. you gawked, openly, just how hot the action was alone. 

lando stood with you in his arms. one hand on the back of your neck, the other cupping your thigh. your legs, whilst trembling, tightened around his waist for support as he took you through the quiet villa. the only lights were the candles that were still burning, but you didn’t see them, your head hiding in the crevice of his neck. he hummed quietly, a rhythm that had your eyes beginning to lull with sleep. 

you heard him open a door quietly and shuffle around the mess on the floor. your room, no doubt. you’d left a pile of clothes as a welcome for yourself when you were picking out your attire for the evening. it didn’t help him, either, by being surrounded by your scent. your perfume, you, it swirled around him, taunting him. dared him to fuck his best friend’s little sister. 

lando bent down to lay you into your bed. you fell against your will, hands still upright for him to fall in. but he just couldn’t let himself. 

he did, however, let his fingers trail across your bare thighs, your knees, your calves, ankles, until he was met with your heels. his hand lingered on the back of your ankle, angling one of your feet upright to slip a shoe off. his fingers moved to the other, placing the expensive pair on the ground. you stretched your hands above your head, falling deep within the pillowy, feathery embrace. 

you stared up at him. your hair messy, dress disheveled, eyes heavy with exhaustion. and he looked down at you, moving forward to let his fingers trail up your sternum, the perks of your breasts. the moment was so quiet. only your breaths and his own could be heard– and maybe the pounding of your heart. 

he looked beautiful looming above you, hovering with a protective, apologetic look. apologetic? what did he have to apologize for? except for a mind-blowing orgasm, that is. 

his hand froze against the place of your heart. palm flattening, he could feel just how fast your heart was racing. you grabbed his wrist, thumb sliding up and down against his veins. he swallowed. 

“don’t know if we should do this again.” he spoke quietly. 

your heart broke. you sat up straight in your bed, confusion written all across your features. you thought that this was something between the two of you. that he wanted you. and now what was happening? did you do something wrong? 

“why?” you asked, feeling tears well in your eyes. you couldn’t help it. the girl inside of you had come to the forefront, her dreams of being with lando being squashed beneath the weight of his words. 

he sighed deep, unable to meet your eyes. he was about to say something before you interrupted him.

“you don’t want me?” 

his head snapped in your direction, almost breaking clean off his spine with just how fast he went. he shook his head, hand coming to cup your cheek, but you shook his affections away. your hand dropped from his wrist, wanting to feel nothing of his heart. 

he spoke your name. twice. three times. you looked back toward him, tears hot in your eyes. “hey.” you focused on his voice. “you know that’s not true.” 

your brows furrowed. “do i?”

his expression dropped. 

he fell to his knees before the side of the bed. an action no man has ever done for you. you gaped visibly, watching as both his hands came to rest upon your knees. he leaned into you. stubble tickling your thighs. 

your name was sweet on his tongue. 

“what would your brother say–?” 

“fuck what he thinks.” you leaned down. 

lando’s head dropped between your thighs, taking a deep inhale of your skin. you shivered, letting your hand rest on the back of his neck. 

“we need t’give it time.” he said upon raising his head. he looked at you with a glimmer in his eyes. the moonlight shimmered through your windows, casting a vague gracefulness of illumination across his tanned skin. 

“how much?” 

lando wasn’t sure. his silence was an answer enough. you sighed, letting your body fall against the bed once more. he lifted himself to sit beside you, placing both hands at your hips to cage you in. 

“hey,” he said to gauge your attention back to him. “we’ll figure it out, won’t we?” 

you wanted to believe him. but you weren’t sure that you could. lando leaned down to kiss your sternum against the fabric of your dress. 

“you still want me?” you asked, voice cracking with your emotions. 

“i’ve wanted you,” he said against your stomach, “since the day you came down in that white skirt.” 

you gasped, head tilting to look at him. that was one of the first times you met him– third, maybe– you remembered which one he was talking about. it was a skirt with little white bows, embellished with threads of ribbon and lace. 

“the one with the bows?” 

“that fuckin’ skirt…” he scoffed with a laugh. you were still floored, but managed to smile. you couldn’t believe his confession, finding it unbelievable. unbelievable that maybe, maybe you had a chance with him. the girl inside of you was squealing, but the woman didn’t quiver beneath him. 

there was a momentary silence between the two of you. but you shifted, moving to stand. lando watched you from his perch on your bed, hair ruffled and eyes red from his own wrought of emotions. you didn’t expect this from him. this sensibility. 

you began to strip with your back turned to him. he watched. silently. 

you stripped of your panties and threw them over your shoulder. lando caught them, still gawking at you. “keep them.” you spoke. “you ruined them.” 

that had him laughing. but he kept them, staring down at the lace material. you threw on a large shirt from your suitcase that reached your mid thigh. you finally spun around to meet his eye, but he didn’t dare move. 

“what?” you asked, his staring becoming more intense. 

he swallowed. shook his head.

“you better go.” you spoke for him as you approached your bed, narrowly dodging him when you threw yourself down. his eyes raked over you, speechless. “lando.” you reaffirmed, bringing him out of his haze. he let out a sigh and stood, hand coming to brace the back of his neck. 

he lingered before opening your door, glancing at the dress on the ground. and then he was gone, shutting your door behind him, before falling to his own bed. you were lucky to find sleep that night, and it came easy with your exhaustion. but anxiety thrummed through your mind, bustling with a pint of rejection. it was so sweet from his tongue, but it hurt all the same. 

lando laid in his bed before he showered. changed. laid in his bed with the thought of you. how did this happen? how could he forfeit a lifelong friendship? it was simple, really. you were the most beautiful woman he’s ever met, and he couldn’t ever let you go. he’s always watched you from a distance. liking your posts, viewing your instagram stories. he was obsessed with you in more ways than one, but that was a secret for him and him alone. 

yet, he couldn’t get max out of his mind. how he would react to him? to you? fuck, the thoughts were brewing a storm inside of his head. the damage had already been done, his heart already thrumming with the essence of you in its wake. you spread through the blood in his veins, latching onto his vitality like a parasite. though he welcomed the thought, the wonder of you overtaking his life. 

that was a thought that he could fall asleep to. and he did, snoring with a good guzzle that had you tossing and turning. 

the morning came and went. you were up early, as you promised max, but took time planning your wardrobe. you wore a bathing suit beneath your choice of clothing, but what was essential was the short, white, skirt that rode mid-rise on your waist. 

the shirt you wore was thin, sheer, a light beige. it had straps that came down to tie a bow between your breasts, and cropped enough to leave heaven to the imagination. for one man in particular, that was your goal.

‘i don’t know if we should do this again.’ 

fuck that. 

you skipped down the steps and were met with max awake bright and early. he had been cooking breakfast, a favorite of yours, and was just about finishing up before he glanced towards you. 

“morning!” came his preppy voice. he was wearing a thin white shirt and swim trunks, ready to take on the day to swim. 

“good morning.” you sat down at the lush kitchen island, max sliding a plate of food in front of you. you dug in immediately. 

“woah,” max commented, sitting down beside you with a cup of tea. “relax. thought we were going swimming?” 

you coughed. “we are.” you continued to finish your food with haste. “just hungry.” 

you heard more steps come down the stairs. but you didn’t turn your head until max did, his eyes brightening as his close friend was approaching.

“mate,” max said, eyeing up lando. “you look like shit. did ‘ya sleep last night?” 

lando hummed with his tired voice, already prepared to go swimming as well. he wore a black shirt with papaya swim trunks. you ogled at him before he looked at you, turning away quickly once he skirted his eyes towards your direction. 

“slept great.” 

you scoffed. 

max and lando turned towards you. the fork in your hands dropped and your eyes widened. a blush creeped onto your cheeks. 

“you snore,” you commented, still refusing to look at him. “you know that?” 

max turned towards lando. “your rooms are next to each other?” the words were poignant, aimed as a remark to the british driver. he simply shrugged his shoulders in response, not finding any reason to engage. 

you stood with your plate in hand, making headway for the sink. from behind, you could feel a pair of eyes heating the plane of your back. you weren’t stupid. and neither was he, knowing exactly what you had done this morning. 

the skirt you wore was a reminiscence of his confession the previous night. it brought back the childlike memories of grade school. a time when life was simpler, and you were just a girl, and he was just a boy. but he knew you weren’t that girl anymore. a woman grown, you were elegant. he didn’t understand how you were related to max, a scruffy rascal, but he was happier for that. 

when you turned on the water for the sink, lando approached you. max had been tending to his phone, scrolling through social media, so he hadn’t been paying attention. lando’s shoulder brushed against your own when you were scrubbing, desperate to say something. 

“you–”

“max,” you interrupted lando, turning off the water and turning towards your brother. lando took a side step away from you, giving you space when max looked up from his phone. you received a side eye from the british driver, his lip curling with pettiness. he saw what you were doing now. was this your form of punishment? 

max responded with a ‘hm?’ “you want me to cook tonight?” you offered, and max glanced at lando, who never stopped looking at you. you saw max’s expression tense. 

“why not. could save us some money, won’t it?” he said, waiting for lando to add on. “right, lando?” 

lando spun around, releasing his tight grip on the counter. he took a sharp breath in, nodding his head in agreement. you watched as a blush creeped onto his face. you bit on the inside of your cheek, but weren’t expecting lando to retaliate. 

he spoke your name, which had your head lifting. “what happened to your lip?” 

you froze. eyes widening. your own lip twitched with a remedy of a snarl, and he bit back, his nose curling with distaste. 

max approached you two, observing your scabbed lip from the night before. “shit. he’s right. what happened?” 

you reached back to clench the marble counter beneath your fingers. “uh–” lando held back his devious smile. “bit it in my sleep, ‘spose.” 

max simply shrugged his shoulders, and headed for the backyard where the pool was. when the door shut, you let out a sigh. lando stepped in front of you, caging you in with his arms. his head dipped to your shoulder, his curls brushing against your cheek. 

“get off me,” you commented with grit, biting your words. lando shook his head, not moving. 

“don’t play this with me,” he said, lifting his head with a deep inhale. you raised a brow at him, having absolutely no idea what he meant. 

“said we weren’t going to do this again, didn’t you?” you made him sit with his words. make him roll in the fucking mud. “we’re not. and if we were–” you shoved his chest with both your hands, which had him lurching backward. he didn’t go far. “i’d fucking win.” 

he invaded your space again, leaning his lips towards yours. you felt his breath again, his scent creeping into your nose. it was like he never left. 

“y’sure ‘bout that?” he said with a light tone, teasing you with the vibrato of his words. you swallowed a lump in your throat. 

but you stood your ground. “positive.” 

lando lingered for a second longer, leaning closer to your lips, and you thought he was going to kiss you out in the open kitchen. “whatever you say.” were the only words he said before he leapt away from you suddenly, leaving your exposed body cold. 

he followed you out to the pool, never leaving enough space between you two. but you had other plans–sticking by max’s side would surely drive him insane. 

so you sat beside your brother all day. in the pool chair next to him. tanning, reading a book, scrolling on your phone– it didn’t matter. it wasn’t long before the rest of your brother’s friends joined everyone by the pool. 

most of them were in the pool by the afternoon. you had made your way to the kitchen, shedding of your skirt and top. left in your swimwear, you wanted a snack. 

in the bowls of fruit you found, you pulled some mango, strawberries, and bananas. you cut them with a knife from the drawer, and put them in a bowl. there was more than enough fruit for everyone, but you took some of your favorites in the meantime. 

the sun was hot that day, and you had forgotten your sunglasses. sunscreen on your head would cause greasy hair, and you didn’t want that. so you searched briefly in the kitchen for any sort of hat that someone left, and you found one. 

it was a papaya hat. with mclaren’s logo, and a number 4 on it. you smirked, bringing the hat atop your head. 

it fit nicely and you grabbed the bowl of fruit. you made your way back outside to the patio and your brother noticed you immediately. he called your name, and you sauntered over. 

lando and his mates had been in the pool playing with a frisbee, but as soon as max had said your name, he was looking over his shoulder. he went speechless. 

with his hat atop your head and your exposed body, he could help but drool at the sight of you. a droplet trailed down his chin, but he dunked the lower half of his mouth into the pool before anyone saw. 

“for us?” max asked towards the bowl of fruit. you popped a slice of mango into your mouth, biting tenderly into the piece before nodding your head. lando swallowed tightly, practically shaking beneath the surface of the water. 

you placed the bowl on the wooden table and stood back as you were met with the onslaught of a crowd of wet dudes. you backed up towards the stairs of the pool, ready to hop in yourself. you thought yourself a genius– having the entire pool to yourself while they ate. but before you stepped in, your elbow was caught in a warm palm.

lando faced you with his bare chest dripping with chlorine, hair ruffled and damp. droplets of water slithered down his cheeks, which you felt tempted to rub away with your thumb, but you retained from stretching out your hands. 

he simply stared at you. and you stared at him. 

then he flicked the end of the cap with his pointer finger and smirked, raising his brows with a teasing fashion. he had the nerve to glance at your chin, narrowing his eyes. you didn’t have time to react before his own thumb came to wipe away a droplet of mango juice from your chin. 

the action was fast, unnoticed by anyone around you. you blushed instantly, freezing in place. lando popped his thumb into his mouth, tongue visibly swirling around the fingertip. he made a humming sound, approving of the taste. 

“tastes sweet.” he muttered to you. he raised his eyes, hooded beneath the glare of the sunlight. “not my favorite, though.” 

holy shit

you thought you were going to pass out. 

with your eyes flared wide, you spun away from him, throwing the hat to the side, and dove straight into the pool. 

you needed to cool off. desperately. and your time in the pool did. when you finally climbed out, max was lounging in the pool chair beneath an umbrella. you joined him in your seat, drying yourself off with your towel. lando was watching the entire time, sitting opposite to max. 

when you finally laid down with the towel of your bare legs, max scoffed at his phone. clearly, he was trying to get your attention. 

“what?” you said, the hat you had thrown off was now back in your lap. 

“look,” max handed you his phone, and you immediately rolled your eyes. it was a picture on instagram of your ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. his new girlfriend that he cheated on you with. he was a fucking asshole, and max knew that from the very beginning. 

“ugh,” you groaned, handing his phone back to him. max took it and was about to keep scrolling. 

“what?” lando asked, curious now to see what the two of you were grumbling about. max handed him his phone, but he was still confused who he was looking at. 

“her ex,” max commented with a rumble. lando’s eyes shot up at you, watching your expression shift. lando was now investigating thoroughly, scrolling through this guys posts. he still had some of you up, and it only angered him. it angered him to an unfair degree, feeling the pinnacle of jealousy, although entirely unwarranted. 

“i brought him to a race once,” you pointed out, unable to look at either of them. instead, you settled on the water in the pool. “barcelona, last year.” your arms crossed over your chest. 

lando raised a brow. “he was that leach for leclerc, wasn’t he?” you were surprised that he remembered, but nodded your head. it wasn’t a good memory. he had abandoned you the minute you arrived at the race in search of the ferrari driver, and had to manage yourself alone in the crowds. it was miserable, but at least you got to see a good show. 

“yeah,” you commented with a huff. “fucking asshole.” 

“asshole.” max mirrored you. 

“why did it end, then?” lando was pushing the boundaries, but max didn’t seem to notice or mind. 

though you did. 

you didn’t want to relive the thought. the embarrassment. the entire fucking heartbreak that you pathetically went through. 

“because i was stupid.” is all you said before you stood with your towel, making your way inside without another word. 

max turned to face lando and smacked him on the shoulder. “the fuck did you ask for?” came his harsh words. lando was stunned, not intending to chase you away.

“shit, sorry i–” lando was quick to rise to his feet, though, not even glancing back at max before he chased after you. “i’ll fix it,” he promised before disappearing inside, and max simply shrugged, wondering just how lando could work his wonders. though he doubted he truly could. 

lando called your name from deep inside the villa but you were already half way up the steps. you froze when you heard his voice, stifling back any sounds from your chest. he caught up to you, standing a step beneath you. 

“i’m sorry–” he said, “i was just—”

“just what, lando?” you grumbled, truly not wanting to hear his words. “you wanna know just how embarrassed i was? huh? when i found he was fucking one of my best friends?” 

lando stood there, shocked, coming to hold out his arms for you to fall into. but you didn’t. “i was such a fucking idiot. it was right in front of me but i didn’t believe it. how smart of me, right?!” your voice raised when lando cornered you at the top of the stairs, your back against the wall. 

you couldn’t help but spew emotional nonsense. “oh woe is me, truly, you’d probably end up doing the same–”

lando caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his other hand leaning against the wall. “what did you say?” 

you gulped, not meaning for the words to slip off your tongue. shit. he looked pissed. pissed that you would think so lowly of him. 

“i–” you gulped. “i didn’t mean–”

his hand tightened around your chin. “really? that what you think of me?” no, no, no! you didn’t. you didn’t. you shook your head in his hold, your eyes largening with your emotions. 

“if you were my girl,” lando whispered to you, not breaking eye contact with you once. “you’d know it.” 

but you dared to disagree. 

“what am i then?” you challenged, your voice raising in the echoing halls. “what was i yesterday, a whore?” 

he bared his teeth at you, displeased with what you called yourself. his hand from your chin latched onto the side columns of your throat and your mouth parted with a delectable pleasure. 

“you needed me, yeah?” he was sure to comment. but you didn’t budge. 

“get your hands off me.” you bit out. 

“you didn’t seem to mind yesterday.” 

“clearly you didn’t do a good job for a second run,” the words pinched his ego, though the hand against the wall came to slide around your waist. 

“weren’t you begging for me? or did i make that up?” you seethed at his cocky tone. 

“think you had too much to drink. i’d never beg.” it was a straight lie that came from your lips. he knew it. you knew it. but you pretended to keep your strength. 

“‘touch me, please,’” he mocked in your tone. 

“must’ve dreamed it. thinking ‘bout me, lan?” the nickname was new for him on your tongue and he bristled, along with the blood soaring to his cock. 

“‘more, need–” you slapped your hand over his mouth.

“fuck you.” you hissed. his mouth curved to a smile before he let his grip on you go. 

“we’ll see if you’re lucky tonight.” 

you brushed past him with a scoff and he stood there idly, watching your hips sway side to side. he chuckled at your retreat and you flipped him off before entering your room and slamming the door. you were done with these fucking games, his toying words. he had no right to approach you after finding out about your ex. 

you immediately turned on the shower in your room and stripped of your bathing attire. it was when you were searching aimlessly through your drawer of panties, you remembered that you were missing a pair. 

a smirk grew on your face, and you couldn’t help but feel that you held the power. 

a few hours had passed after your interaction with lando, and he couldn’t help but feel anxious. you were missing from the entirety of the activities around the pool, and he even dared knock on your door, but he resisted. though it tore him apart, thinking about your writhing anger. 

but you, you had other plans. you’d showered off from the pool, taken care of your skin, and taken a nap before you were to get up and make dinner. 

you had come up with the idea for dinner. 

fish. as everyone enjoyed. 

you smirked to yourself as you made your way down the steps. it was quiet, and you heard no churning of others about the halls. it was nice to revere yourself in the solitude of the late afternoon, hoping that you would have the entirety of the downstairs floor yourself. 

you got to work with your scheme and pulled out the fish from the fridge. whatever you were making, you were sure it would be delicious. 

and when the meal was just about done, you heard a strangulated sound of ample footsteps down the staircase. you were just about done setting the dinner table when max soared through the kitchen, aiming right for the pans and pots of ingredients you sniffed.

“woo!” he cheered, clearly delighted with your cooking. the other boys at his side were quick to mimic him, agreeing with his statement. your hands clamped over your heart, showing how happy you were that they were thrilled.

“well,” you urged. “go sit! i’ll bring it over.” 

they didn’t hesitate. beginning to take spoonfuls of rice, vegetables, and the fried fish you whipped up, they were eager to get a headstart. your thoughts wondered where the british driver was, but your thoughts were answered when you heard the last pair of footsteps through the grand foyer. 

you just finished placing the bowls of food in front of the eager boys. they weren’t polite in waiting for everyone to sit down, but you didn’t mind. 

it was an afterthought  for what his meal would be. of course you knew he despised fish. you listened to everything he said when you were younger, years ago, and never forgot. 

you leaned against the kitchen aisle, facing him, and he immediately recoiled at the smell. his nose turned upright, curling upward with his lip, and you saw the sparkle of his canines. 

lando approached you, the stove, and took a glance at what the helpings were. he turned his head over his shoulder, giving you a knowing look, which you returned with a small shrug and a smirk.

“witch.” he uttered, hands clamping around the edges of the countertops, unsure what he was going to fish through the cabinets for. 

“don’t worry.” you said, lando turning to raise his brows. you slid him a bowl filled with greens, vegetables, and a little bit of rice. “plenty for you, don’t you think?” 

you cocked your head toward the empty seat, but he instead took the one right next to you. the bowl in your hands was pungent with sprouts, and even you recoiled. you placed it down in front of him, letting your hand linger on his back. “i’m no dietician,” you said quietly. “but i tried to substitute as much as i could.” 

“thank you,” he said through clenched teeth, fucker. 

you were quaint with your serving, taking enough for your fill, and sat down swiftly. conversation grew between all of the men, your brother included, and you ate in silence. you had done more thinking about your situation with your ex, and recoiled with a sickening feeling in your stomach. lando watched from the corner of his eye, noticing how little you touched your fork with your lips and spun your spoon amongst the rice. 

he knew he said tribulating words. taunted you. teased you. but he did not mean for it to stretch as far as it had. you were twiddling with the accessories on your wrists, barely saying a word the entire meal, and he felt that it was his fault. you’d only gone as far enough to tease him with a full fish basking over an open flame on the stove. 

it wasn’t shameful when he was devouring the meal you had cooked. despite the repugnant smell of fish lingering in the air, your food was…divine. he wasn’t all that surprised, but it was a nice treat to end one of the first full days. 

but the most courageous ideas filled his head. he kept looking at you, staring, out of the corner of his eye. you were entirely blue with your melancholy, and he resented the soured expression upon your beautiful face. he took it as his own responsibility to relieve you of your worries. your anxieties. insecurities. as it was his fault that they emerged. 

it didn’t take long before beneath the table, lando’s hand wandered. he began with a soft graze of your knee which had you sitting up straight, white skirt you dressed in before remaking its appearance around your hips. 

you turned your head to face him, eyes flaring with wonder of just what the fuck he was doing. but his expression stayed nonchalant, undeterred from his conversation with your brother. you decided that you should play the same game, sliding into the roll of uncaring of his soft touches.

though it was much easier said than done. 

his fingers were daunting. restless. he took a break to sip his water with his opposite hand, divulging into deeper conversation as his hand trailed higher. it was then that he spread his palm wide over the span of your thigh, bare, pinching at the skin. you leaned over the table, leaning your head into your palms that were supported by your elbows upon the table. 

you sighed, your other leg jumping up and down. you attempted to listen to whatever they were talking about– football, instagram, the races– but you couldn’t tune in for long. not when he tugged the fabric of your skirt to the side, and let his pinky dance across your folds. fuck. 

attempting to muffle your struggle, you brought your glass to your lips, sipping in promptitude. you leaned back, tucking your chair as far as you could against the table. it finally caught lando’s attention, briefly, when he gave you a once over with a cheeky smile. max caught the action, raising a brow at you, but you simply swallowed down your drink and crossed your hands over your lap. 

your lap, that so happened to house lando’s hand between your thighs. your cunt was clothed by your panties, but you could still feel the pressure of his finger lodging against your slit. 

you wrapped your hand around his wrist, gripping tight with the desire for him to stop, but he would do no such thing. he went as far as using his ring finger to stroke the cotton of your underwear, grazing over your clit as if it were nothing. he circled around your tender bundle of nerves, refusing to leave it alone. 

your second hand came to wrap around his wrist, higher up on his forearm, pleading indefinitely to halt his movements. your thighs clenched impossibly tight around his hand, suffocating him, but it didn’t stop him. it only had him steadfast in his pursuit– to get you to come at this dinner table. 

with your force against his forearm, you were sure to leave bruises of your fingertips in your wake. but you didn’t care. through your tension, he could feel your pleasure. he knew that you would writhe, squirm, but you couldn’t. not here. 

you found yourself trembling. your grip around his wrist softened, lip caught between your top set of teeth. you were lucky that the tablecloth was acting as a barrier between any wandering eyes–though, shamefully, that was the last thing on your mind. 

but right now, you felt yourself coming to a clearing. a light at the end of the tunnel in the name of your orgasm. shit. 

it took only one quick glance around the room to see that everyone was done with their meals. with empty plates, they were awaiting more. and more you shall give, best to get up rather than submit to lando’s toilsome teasing. you couldn’t give him this pleasure. not when he toyed with you, refused to admit to any truths that might belittle his feelings. 

you finally shoved his hand away. it took all the might you had, and it even had his head shifting in your direction. you stood, and he immediately tugged the hem of your skirt down beneath the table cloth. if anyone noticed, they didn’t say a word. 

“dessert, anyone?” 

there was a small rally of cheers, and you smiled. it was the only thing that could get your mind off of lando’s hand between your legs. the flushed expression you wore didn’t wane until you were alone in the kitchen. 

it was ice cream that was for dessert, and that would be enough. you put out some toppings for them to choose from, and returned with the platter. you set it toward the center of the table, and the pickings were gone instantly. everyone had their own serving, side bowl, ready to go. 

but lando waited for you to settle back in before he grabbed a pint of vanilla. he nudged the ice cream scooper towards your direction, a silent indication that had him asking if he could serve yours. you simply nodded, even though your cunt burned with the phantom touch of his fingers. he did that to you in no way another man could. leave you wanting more. sex with your ex boyfriend had been a joke. you never came. ever. you only did when it was at your own hand, your own touch. but with lando…

lando on that balcony, dressed in the pale moonlight. you, his angel, glowing halo of energy illuminating your face, unraveled before him. he doesn’t think he’s ever met such a woman receptive to his touch. he’s fucked girls before, too many for max’s taste–hence his displeasure– but they weren’t like you. they didn’t squirm, whimper, in his hold. they’d moan like they were being televised, recorded, ready to be on a screen play.

you were natural. beautiful. incapable of being anyone but yourself. he admired you for such bravery, commending you silently through the cosmic planes. though you could not hear the words from him, you felt a warmth coming from his direction despite the cold treat being scooped into the dish in front of you. 

he gave you more than enough and smiled. a real one, you caught. it was a break from the humidity, a breeze that was most welcomed upon your skin. fuck. you were supposed to be mad at him, weren’t you? weren't you supposed to plot your volatile revenge for him touching you? 

you were. 

when he settled beside you with his own serving, you were quick to shuffle a bit closer to him. the chair scooted across the floor, a vibration felt beneath his own, and he bristled. what were you up to? you appeared to be happier, a bit less caught up in your own head, and that he could be grateful for. you even engaged in a few conversations with max’s friends. 

they were lovely chaps, truly, but they were his friends. not yours. 

lando was just about to respond to a question that max had asked him, but he coughed on his ice cream, the feeling of your fingertips darting across his crotch taking a huge galavanting surprise out of him. he didn’t know that you had such austerity within you, but it was a welcome discovery.

but your skillfulness was not. 

the outline of his cock beneath his shorts was obvious. you felt the light curve, the tip, the base all beneath your palm. it was an empowering sensation, hidden beneath the table cloth, and lando had to outstretch both of his hands to steady himself. 

“y’alright, mate?” max asked when lando coughed. the british driver nodded beside you, leaning forward. 

“yeah. fine. carry on?” max repeated his question for lando. before he was about to answer for a second time, your hand curled around the base of his cock, feeling full in your palm. your thumb brushed against his tip, smiling to yourself when you felt a light wet patch against your finger. 

he sucked in a tight breath, but answered max with a strained voice. he clenched his jaw tight and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. you knew you were riling him, and it was paying off to see him flustered. 

you continued your stroking motion discreetly beneath the table. the excitement of being caught was perhaps too thrilling, and the presence of your hand against his cock only excited you further. he was big. that was enough for you to be floored. your guesses as a edgy teenage girl were correct, and the woman inside of you purred at the idea of him inside of you. 

little did you know, he thought the same. when his fingers were lodged inside your hot folds, your deathly tight grip clamping around him, he knew that he had to have you. he knew it years ago, too, but just how pretty you were atop of him…how receptive you were to his touch– it was a pillar of pleasure that continued to build and build, until it will ultimately fall. 

until it will fall, and he is deep inside of you. with the outline of his cock embedded in your lower belly he would feel satisfied, with his cum dripping from your cunt, he could find a peace from this torturous lust that overtook every fucking part of his mind. he needed you. carnally. in whatever fashion labeled him as a barbarian, he would hunt you down if that is what you wanted. 

and maybe you did. 

you wanted him to chase you. to fight for you. to appease the teenage girl inside of you that yearned for his affections, his oblivious attentions. you felt that you deserved it for all the work you put in through your teendom. the boys you rejected. the time you gave up to attend his races. 

was that such a bad thing to be wanted? to be wanted above all, by the man of your wonderlike dreams? but was he so dreamy, then, when he glanced at you with his needy, preening eyes when you held his cock so firm in your hand? 

the answer was undoubtedly yes. 

you felt the pulse of his cock against your hand. it was a delectable vibration that beat for you of all people. you felt more than divine prowess gripping his length, such a dirty, lewd, action beneath the table. and none of them knew what you had been doing. how you were affecting him. it was a secret wasn’t it? 

the catalyst for your movements was about to be thwarted when he readjusted his hips in the chair, bucking fiercely against your touch, your hold on his dick. 

conversations around you began to dull down to a minimum. the night was ending, and he felt himself rearing a release. but he couldn’t. not here. fuck. he gripped on your hand beneath the table, shivering, shaking, as he pleaded you with his eyes. they were wide drawn, glossed with a desperation that you needed permanently in your life. it was a face you wouldn’t forget. ever. how he yearned to cum in your hand, but it wasn’t the right time. when would be the right time? 

“since you made dinner,” max began, letting out a grueling burp, “i say we lot ‘ought to tidy up, shall we?” the boys nodded and hummed amongst each other in agreement. they made quick pace clearing the table, and this was lando’s excuse to rip himself free of your devilish hand. though he wanted nothing more than to cum with your sleek fingertips, he had to be nonchalant about it all. 

he cleared his throat when he stood, feigning a quietness that felt unusual, but no one said a word. you smiled to yourself, pulling your hand away back to your lap. it was damp from his precum, sordid with an urge to pop a finger or two into your mouth. and you did. pretending to clean yourself from any residue of icecream, you licked your fingers clean. 

lando stared. unable to take his eyes off of you. he lingered with his hand around your bowl and plate, his breath hitching in his throat. devil woman, he thought. 

when the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher and the fragile ones laid out to dry, you finally stood. you arched your back, stretching your limbs, but felt cold on your cunt. it was the air conditioning that cooled you, reminding you that he was the one to tease you first beneath the table. 

your brother bid you goodnight with a kiss to your cheek, whilst the others thanked you sincerely for the meal. you were grateful to receive such gratitude, but it wasn’t from the man you wanted it the most. 

tucking your chair into the table, you made your way into the grand kitchen. with its tiled walls, marbled kitchen island, lando stood at the epicenter. with a towel in his hand, drying the last few of the dishes, he watched you saunter in. 

his tongue poked at the inner corner of his cheek with a clenched jaw. boy, did he have words for you. you and your actions. how you ruined him at the dinner table whilst talking to your brother of all people. it was like you wanted them to see–

ah

ah

when you joined him side by side, the pair of you said nothing for a moment. but the moment when lando scanned the room front to back, he dropped the towel and grabbed onto you.

he spun you around so your front pushed against the kitchen aisle, your back arching against the palm of his hand. his second went around the front of your throat, pulling your head up to his own. 

“that what you wanted?” he growled into your ear, trembling with his edged orgasm teetering on the tailend of a massacre. “hmm? tell me, baby.” 

you were at a loss of words, dizzied from the grip around your throat. you wished that he would leave bruises. 

then he bent you over the counter, the cool surface eliciting a gasp from deep within you. his hand flexed over your back, scaling your spine. 

“being a fucking tease…” 

“you started it.” you retaliated with a childlike immaturity. 

lando chuckled as his crotch came flush against your cunt. your wet, dampening cunt by the second. the hand that had been latched to your throat moved to your skirt, toying with the fabric. he scoffed, feeling the wetness of your panties. “bet you’re still wet anyways.”

you were.

your face flushed. 

“dirty fucking girl.” he said quietly, a comment to himself, but loud enough for you to hear. you swayed your hips against his, desperate for a flickering sensation of friction. 

“ah ah,” he tsked, landing a slap to your ass. the sound ricocheted through the echoing kitchen. “think you deserve it after tonight?”

you mewled in response, your cheek freezing against the countertop. the heat from your asscheek was enough to satisfy you for the moment, your thighs clenching together. he ogled, head twisting in a fashion that was revered with lust. 

with a fist he made a makeshift ponytail of your hair, pulling your head back against his chest. “hmm?” 

“no.” 

“no?” he’d repeat. you nodded your head, submitting to him without question. he was peeved that you didn’t fight back, but would take your submission with earnestness. but you had other plans brewing inside your head. ones that you knew would drive him up the fucking wall.

but that would come later. for now, you let your head fall backward onto his shoulder, and looked up at him. “let me fix it…”

your whimpering had his eye twitching, lip curling, arms flexing. it was a gut reaction to how soft your voice had become, how eager he knew you were. 

his hold on you loosened, and you took this as your opportunity to spin around and drop to your knees in front of him. you couldn’t help but gape at his thundering cock beneath his shorts, salivating at just the thought of him filling your mouth. 

but he said nothing else, stunned in his place; how could he not be when you regarded him with ardor, quivering hands?

“please…” you said, your cheek coming to nuzzle against his thigh, one hand gripping the back of his calf. he couldn’t reject you like this. not when he wanted you so dearly. 

a hand came to run through your hair atop your head. an nonverbal, encouraging pet. you hummed, making quick work of lowering his shorts, his briefs, and his cock sprung free with vitality. it was red hot, pulsating with blood, beating a bright scarlet for you. it glistened with his own slick for you. 

“go on, love,” he was breathless. “you can take it, can’t you?” 

you nodded furiously, a whine leaving your lips. with your determined fingers, you wrapped them around his base, pumping your hand back and forth. it didn’t take much before he was leaking over your palm, and you let your lips swirl around his tip.

his head fell back in pleasure, fingers tightening his grip in your hair. with his empty hand, he gripped the island to support his weight from toppling upon you. 

he was both sweet and salty, a sensation you’ve never tasted before. you continued your relentless pursuit on his tip until he was wrought with desperation, and let his hips buck forward until he was half way down your throat. 

you groaned in protest, your eyes watering with tears, but took him like the good girl you were. he wanted you, and you wanted him. you could ask for nothing more. 

“just like that, baby–” he stuttered out, voice cracking when you took him whole down your throat. you breathed through your nose. “fuck,” he cursed, your lips puckering, even stimulating him with the top ridges of your teeth. he let out a deep moan. 

“perfect,” he commented, but you thought you misheard him for a moment. “you’re perfect.” 

it persuaded you further–not like much was needed– and sped up your pace. faster and faster you went, guzzling him perfectly. with your other hand that gripped his calf, calm to knead at his balls. that was the moment he faltered, unable to withstand your feverish tongue. he had to bite back his own groans of pleasure. 

“where?” he demanded of you. you paused, but didn’t take long for your answer. he was holding himself back as much he could, his hips bucking down the hot cavern of your throat, but you didn’t relent. my mouth, your actions screamed, and he didn’t think twice.

before you knew it your mouth was loaded with his cum, hot rods of delectable nectar from him. you were pleased, more than satisfied, that you made him cum in just a matter of minutes. 

he pulled himself out of you, letting you breathe. you swallowed, not finding him distasteful, and even showed him your bare tongue. he was panting, attempting his best to catch his breath, but managed a coarse chuckle. 

you gave his flaccid cock a singular kiss before you rose to your feet, bringing his shorts and briefs up with you. he adjusted himself before launching his lips on your own. the remnants of him were prominent on your tastebuds as he swirled his tongue into your mouth. you allowed his strength, making a sound from your throat. 

“taste like me,” he commented against your lips. you beam. 

“must’ve been good, then?” you knew it was. but you wanted to hear it from him. 

he snickered. “guess so.” 

you slapped his chest before breaking your kiss. you glanced up at him one more time before placing a kiss on his cheek, escaping his grasp. he held onto your hand, though, wondering just where you were going. not when he didn’t have you cumming on his tongue. 

“it’s past my bedtime,” you remarked, raising your brows. his own scrunched. “what?”

“let me–” 

you shushed him. 

“on the house.” 

you were gone before he could respond, skipping up the steps, ready to set your plan in motion. he didn’t know what was coming, not yet, but he surely would once you closed the door to your room, and stripped of your clothes. 

you left him there pondering. he was entirely at a loss— you skirting away with ease, high tail with that lacey material– and vanished without another word. it had lando breathing heavily, hands running through his hair. shit, he thought, this was bad. 

in the bathroom of your suite, you twisted the shower on. whilst waiting for it to heat up, you turned your attention towards the open shaft windows that you could prop open. your room is next to mine, lando’s words rang through your head. okay, you thought, game on, right?

you made sure the windows were open at a respectable distance, praying that his own would be too. he liked the cool breeze from the night, pray tell from his times of sleeping in max’s room in your childhood home. 

glancing at yourself in the mirror once, you were betting on this to work. to truly grab his attention, whilst also awarding yourself a release you’d been craving since his fingertips caressed your knee. 

into the shower you went, tilting your head back and letting the waterfall drench your scalp. it was relaxing, more than you anticipated, and your mind was able to wander to other things. like his hands. his toned, muscular arms. his neck, built intensely with strength that you’ve never seen before. in certain lights, especially beneath the italian sun, it bulged outward. you wondered what it’d feel like between your thighs. your fingers wandered along your soaked skin, breasts reacting to your touch, taut beneath your palms. 

lando had just shut the door to his room, shaking off the sweat that dribbled down his forehead. and his windows were open— the curtains swaying back and forth— and he heard your call. 

at first, the british driver thought that he was hallucinating. that he was hearing things from losing it. but there was no denying that it was your sweet siren serenading through the air, wafting against the mediterranean winds. 

a moan had been pulled from you by your own hand. your head flat against the tiles of the shower wall, you twisted until your cheek was firm against the siding. one hand came to rest on the base of your throat, gripping for comfort, while the other trailed downward to your navel, priming at your folds. 

you were swollen hot, but never to the same degree you were on his lap just the previous night. 

it was enough, though, for you to rub against your clit the way you knew your body best. a delicious combination of whimpers and moans trembling through the air. 

lando was brought to his fantasies, unbelieving that they were coming alive before him. he leaned against the windows from his room, hand clenching tight around the ledge, and listened to your whining calls, urging him, tempting him, to knock down your fucking door and fuck you like you wanted him. 

a finger slid easily inside of you. with both stimulation to your clit and your sensitive nerves inside of you, it was heaven. the hot water combined with your punitive thoughts, tracing back to lando, aroused you to a degree unfathomable to any pleasure you’ve ever felt. besides his fingers, that is. 

lando couldn’t resist. his own cock was blistering with heat, again, in just the span of ten minutes. you had just been on his knees for him. now, here you were, a siren within the night, taking him under your bewitching. 

and spellcasted he was. 

with his dick in his hands, he was dripping. your sounds became louder, prominent, for his open window. and he absorbed every droplet you gave him, a man dehydrated of the world’s most sweet nectar. he was greedy, selfish even, and knew then that he had to be yours. he didn’t give a fuck what max said, thought, cared about this moment. it would belong to him and him alone— your saccharine temper. 

he could imagine you there, thinking about just how desperate he was. how you knew what you were doing to him. how he unfolded before your voice. 

you were. 

you thought of his face. how it contorted with pleasure while you sucked him off. you’d remember the sounds he made— whimpers of desperate, wicked nature— that had you curling your finger inside of you, even becoming so bold as to add a second. it should be criminal to think of your brother’s best friend this way, but that thought came and went just as the tides changed. 

lando fisted his cock with the thought of you wrapped around him. hand draped across the ledge of the windowsill, he writhed and seethed from his own daring thoughts of you. your skirt, your pretty eyes, your wondrous nature. he was awed by you, but wanted to damn you to ruin with his touch. it pursued him further, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long.

surely he wouldn’t, not when he heard his name carry through the air. his name rolling off your tongue. his name in the form of a whimper. 

“lando,” you breathed, loud enough to surpass the stream of the water. and your stomach coiled, reaching an orgasm before you could count to three.

lando had, too, spurring loads of his come into his empty hand. it wasn’t an elegant movement— rather messy and untamed— but that’s how it was when it came to you, wasn’t it? nothing was going to be easy about this relationship he conjured up in his head, but for you, though it’d be worthwhile. 

you went to bed that night with a sleep full of your wildest, fanatical dreams that included lando. whereas he tossed and turned, unable to believe that the girl he knew in his childhood had him wrought with lust. 

the morning that followed was a quiet one. you and the rest of the vacation group of boys were headed out to one of italy’s finest beaches, chartered there by a small boat. you had opted for one of your best bathing suits and cover up pieces, looking outright chic. 

when you arrived at the beach, you stuck closely to max’s side. the entire ride, lando had been stealing glances from you, shifting awkwardly in his seat. you had your answer from your plan the previous night. he heard you. 

good, you thought, crossing your legs over one another. serves him right. 

you’d lay out your towel on the white sand. your brother joined you, laying down a few feet from you along with some of his buddies. lando kept his distance, knowing too fucking well that’d he’d pull some feral shit in front of you and your brother. 

some of the others opted for surfing. with their boards ready from the rental shack, they were catching waves with ease. you watched from your upright position, lathering yourself in spf. 

“what’dya think of chris?” your brother asked you. you turned your head, wondering what he was implying. chris was one of his good-natured, all classic, sweet boy friends. you’d known him for a good majority of your life, but never…really thought of him. 

“he’s a good guy.”  

lando was sitting up now. listening. 

“well,” max shrugged, taking your nonchalant answer with grace. “asked me if it was okay to give him your number. think he fancies you.” 

your expression dropped. chris fancied you? in what universe could he, when he couldn’t even manage a conversation with you. you weren’t even sure he could ever muster the courage to look you in the eye, for that matter. 

“and…what did you say?” 

max looked at you with his sunglasses on. you saw your reflection in them. 

“think it’s fine. ‘e’s a good lad. nice. well-mannered.” he emphasized his last point. was that a jab at your previous boyfriends? “besides…i wanna see you happy.” 

it was touching, truly, that your brother cared for you on such a protective level, but you didn’t need him meddling with your romantic life. not when the man who consumed your sexual thoughts sat a few bodies next to you. 

your eyes drifted to find lando’s. he was already glaring, sending sharp daggers your direction. he heard it all, and was about to combust with jealousy. you could see it. you’d use it. 

“maybe.” you brushed it off, but found chris in the waters. he was just coming out from the sea, and you thought this was your perfect opportunity. 

you jumped to your feet, sunglasses on, and tore your cover up from your body. you didn’t look back to know what lando’s expression was— worshiping. 

chris’ head popped up when he saw you approaching him. he shifted a bit, as if he were preening his feathers. 

“catch any good ones?” you asked, your feet touching the water. chris cleared his throat. 

“some,” he gestured to the large waves. “current is strong today.” 

you edged further into the water until your knees were covered. 

“you looked good out there, at least i think so.” you managed a smile, not entirely opposed to his company. your brother had been right. he is a nice lad. you should at least build a friendship with him, shouldn’t you? 

“really?” he was shocked. “you were watching?” 

you nodded with a hum, and continued further out into the blue waters. chris took this as an invitation and dropped his board high up on the sand and followed you in. he wasn’t as built as lando was, but you shouldn’t even be making the comparisons. 

you stopped when the water was just beneath your breasts. water seeped in through your top, and you noticed that chris’ eyes caught on the fabric. typical. 

“what do you do for work, then? are you a student?” you managed a brief conversation with him. chris met you at your side. 

“business student in scotland,” he confirmed, but he wasn’t all cocky about it. you thought that he’d boast, but he didn’t. “yourself?” 

you told him your plans. he was impressed that you’d accomplished so much at your age. 

and your conversation with him went on, but not without the darkness of lando’s envy over your shoulder. you’d taken a few glances over chris’ shoulder to see his reddened expression, watching the pair of you share a few laughs. 

he wanted this day to be fucking over. he wanted you in his bed. and he would have it one way or another— whatever it takes. 

arriving back to the villa that evening, your brother and his friends wanted to go out clubbing. it was around 8pm and the sun was beginning to set, though you didn’t feel like a night out. the sun had gotten to you, and you were rather tired. 

“you’re sure you don’t wanna go?” max asked you in the foyer, waiting for the rest of his band to go along.

“i’m sure. besides, i could use a night in.” your brother respected your choice and didn’t push you further. before he left with his friends, he did turn and leave you with one comment.

“lando’s here, too, in case you need anything.” 

and then he was gone, tailending with chris flashing you a smile. 

shit. 

shit, shit, shit. you knew you were in for it now. there was no way that you’d escape lando for the evening, unsure how he caught notice that you’d be staying in for the night. 

when the door shut and the house was empty, you raced up to your room. you’d worn a floor length slip dress when you’d gotten home, but wanted to change and lock yourself in for the rest of the night. but your situation changed drastically when you reached the first step, and saw lando leaning against the staircase from the top. 

“just you and me, yeah?”

you gulped, taking a few steps back. he looked furious yet unbothered at the same time. 

“what to do, what to do…” he began to saunter down the steps when you moved back. “in this big, empty house…?” 

he trailed after you all the way until you were on the balcony. he slipped out from the sliding door, watching as you were frantically nervous in his presence. you had no idea what he was thinking, watching you all day flirt with chris. 

your back was against the stone balustrade, hands spread wide to support yourself. your heart was racing, but you wouldn’t let him see that. wouldn’t show him the effect he had. 

lando wore a black ln4 shirt from his collection, along with tan sweatpants. it was an understatement to say he didn’t look fucking good. 

he donned a cocky smirk as he closed the distance between the two of you, leaning into your space. you felt his breath on your cheek. 

“he’s a good lad, innhe?” 

you met his eye— his blue, green eyes that were swarmed with a darkness you didn’t believe him capable of. 

“he’s nice.” you said, referring to chris. because he was. he was respectful. 

“‘he’s nice.’” lando mocked, scoffing. he turned his head to the side to look over your shoulder to the coastline that surrounded the villa. 

“yes, he’s nice.” you bit back, brows furrowing. “more than i can say for you.”

lando’s expression froze, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. his jaw tightened as he processed your words, foot tapping against the stone. 

“yeah? you don’t think i’m good to you?” 

whatever this was…you loved it. you craved him. needed him. there was a zing of electricity that ran down your spine, electrifying your cunt. your thighs tightened together and you shrugged, playing him off the best that you could. 

he tsked, tilting your chin to meet his eyes with his index finger. “we’ll see.” 

and then his lips were on yours. ravaging. starving. he was a man that has been deprived of you for far too long— twenty four hours— without your touch. it was maddening the way he was obsessed with you. how you infested every corner of his mind. you, you, and more you. 

you succumbed to his kiss with ease, your tongues battling between one another. he tasted of espresso, whereas you tasted of the apple liquor from the boat. 

he won, ultimately, a hand coming to wrap around the back of your neck. your own latched to his shoulders, another going for his hair. you tugged on the strands, eliciting a groan from him that you wished to hear over and over, time and time again. you were sure that you would, not daring to ever let him go. you had him surrounded.

his tongue lathered over yours, dripping saliva down your chin. it was messy, intangibly so, but you’d have him no other way. you wanted him like this, uncontrolled, pining, for your affections. you had him in the place you wanted, and he had more in store for you. 

he broke the kiss with a string of saliva connecting the pair of you. your eyes heavy with desire, his own mirroring the same. his kisses traveled to your jaw, your throat— but he sucked feverishly against the skin, surely to leave bruises. you gasped when you felt his teeth puncture through the top layer of your skin. “marks—” 

you reminded him, but he didn’t care.

“fuck what they think.” 

you melted where you stood. his hand came to wrap around your lower back, angling your hips to brush against his. he was already hard, you could feel it, but you were sure that you were dribbling too. 

his relentless pursuit of your neck didn’t end there. when he met the fabric of your dress, he pulled the straps down with ease, your breasts falling free. he ogled at your mounds, saliva dripping from his chin. it was, perhaps, the hottest sight you’ve ever seen. not the waterfalls of france, not the cascades of lake como— but this, right here— lando norris drooling on your chest.

“what would you do with ‘nice’?” he mumbled into your skin, attacking one of your perked nipples with his tongue. you gasped, biting your lip to retain a moan. 

“he could treat me well,” you seethed through clenched teeth, gripping the strands of his brunette curls. you felt him vibrate with a hum. 

“you’d eat him alive.” he chuckled, switching to your other nipple that was blistering with heat. your entire body radiated like the sun, but did no good beneath the moonlight. “what would he do—” a nip of his teeth against your nipple, you jolted, hips bucking forward with an anxious pension for friction. “with all of this?” 

you were at a loss for words, drowning in his sweetness. 

“let it go to waste…” lando dropped to his knees with a hand still firm on your back, the other raising the hem of your dress. he tsked, cheek flattening out against your thighs. he separated them with the strength of his neck, looking up at you from the bundled fabric. “a shame.” 

you agreed mercilessly, nodding your head with a whimper. it elicited a laugh from him. 

with a singular finger he pulled down your panties. the cotton was thin, as if you knew this would happen. they slid down your legs and you kicked them away. 

your hand was still threaded at the base of his neck, continuing to tug at his strands. it’s how you told him you needed him, but that wouldn’t be enough. not for lando.

“what do you want?” he asked, looking up at you from his seated position, face wedged between your legs. you gaped at him, breathless and flushed. 

“your mouth—” you pant, but before you could finish he licked a long stripe down your folds. “god, fuck—” 

“not god,” lando corrected. “just me, baby.” 

“lando, lando…!” you whined, back arching for a better angle for him to reach. he responded, humming against your clit, sending throttling vibrations up your navel. he was so fucking good. how? how could a man treat you in such a way? 

finding your writhing adorable, he finally let his tongue swipe past your entrance. the sensation was indescribable, but you knew that you needed more. and more he was willing to give, burying his face into your cunt. 

your honeyed cunt that he was addicted to. he knew you’d taste like heaven, but this was all the more holy than he could fathom. 

with his face buried inside of you, you were sure to see stars. here, beneath the moonlight of the italian villa, you were ethereal. he could steal glances up at you. your contorting face, toiling with passion. passion that he drank from the source, sucking you dry. 

his nose applied pressure to your clit— the perfect combination— and you knew that you weren’t going to last long. not with his jean paul scent invaded your senses, his thick hands cupping you so perfectly. one hand kneaded at the flesh of your thigh, the other swirling circles on your lower back. it was perfect. he’s perfect. 

“please, please,” you didn’t know what you were begging for. 

lando hummed, feeling your cunt clench around his tongue. he curled inside of you, teetering you upon your edge, and you were just about to let loose when he pulled his head away, leaving you trembling. 

he stood with ease, as if he wasn’t just devouring you, and you reached out for his hand. you were about to reach the peak of a mind blowing orgasm, but he denied you. with your hand wrapped around his, he knew how this would end. his lips came to your ear. 

“you were right,” he huffed. you felt his retentive anger. “don’t know if i’m nice.” 

he tugged you along through the house, hand upon your back steading your shaking stance. too impatient to help you up the steps, he swooped you into his arms bridal style. you gasped with a giggle, reflexive from his actions, and he burst open the door to his room with his shoulder. 

he dropped you onto his bed, ripping off his shirt in the process you propped yourself up on your elbows, gaping clearly at his tanned, toned skin. he smirked down at you, coming to hover above, and stripped the dress clean from your body. before him, you were bare, naked, more exposed than you've ever been with your brother’s best friend. 

you went to cover your chest, clamp your thighs shut, but lando refused. he trapped your wrists above your head, knee coming to separate your legs. you wiggled your hips hopelessly for friction, still wading heavy on your lost orgasm, but he didn’t let you graze his thigh. 

“you’re being mean,” you whined, attempting to twist out of his hold. but you didn’t prevail. 

lando’s lips met yours with a kiss of depravity. he pulled away, but you chased him, your head leveraging from the bed. 

“am i?” 

one hand left the hold on your wrists to touch your cunt. you were dripping down your thighs. he brought his fingers to his lips, wiping them clean. 

“think you like it, love.” 

you hissed when he took his hand from you, but relaxed when he kneaded one of your breasts. he was in utter reverence of your body, your beauty. you eclipsed all things that shined bright in his life, you becoming the epicenter. 

his pants were off in the next second, thrown to the corner of his room. his briefs, too, and his cock danced freely from its entrapment. your mouth watered. 

“this what you need?” his tip teased your entrance. your eyes rolled back into your head with a frenzied nod. “yeah? think you can take it?” 

“yes, yes! i can, i can, please lando…” your hand latched around the back of his neck, the other to his shoulder. 

it didn’t take him much convincing to surge forward, agonizingly slow, until he has inside of you. you choked on your breath, the air ripped right from you lungs with how he stretched you. it was alike no pleasure you’ve felt— his fingers, his tongue, all works of mastery— but you feared that nothing could compare to this. not when his hand around your breasts drop to your cunt, rubbing voracious circles against your clit. 

he let you adjust, waiting until you shook your hips from side to side, and bottomed out. it was surreal how you ended up here. but you wouldn’t go back. not for a second. not when his dick inside of you ripped through you with such passion, such love, you were inclined to imagine. 

lando’s own breaths were wild. erratic. he had to halt himself from slamming inside of you, your tightening, wet walls gleaning him of any morals he had come into this villa with. 

“move,” you urged him, breaking him free of this torment. his eyes flared wide. “need you to move.” 

need

such an all encompassing word that would drive him mad. 

he listened to you without hesitation. his hips slapping in and out of you with a heavy, dangerous pace, he never wanted this moment to end. it would feel like this every time he fucked you— the first, starstruck time— and that would be enough for him to lay to rest in an early grave.

both of you were a mess of moans, sounds of skin on skin echoing through his bedroom. the moonlight casted a white haze upon the pair of you, your eyes shimmering in the reflection. he was lost in it, in you, how seraphic you’d become in just the few days he’d been around you. how undone he became. he was a lost cause the minute you made a jest to him at the dinner table. 

his chest lowered to yours for a better, sweeter, angle and it had you screaming. your nails cut through his back, leaving reddened scratches against his tanned, freckled skin. he loved it. it had his pace quickening, and his hand working harder at your clit. you were close, he could feel it. 

feeling the way you began to tighten around him, how you became barely lucid beneath him. “so good,” you mewled, finding no other words but to praise him. 

“nothing compares,” he groaned, his head falling into the crook of your neck. “you’ll be mine then, yeah?” 

your heart surged in your chest, but your breathing remained the same. you were too fucked out to truly resonate the meaning behind his words. 

“yours, yours,” you repeated over and over until you were sent over the edge. you screamed his name, cutting through the air, cutting through him. he was left a sopping mess with his quivering hips, sloppy pace. you knew he was going to cum, too, when his teeth grinded together, and he let out a guttural moan. it churned your insides, swishing your heart through. 

he came inside of you. you felt it, the heat from his cock. but he made no effort to move. you didn’t want him to. 

the pair of you laid atop one another in his dark room. panting. catching your breaths. in unison your hearts would align. sweaty bodies melting against each other. 

his head was buried deep into your neck, breathing you in. you soothed him, just as much as you riled him to no end. 

“did you mean it?” you asked, voice hoarse. 

lando hummed. 

“about us.” 

you felt his teeth break into a smile against your skin. he raised his head to look at you. “i did.” your breath caught in your throat. “don’t give a shit what max’ll say. we’ll figure it out, won’t we?” 

you nodded in agreement. your brother would simply have to deal with this. he’d get over it in time, you’re sure, and it would be the best for both of you. no longer would you yearn at a distance for a man you thought didn’t spare you a second glance. no longer would you dream of this moment materializing before you. it had become a reality, and there was nothing more that you could be grateful for. 

he wanted you. lando wanted you. and you wanted him the same. it was one of the first times in your life that you felt safe. comforted in a newborn relationship. 

it wasn’t long before lando pulled the covers of his sheets over the two of you, holding you tight as you shifted into the shape of his body. you were a perfect fit, a missing puzzle piece that he’s been searching years for. 

and now you were here, sleeping soundly in his arms. 

lando had found sleep, too, his soft snores carrying through the room. you and him paid no attention to the fact you were sharing a bed. if anyone walked in, then they walked in. you were at peace, and that was enough.

sooner rather than later, the party-goers for the evening arrived home. they attempted their best to be quiet at such an odd hour, and decided to retire. max and chris went out to the balcony, however, and decided for a small chat. 

but before that could even commence, chris noticed a piece of black fabric loose on the patio. he stared at it from above, brows raised.

“mate,” he called max over. he met him at his side. 

“this yours?” he pointed down at it, and his face went ghastly white. no fucking way.

“motherfucker.”

tags ; @landoslutmeout @basicallyric @mybluesoul1 @toriiez @customsbyjcg-blog @sofs16@strengthandstay@mybluesoul1@f1fantasys@cmleitora @idgasb @amalialeclerc @laneyspaulding19 @staurdvst @oreosareara @sideboobrry11 @mortallyblueninja @fionamiller123 @2pagenumb @marvelfangirl04 @brune77e @allabouthappiness @tellybearryyyy @ringdingdingdingx @tillyt04 @danywonderland @rosebud224 @simpfortoomanymen @nataliambc @forcesensitivesoulmate @sweate-r-weathe-r @norlestappen @madszoca @milkandcookhot @fionamiller123 @16f1lc @jwiltsz @plotpal @inevesgf @theonottsbxtch

[atrwriting]

future problems (pt. 2) -- coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

me, after posting a one-shot: “ok i won't do a part two”

me, a few days later: *posts a part two*

howdy y'all ;) back with everyone's favorite toxic white man of the month

this part is based on this anonymous request -- love you anon :) xox

find part one here

summary: reader finds out she's pregnant and has to tell the scariest man in panem -- her husband, president snow

as always, warnings: smut!, pregnancy sex, coriolanus snow is a fucking warning in himself, he’s a dick here, fem!reader, p in v sex, mommy and daddy kink just trust me ok)

barely edited we die like men

anyways... here is future problems (pt. 2):

......

he was told by a servant a month before you told him.

he couldn't believe it.

you had not bled last month.

it's not that he was mad... but he wanted to be told by you. he wanted you to be the first one to tell him. it was important to him — trust and loyalty, especially from you. he had allowed you to get close to him, physically and emotionally, and he deserved that same respect.

he couldn't believe you had kept it from him.

you. of all people. you.

how fucking could you?

it had been a total of six weeks since he had been told by the servant.

it wracked his brain like it was the fever that debilitated him for weeks. it gnawed at him, it scratched at him, and it fucking demanded every ounce of energy from him that he possessed. that sort of pain, betrayal — it insisted on being felt and dealt with immediately, no matter what needed to be taken care of first. corio coriolanus couldn't believe he had honestly trusted you, or even thought you were worthy of some amount of trust... and he couldn't believe he, for even a second, allowed either of you to live in that facade.

never again, he reasoned. never again.

on the day after the six week marker, there was a knock on his office door.

his lips fell into a grimace before he forced it to remain even — calm. no emotion shown. not anymore.

“come in,” he spoke.

his eyes fell to the papers on his desk, where he continued to write and edit his memorandum. his eyes traced the words he wrote, but he was barely focused on what he was writing. the only thing he could hear was the sound of your footsteps entering his office.

“corio?” you asked quietly, smiling, as you stepped through his door.

inside, he flinched at his nickname. coriolanus, he wanted to correct.

he did not raise his head. “…yes?”

he could not see you — but he knew that you noticed his flat demeanor.

it affected your own.

he couldn’t see that — but he knew. he fucking knew.

it wasn’t the first time he had been cold to you, but enough time had past where he reasoned that this would be the solidifying moment of your opinion of him. he knew that you knew he was upset about something. what else could have changed his demeanor?

“i-i wanted to… tell you something,” you replied, voice wavering.

he could tell you were working hard to ignore the obvious signs that something had shifted between the two of you. he knew, he knew, and he knew — but he didn’t care. he couldn’t care. why should he, when you didn’t?

“yes..?” he replied once more, this time sighing.

his eyes met yours.

your resolve immediately fell. though slight, he could see that whatever confidence you had possessed had faded from your face. it was gone… and coriolanus didn’t have the resolve to replenish it. neither did you have the strength to fake it.

he saw you begin to pick at your fingernails — another nervous habit of yours he had noticed.

however, this was a new one. once the pair of you shared a kiss — you were rarely seen pulling at the skin of your lips and your usage of lip moisturizer had increased. he appreciated it, at the time — but now? now it was a reminder of what once was. with new bad habits came the alert of the passage of time — and the alert of bonds breaking.

he couldn’t deal. he just couldn’t.

“what is it?” coriolanus demanded, eyes blinking.

your lips parted in confusion, and your brows scrunched right with them. there was hurt in your eyes, and splattered across your cheeks in a pink hue. your cheeks were usually flushed with graciousness or from alcohol — but this was embarrassment. hurt. rejection.

he didn’t care anymore, especially not when he admitted to himself that a part of him loved seeing your face and confidence fall. if he was going to fall, you were going straight down with him.

down, down, down.

“i’m with child,” you responded, appearing to struggle to catch your breath.

there it was. the admission.

he clenched his jaw. his eyes focused on your face — and how the tears began to collect in your eyes. the rejection he was sending towards you was even being felt by him — and he almost felt bad. to see a woman he so blindly trusted, who thought she could outsmart him — play the part of a hurt and broken hearted woman so well.

he did not smile. he did not laugh. he did not even get up. he simply stared at her — silently.

“i take it you are not happy at this announcement,” she responded, voice barely wavering. “i-i would’ve thought…”

coriolanus watched as you placed a gentle hand over your stomach — almost in a protective manner.

“how long have you known?” he asked.

“i took the pregnancy test today,” you responded.

coriolanus’ jaw tightened. he was not expecting that, especially not after the news he was given. “…but you’ve known for some time. you must have — given how you chose today to take the test, and don’t seem as surprised as you thought i would be.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “…no, coriolanus. i didn’t. i had hopes, yes, but… i took the test as soon as i thought reasonable. you’re the first person i’ve told.”

confusion and hurt. that was all you felt. it encased your body like it was trying its best to cast you from the room — placing a heavy boundary between you and your husband. husband… if you could even call him that. your lips began to twist in a grimace as emotions began to well up inside you.

“tell me why i have displeased you,” you spoke, voice threatening to break. you took a step towards his desk and kept one hand firmly on your belly. your eyes, red and wet, bore into his and refused to leave him. “i thought you would be overjoyed. i-i thought…”

“you claim i was the first person you told,” he spat, holding your glare. “but i was not the first person to assume.”

you scrunched your eyebrows at him… but then you realized. it hit you like a ton of bricks. you bit the inside of your cheek, drawing blood, before stating, “your spies.”

coriolanus narrowed his eyes. it was not an issue that she knew… but he didn’t understand how she could know, nor for how long. spies were useful when their identity and presence was not apparent, and therefore he considered his current spies failures — to be dealt with later. at the moment… he had other matters.

“you might want to elaborate on that statement if you’re going to act like it’s something profound,” he spat, standing and snapping his journal closed.

coriolanus stood behind his desk and pushed in his chair. you watched him as he struggled to keep everything together, neat and tidy.

your face was red and hot, and you weren’t sure if it was due to the pregnancy or the betrayal. how could he? how could he?! there you stood, trying to remain collected — but it proved useless. through your tears, you spat, ���a woman is supposed to wait before telling everyone she’s pregnant — god forbid she loses the baby before it’s viable. i waited the standard amount of time most women are practically born knowing to wait. if your spy is going to make my cycle their business, they should at least understand basic fucking female biology, coriolanus, or your spies and their intel are fucking useless!”

you didn’t wait to hear his response. you left the room.

he stared at the oak door out of entitlement — it should open once more, and reveal his wife.

the mother of his child…

he had never considered… things of that nature. tests. waiting periods. hormones.

incompetence. that of his spies — nor his own.

he didn’t understand any of it.

however, he did understand one thing…

he had to deal with the useless spy.

…and that would happen before he approached you.

that approach occurred approximately an hour and a half later. he would have found you sooner, but the spy had… taken more time than anticipated. afterwards — there he stood, at your door, with a tray of food in his hands for the both of you.

his knuckles wrapped on the door.

there were no footsteps.

they wrapped again.

still, no footsteps.

once more.

…and, still, nothing.

he couldn’t believe this.

he went to knock a fourth time, but before he could — the door swung open.

to reveal you in the doorway.

your eyes were blown wide with anger, but the rest of your face did not show emotion. you glared at the man before you, which unsettled your husband,

he picked you because you were unproblematic — but had gotten lucky with the fact that your company was so pleasant. you were not loud, annoying, mean, bold, disrespectful, disobedient, or anything of the sort — but he did not expect this.

he did not expect you… to hold a grudge against him, much less stand up for yourself.

he stood there silently — dumbstruck.

“i would slam this door in your face if you weren’t the president,” you spat lowly. “please do not make me forget formalities.”

“i brought you dinner,” he spoke, ignoring you. “please… join me.”

you raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “you’ve been ignoring me for weeks, when i tried to convince myself you were just busy. you can handle another night of dining alone.”

you went to shut the door, but he stopped it with his foot. your eyes lowered to where his toe was in the doorway, and traveled up to where his eyes were. as per usual, his facial expressions were flat, save for determined. he always had a goal in mind… and refused to change it until he succeeded.

you sighed. you had had enough.

“i’m not doing this tonight,” you bit. “i show you every ounce of respect that i know you expect of me. i have been patient, kind, gentle — but i can’t meet you halfway right now. not after that. leave. please.”

there coriolanus went. searching your eyes once more, like he had done long ago. his jaw clenched once, twice, three times before it finally settled. he did not remove his foot before he spoke once more.

“why didn’t you tell me immediately?” he imposed.

there was a hint of pleading in his voice. your breath began to quicken with anxiety. out of exhaustion and frustration, completely forgetting your station, you rolled your eyes at your husband before responding.

“what if i was wrong, coriolanus?” you spat, your eyes were narrowed. “why would i tell the most powerful and scary man that runs panem — that i am pregnant with his child, if i am not one hundred percent sure? to get your hopes up for nothing, if, god forbid, i lose it?”

he didn’t respond.

you threw your hands up in exasperation. a silent cry left your lips in the form of a broken inhale. your hormones were running rabid — coursing through your veins and filling you with frustration.

you locked your teary eyes with him once more. trying to keep your voice quiet, you hissed, “your spies aren’t exactly discreet. i’ve known about them since my first day here. your spies — they’ve never reported i’ve done anything wrong because i have never done anything wrong. it’s not like i can hide anything here, either — they’re everywhere. nothing is a secret — even a private moment between husband and wife, like a wife finally being able to tell her husband that she’s sure she’s pregnant with his child. i have given you everything you’ve ever requested of a wife, yet there you sat — throwing silent insults in my face.”

there went the boundary.

up and sturdy.

layer after layer of brick and cement. your trust and love for him crumbled with each new layer, until you couldn’t see the man you once adore beyond the wall. the man before you frustrated you so much that you forgot what it was like to look upon his face and feel nervous excitement at the prospect of seeing him smile. you wanted to slam the door in his face, placing two boundaries up — a real one, and an emotional one.

one that would prevent you from ever being so stupid again — from ever letting him close to you, for ever thinking this could work.

stupid, you thought. stupid, stupid, stupid.

but coriolanus corio would have none of that.

he was a man of formalities and manners, but your husband actually pushed his way through.

you stumbled backwards in surprise. your husband had guards for doing his dirty work — not the shoulder of his new and crisp suit.

he shoved the tray of food on a nearby table, ratting the walls and the contents on each surface. you placed a protective hand over your stomach and watched him — waiting for his next move.

“i said get out, coriolanus!” you spat. your gaze was fiery red, and now there were angry tears in your eyes. corio could see the hormones flowing from every opening in your skin they could find — even smell them. “i refuse to speak to you!”

“the father of your child?” he spoke evenly, walking towards you. “your husband?”

you took a step back for every step he took forward. “you were more concerned with the secret kept than the actual chance of life!”

“i thought you were keeping the chance of being happy about a child from me,” he spoke, bitterness instinctually falling from his perfect lips. “you can’t forget — we barely know each other —“

“and who’s fault is that?!”

he stopped. his jaw tightened. he stared down at you and wondered where all of this fury had come from.

him. it came from him. the realization struck him similar to how other pieces of information had been striking him later. in the chest or face, whichever hurt more — and forcing his breath to catch in his lungs. never to reach his throat, let alone his lips.

he couldn’t keep going on like this — watching and waiting. watching others for their mistakes, and waiting for the correct moment to… correct them. at the very least… he couldn’t with you — not with you.

“i committed a wrong against you,” he spat before he could think about it.

you scrunched your eyebrows in disbelief. apologies were rare in the capital, and admissions of guilt were almost as scarce. you stared at him, still consumed with rage — but now confusion began to creep upon you. and where there is confusion… there is always curiosity.

you didn’t respond. you clenched your jaw at his words, but that was the only response he received.

“i did,” he reaffirmed, stepping closer to you. you drew back a step — not far, but still a step. he continued, “when i had heard what my spy had relayed to me — i should have asked you.”

you had three options. ignore him, yell at him, or hear him out. did he deserve the first two? yes. did you have every right to do either of the two, or both? yes, of course. however… were they worth it in the long run?

that was the question that now ate at you.

you had every right to put up the same emotional barrier you had worked so hard to tear down with coriolanus. his? who knows why he insisted on making his hurt everyone else’s problem. yours? he was an elite asshole, but… you were married to him. he was the president of panem. he was the most ruthless man in all of panem.

and you loved him.

you really, really did.

that was why his distrust for you hurt so bad.

it wasn’t about seeking approval anymore — because you thought you had it, or at least had come to close to it. once given that, you felt safe enough, well… to feel safe. to feel safety, trust, respect, reliability… and love. love.

the fucking bastard made you love him.

with reluctance, you took a step forward. “you should have, coriolanus.”

his jaw tightened as he also took a step forward. “corio — please, my love.”

you scoffed out of reflex and threw your stare to the side. you began to rub at your stomach, hoping to quell your own anxiety. there were a million insults waiting to leap from your tongue and latch onto his face, chest, throat — anything to hurt him or get him to fuck off. however, you swallowed them.

“i would do anything for you,” you stammered, trying to keep emotion out of your voice. “i have proved that time and time again.”

he took a step closer. “i know.”

“i know better than to keep something substantial from you,” you replied. “god forbid it was a fluke…”

another step closer. “i know.”

“i have done everything i can to prove that i am loyal to you, and only you,” you spoke, your voice wavering. “in the future, i ask that you approach me first — yell at me, fuck, i couldn’t care less — just as long as you don’t ignore me. anything, corio — just don’t push me away.

he laughed then, only a foot away from you now. the tears in your eyelids hadn’t hit your cheeks yet, but they threatened to. he reached forward and cupped your face in both of his hands. he leaned down due to your height difference and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“i know,” he repeated. “and i promise — i will try my best to not push you away.”

“okay,” you nodded, sniffling.

“never heard such coarse words from my perfect wife,” corio attempted to break the tension.

you chuckled then, wiping away any moisture from your eyes. “there were more — trust me.”

“i would have deserved them.”

your eyes flickered up to his them, searching his irises for answers like he did to you. you weren’t sure how he did it — but he could find every lie or fact inside someone’s eyes. that trait had not found its way to you.

but maybe it would to your child.

“i want to hear you say it again,” you whispered, now meeting his eyes. “i want to hear you say that you promise you will try your best to never push me away again.”

“i promise,” he spoke, nodding.

you refused to stare into his eyes at his admission. if he wasn’t a good liar, you didn’t want to know — not in that moment.

"am i allowed to kiss the mother of my child now?" he asked with a smirk.

you glared at him. "you would've —"

"shhh," he cooed, before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours.

one of his hands slid to the back of your head and cradled the bottom of your skull. he wrapped his free arm around your back, pulling you into him. the kiss, you couldn't explain it — it — it...

it was like he swallowed you.

there was no place for you to move, but then again — why would you want to? you body was perfectly molded to fit his, in every way he wanted you to bend to him. his warmth, his scent, his taste — it all coaxed your senses into such a feeling of satisfaction that you weren't sure where it started or ended. it held your consciousness in warmth and safety — something rare in the capital. the only thing that mattered to you was that you were in your husband's arms and the kiss did not stop.

"so pleased with you," he mumbled against your mouth. "a child..."

warmth bubbled within the lower half of your body. praise, from a man like corio... any woman's weakness.

you hummed into the kiss, rubbing your hands up and down his chest. "going to be so proud of their father, the president."

the groan that emitted from his chest was deep and guttural — so masculine. it made every hair on the back of your neck stand at attention, waiting for a direction from the man before you. you began to finger his top button, hoping... hinting...

"sweetheart," he spoke, pulling away. "as much as i want to, i am not sure whether —"

"i think i'm fine," you gushed, only realizing after how desperate you might have sounded. "we might as well — especially before i become too big to breathe."

he stiffened as he held you. you immediately grew worried.

"what's wrong?" you softly asked, rubbing his chest.

he shook his head. "nothing —" he stopped for a moment, appearing to contemplate something. "it's just — i was imagining —"

you looked up at him curiously, hoping he would elaborate. his eyes immediately flew to your lips — perfect and plump, a match for his. you smirked.

you had him. “what were you imagining, husband?”

his jaw clenched again as his eyes widened. “my pretty wife has become so much more bold since i met her.”

you smiled up at him, hoping that he found it amusing more than disreepctful. one of his hands found your cheek as his thumb caressed the skin. your eyes were big as they gazed up at your husband, keening into his silent praise.

“i disagree with you, wife,” he spoke. “too big to bed —“ he scoffed before leaning down to your ear, your words rolling with disgust off his tongue. his lips brushed against the skin of your lobe before he spoke, “i’ll have a hard time keeping my hands to myself when the mother of my children will swell with me inside of her.”

your eyes, still wide, were frozen on corio’s. mischief danced in his irises, like a snake coiling around its prey. air left his nostrils in a small, sudden gush — amusement. the look that played on his face depicted the power imbalance — but, then again, how stupid could you be to ever think you would have control over your husband for a substantial amount of time?

he grasped your chin in his fingers before your lips parted. you were at his mercy — to be bent to his will. his head bent towards you before he spoke.

“you think you’ll repulse me — when my seed takes inside you, and it shows?” he asked. his eyes searched yours — but what yours reveal that he didn’t already know? he had you. he had you, and there was nothing you could do about it. “my naive, little wife… i don’t expect i’ll allow you to leave the bedroom much when that time comes.”

christ, you thought. your breath began to quicken as his words settled upon you. in a soft voice, you replied, “you leave me speechless, husband.”

he wickedly smiled then. “get on the bed, sweetheart. making up for lost time is in order, wouldn’t you agree?”

you couldn’t help yourself. you should’ve listened to him — but how could you, when he smelled so good, spoke so nicely, and was so close? you rolled onto your toes just enough to be able to press a kiss to your husband’s lips, and wrap your arms around his neck.

the angle was annoying for corio, who thought pulling you into his arms would be better use of his strength — especially if you weren’t going to listen. his large hands held your ass, supporting your weight as you leaned into his touch. your breasts, arched into his chest, were the only barrier that kept you two apart. there was nothing like a kiss from corio — heat, lips, teeth, spit. all of it melted into one.

“you missed me… didn’t you, sweetheart?”

“yes,” you spoke, breathlessly. “so much, corio.”

“i was so mean —“ he replied, in between kisses. “wasn’t i? neglecting my perfect wife. a good husband would have to make up for that.”

you hummed in agreement, almost breaking into a whine. “kiss me, corio. missed you so much…“

it was like he swallowed you. body, lips, breath, emotions — all of it. once yours, but now his. all his. your body temperature increased with every fold of his lips against yours. heat pricked at the tips of your cheeks, the back of your neck, and your lower back. your fingertips, tingling, made quick work of his buttons to strip him of his clothing.

he couldn’t deal with how slow and gentle your fingers were. he loved you and how gentle you were — but when his cock was straining against his pants? the head of his cock, so red it was almost purple, leaking at the sight of his redeemed, perfect, pregnant wife? begging for him?

you were fucked. so fucked.

he should've been disgusted at the thought of fucking his wife while the babe sat protected inside your womb. however, nothing could stop corio from rejoicing at the fact that you had never done him wrong when you had actually presented him with a gift, also showing the utmost protection for it.

you fell back against the bed, your back awkwardly landing on the edge. you couldn't stand or lay back perfectly balanced, therefore relying on your husband to hold you upright and your grip of his clothes.

"my perfect wife —" he moaned into your neck, mouthing at your clammy skin. he had shoved his hand into your panties, finding you already soaked. "glowing as a mother —"

it was like you were both succumbing to the heat and haze of all-consuming lust. your hot breaths added to the humidity in the air, making your embrace with corio feel like a sauna. he couldn't rip your lace stockings off fast enough as you struggled to hold your balance.

your husband loomed over you as one large hand cupped the back of your head. his long, talented fingers on his other hand drew rough circles on your sensitive bud and you couldn't contain your cries. it had been so long. so, so long. the feeling of loneliness and lust had dissipated and was replaced by satiation. you need corio's hot, and husky breath groaning against your ear and all of your muscles holding you up and in place, forced to take everything he could give you. tears began to well up in your eyes at the thought of not only having your corio back, but for the lonely need for intimacy to also leave you.

he laughed darkly. "you're so close already, aren't you?"

you whined, struggling to regain your composure as you fought through embarrassment. "it's just been — so long —"

"how would you feel if i took it away, little dove?" he asked, eyes taunting. "how helpless would you feel? — how much of a mess would you make?"

"don't take it away from me, corio, please —" frustration was eating at you as you held onto him. he was so far away, then so close, and he was threatening to pull away as if it was a game. your feelings, your safety, you — all a game to him.

the hand on the back of your head left you to grasp at your chin as tears rolled down your face. your teeth were firmly planted in your bottom lip as you struggled against his touch. the rope in your womb was being wrapped so tightly that you felt the strands would snap at any moment, but you knew he would pull away. his eyes, dark and boring into yours, spoke for him — you were right. it was a game, and he was loving it.

"tell me it was worth it — for this," he rasped, eyes still locked on you. "tell me all of the pain i caused you was worth it — for this."

you were writhing against his hold at this point, grinding your hips down onto his hand as you whined against his lips. you were pulling at the fabric adorning his shoulders, hoping to rip it from him — hoping to make him feel as strung out as you felt.

"it was all worth it," you croaked. "all worth it for how good this feels."

"i'll never leave you again," he promised, his movements now becoming more rough on your core. "tell me you love it. tell me you love me."

"i love you, corio — !" you cried, pressing the sides of your noses together so your lips were barely touching. "i love it so much — please, don't stop —"

"that's it, doll —" he groaned. "cry for me. do it — cry."

something snapped inside of you.

your eyes closed, and your vision went black.

your throat went hoarse from the sob that left your mouth.

your lips were ragged with how your teeth ripped into them.

but you? oh, god — you felt so full.

corio's palm rubbed against your clit as his fingers entered you, pressing into that deep spot only he could find. you rode his hand like satisfaction was the only thing that mattered to you. greed and gluttony — want and need. none of it mattered.

"mommy feels so good now, doesn't she?" corio whispered into your ear. "just needed what only daddy could give her. — s'all right — just keep cumming, darling."

"fuck, corio —" you whined, buzzing with overstimulation.

he clicked his tongue at you. "such a naughty mouth on you. i'll teach you."

and he meant it.

he immediately withdrew from you — letting you fall onto the floor with both hands on the sheets, facing the bed. you almost scrambled to get back up, until you heard corio's pants drop from behind you. he kicked open your knees, and found himself with your perfect round ass pressing into his cock. he pressed the front of you into the bed, and snaked a arm around your throat.

you felt the tip of his cock prod at your wet and swollen lips before he slipped his length inside of you. you tried to lean forward into his thrust, but corio didn't like that. with a hand wrapped around your throat, he pulled you backwards against him.

the angle made your shiver. the tip of his cock began to hit the wall right behind your clit, making your head go dizzy. his finger found the corner of your lips, dipping inside your mouth. he pulled at the corner, forcing you to look up at him.

"so helpless — so perfect —" he groaned, rutting into you. his head held you perfectly in place for his total control. "can't believe i let myself miss out on the chance to breed my perfect wife. so perfect, aren't you?"

you didn't know what to say. your head was swimming. you were barely down from your first orgasm and now corio was forcing another onn you. hormones, emotions, and sensations were running wild inside your body and you weren't sure how to make sense of the fever. coupled with his own frenzy, you were a mess. a rubber band, for him to snap and play with whenever he liked.

"i asked you a question," he snapped. "you're perfect, aren't you?"

you hesitated, working through insecurity as lust overtook your mind. mumbling, due to the finger in your mouth, you spoke, "perfect."

corio stared down at you in awe. your hair was a mess, as was the rest of you. your face was flushed, your lips were swollen, but your eyes... oh, your eyes... corio was a sick bastard. the look of any sight of wetness in your eyes during sex made his cock so hard he could explode. crying with need was a feeling corio would never let himself feel, no matter how much he wanted to let it overtake him. he wouldn't let himself feel it, but he couldn't hide the fact that he loved the vulnerability you showed when you wanted him. needed him. craved him. his thrusts weren't rough because he hated you, but because he knew that need all too well.

"keep crying for me," he rasped, letting his tongue fall past your ragged lips. "so pretty when you're a mess."

there was nothing like it — being held so tightly you couldn't move and being forced to accept the pleasure and satisfaction only corio could give you. draining you of every negative emotion you had ever felt to replace all of it with animalistic give and take. his own throaty groans were being swallowed by you, as his hips snapped relentlessly against yours.

"make me a mommy, corio," you whispered. "wan' it so badly."

his grip tightened around you as he shook with pleasure. with three thrusts and a heavy groan, he let all of his spend leak inside of you and paint your walls. you felt his rough voice against your ear, mouth obscenities as satisfaction overtook him. you hadn't came again, but you didn't care — not when the air still felt so warm and soft.

that was until you felt a hand find your clit with his softening cock still inside you.

you knew how sensitive he was, and you should've care — but you didn't. all you could think about was giving into how good his fingers felt against you, still feeling so full. the thought of him also being so sensitive while you rode his cock pricked at your senses, relishing in the fact that you were giving him a taste of his own medicine as you came around his cock.

"greedy fucking wife — !" he seethed, anger spewing from his lips as he struggled to fuck you back with his oversensitive cock. you knew it was so red that it was purple and swollen, hating you but loving every bit of you at the same time. you should've cared, but you didn't. not when you knew it felt so good for the both of you, his whines in your ear telling you everything. with one final groan against you, he spoke, "you're never leaving this fucking bedroom — i'll tie you to the bed if i have to, do you fucking understand?!"

all you could do was stare up at him with awe and tears in your eyes.

his mouth parted at the sight. with his cock still inside you, you still riding his softening cock as you rode out your orgasm, nothing was prettier. nothing fulfilled your corio more. with one last kiss, he spoke, "just as evil as me, aren't you?"

you giggled. "i love you, too."

---

if you're wondering if i went batshit insane i did HAHA hope you enjoyed

L xox

[sinsofsummers]

undone

2.2k | dbf!joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel miller worships the day you showed up braless to his fourth of july party. warnings: smut (of course), 18+, mdni. no outbreak au, fourth of july party (forgive him he's from texas), joel's pov, he's a dumb bitch, masturbation (m), pervy!joel but not really, age gap (reader is in her 20s, joel in his early 40s), slight religious slander (not extreme by any means!). note: this is just me dipping my toes into the dbf!joel universe, lemme know what you think! zero editing basically, i'm so sorry, there will probably be more drabbles for this. also this is consolation for the dumb shit holiday that is independence day in the us. i hate it here.

He's anything but religious; he hasn't gone to church since he was a kid. And yet...Joel Miller worships the day you went braless to his Fourth of July party.

Even now, laid in his bed with his arm thrown carelessly across his face and his fist curled tightly around his cock, he's not sure he'll ever recover.

Muffled grunts fall from his lips with every strained tug, and he's sure it sounds something like prayer. Considering the fact that you're as close to heaven as he'll ever get, he'll call it a fair assessment. If it's sacrilege to jerk off to the thought of his best friend's daughter every night...so be it.

He's never been one with any type of remarkable memory, but he knows that the image of your perfect chest peeking at him through the thin thank you'd worn that day would stick with him forever.

You'd blinked up at him with a grin, a bowl of fresh fruit salad prepared to share with the rest of the guests in your hands. A strand of hair had fallen into your eyes and he'd had to fight against every urge and keep his hand down at his side.

What he really wanted to do was brush your hair from your eyes (ever the gentleman), and then replace the spot where his fingers would touch your forehead with his lips. He'd always wondered what your hair might smell like, what shampoo you used in the morning, and how your skin looked when the suds ran down your body, rinsed down the drain.

What he wouldn't give to be the suds running down your radiant skin, to touch every curve and crevice of your body, the spots that never see the light of day.

He hadn't seen you since you'd gone to college. Well, not for more than a few days over your Christmas break each year, and even then...he'd made sure to steer clear of you. Tried to ignore the way your smile made his own stutter, how your arms were always so soft around his neck when you gave him the occasional hug.

How your eyes had begun to linger, just enough to make his jaw clench and his cock twitch.

A strangled sigh fights its way out of his chest as he remembers the events of that fateful party, and just how he's ended up here, cock in hand, your scent in his head, and your name on his tongue.

—

"Jesus Christ," he murmured when you and your dad showed up with your dishes to pass. The backyard had been strewn with red, white, and blue decorations, the perfect image of a typical Texan backyard celebration for Independence Day.

He'd been unable to hide his groan at the way the bright colors practically bled into his skull, but there was no other way to have a Fourth of July party, apparently. Of course, this was really just for tradition, and...well, his younger brother Tommy would have had his head if there weren't at least a few American flag streamers.

Your little white tank had already begun to cling to your skin in the Texas heat, the straps thin. Before he knew it, he was hoping that the sun would do him a favor and kiss your skin where he wished he could. That it might form those pretty little lines along your shoulders and give a warm glow to your face, evidence of your presence at his house, at his party, drinking his beer.

"Drunk already?" your dad's voice roused him from his momentary lapse in judgment and then Joel was getting tugged into a firm handshake and a clapped hand on his shoulder.

He tore his eyes from you and hoped that the pink in his cheeks (that was definitely there) could be mistaken for a quickly setting sunburn. He didn't want to think of what you might take his blush for if you noticed.

He chuckled, shaking his head and returning the handshake. “Hell no,” he answered hastily, “just gettin’ hungry for that fruit salad, man.” And the angel holding it. “Need a hand?” he asked you, forcing his eyes not to wander from yours.

Fuck. Your eyes were extra bright today, with the sun seemingly lighting them from the insides. And those cheeks? Already pink and sunkissed, just how he’d hoped they would be. He might have offered you some sunblock if he’d thought it was appropriate. Might have offered to help you spread it onto your smooth skin if he’d thought that was appropriate.

Of course, he’d be condemned to the darkest circle of hell if he let those thoughts run wild. So he trained his eyes on yours and waited for your response.

You shook your head and tucked your hair behind your ear. You squinted into the sun, an action that forced one eye closed, as if you were winking at him. “I’ve got it,” you said casually, “can I put it inside for now?” You adjusted your hold on the fruit salad, making your breasts shift under your shirt.

Joel nodded—fuck’s sake, he thought with the movement of your chest—and tilted his head toward the back door that led to the kitchen. “Go for it, Sarah’s already in there.”

Your dad had been called away by Tommy, so Joel was left in your quiet company. He watched your smile widen at the mention of his daughter’s name and felt his heart twinge. You were just a few years older than his daughter, and here he was, not only willing his cock to settle down at the sight of your nipples pressing against the cloth of your shirt, but also wishing that your smile widened at the mention of his name. 

Joel wasn’t quite sure what happened in the subsequent minute or how he moved so quickly. Before he knew it, you’d stepped closer to him and he’d stepped to the side, except he was really just getting in your way, and your eyes were widening in surprise, and then the bowl of fruit salad was shuffling in your grip and he was stumbling to get back out of your way and then—

“Shit,” you mumbled a curse. The juice from the contents of the bowl—mostly watermelon juice, it looked like—had splashed up onto your shirt, seeping through the white fabric and painting your chest a pale pink. You looked up, a careless smile replacing the distracted look on your face. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. M, really. I was gonna have to wash this shirt tonight anyway.”

“I—uh, I didn’t mean to,” was all he could come up with, and he could feel his face heating once more at the look on your face. “Shirt’s ruined. I’m sorry darlin’,” he mumbled—was the temperature increasing by the second?—and pretended not to notice the way your shirt clung even tighter to your chest. It was like a damn wet t-shirt contest, the way the darker shade of your nipples began to peek through the soiled fabric at him. He blinked and looked away, trying to ignore the way your smile had turned into a smirk. Have you caught him? 

You shrugged and passed the bowl to him. “No, it’s not,” you reassured him with a breathless chuckle. “I’m sure Sarah’s got a shirt or two I can wear.”

He’d been left standing with the bowl of your fruit salad as you’d trekked into the house, presumably to do as you’d said. When you came out just a few minutes later, he’d been talking to your dad and a few of the other neighbors that had come over. He’d almost completely forgotten about the incident, until you were there again, standing in front of him. 

In his shirt.

“Uh,” he said dumbly, not sure whether you knew whose shirt you were wearing, or if you’d gone into the wrong laundry pile.

You picked at the hem of the shirt, and he traced the lines of your long fingers with his eyes, practically seeing your sweet scent sink into the fabric. He hoped you could smell his cologne lingering on the collar as it licked against the soft skin of your neck. “Sarah found this in her closet,” you explained, “she said it was one of her sleep shirts.” You flitted your gaze to him, and he caught a glimmer of amusement in the depths of your eyes. “Smells kind of…”

Like me. He shivered despite the heat and tapped his finger on his hip to calm himself down. It smells like me, and now you’re gonna smell like me, angel.

“Like men’s cologne,” you finished with a smirk dancing on your lips. “You sure Sarah’s not bringing home any guys you don’t know about, Mr. Miller?”

He cocked an eyebrow and bit back a cutting remark. “‘Course not,” he said smoothly, “they’d never get past the front door.”

It was all he could do not to tug you onto his lap with his shirt hanging past your hips, giving the illusion that you weren’t wearing any shorts beneath it. Fuck, he had to get away from your father before he did anything he regretted. “Need another drink, anyone?” he offered, shifting his weight away from you in a failed attempt to get the thoughts out of his mind.

The others shook their heads, but you nodded. “I’ll get another, actually,” you said simply. And then he was stuck with you, his fingers itching to lift that shirt from your body and reveal that warm skin to his desperate mind.

The kitchen was empty—a small blessing—and Joel fished through the fridge for another beer. Handing one to you, he cherished the way your fingers brushed his as you pulled it from his grasp, the droplets of condensation running down the bottle like he knew the sweat was running down his back at the thoughts that swam through his mind.

“S’my shirt, you know,” he grumbled softly, not quite sure why he’d said it. Maybe it was to gauge what your reaction would be. Maybe he already hoped that you’d smile at the thought.

You looked down at the shirt, cheeks reddening. “It is?” you said quietly, the surprise unraveling in your voice. “I’m sorry, I can get another one—”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, s’okay. Looks better on you than it does on me, anyway.”

“Oh.” Just one word, but he noticed the way your legs wobbled at the same time. The way the bottle slipped just a centimeter in your hand.

Gotcha, he smirked inwardly. 

—

Days have gone by, and he still thinks about that blush in your cheeks every night. He can’t help it when you just look so angelic in the shirt of a sinner like him. 

Joel’s hand squeezes his cock for all its worth as he strokes himself languidly, faint mumbles beginning to fall from his lips like the verses of a damn hymn. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he groans in the darkness of his room, feeling the pressure build in his body. With every muscle in his chest tensing, he lets a broken sigh escape his throat as he spills his hot seed into his hand, the picture of your face embedded in his mind’s eye. Laying there for a moment, he catches his breath as oxygen raggedly pushes itself in and out of his lungs.

And then he hears it. A knock. The front door, it sounds like.

He hastily cleans himself up, but the faint feeling of stickiness remains on his hand as he traipses down the stairs in the dark, wondering just who the hell would be knocking on his door so late at night. 

When he opens the door, he’s not exactly expecting to see the face he’d just come on his hand to. 

“Hey,” he chokes out, hiding his hand behind his back as if you might be able to see the evidence of sacrilege on his skin. He’s afraid you’ll be able to decipher the sweat on his forehead for the sinful act that it had come from just moments ago. “What’s up?”

“Oh!” you sound surprised at his answering the door, a fact that makes him smirk. “I’m just…I’m just here to return Sarah’s shirt,” you explain hastily. 

There it is, hanging from your loose grip, waiting for him to take it. “You mean mine,” he corrects gently, his grin widening as he feeds his hand up the frame of the door, hovering over you close enough that he can see your pupils widen and pulse at the proximity of his chest to yours.

Your mouth hangs open, just enough that he thinks about pushing his thumb in between your lips, up to the first knuckle. His mind goes wild at the thought of how warm and soft and wet your mouth would be around his fingers. How perfect it would be around even more.

He shoves the thoughts away as you nod. “Yeah,” you say with a breathless chuckle. “Yours, I mean. I don’t need it anymore, though. So…” your eyes drop to the shirt between you, your words trailing off.

Joel shakes his head. “Don’t need it back,” he says warmly. “Not yet, anyway. Keep it.”

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs, the thought of you wearing it more than once lighting his mind on fire. “Keep it for now. I’ll come to collect it some other time. No reason to return it in the dead of night, doll.”

Fuck. The nickname had slipped. 

But based on the way your lips curl at the corners, he’s dodged a bullet. “Okay,” you say softly, and he swears he can see the moon reflected in your eyes. “Just for a little longer, then.”

He nods and says goodnight, closing the door only when he can see that you’ve made it back to your house next door safely. The door shuts with a soft click, and he grins to himself. 

To hell with the shirt. Doesn’t matter to him. He’ll get it back eventually. And when he does, he plans to have it smell like you.

this ending was so rushed ahhhh i have to go to work!!! bye!!!! ty for reading and all the love!!!!

tagging here cause i have to goooo to workkkkk!!!

@mingiast @iluvurfather @cavillscurls @cupofjoel @thetriumphantpanda @morning-star-joy @sofiparallel @elegantduckturtle @evyiione @bitchwitch1981 @disassociation-daydreams @mrsquill @littlemisssluttyknee @papipascalispunk @mumma-moonchild @marchai @mlodanatka @xdaddysprincessxx @bongsrconfusing @tlouadditc @dinsdjrn @alejaa-a @daysilva2 @worhols @jellybeanxc @struig @cherryreddarbiter

[tlou-reid]

you found me ✰ spencer reid

warnings ✰ gunshot, violence, mentions of maeve, hospitals, mentions of death, mentions of religion and god, angst let me know if i missed any please

summary ✰ spencer is the one to reach you after being shot by an unsub

notes ✰ inspired by you found me by the fray. please send requests here. & this is not edited

spencer wasn't sure what dropped first: him or his gun. he could still hear hotch yelling after him, instructing him to not to go in. first not to go in the black suburban you always made jokes about. then, not to go in the yard of your home spencer had been begging you to move out of. then, not to go in the door of the house that he'd held open for you so many times. now, he could hear hotch's voice telling him not to go in the room, but he sounded like he was underwater. when spencer opened the door he could see morgan holding the unsub to the ground while he got him in cuffs, but, as soon as his knees hit the floor next to your body, everything in his peripherals went blurry.

he knew he should be doing the medical things he learned years ago, back during his training, but he couldn't. he was frozen, unable to do anything but stare at the gunshot wound beneath your left rib. his eyes started to well up with tears as his hands reached out, applying pressure, as if he could stop the bleeding himself.

as soon as his shaky hands landed on your body, all he could think of was maeve. how could he do this again? another person he loved, bleeding to death, all because of him. he felt so selfish. for everything. for moving on from maeve. for falling in love with you. for putting you in this position. for thinking of another woman while you bled out under his hands.

"reid, move," hotch's voice cut through his thoughts. spencer wasn't sure how long he'd been kneeling over you, but it was long enough for medical first responders to get there, get inside, and be ready to take over the job he was failing to do. still, he couldn't bring himself to move from his position. hotch had to pull spencer away, letting the medical team move in and get to work.

despite the tears welling up in his eyes, spencer hadn't starting crying. until now. he was sitting in the floor, with hotch behind him with an arm still wrapped around him when the first sob wracked his body. his whole body jerked as he wailed. hotch didn't know what to do, so he just wrapped his arms around spencer, holding the crying boy to his chest as if spencer was his own son. spencer's bloodied hands reached up to hold hotch's forearms, looking for something to ground himself.

the rest of the day was blurry. time seemed to be moving with super speed, but also not moving at all. spencer felt like a bystander in his own life as he watched them load you into the ambulance. he couldn't move his legs when they asked who was riding with you, so it was prentiss who climbed in, giving him a sad look as they closed the doors.

he rode in that stupid suburban, and neither him nor hotch uttered a word. the ride was completely silent. it wasn't the comforting silence like when you and spencer would sit on the couch, each holding your own book and just enjoying being around each other. this silence was scary. he could feel his heart beat in his temples, his stomach was churning and he couldn't stop tapping his foot. hotch didn't complain about his fidgeting the whole ride to the hospital.

they met prentiss in the waiting room, where she explained that you were in surgery now. there was no update on your state, and the rest of the team was waiting on a phone call from one of you guys to explain what was going on. morgan had called to inform prentiss that the unsub was in custody, and his other victim had passed. spencer didn't say anything in reply. instead, he moved to sit in the chair farthest away from where hotch and prentiss were standing, not wanting to listen to the details of the case.

this case was not one that should have even been on the BAU's radar. the local police knew who the unsub was, they caught him on camera after his first attack. there was no need for a profile, and definitely no need for the BAU to be spending their time on something as simple as a manhunt. until you called. you thought someone had been following you on your walk around the neighborhood, and it was proven that you were right. there was no solid reason why you were the next victim. there was relatively no similarity between you and the other victim, you just happened to be in the wrong place. when his larger frame pressed himself into the door, there was no stopping him. he shot at you, knocking you down, and eventually unconscious, while he looked for anything valuable in the house. spencer didn't know what he was trying to take, and he didn't really care either. all he cared about was you getting better.

one hour turned into two, and then two turned into three. he had somehow convinced prentiss and hotch to leave. he just wanted to be alone, and after a long phone call with garcia, he was. he had started to pace and his thoughts started to wander. he wanted someone, something to blame. sure, this unsub was the one who shot you, but what about the police? the ones who didn't try hard enough to find this guy before he was in your house? what about your neighbors? who weren't keeping an eye on you while you walked, even though you did numerous favors for them? what about him? a law enforcement officer that you were in love with but who wasn't there to protect you?

and lastly, what about God? being a man of science usually kept him from turning to a higher being. but a desperate man will take any chance he can get, and the best word to describe spencer right now was desperate. desperate for you to be okay. desperate for you to make it out of surgery. desperate to be next to you. desperate for someone to blame. so how could God do this? how could he allow something to happen to you? how could he punish spencer after all the good he had been trying to be doing for this world?

his thoughts went wild for what felt like years, but was only a few more hours, before the doctor was coming to get him. "dr. reid?" her voice came into the empty waiting room. his head snapped right to her. "she is out of surgery, she'll be waking up soon. you might want to be in the room when she does."

spencer stomach dropped the way he did earlier. he picked up the sweater vest and tie he had discarded on a waiting room chair and hurried to follow the doctor. when he reached the room, he was shocked at how peaceful you looked. despite all of the noises from the machines, the hospital room was the calmest place he had been in in the last 24 hours. spencer made himself comfortable while he waited for your eyes to flutter open.

and when they did, his eyes were on yours. he couldn't help the smile that spread across your face. it took a few minutes for you to adjust to the room. the noises, the bright lights, the lack of understanding where you were. the last thing you remembered was hitting the ground after having a gun pointed at you. after a few minutes, you turned to face him, "you found me." you smiled, despite the dryness in your throat as you spoke.

"just a little late." spencer shrugged, trying to downplay the guilt that was burrowed in his stomach. he reached forward, rubbing a few fingers along your cheek. "what happened?" you asked, wanting the whole story. spencer explained, leaving out a few parts. you didn't need to know how he couldn't bring himself to help you, or how he cried in hotch's arms, or how many times he had to wash his hands in the hospital's bathroom sink to get your blood off of him.

"that's kinda crazy," you couldn't help but laugh. spencer was mildly uncomfortable at your reaction. "so, when do i get to go home?"

"you don't," spencer begun, "you're moving out, like i have been asking you to." he could see the confusion written across your face. "you're moving in with me, that way i know you'll be safe." he smiled at you, excited at the idea. he had been wanting this for a while. "now get some rest," he said with a gentle tone, "i'll find us something to eat." despite the fact that he hadn't eaten in almost a day, he waited for you to be asleep to leave the room.

[crucifiedramblings]

Fool Me Once — Dr. Gregory House x F!Reader (Part I)

Hello! This is my first Gregory House fic, I've been truly obsessed with this old man recently. No warnings for this chapter (edit: mention of pill abuse), but I will list full work warnings below.

Word Count: 789

Content Warnings: Angst, implied/referenced drug use & addiction, eventual smut, swearing, graphic depictions of medical gore

Next Part: N/A

            

The pills hadn’t been in House’s system for a few days— he would have to rebuild his Vicodin tolerance again. Nothing like a “V-Break” to get the same hazy punch as before— the name could use some work, though. House lazily looked at you through heavily-lidded eyes, his head dipping to the side to look at his own vitals on the small monitor to the right of his bedside.

            You had only been on House’s diagnostic team for a few days when he collapsed in the middle of a briefing. His toxicity screen showed a spike in narcotic levels, and you flushed his system while he was out. He argued that it was doing more harm than good, but you replaced the chemical with comfort medications until he had clean blood. Once it ran clear, and he was no longer dying— you practically spoon-fed his Vicodin right to him. 

            Maybe it was the sympathy— no, empathy— of being a former addict. Maybe it was the fact that you hated seeing House detoxing. Maybe it was because you knew how sick he must have felt. Whatever it was— it triumphed over any nobility you held as a doctor as you placed three white pills into House’s shaking hands with a reassuring smile. 

            House looked at you with an almost frazzled gaze, dry-swallowing the pills as if you were going to snatch them away if he took too long. You sat on a stool by House’s side, holding a small styrofoam cup’s straw to his lips. He gratefully sipped, a soft whistling coming from the lid as House greedily gulped down the frigid water. He gave you a nod, as if to say ‘thank you’ without the words ever leaving his mouth. You only nodded in response.

            House asked for your name, a raspy request given between sips and wheezes. You gave it to him, although skeptical he didn’t know the name of the newest hire on his team— House was a very thorough man in his decisions. He gave you a lazy grin, giggling to himself and eventually drifting off. At least the pills did what you hoped, giving House some much-needed rest. He looked so much more peaceful like that— no longer sporting a leaping forehead vein, teeth no longer bared— he looked at ease. Like he wasn’t in any pain.

            After several torturous hours— the ones that bled into days, which crashed down into weeks— House was cleared to return to work . . . although he technically never left, and was sure to remind everyone of such knowledge. He walked circles around his bed with a newfound vigor, having just replenished his fix for the morning. House’s limp was barely noticeable when he first dosed, and you were consistent in tracking how his decreased mobility affected his mood by the end of the day. 

            The truth was, you were used to House— but you were not accustomed to sober House— the version of himself that he hid away until he could take time off work. The persona that House barely allowed to see the light of day if unnecessary. The facade that reminded House too much of his father in a certain light. 

            You didn’t blame him— you used to be the same way— although he didn’t know that much from your file. He treated you like some brown-nosing geek, saving his life to look good in front of the new boss. House didn’t understand why someone would fight so hard to save him, and then hand him the pills that almost killed him in the same breath. You didn’t quite understand it either— maybe it was the words Wilson muttered by House’s bedside when he was still in a perpetual coma.

“I can’t lose you yet— fight it.” 

            Maybe it was the pang of hurt you felt at the sight of him when he awoke— dripping with sweat, pale, scratching at his own intravenous drip to make himself feel something other than the pounding of his head and the bile in his belly. Whatever it was— the semblance spoke to you well enough to place his own killer into his discolored palms. 

            It was worth it, the way House’s gaze lit up— he angled his head to the ceiling tiles and hastily, shakily swallowed the pills without any consideration. You almost took pity on him— that was, until he commented on your bust in your top. You smacked him with his own file, grateful to have the version of House you had come to know up and running again— regardless of how annoying that version may be. Your help remained unspoken, but in the following weeks, some distant glances and singled-out tasks would bring any tension to a head. 

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

TW: This chapter includes depictions of noncon and violence. Reader discretion is advised!

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: The moment you have all been waiting for, the night of the wedding. Please, read the warnings before reading this chapter. Dark!Aemond is here to stay. Not going to lie, I had to smoke a cigarette after writing and editing this... As always, thanks for the love, enjoy <3

Chapter 52: Duty

Septa Daella had told you when you were younger, that once you became of age, you would be married to a fine Lord of the realm.

That your duty to the realm required it, and that you would birth his children, as expected by tradition.

A woman’s duty to her husband could be measured in many ways.

To honour him and obey his word, was what the Septa had drilled into you most fiercely.

To build the home, and support the husband in his ambitions, was another.

To bear his children was an expectation, and a reality in which no wife could escape, unless her womb be barren. 

And that is the greatest shame there was. 

‘What good was a wife if she did not grow her husbands seed?' The Septa had said.

When you had your first bleed, you were so frightened that you could not leave your bed. You had sat in the white sheets, and looked down at your shift and mattress, stained red with your blood. You had cried fiercely and curled in on yourself, as the sharp cramps pulled through your body. 

You had been ten-and-two. 

You had expected then, and there that since you had bled, that a marriage would soon be put forth.

Your mother Rhaenyra had come to your chambers at the request of your maids, who could not get you to leave your bed. Upon seeing you, she had sat and held you, letting you cry nonsense into her chest as she brushed your hair with a gentleness that only she possessed.

Rhaenyra had held you against her and promised that she would not send you away, nor would your betrothal come any time soon. She had called for the maids to bring you a warm bath with lavender oil, as well as fresh sheets to change your bed. 

She had congratulated you on becoming a woman, and soon enough, your father Daemon had congratulated you too. And suddenly becoming a woman became less scary for you. Rhaenyra taught you of how to tend to yourself during your bleeds, and even reassured you of any questions that you had had. 

And as you got older, and watched your siblings be readied to be betrothed, you had more questions. Rhaenyra however, was not who answered your burning inquiries. 

Daemon had.

‘A good husband should bring his wife pleasure, not pain. He should kiss the ground she walks upon, and worship her as the God she is.' He had said.

'Are women not the closest beings to gods? Targaryen women even more so. For who else can grow life the way you do?’ 

‘Marriage can be political, though you can find your pleasures elsewhere. You needn’t suffer a dead marital bed.’ He had encouraged.

Yet despite your mothers reassurance, the Septa’s teachings, and your fathers words, you found that in this moment you could not imagine that Aemond, as your husband, would ever bring you pleasure, nor worship any ground that your feet stepped upon.

Aemond had walked straight to the decanter of wine, pouring himself a full goblet, and sitting upon the armchair where he had been when you first arrived. You followed his movement, picking up the heavy wine and pouring it slowly into your own cup.

You looked down at the deep, red liquid.

It reminded you of blood.

Blood from your first bleed. Blood from when Aemond’s eye had been taken. Blood from your feet, your hands, and side. Blood that you had drawn from him in return. 

Blood from your mother. 

Blood from your brother. 

And blood that Aemond would soon draw from you once again.

Your feet carried you to sit at the chaise, uncomfortable and stiff, perched on the edge of your seat ready to run. But you could not run. 

And you wouldn’t. 

Anger rolled off of Aemond in waves as he sat, eye locked onto the flames of the fire place, one hand gripping the goblet tightly, whilst the other sat in a fist on the arm of the chair. His shoulders were stiff, and his chest rose and fell shakily. 

Aegon’s words at dinner had stoked the fire in Aemond, and he had known that you would bear the brunt of it. One of Septa Daella's lessons rose in your mind. 

‘Soothe your husbands worries. Tend to his wounds.’

Pulling the goblet up to your lips you drank deeply, feeling the sharp burn of the spiced wine pooling in your empty stomach, the glow of alcohol having slowly bloomed within.

You watched him empty his goblet.

You need to calm him. To soothe him. 

For yourself.

Standing, you placed your wine down on the table before you, as you slowly walked towards him, cautious to not startle him or crowd him, lest he come at you like a boar.

As you got closer, you could see the scowl on Aemond’s face.

His lips were pulled tightly into a familiar line, and his brows were so deeply furrowed, that his scar wrinkled upon the stretch of his face.

Aemond snapped his head towards you at your slow approach, and you found your hands curling into small fists, as if to protect yourself, at your front.

“Would you like some more wine, husband?” The word felt foreign on your tongue. 

Husband.

It felt heavy, and held a sour aftertaste.

Aemond watched you closely, eye roaming your body, stopping on your closed hands before his eye slid back to your face. 

You held your breath. 

The silence in the room was so uncomfortable, you shifted on your feet as he continued to observe you with scrutiny. You were about to move back to sit in your seat in silence, and drain the rest of your cup and the decanter back at the wall, when he wordlessly raised his goblet towards you, eye back on the fire.

Pulling the cup from his hand a little more roughly than you should have, you moved towards the side of the room to fill it up for him. You took your time filling it, looking down at the cup as your stared at your hands, bandage wrapped tightly around one. 

“Why ask if you’re not going to do it.” Came the snarky voice behind you.

You clenched your jaw, back still facing him, before you snatched the cup from the table, wine almost spilling over the lip, as you walked back towards him, holding it out expectantly.

Aemond watched you the entire way, and smirked up at you, not taking his goblet from your hand. 

Your teeth ground down against each other as he still did not move to take the cup from you. And so you turned on your heel, placing the wine heavily on the table in front you both, as you moved to the side of the room to grab the decanter, filling up your cup to the brim. 

“Gīda ilagon, zaldrītsos.” (Calm down, little dragon.) Aemond purred, reaching forward to grasp his goblet, drinking as he watched you.

By now the wine had settled strongly in your stomach, coursing through your veins. You felt the familiar heat of alcohol rise in your cheeks and in your chest, as you leant back looking into the fire. Aemond let out a small humming laugh as he drank, anger still radiating from him despite his teasing. 

“You’ve been exceptionally quiet this evening. I expected more from you.” He mused, eye back on the flames.

Irritated, you took an angry gulp of wine, fingers fidgeting in your lap. 

Do not let him goad you.

“Are you feeling well, wife?” He asked boredly.

Do not let him goad you.

“Quite well, thank you, husband.” You said back flatly.

A hum came in response.

Aemond pulled his goblet up to his lips, drinking. It seemed the both of you were using alcohol to ease the rising tension that was slowly building. 

And soon, it would explode.

“I wonder what he would think of this.” Aemond mused, and you let your eyes slide to him. 

You breathed heavily.

“Who?”

But you already knew the answer. 

That familiar, sickly smirk curled up his face, and although Aemond had not let his gaze leave the fire in front of you, he knew he had you. 

You had taken the bait.

“Lucerys.” He purred, sipping his drink. 

You felt your heart begin to race as you breathed raggedly in your seat. 

You fucking bastard.

You shoved the goblet to your lips, draining the rest of your cup, before sharply leaning forward to fill it up again, eyes locked onto his form.

One large leg came to rest atop the other, the wine in his hand swirling.

“Wonder what your Strong boy would have thought about you being wed to me. Do you think he would cry? Or try to take my other eye?” He mused.

“Don’t speak about him.” You said lowly, struggling in vain to contain your seething anger. 

“Merely trying to have conversation with my darling wife.” He purred the last word. 

Don’t take the bait. 

Don’t be stupid. 

Be smart. 

You stood from your seat sharply, and finally Aemond’s gaze fell on you, looking at you eyebrows raised. 

“I am going to retire for the night.” You grit out, turning on your heel as you began to stalk towards the large bed, dread sitting heavily in the pit of your stomach as you looked at it. 

“It was a shame he was not there to witness it,” His voice called across the room, “I would have liked to see his face.” He smacked his lips.

You snapped.

Turning on your heel you sneered at him, watching as he looked at you blankly, sipping his wine. 

“Fuck you.”

Aemond’s lips twitched.

“How did my other nephew react? The eldest and strongest of boys?” He continued, his anger and amusement rising. 

“Disgusted that I would be married to a second son. You, no less. Just as I.” You sneered, chest rising and falling sharply. 

He set you alight. 

He always did this to you. 

He always had this way to get under your skin. 

Your uncle stood and moved to the side of the fireplace, looking back into the wild flames, before raising his gaze to you, as you stood angrily beside the bed. 

“And how do you truly feel?”

How did you feel?

Horrified. 

Afraid. 

You felt grief. Loneliness. 

Uncertainty. 

“Nauseated at the thought of being married to a kinslayer.”

“Hm. I am wed to a kinslayer too.”

Daeron.

Your uncle.

His brother.

Aemond stalked towards you.

“You killed my brother.” He said emotionless. 

It was haunting.

You sniffed, stiffening your back as you looked at him, long legs slowly approaching you. 

“Aegon wanted your head. I convinced him otherwise. You’re alive because of me.” He growled.

He saved you.

For him.

“A fate worse than death, I am certain.” You snipped, hands coming to wrap around your front as he approached you, your legs walking backwards towards the bed.

“You have no idea what he had planned for you. You would not have been put to death quickly.”

You stiffened, locked in fear.

Aemond smiled cruelly at you.

“The King wanted to lock you down in the dungeons again. Make an example of you to the knights of King’s Landing. They would have taken turns with you, you know. After him of course.” He spoke as if it did not bother him.

You felt nausea roll inside you. 

“You act as though you aren’t just like him. Like you aren’t worse.” You scoffed. 

Aemond stopped, a mere three paces from you.

“You think me the same as Aegon?”

“I know it.” You sneered in fear, like an animal cornered, baring its teeth one last time.

“You think you know what he is truly like?” 

You breathed heavily as he looked at your face, watching as you struggled to keep your composure. 

“You think I am worse than him? A fate worse than death?” He growled.

“You’re a monster.” You sobbed in anger. 

Aemond crowded your space so quickly, you did not even see him move. You felt his breath fan across your face, smell of wine on his tongue.

The man towered over you, heaving as he watched you stay rooted in your spot.

One final act of bravery.

“A monster you wed.” 

The slap rang out in the room, and your palm stung sharply.

Aemond’s head was still turned away from you, your hand having clipped the scarred side of his face, red heat beginning to bloom upon his pale skin.

Slowly, he corrected his posture, stiffening himself as he straightened his neck, looking down at you from his nose. 

Your chest heaved as you looked at him.

A tide of emotions swelled inside of you.

You had nowhere to go. Nowhere to run to.

You were trapped.

Trapped in these chambers with a man you hated most.

Trapped in a Keep full of enemies.

There was no escape. 

Aemond took another step forward, chest brushing against yours and you instinctually stepped back. He took another, then another. You retreated, trying to create distance between the both of you, until the soft plush of the mattress hit the back of your knees.

He loomed over you.

“Get away from me.” You warned, voice shaking.

The One-Eyed Prince smiled down at you.

You rose your hand once more to slap him, but his own caught your wrist, squeezing painfully.

You cried out. 

“Try it again. See what will happen.”

“Let go of me!” 

You desperately tried to yank your hand out of his grip as he sneered down at you, lips twitching into a smirk. His grip did not falter, and instead tightened, causing pain to shoot up your arm. 

Your other hand flew up in instinct, and hit him on the other cheek. Not a strong hit, but one to cause a sting. A pathetic display of a warning.

A minuscule piece of proof that you would always fight back.

Aemond’s smirk only deepened, hand shooting out to grip your throat roughly as he pushed you backwards, down onto the bed. His fingers dug painfully into the flesh, and cut off your air supply.

You wriggled in his hold, desperately trying to claw out of his grip as he straddled you, other hand coming down to wrap itself around your neck. He squeezed and you saw stars begin to appear in your eyes, his soft hair brushing against the sides of your face as he hovered above you. 

And then his hands loosened, and you sucked in a breath, but not before one large palm roughly reached down and began to hike the skirt of your dress up your body.

Dread pooled into your stomach and you find yourself thrashing against him.

“No!” You grunted, trying to drag your nails down his face, his other hand leaving your throat to catch both of your wrists in his, painfully pushing them onto the bed above your head. 

Your legs kicked out as you struggled against him, the dress being roughly pulled up, shift going with it, before your bare core was revealed to the room. 

Aemond’s eye left your face to gaze down at you, as you struggled against his hand, tears pricking in your eyes. His lips pursed and a low hum rumbled in his chest.

Large, rough fingertips pushed meanly against your heat, rubbing through your folds before dipping inside of you without preparation, and you felt the biting stretch of his fingers.

Tears fell from your eyes. 

This was it. 

It was real now. 

Your husband roughly fucked his fingers into your heat, stinging pain rippling through you as you desperately tried to wriggle away from him. He kept you trapped beneath him with no way out.

Aemond jammed his fingers inside of you, a sharp cry leaving your lips before pulling them out, hand moving to the front of his breeches as he began to untie the laces hurriedly, pulling at the string.

You thrashed beneath him, trying to rip your hands away from his grip as you watched in horror as his hard length was slowly revealed from the confines of his pants. The tip angry and red, leaking pre cum.

“You think I’m a monster?” He purred, shoving his legs between yours roughly, grip bruising your wrists. 

“You think I am my brother?” He sneered from above, heat from his body surrounding you.

“Aemond, stop. Please, stop.” You begged, sob working its way up your throat. 

Aemond hummed as he held his length in his hand. 

You had never seen it before.

It was long and thick, and veins protruded down the length whilst beads of pre-cum began to leak from his tip. He pulled his hand up and down his cock roughly, before beginning to settle between your hips.

“No!” You cried out, trying to wriggle away from him as he descended towards your heat, but it was no use. 

You felt a sharp pain as Aemond forced his way inside of you dryly, splitting you open upon his cock, as he pushed himself roughly to the hilt. The tip painfully kissed at your cervix and you cried out loudly.

Your uncle looked down at your face as he slowly pulled out, watching as you winced in pain and tried to pull away.  

It was unlike anything you had felt before. It seared through you, curling into your gut, nausea rising into your throat. You felt so full, so fit to burst, ripping from his intrusion, and all you could do was cry, and whimper, and try to wriggle away from it.

Aemond looked down to where you were joined, revelling in the blood that streaked his length and began to leak onto the white sheets below. He pulled out slowly, letting you feel each and every vein of his cock, before he roughly shoved back inside, head of his shaft beating painfully against the end of your core. 

“Aem, please, stop.” You sobbed, eyes scrunched up in pain as you cried. 

Aem. 

You had not called him that in a long time. 

You felt his hips stutter, but before you could find any relief, he began to rut into you sharply, more aggressively than before, his thrusts pushing your body up the bed as you cried loudly into the chambers.

Each stroke felt like hell, and he did not relent, no matter how much you begged. Aemond grunted from above you, hand letting go of your wrists to grasp onto your hip.

Disgust and fear curled up inside you, so all that you could do was pull your hands to push at his chest and cry whilst your uncle had his way with you, roughly taking your maidenhead. 

Your first time, taken so violently.

Without love, or care. 

No pleasure was given to you as Aemond sought out his own high. His eye only leaving your face to gaze at his length disappearing inside of you with every thrust.

You cried brokenly, letting your head lay to the side, voice becoming hoarse. You felt yourself cramp as the older man continued to beat against the sensitive end of your core.

It was agony.

Just as the Septa had said.

She had told you it would be painful, unpleasurable, but a burden you would have to bear. 

His fingers bruised your hips as he sat up on his knees, pulling you against him as you squeaked, dragging you down the bed as if you were weightless, before he continued his assault on your body. Using you for his own pleasure, pushing his cock as deep as it could go. 

Aemond's hair was dishevelled, and face concentrated, brows furrowed in anger as he thrust into you wildly. The room was filled with the sounds of his flesh meeting yours, and the cries and whimpers that left your lips.

His good eye was wild, pupil blown wide in the dark of the room so that it almost looked black, whilst the sapphire orb glinted sinisterly in what little light there was of the chambers. 

“Gods, please.” You hiccupped, begging for it to end. 

Begging for him to finish, for the pain to stop.

But it would not.

Aemond shifted, sitting back on his heels as he held your hips in his lap, the new angle causing you to cry out as he thrusted up into your heat, grunting from the force he was using.

It caused a tingle to spread across your lower stomach. 

It horrified you.

“No.” You whimpered, and pushed at his stomach, as he did it again, feeling your cunt clench around him. 

Aemond moaned above you, setting a faster pace as his cock dug painfully into the soft, spongey spot within your walls.

“No. No.” You babbled, cheeks wet with tears, voice hoarse from crying.

Your hands weakly pushed against him, nails digging into his pale skin to stop him, to push him away, but he kept on, slapping your hands away from him as if you were a fly.

Your husband's thumb came down between your bodies and pressed against your bundle of nerves. Painful pleasure rose in your body as he roughly rubbed against you, trying to get you to reach your peak with him.

“Aem, stop. Please, Aem. Uncle, please.” You begged, trying to move away, but his grip did not falter, instead increasing the pace of his thumb against your bud.

A familiar coil began to wind itself inside of you.

The chambers were filled with the sounds of your whimpers and cries, Aemond’s soft moans, and the sound of his cock burying itself into your now wet heat.

A long moan flittered past his lips and you felt yourself clench out of instinct. 

His pace began to falter, cock sliding in and out of you almost messily, as his thumb pressed sharply against you, pulling painful pleasure from within. Aemond's breaths came out in sharp puffs and grunts as he continued his assault.

He shifted, leaning his body back over you, hair surrounding your face like a veil, as he rutted into you desperately.

“Take it.” He moaned, his pace beginning to falter, thumb swirling around your swollen bud roughly.

"No. No. Aem stop, no. Stop." You cried out.

But it only seemed to spur him on, feeling your core begin to tighten around him, and so he pressed and swirled his thumb against you harder and faster, his eye never leaving your face as you stared up at him in horror.

You sobbed loudly as you felt the coil inside of you snap. 

Your back arched from the bed as a painful climax washed over you. 

“That’s it.” He cooed. 

“Please.” You cried, trying to push him away from you, as you clenched around him, pleasure ripping through you cruelly without mercy. 

Aemond's lips came down to press against your neck, teeth lightly grazing the skin.

You sobbed loudly as he continued to piston himself into you, your walls gripping him tightly as he began to lose himself in pleasure. Aemond chased his peak until finally he slowed, pushing into you raggedly as he moaned loudly into the humid air of the chambers, his cum spilling inside you.

“Fuck.” He moaned above you, hips stuttering as he continued to thrust into you languidly, feeling a new wetness within you as you laid stiffly beneath him.

In shock. 

In disgust.

In horror.

You could feel his cock twitching inside of you as his spend continued to come out in hot ropes, movements causing it to leak out from within you and onto the soiled sheets below.

Another broken sob escaped your lips when Aemond finally stilled above you, feeling you cry beneath him. He looked down at you, eye half lidded, mouth slightly agape.

Aemond had just raped you. 

He raped you.

Your uncle.

Your husband.

Someone you had once loved.

Someone who had once been your friend.

Someone who had killed your brother. 

You felt nausea begin to rise in your throat as he slowly pulled out, sharp pain strumming in your core and an odd emptiness settling in, before he rolled lazily onto the bed beside you, his gaze on the ceiling.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you sobbed brokenly, ragged breaths spilling from your lips as you tried to calm yourself to no avail. Your eyes looked above you to the ceiling, and you gagged, feeling bile rise up your throat.

You were in agony. Every breath you took caused pain to rise up your body, and a different pain settled in your heart, causing it to clench. You felt defiled. Dirty.

Broken.

You tried to steady your breathing, to stop the sobs that flew from your lips as you began to hyperventilate, but you found that his presence beside you could not allow you to relax.

To distract yourself, you attempted to concentrate on the roof.

It was a different ceiling to yours back in Dragonstone. Much different to the one that used to be yours, here, in the Keep. But even as you tried to distract yourself from what had just happened, you could still feel him inside of you.

Leaking from you.

And with every throbbing breath you took, you found you could breath less, and less.

Breath in. Breath out.

Breath in. Breath out.

Pain throbbed from your centre as you laid there, trying to steady your breathing. You could feel his eye on you, feel the way the bed dipped beneath his weight beside you. And even see him in your periphery.

You turned onto your side, facing away from him, curling into yourself in an attempt to self soothe. But it didn't work. Silent cries caused your body to shake, and shudder in the bed beside him. Your skin erupting in goosebumps as you felt his heated gaze on your back.

Was this to be your every waking moment now? To be raped by him? To be defiled? To be used for his pleasure?

To be tormented by them all, and find no solace in your chambers?

You did not move from your position on the bed, terrified of stirring him again, curled up and gripping your sides as tears fell from your eyes and onto the pillow below your head. 

You could feel the wet of your blood and his release, thick on your thighs, and below you on the mattress. You were in agony as you laid there, terrified to move or to speak. Unable to do either even if you had wanted to.

You could still feel his weight on top of you, the way he felt inside of you. You could see his face as he looked down at you whilst he thrusted harshly into your core. You could feel the bruising sting of his grip on your hips and wrists.

It was like it never stopped.

“Y/n.” 

His voice was so quiet, so different to what it had just been as he whispered your name.

You tensed, heart beginning to race faster. You gripped your sides tighter, shoulders rising around your neck as you held your breath. You stiffened, and waited.

Waited for the next blow of pain.

Waited for the next moment of his defilement. 

His torture.

His cruelty.

And then he uttered the name he had called you as a child.

A nickname.

Something you had not heard in so many years. A name in which he had called you in moments of fondness, or play, and you could not stop the loud sob that flew from your lips as you heard it.

That name felt so tainted now.

You clutched onto yourself tighter, gash in your hand strumming as you tucked three fingers into it, trying to distract yourself from the pain between your legs.

Aemond breathed in a loud breath of air, as though he was to talk to you again.

But he didn’t.

Instead, the soft graze of a hand came to touch your shoulder and your found yourself flinch away from it, a terrified sob falling from your lips as you curled into yourself tighter, tucking your knees against your chest in an attempt to protect yourself.

A feeble attempt. 

The room felt still and the air felt stuffy. And all you could do was cry in the bed you would now call your own, beside your husband, that you would be tied to for some time.

Tears fell from your eyes until you could cry no more, and you found that all you could do was stare blankly at the wall beside you. 

You could hear the Septa’s voice in your head. 

“To satisfy your husband, is your duty. It is not always an enjoyable one, but it is needed.” 

The Septa would be proud.

You laid on your side and stared blankly at the wall, feeling a wave of numbness begin to cover you.

It was nice to not feel. To not think. To not be present in a moment like that.

Aemond did not make another attempt to touch you, nor did he try to talk to you. He simply laid beside you, also not moving, as you felt the heat of his gaze.

You laid on your side, not stirring, nor crying, or sobbing, not knowing for how long. Even if you did try, any movement you made caused sharp pain to ripple from between your thighs. And so it was best to lay still, and let the tide suck you in.

You felt the wave rise within you, its dark tendrils caressing your body as you relaxed into its hold.

These waters were familiar. These waters would be kind to you.

You let yourself sink into the depths, letting your weight take you deep down into the murkiness, where the cool water calmed you until your breath evened, and any pain, or feeling left your body.

Movement on the bed jerked you as Aemond abruptly removed himself. You listened to his footsteps move loudly, and swiftly across the room. It sounded muffled, almost like you were truly under water.

And you found you could not rise from the depths you had sunk into willingly.

The sound of the chamber doors opened, and slammed shut, echoing around you.

And then you were alone again, alone as you could be, left to the waters as they swallowed you whole.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[artficlly]

a dish served cold (mini series - part one)

Wild West Marvel AU

outlaw!bucky x reader after the murder of your pa, you go on a journey to find justice. fate brings you to crimson junction for a reason, and that reason is bucky barnes. 

Warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, violence, mentions of death, blood, mention of guns, alcohol, swearing, creepy men, period typical attitudes, outlaw bucky, protective bucky, bucky has issues, mention of robbery & crimes, mention of police (law), mention of flooding & drought, vague mention of animal death, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 3k

A/N: hiya! it's been awhile. i started a first draft of this story literally like a year ago? it's gone through so many changes to the plot (it was originally called queen of the gunslingers). this has been so refreshing and wonderful to write, i wasn't even sure if i was ever going to post it because western marvel au is so niche but i know a few people enjoyed me & the devil so!! this mini series is pre written so i'll be trying to post updates weekly as i edit. the series is sitting around 25k-30k words and will be 7 chapters long. if you'd like a tag list let me know. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist | series masterlist

Rain was supposed to be a welcome sight. 

The inhabitants of Crimson Junction had been thankful for the blessing, a relief from the drought that had plagued them. The surrounding areas had been unceremoniously crowned The Dustbowl after seven years of no rain. Fierce winds had blown in, kicking up the dirt, sand, and dust, blanketing the surrounding areas. Crops failed to grow, animals suffocated, and homes were buried. Most left the area, choosing to abandon their land in search of fruitful and safe territories.

The canyons bled crimson the day the rains came; water mixed with the red soil and rock. The people of Crimson Junction celebrated, their prayers were finally answered. It was only as the valleys began to flood and the once barren riverbeds overflowed that the inhabitants considered the bleeding waters an omen. 

Those who lived out in the west were familiar with danger. Out in the open, death lurked everywhere. It watched from the desert, a darkness always lingering a few feet away. Death took on many forms—a bullet, a wound, a sickness—but when the rain came disguised as a blessing, no one was prepared for its wrath. 

Floods wiped away entire homesteads. Homes and countless heads of cattle were lost to the raging waters, swept downstream, and smashed between debris. Survivors, soaked and shivering in their nightgowns and nightshirts, gathered in the small crossroads town of Crimson Junction. Fortunately, the town had been spared, but it had become an island, isolated in a lake of thick, deep, red mud. Travellers and misplaced locals sought shelter, and the town came to life overnight. The canyons were unstable and too dangerous to travel due to the landslides and debris blockages, and with mud up to your elbows, it would be impossible to walk through, let alone lead a packhorse. So, you were all stranded, patiently waiting until the roads were cleared. 

It appeared fate had led you to Crimson Junction for a reason. 

The hotel attendant sighed as you descended the stairs of the rickety building, the older man muttering about the mud tracked in through the entrance. Even Crimson Junction had not been spared the sludge. The thick, red substance appeared to be a problem in every establishment in the area, gradually caked onto not only your clothes and shoes but also the flooring. 

You gave the attendant a shy nod of your head as you exited into the night. The chill of the night air bit at your bare skin, and you were suddenly grateful for the layers of skirts that pooled around your legs. The road so far had been hot and sticky, with layers of dust that clung to your skin. When it was not still and scorching, the winds would whip violently. Sand and rocks had pelted you, leaving your skin stinging and your hair tangled. The floods had allowed the temperature to finally drop below the pits of hell. 

You hesitantly depart the porch of the motel, the heels of your riding boots clicking as you lower yourself onto the street. Wooden planks squelched under your weight as they sank deeper into the sludge. The town had tried to combat the muck by laying out boards to traverse, but despite their good intentions, the wooden boards seemed to sink deeper and deeper with each passing day. The streets echoed something more akin to a pigsty than a walkable path. 

With the chill in the air, you hugged your arms around your bodice, still making sure to hike up your skirts to prevent them from dragging through the mud. Ever since finding yourself stuck after the rains, you had resigned yourself to your hotel room. You slept and read to pass the time, and your horse was boarded at the stables for a hefty price. But after days of waiting and your funds running low, you found yourself feeling rather antsy, your impatience growing the longer you waited. With impatience came risk and rash decisions, so, against your better judgement, you opted for a strong drink at the saloon to quieten your mind. 

The saloon was alive with music and chatter, with other stranded travellers slurring their words or in a state of undress despite the sun only having recently set. You expected many of them to have wondered into the establishment not long after awakening from whatever alley they had drunkenly stumbled into the night before. It certainly smelled like it, with clothing plastered in mud to match. The chaos allowed you to slip in quietly, finding an empty spot along the bar. You frowned at the coating of muck congealed onto the floor, a mixture of questionable liquids you did not want to identify. With a wave of your hand and coins slid over the sticky bar, you were content staring into space as laughter and singing broke out around you. 

Your peace was short-lived. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a looming shape as a body slid in beside you. Your eyes stayed locked on your drink, only noticing the scent of whiskey and sweat clinging to the man. 

“Where have you been hidin’, Miss? I ain’t never seen a woman as pretty as you in these parts.”

You expected a lady such as yourself to be few and far between in these lands. Most of the folks who roamed this far into the desert were hardy, stocky, and rough around the edges. You did not fault them for it, but rather a sense of admiration for the determination it had taken to live through the seven years of drought. You were, arguably, a bit delicate in appearance. Though, it was a purposeful presentation. Pristine and shining among the filth. Your hands were smooth; there were no calluses or scars. Hair neatly pinned back, and a clean and tidy handkerchief knotted around your neck. Your skin was untainted by the sun, and your lips were unpeeled. Your dress, though not the height of city fashion, was impractical for such a lifestyle as farming or droving. The layers of fabric were orderly, with intermittent embroidery and lace. You had lived a comfortable life, and it was clear you were raised to be a wife and homemaker. Your Pa had worked hard to afford you such a future.

“Not from these parts.” You spoke into your glass as you raised it to your lips with an eye-roll. A gentle girl you might have been to your Pa, but he was not present. And you were not feeling particularly in favour of being pleasant. 

“Traveller, like myself. Guessin’ you stuck ‘cause of the floods too?” The man mused, leaning his forearms against the sticky bar. He shifted his body forward, craning his neck as if desperate to catch a proper glimpse at your face. 

“Somethin’ like that.” You respond dryly, unmoving. 

“Say, you interested in havin’ a good night, sweetheart? I got a room in the hotel over yonder if you wanna join me.” 

Grinding your teeth in annoyance, you jerk your head around to face the man.

“What do you take me for?” You snap at him. You take note of his greying hair and the locks thinning along his hairline. His beard, with uneven, yellowing teeth revealed by cracked lips, turned into a sneer. 

“I didn’t mean no insult, darlin’.” He starts, “I ain’t insinuating you’re an easy mark, sweetheart. Just knew I couldn’t let a catch like you go walkin’ out of here without at least tryin’.”

“Charmin’,” you huff. “Did you not consider that I would never want to lay with a dimwitted pest such as yourself?” As you speak, you can see his once-toothy grin harden into gritted teeth and a look of drunken rage wash over his features. 

"Well, ain’t you a quick one, huh?” He spits out, his body looming closer. Only moments before the two of you had been invisible, another set of bodies in the crowded saloon. As his voice began to rise, you could feel heads turning and eyes locking onto the both of you as the scene unfolded. “A fuckin’ tease, ain’t ya? Hangin’ around this bar all by yourself, askin’ for it. You tellin’ me a lady like yourself travelling alone ain’t some whore lookin’ for some attention?”

You roll your eyes once more, shooting back the last of your drink. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to remain in your hotel room. Back turned, you begin to walk away from the seething man. In your brief moment of naivety and vunrablitiness, he wraps his mud-clad hands around your forearm, yanking you backwards towards the bar. 

“Now where ya think you’re goin’ now, miss? I weren’t done talkin’ to you.” He hissed into your ear, the stench of his warm whiskey breath fanning across your face. You began to lower your hands, reaching for your riding boot. Your fingers gathered your skirts, entangling themselves in the fabrics as you hoisted up the layers. Your hands drew closer to your knees, your back pressing into the hardwood bar, twisting your torso away from the man. 

A gruff voice quickly interrupted, drawing your attention away. 

“You know this man, ma'am?” The low voice asks. You glance over at it’s owner, a dark-haired man, and look him over with one sweep. 

The man was familiar to you, though he wouldn’t know you. Out of all of the towns you had visited in the past few weeks, there was scarcely any that failed to have his likeness plastered upon a bounty board. James Buchanan Barnes. Or Bucky, as he was more commonly known. The papers and gossip of fellow travellers spun a tale, one of a group of heartless butchers and thieves. He was wanted for a train robbery gone wrong in the south. A decent price upon his head, as well as that of his gang. From what you had read, the group had split in an attempt to lose the law. One had gone north, another deeper south, while Barnes had gone west. 

The posse of outlaws had been lucky, as the law had hurridly dismissed the chase; a different high-profile robbery had drawn their attention away. One they had prioritised more than the livelihoods of the lowerclass who had been on the train that day. Bounty hunters still pursued, but mostly the world moved on. Some Duke from Europe had been robbed while exploring the west too trustingly, and the story had become an overnight sensation. So Barnes and his companions had become a distant whisper, a sun-bleached and fraying poster behind a bar. 

But you had not forgotten Bucky Barnes. 

“No.” You finally choke out in reply, your hand raising back to thigh-height as you stand tall. When faced with a killer, you had anticpated a feeling of disgust, but instead a burning curiosity roared through your veins. 

Barnes lets out a slow breath, his eyes darting over the unwelcome man. Barnes was easily twice his size, with pure muscle and a wicked look in his eye. There was a charm to him, you supposed, in a rugged, dark-handsome stranger, saviour of damsels in distress type of way. Messy dark hair peaked out from beneath his hat; some pieces curled around the nape of his neck. Behind his dark lashes were icy blue eyes, with the crinkle of a smirk at the corners. Like many others, there was a hint of red earth dusted across his face, neck, and hands. The clothes covering his broad, muscled body looked well-worn, and his boots were caked in mud. You noted the two revolvers slung around his hips and a bandolier stocked with ammunition across his chest.

“Do you want to know this man?” He asks again.

You lift your chin. “No.”

“Good.”

Before you can react, Barnes has leapt forward, landing a solid upper-cut on the drunk man with a grunt. The room erupted into cheers and whistles as the two clashed, glasses smashing and furniture overturned in their wake. You stood frozen, fingers in a white fist around your skirts. There was the sickening sound of bones crunching beneath flesh, and blood sprayed in droplets across sodden floors. As quickly as it started, it was over. One of the bartenders promptly escorted the unruly man out as he seethed and yelled obscenities. The saloon crowd roared back, a pulse of excitement and adreline rushing through the saloon. Barnes put his hands up in surrender as the barkeep eyed him cautiously, but the barkeep inevitably backed off, returning to safety behind the bar. Barnes sweeps a hand through his messy locks, his eyes darting around in search of his hat, which had been knocked to the floor. 

Against your better judgement, you bend down, retrieving the hat. You brush some of the red dust and broken glass from the brim before handing it back to the outlaw. He places it solidly back on his head.

“I appreciate your concern, but you didn’t need to do that, Mr.” You tell him, and he shrugs. 

“If you say so.” Barnes goes to turn away, then thinks better of it. Sucking his teeth, he tilts his head, looking you up and down once again. His eyes linger on your hair, then your dress, before finally settling on your clenched fists. “You travellin’ alone, Miss?”

“I don’t see why that's any of your business, Mr…?” You trail off, fingers flexing as you force yourself to loosen the grip on your skirts.

“Mr. Clark. Benjamin Clark.”

A false name. Clever. 

“Right.” 

He chuckles with a shake of his head, tapping the bar for a drink to be sent his way. Exhaustion seems to embody his very being; fatigue hangs from his bones like his own flesh and muscle. He doesn’t seem to notice your analysing stare; his focus is instead drawn to wiping off the splatter of blood that had been spat in his face at some point during the commotion. 

“Look, Miss…?” He begins with a sigh, finally looking you in the eye. 

“Nellie Chase.” You lie through your teeth, watching him through your eyelashes. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he looks down at you. 

“Look, Miss Chase. I don’t know yer circumstances, but it ain’t safe for a lady such as yerself to be travellin’ alone, especially in these parts. I imagine you was just passin’ through like the rest of us, then got stuck ‘cause of all that rain. But, with men and women of all sorts all trapped up together like this… well, it’s bound to cause trouble. You’d be better to stay locked up in your rooms, Miss; it would be safer than roughin’ it out with this lot.” 

You hold back a scoff and instead opt to lift your chin. A smirk pulls at the corners of your mouth as you take a step closer to the outlaw, eyebrows raised and head cocked to one side. “Well, thank you for your wisdom, Mr. Clark, but I am perfectly capable of handlin’ myself.”

A glass of whiskey was now in his hand, and you coolly slid over a coin to pay for it before he could. He blinks at you in surprise, and you flash him a grin in response. With narrowed eyes, he swallows back half of the amber liquid. 

“I imagine so.” He lets out gruffly. “Where are ya’ headed?”

“Saguaro Basin.” 

“Saguaro Basin? Wha’chu doin’ headed that way? Last I heard, there was some bad business in those parts. Cholera and all that.”

“I’m goin’ to be married.” You make a point of flashing the ring on your finger, which is met with a half-interested grunt. He didn’t seem to question how garish it was or how the metal did not match the earrings dangling from either side of your head. Though you imagined, you could not expect a man to notice such details as a woman might. 

“Yer gettin’ married and yer husband-to-be ain’t even got the time to come get’chu himself?”

“Well, I imagine he is quite busy workin’, and it is such a long distance to get there and back. So he paid for me to take the coach, as it is supposed to be safer—” You cut yourself off with a frown as you notice his eyebrows raise. You clear your throat as you decide to shift the topic. “So, where are you headed then, Mr. Clark?”

“Same as you. West. Bit further, though maybe more Marielle ways.”

“Marielle… that’s…?” You trail off. You knew exactly where Marielle was, nestled deep into the western deserts and canyons. Once, it was the home of outlaws, whores, and rustlers. These days, it had been transformed into some sort of respectable town with the help of the law and the church. In fact, it seemed the now bustling town had grown in size from it’s humble beginnings and was becoming a hotspot of trade and business in the deep west. You’d heard mention of the fearsome prison that had been erected not two years ago, where prisoners were subject to hard labour while awaiting their sentencing. 

“Long past Saguaro Basin, that’s for sure.”

“Right.”

You were met with silence, but continue to pry. Would he spin a grand, elaborate tale just as you had done yourself? Or would he tell the truth—a raw, bitter confession of guilt to just another pretty, misplaced lady stuck in Crimson Junction? This was all rather exciting. 

“What brings you there? Business, pleasure… family?” 

“Business.”  

“What kind?” You dare to push further. 

“Not the type’a business a lady such as yerself would be interested in.” 

“How so?” You seem to be out of luck; as the outlaws patience had grown thin. You could practically hear the tension snap as he let out a low ‘hmph’, reluctant to answer the question. Your fingers dance across the sticky bar as you ponder if you should push your questions further, but Barnes had other plans. Taking a long swig from his glass, he finishes the last of his whiskey and gets to his feet. 

“Well, Miss Chase, I thank you for the drink but I must be goin’ now. And you should get back to yer rooms and keep outta’ trouble now.”

The outlaw did not stay long enough to hear your farewell, preferring to slink wordlessly out of the building. With a smile, you lean against the bar, motioning for the barkeep to get you another drink. 

Fate had led you to Crimson Junction for a reason, and how gratifying it was to know why.

PART TWO

[self-spaghettification]

Looks like we’re getting a lot of crazy things in 6x05

which,

1. Considering the potential title “Moonless Night”, 6x05 will possibly be including Rayla being hurt or moon being otherwise metaphorically swallowed, (paralleling s3 swallowing/corruption of the sun’s power),

2. Considering episode 5 follows an episode titled “The Starscraper,” in 6x05 Aaravos is potentially freed at the end of 4 or during 5 and potentially possesses Callum which will lead to all sorts of trouble

3. Considering the connection of a scene between soren and viren with “until 6x05” and all the hints that the most impactful scenes between soren and viren were yet to come…. it seems likely that in 6x05 Soren and Viren will have a very emotionally charged moment together, also possibly with Claudia. Maybe with a confrontation of some kind, also involving the moon?

Let’s delve into this more though—As this potential title has ignited a spark to finally set ablaze and reveal the idea that has been percolating in my mind for months.

Moonless Night (and Why I Believe the Moon is Metaphorically Going to Be Swallowed) A S6 Speculative Meta

with arc1-arc2 parallels, norse mythology examination, reflections analysis and more

As far as I can see, the clue most directly points to Moonless Night. (Edit: which ended up being right!) And there are other reasons I’m on board.

I already went insane over this so let’s get started

A. S3-S6 Parallels

So, I’m a big fan of across arc season parallels as they’ve existed very overtly S1-S4 from the first moment, as well as some other things which in many ways are setup and reestablishment of dynamics (Rayla hesitating and breaking from her duty twice to help/see Callum instead, Harrow and Ezran respectively attempt to break free from the past but they have to acknowledge it, etc) as well as persistently in S2-S5:

and, it seems, *possibly* S3 to S6–

1. If we get another plot against Ezran that’s not a joke (as it is in s4 and many throwaway lines and jokes in tdp come back to bite us)—+“This coming season will test Ezran's pacifist instincts”

2. If Viren returns, something like this—

in contrast to the “I’m sorry it had to happen this way”/“No you’re not.”/“No, I’m not.” because Viren cannot doubt Ezran would be genuinely sorry

Viren would say I know because he gets it now, the new hesitant, less certain version who also feels bad for all he has done, but he wouldn’t have before.

SO… 3. If the Moon were to get metaphorically/literally swallowed on some level in S6, it would parallel 3x07, Hearts of Cinder.

Corruption via Aaravos’s…child.

which, coincidently, brings me to my next point!

B. Norse Mythology

I’ve briefly discussed this before here, but let’s review:

Aaravos’s similarities to Loki

Source: Twitter

But while we’re on Loki’s similarities to Aaravos, let’s consider what his other children are up to during Ragnarok, the end of the world in Norse Mythology, which seems fitting considering all the foreshadowing of what chaos Aaravos has wreaked in the past (Xadia) and present (Lux Aurea) and even future (ominous wording in the reflections) when given the chance.

Loki’s children during Ragnarok:

World Serpent — rises up from the depths, encircles the world and causes great waves and destruction (“The seas churned” 👀)

Hel — From the underworld, “leading an army of the dead, she marches against the gods, uniting with her brothers and other forces of chaos. This culminating battle signifies the cyclical nature of Norse myths; an end that's also a beginning.” [1] Speaking of which, sounds familiar, right? In Ripples:

“While one may say it ends with a sunrise, [beginning] another will insist it ends at nightfall. [end]”

“With its impact came a long and terrible night: The earth bled! The seas churned! The sun and moon hid for weeks behind the sky’s screaming storm!”

“And when the long, dark night had finally passed—for the sun must always rise, mustn’t it?—they gazed out upon an unfamiliar landscape.”

Fenrir— He was gagged with a sword and was destined to lie bound to a rock until the Ragnarök (Doomsday), when he will break his bonds and fall upon the gods. According to one version of the myth, Fenrir will devour the sun, and in the Ragnarök he will fight against the chief god Odin and swallow him. [2]

It’s interesting how Fenrir has even more parallels than Loki to Aaravos here. Trapped by a blade, chained against rocks like Prometheus (one of Aaravos’s primary inspirations) was when his liver (modern heart) was eaten every day, and when he’s freed all hell breaks loose, including swallowing people (see Zym and Aditi) and the sun. But was it him with the sun? Or…..

There’s something there about killing a god and being killed in return and making the stars fall and all the damage Claudia has suffered thus far, but anyway.

That’s right, Fenrir has two children, one who swallows the sun, and one who swallows the moon. During Ragnarok, while, also, the sea shakes. Ahem, back to this:

“With its impact came a long and terrible night: The earth bled! The seas churned! The sun and moon hid for weeks behind the sky’s screaming storm!”

So… earth blood?

Check… churning seas?

World Serpent — rises up from the depths, encircles the world and causes great waves and destruction

Check… sun and moon gone?

Check.

So, what do we do with this information?

C. Interpretation

So Aaravos with two children, one who swallows the sun, one the moon.

Swallowing the Moon

-Involving a Child

1. Most literally: Aaravos has that… homonculus child, which takes and poisons the power of the sun. Maybe we’re getting another of those? I’m honestly scared for what that actually means like is he having another kid for that because ����

2. What I favor- a metaphor— If you can consider Claudia Aaravos’s child, well, child in law isn’t that far off for the sake of this theory I think it’s possible they team up and somehow metaphorically swallow the moon like Viren and Aaravos did in S3. ….Just taking the moon, corrupting it and using its power— like they did with the Sunfire power— to make troops invisible in their effort to conquer xadia part two (2!) (although this is probably like the nth time that Aaravos has attempted his plan.)

-not involving a child

3. it could also just be disrupting the moon nexus in some way. Aaravos tends to break reflections in one way or another, from mirrors to ripples.

in Ripples he talks about how he dislikes how the stars look down on their perfect reflection (the sea of cast out)

@parroset has written an excellent meta elaborating further on it here, but essentially, he breaks reflections. A reflection is key to the moon nexus, that lake is the moon nexus because it so perfectly reflects the moon. So… there’s something to that. And it would have to come in handy manipulating the veil between life and death.

4. Taking Luna Tenebris’s power in a flashback.

I’ve talked about why I think we’re finally getting Luna Tenebris content before here, but essentially we already got all the dragons in the 4 corners of the map via flashback or interaction, and now only she is left. A flashback on what really went down that day would be perfectly in line with us learning more about Aaravos’s past, perhaps interaction with Kim'dael as well as, hopefully, blood magic—and dark, star, and deep magic. It also fits in with swallowing the moon’s power, as she was a Moon Archdragon. Moonless night. This also ties back to the blood moon cult because they harvest the power of the moon to begin with.

Last but not least and most obvious and exciting to many,

5. Rayla= “Moon girlfriend.” Callum is already being targeted, and likely some terrible thing is going to happen to him up with the rating being up, creators crying over this episode and calling it “heartbreaking” and all of that, so swallowing the moon could be symbolism for her dying or something equally terrible (so he’s forced to exploit dark magic/Aaravos to save her.)

This also ties back to this being the episode following the star scraper and the theory that Callum is a Trojan horse and, once he’s there, all the shit is going down. Maybe Rayla gets in the way and tries to sacrifice herself. I wouldn’t be surprised. or maybe it’s an intentional harm so that Callum has to bring her back… who knows?

It is for you to think about as you see fit.

@beautifulterriblequeen also wrote about other possibilities for the Moonless night here!

D. Symbolism & Misc.

Now let’s talk about the other symbolic evidence pointing to the swallowing of the moon.

The first thing that got me hooked on this theory was actually this page, which we see Viren flipping through, and then in Callum’s sketchbook.

I already analyzed the markings surrounding Aaravos’s signature symbol, but I also found the eclipse and crescent moon especially interesting considering how important the eclipse motif has been in the series and uniquely tied to Aaravos.

Thus far I figured the moon also had to be significant right it also almost seemed to me as if both the sun and moon had a bite taken out of them.

Then, we have the Reflections.

After Darkness

“The writhing, tainted darkness of Lux Aurea’s night sky spread infinitely above him, the stars all swallowed up inside it.”

Ripples

“While one may say it ends with a sunrise, another will insist it ends at nightfall. ” (swallowed sun) (falling stars)

“With its impact came a long and terrible night/And in that endless dark the humans despaired. The humans huddled together, scarcely daring to breathe, awaiting the rise of the sun.”

which, side note- sol regem saying the sun will never rise again for me, karim saying the sun is setting on their kingdom, and aaravos telling viren that the sun will rise and he will not like augh.

Then there’s the more literal interpretations of swallowing the moon and or sun along with the stars - Consider

1, Aaravos is giant

2, Star eating sword

3, Star devourer dragons

And, let’s go back to the crescent.

Waxing Crescents are associated with growing power, which would also be fitting for Aaravos gaining power, possibly a literal powerup.

Let’s also consider what new moons mean- considering the possible name, moonless night, and all the swallowing of the moon, and starting a new cycle, new moons are certainly significant, right? Moonless night- A fresh start. Could be something!

In summary, I believe the moon will be metaphorically swallowed in S6 in one way or another.

I hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading my thoughts! Please feel free to share any insights or reactions of your own!

[melpomenismask]

Vedic Astro Thought,

(Warning: i do not edit these and I will NOT be trying, so just read please lol.)

I’m starting to suspect serpent yonis need to stick together. As a girlie with a rohini mars chart ruler, and having learned about the myths surrounding rohini and mrigashira, that curse of attention for serpent yonis is genuinely unbearable. I thought it was a Venusian or Nodal condition, but neither of them have the sense of vulnerability and danger of a serpent yoni’s ability to intrigue and attract attention without even trying. Imagine you’re a snake in the park, enjoying the grass and nature, wanting to have a nice little day, maybe eat a mouse or two, who knows, you’ll figure it out. Then you slither into a family barbecue, and suddenly everyone’s screaming, trying to stomp you, etc, or maybe a small group of people find you and are fascinated, so fascinated they poke and prod you, maybe they’re a bit rougher, and you have to lie there because if you even react slightly they’ll attack because they’re afraid of you, and all the while you’re just a tiny little snake!

I thought of this because of Hidden Octave’s Rohini video on YouTube, which I absolutely relate to, but I felt a bit out of place because I’m not someone who’s actively courted or sought attention, it was inflicted on me by everyone around me. I was abused, bullied, attacked for no reason but grown adults, and object of peers sexual interest as a child, and it seemed like if I asserted myself even slightly, I was suddenly the most terrifying thing in the room when I’ve been “playing dead” the entire time. I’ve found this has made dating impossible for me because I am so traumatized by how people react to me that I can’t even be myself anymore (trying to get back to it though) because I now automatically doctor myself to NOT provoke, because all it brought is danger, drama, and mess.

I have also been the provocateur in cases though, not because I was desperate for attention, but because I took difficulty connecting as REAL potential because that person didn’t inflict all their reactions and fears that had onto me immediately until I sought them out further, then I realized I had just found a milder version of all the people who mistreated and misunderstood me before—but the one person that stuck with me as someone I genuinely felt a connection to was a fellow serpent yoni: our rohini mars conjuncted. The moment we met and it became even vague knowledge we had interest in each other, drama from everyone around us ensued and it bled into our already unformed but genuine connection because we were both victims of the same burden of the inherent ability to intrigue and provoke. Unfortunately the guy was also saturnian and lunar, so he was very internally unbalanced and I have had to move on for my own sake to find someone I deserve, because he has a long was to go before he realizes the drama isn’t a part of him, just a reaction to him. It’s hard to unlearn, but only another serpent yoni really gets it. You’re not even doing anything, and everyone seems to watch every move you make while also being repelled if you come too close.

Which brings me to my point. In America, there’s a famous couple from a sitcom called The Office; their names are Jim and Pam. The actor Jim was a national heartthrob in his heyday as the character and has went on the make pretty good movies, the actress for Pam pretty much did that show and nothing else really big happened for her, but she did well, but she hasn’t really moved on from the glory days from what people seem to say about her—even alleging that she’s a bit obsessed with Jim’s actor in real life to the point he had to publicly “shut her down”. Jim’s actor is a Rohini, Mrig, and Magha (hence his “glory”) guy, while Pam’s actor is Dhanishta, some Jupiter influences, but not that much serpentine energy, just a rohini mars. I find the lunar aspect of rohini so compelling because when that energy holds you, you’re genuinely in some different reality, but because of how that serpent yoni energy intoxicates you. Of course if you’re also serpentine, it also violently rubs salt into the wound of how hard it is to find someone you genuinely connect with, but hey, I digress, I swear I’m totally fine and not having an existential crisis about love right now.

I find it hilarious how that reactionary pattern just KEEPS happening in different octaves; apparently between them as cast members, then Jim’s actor as the heartthrob boy next door in love with the married girl (rohini and its love triangles), and the married girl stuck in a marriage that she is miserable and used as an ego crutch in. I mean, sure, Pam is great, but it wasn’t her longing, her clinging to something that just felt right that made the story so romantic, it was all Jim from the start keeping it alive, because if Pam didn’t luckily love him back that boy would’ve been stuck. He “moves on” in the show, and does it easily because he can, and he enjoys the company, but it doesn’t matter because it’s so empty. He’s so kind and loving for Pam because he feels safe and at home, but he can’t just sit around for a woman who turned him down, right, so the serpent has to find another place to hide in. He clicks well with anyone because that’s what serpent yonis do. We can react with you and mirror but that’s just because we’re conditioned that way because of how the world treats us from a young age, not because you’re special. And it’s hard to watch him try to move on when he so clearly just can’t detach—think of two serpents intertwined, that’s the way I think we serpent yoni types want to love. An eternal, safe, vitalizing embrace. Snakes are cold-blooded but they are creatures like the rest, but for some reason unbeknownst to it, the other creatures don’t seem to agree, and all the snake wants is to find a little home, hunt, and live in peace.

This ISN’T to say we don’t know what we’re doing when we’re doing it, but when we’re not doing anything, we’re still somehow “doing it”, specifically for Rohini because Lunar influence is rife with confusion and illusion. All you want is to be out of the darkness, to know that the shadows aren’t scary, that you can come out too and be yourself in all your snake-ness, but it never seems to be over, the curse of attention, and the madness just seems to follow you. Whether it’s from the world or the budding madness in yourself from never finding solid ground to just see everything clearly for a moment and make sense of things. It’s a hellish trap of constant reaction (which I personally hate, hence why I consider it hell).

I was also surprised by the YouTube comments and the intense shift in sentiment around Jim and Pam from the show. It used to be THE dream romance, people wanted their own Jim, people wanted their own Pam, people wanted to be Jim and Pam. NOW, people seem to hate them. Now they’re pretentious, uppity, the worst ones out of the show for their light transgressions while all the insane people are still acceptable to make space for. They’re literally just the “normal” characters in a sitcom with a sweet love story, and people lose their fucking MINDS about them, when they are literally not even that special. They just love each other deeply, and that simple truth creates a labyrinth of envy and intrigue, and I see that pattern for rohinis and serpent natives often. They are just themselves, it’s very nice, and no can seem to handle it normally.

Jim and Pam are sweet. Jim is sweet with normal human character flaws, but it seems everyone (even in the show lol, go watch) is hellbent on making him something more provocative, chaotic or malicious than he actually is, which is just extremely rohini. Hi, Norma, hi, Marilyn. We never get a break until it kills us or we find our “charmer” we can trust and love without fear of the curse rearing its ugly head again. Sometimes it just kills us.

In my opinion, serpents need their snake charmer, who can dance with them without fearing their differences, or a fellow serpent. Considering the state of humanity right now—maybe look for fellow snakes instead of a magical “charmer”, someone “normal” and grounded like Pam is for Jim in that example, or like the non-flashy guys Marilyn Monroe married. We want to be seem and understood, but I think we can only understand each other. If you’re a serpent yoni maybe keep out an eye for people with that nakshatra energy in their chart, because they won’t be as oddly disturbed and provoked by you like the others probably are. It’s hard enough out there, so use cheat codes. Life is shit and we make it better out of luck, faith and perseverance. And love, of course. 🥰

From a friend. :)

[morgana-larkin]

Hey I was wondering if u could do a Melissa x reader were reader struggles with SH and Melissa finds out some how and comforts reader and helps her to not SH or something like that (also I completely understand if u don’t wanna write this and really sorry if it’s triggering to u sorry and thank u)

Hi, thank you for the prompt! I will admit that this one got me a bit. It wasn’t that triggering for me but it was still hard to write. I hope that SH meant self harm or this fic took a very different turn than what you wanted. I went with the reader is autistic because I’m able to relate to that and made it easier to write the feelings and emotions. So here it is and I hope you like it. And of course not edited in the slightest. And I am still taking prompts, I’m currently writing another one for a prompt I got.

Little Droplets of Relief

‼️ TRIGGER WARNING ‼️

This fic heavily describes and talks about self harm and cutting. If you think you’ll get triggered then please don’t read it.

Words: 4.38k

Lazy, useless, unlovable.

3 words that you were used to hearing, mostly from yourself.

Growing up with Autism that went undiagnosed until you were 16 was difficult. There were times when you felt too tired to do anything or you forgot to do basic needs, like eating or brushing your teeth. Lazy.

There were other times when all you wanted to do was drown out society because everything was too much or when you didn’t pick up the most obvious social cues. Useless.

You’ve turned down many invitations from friends because you just felt like laying in your bed and live in the world conjured up by your thoughts. You've been clingy with some people because they don’t leave you and they’re someone you know but that led people to leave you. Everyone left you at some point. Everyone. Unlovable.

Those 3 words, a mantra in your head. Often led you to sit on your bed, rocking yourself back and forth and sometimes tug at your hair.

Until one day, those words in your head distracted you when you went to reach for a fork and ended up picking up a steak knife, from the sharp end. As soon as you picked it up, you dropped it and saw you were bleeding, and the voices stopped for a whole day. So when they returned the next day, you did your usual rocking on the bed and tugged at your own hair so hard you pulled some strands right out. Then you thought of what happened yesterday, you looked at your bandaged hand that your mom did when you told her you accidentally cut yourself. You bled and the voices stopped. So you grabbed a knife from the kitchen when you’re parents weren’t looking and you gave yourself a small cut on the wrist and you watched it bleed. You watched little droplets of blood fall from you and with the blood, the voices left.

It started off small, you would only give yourself a cut when everything else you tried didn’t work, but soon what turned into about once a week, turned into every other day then turned into everyday. Everyday before bed, you would do a small cut on your wrist and watch the blood fall, you called it your little droplets of relief. You always did small so you can easily cover it up with something, when it was hot out, like a scrunchie or thick bracelet.

You were 15 at the time when you started cutting yourself. Then at 17 you got diagnosed with Asperger’s which you were told was a form of Autism. You knew nothing about it. You were explained what it is, it’s mostly known as a social disorder but it’s other things too. For instance you can get tired from socialising, get overwhelmed and block the world out , have obsessions, and in some cases suffer on and off with depression. When you got told this, a lot of things made sense. And while you now had a name to it, you cutting yourself didn’t stop, it became an obsession, a dangerous obsession.

Now you are 27. You’ve been working at Abbott Elementary for a year now as a first grade teacher and you love it there. The kids are crazy, the staff even more, the principal was a whole different level though. You felt like you fit in here, you never felt like you fit in anywhere, always an outcast. You became friends with some of the teachers. The first one you became friends with was Jacob, he was nerdy like you, you had a lot of similar interests. The second one was Gregory, you don’t know why, but you felt like he was like you, he never said anything but a lot of things he does, you do. The third was Janine, although you still are wary of her, a little ball of energy like that can sometimes be too much for you. The next one was Barb, she was sweet to you since you started, always giving great advice if you need it and always lending an ear. Ava you’re still unsure of, her personality was big and her ego even bigger, but she cared about the students and she took some getting used to until you saw a person instead of well… Ava you guess. Then there was Melissa. She was wary of you at first, being new, but you saw she had a heart behind all those leather pants and insults. It took both of you awhile to warm up to each other.

While everyone was nice to you and you considered them friends, you never got close to them. You didn’t want to, because as soon as you did, then poof they’re gone. So you kept them all at a distance, you barely talked about yourself, you didn’t ask them questions about themselves either. You sometimes got up and left if the conversation got personal, mumbling out an excuse of some sort. The only one who really noticed that you did that was Melissa.

You’re not sure why but she seemed to take an interest in you. She kept trying to get to know you but always failed. Until one day she was talking with you in your classroom, you went to reach something and your sleeve rolled up, exposing your cuts right at her. You went a little crazier last night but it was chillier today so you thought it would be fine and just had to wear a long sleeve.

“What are those?” She said

“They’re nothing.” You said defensively. Pulling your sleeve back down

“They didn’t look like nothing.”

“Like I said , it’s nothing so just drop it ok.” You told her.

“Give me your wrist then.”

“What?”

“If you say it’s nothing then you’ll have no problem letting me see your wrist. So come on, let me see your wrist.” She said and you froze. I mean she did have a point, you aren’t showing her because they are something.

“This really isn’t any of your business or concern Melissa, I mean I barely even know you.” You told her, trying to deflect and get out of the conversation revolving your wrist.

“Because you won’t let yourself know me, and you won’t let other people know you.”

“People aren’t worth my time , not if all they do is leave. Like I seriously don’t know why other people try to make friends, people don’t stick around.” You said to her and this confused her. You confuse her. First you have mysterious cuts on your wrist, then you say that people aren’t worth your time. Then she thought about it.

“How many people left you?”

“What?”

“I said , how many people in your life has left you?”

“Too many to count.”

Melissa did end up dropping the cuts on your wrists, but she still worried about you because she has a pretty good idea of why they’re there. It wasn’t until one day, 2 weeks after she saw your cuts, that you came in tired, more tired than just the usual tiredness in the morning.

“You ok y/n?” Melissa asked as you walked into the break room.

“Ya I’m fine. Just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” You told her, and it was a half lie. You did get about 5 hours of sleep but that was only because you had to clean up some blood as you cut a bit too deep by accident. On top of that, you’ve been forgetting to eat, you didn’t eat at all yesterday and you forgot a lunch today, and slept in this morning by accident so you also didn’t have breakfast.

Melissa watched you walk to the coffee machine and poured yourself a cup. You look pale as a ghost but Melissa isn’t going to ask, the last time she asked about you, you shut her down.

It wasn’t until lunchtime that she got worried. She watched you stumble your kids to the cafeteria, and since she was paying attention to you, she saw you lose your balance a couple times and that you kept grabbing your head. When you came back to your classroom to grade some tests, Melissa was sitting in your chair.

“Melissa, what are you doing here?” You asked her.

“I think you know. You look pale. Did you eat recently?” She asked and you just looked at her. The thing is you need to sit down as you’re really lightheaded.

“Can I have my chair back?” You asked her and she got up. But you took 2 steps and you got dizzy and fainted. The last thing you saw through blurry vision is red hair hovering over you in frantic movements.

You woke up and looked around and realised that you’re in the nurse’s office.

“Oh look who’s finally awake.” A voice said and you looked to your left and saw Melissa sitting on a chair looking at you. She has one leg over the over and her hands on the arm rest of the chair. “I got Mr Johnson and Ava to cover our classes while we talk.”

“Talk about what? And where’s the nurse?” You asked her when you realised she wasn’t here.

“Like I said, we need to talk, in private.” Is all she said. And the look on her face shows she’s in no mood for anything and not going to let you shut her down.

You sighed. “Look Melissa, I’m fine, just forgot to eat and pack a lunch. But I’m fine now.” You went to get up but Melissa got to you and pushed you back to the bed.

She then walked back to the chair and bent down to get something out of her purse. “Here, after I brought you here I got some food from down the street.” She said and handed you a store bought sandwich. You didn’t take it though, you just looked at her confused. “It’s not poisonous if that’s what you’re worried about.” She said.

“It’s not what I’m worried about.” You said.

“Just take it and eat it. I don’t want you fainting again.” She said and shoved it into your hand. You finally took it and started eating it. “Now I’m going to ask you some questions and I want you to be truthful with me. And before you start getting defensive or try to shut me down, I saw your wrists and you fainted right in front of me.” She said, and if you weren’t already pale then you would have been now.

“You what?” Is all you said and froze about to take a bite of the sandwich.

“I saw them. Do you want to tell me why there’s cuts on your wrists?” She asked and you shook your head and she sighed. “Ok I know why but since you won’t tell me then let me ask you this. Why haven’t you been eating, I think you’ve gone a lot longer than just today of not eating, with how pale you were this morning.” She was really pushing it and you didn’t know what to do, she pieced a lot of things together and has you cornered.

“Can we not do this right now?” You told her, you knew that she won’t let this go and this was going to be a heavy conversation, and you didn’t want to do it at school.

“If not now then when y/n? When things get worse? Because I hate to break it to you, it got worse already.” She said and the tone of voice she was using, almost sounded like fear. Although you don’t know why.

“It can be today but just not here.” You said and looked at your lap. Melissa sighed and you looked back up at her.

“Ok, how about I drive you to my place after school and make you dinner and then you can tell me then?” She proposed and you looked at her confused, you don’t know why she’s doing this for you. “I don’t want you driving if you’ve barely ate. So either way I’m going to drive you. And before you think about it, I already took your car keys.” She said, you looked at her and she began spinning your keys on her finger proudly.

“Alright, but you don’t have to make me anything, I’ll just eat when I get back home.” You told her.

“I always make enough for 12 hun, you’ll eat at my house.” She tells you, leaving no room for argument and you nod. After you ate the sandwich you felt a bit better. You and Melissa went back to your classes and you just had your students read or draw for the rest of the day.

At the end of the day, Melissa came to your classroom to drive you to her place. “Ready to go?” She asked and you nodded, grabbing your bag. You followed her out to the parking lot and to her car. You noticed she kept looking back at you, probably to make sure you aren’t going to faint again.

She drove you to her place and got you to sit on her couch, you did as instructed and just sat there, twiddling your thumbs nervously. And at some point you dozed off because she was shaking you gently and telling you the food was ready. You both ate on the couch, she wasn’t worried about spills as the couch is covered in plastic. After you finished, pretty much inhaled your food, she put your plate on the coffee table then looked at you.

“When was the last time you ate?” She asked first.

“Dinner, the day before yesterday.” You said plainly and she looked at you worried. Well might as well come out and say it. “I’m autistic, and sometimes I forget to do basic things, like eat. It’s not the first time I’ve forgotten to eat, although it’s the first time I’ve fainted. I usually only forget one meal, not a whole day.” You said and she put her arm on the top of the couch, looking at you.

“And what about the cuts on your wrists? Why did you do those?” She asked the burning question.

“To make my brain shut up.” You said and looked down at your hands on your lap.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the things my brain says on repeat, until I give myself a cut. It won’t shut up until I do, I’ve tried everything else before. This is the only thing that works.” You told her and she looks at you softly.

“Hun, there are so many ways to do that, and harming yourself shouldn’t be one.” She said and put a hand on your knee and began gently rubbing your knee. “What does your brain tell you on repeat?” She asks and a tear rolls down your cheek.

“3 words, lazy, useless, unlovable.” You said as another tear rolled down your cheek.

“Hun, you aren’t any of those things. When did this start? The words in your head and the cutting?”

“When I was 15. I couldn’t keep handling it. It got to the point where I was ripping my hair out. And then one day the voice in my head was telling me those words when I went to reach for a fork, got distracted and picked up a knife, from the pointy end. And as I watched the blood trickle out and down my arm, the voice went away for a whole day. And then the next day when they came back, I experimented and gave myself a small cut, and it worked. I only started doing it once a week, then that slowly turned into multiple times a week and then everyday, I like to call it little droplets of relief. I only ever gave myself small ones so I can cover them up with something, especially in the summer. But last night I cut too deep by accident.” You told her and she looked at you sympathetically. “I got diagnosed when I was 17, but by then it was too late.”

“And why don’t you ever let people in? You keep them at a distance.”

“People they leave, at one point or another. People always leave when I get close and it hurts. So to not get hurt, I don’t get close. It’s easier and less painful that way.”

“Hun, you shouldn’t be dealing with this by yourself. Everyone needs someone.” She tells you.

“I don’t need anyone, I’ve been fine by myself. It’s better that way for everyone anyway.”

“What do you mean it’s better for everyone?”

“I mean that I stay away and don’t need people, and they don’t have to deal with me.” You told her.

“Do you really think you’re so unlovable that someone wouldn’t want to be there for you?” She asks and you look at her with tear stained cheeks and nod. “Well from what I know about you, you’re a pretty great person who tries to take on too much by herself and doesn’t give herself a break.” She tells you and you lift your legs and pull them close to your body and hug them. Melissa thinks you look so small and vulnerable, it broke her heart that someone can think those things about themselves when they’re a good person. “I think you’re good enough.” She simply tells you and you look at her surprised.

“Why would you say that when it isn’t true?” And your voice is almost a whisper and you’re about to cry.

“Because it is true, you are good enough and you shouldn’t think otherwise.” She tells you and you start crying. “Can I hug you?” She asks you and you look at her and sniff, then nod your head as more tears roll down your cheeks. She brings you closer to her and you put your legs down and off the couch. Melissa wraps her arms around you and starts rubbing your back soothingly. You don’t know what to think at first about her hugging you, it’s been so long since someone has touched you, not even a hug for over 5 years. And you realise that you miss it, you miss physical contact with people. And you wrap your arms around Melissa’s waist and hold on tight as you continue to cry. You fall asleep in her arms and she doesn’t have the heart to move you, so she leans down on the couch and reaches for the blanket that’s on the top and puts a pillow under her. She drapes the blanket over you both and she falls asleep.

After that day, Melissa has taken it upon herself to help you, help you cope in healthier ways. Both of you try different ways and at first nothing seems to work, then after a few more tries. You found something, and you don’t know how you didn’t think of it before. The one thing you found that helped, was the one thing you never had before, someone there to rub your back or hug you or just there to listen to you. You started getting better and you kept finding more ways to help, like fidget spinners, earplugs, a rubber ball to squeeze if you need to squeeze something due to intense emotions.

And with Melissa helping you, you began to open up to her and you let her open up to you. And after some time feelings appeared, and you freaked out. You didn’t know how to deal with it, you’ve had small crushes before but the last time was in high school before you cut people out. And at this point you relapse after 3 months straight of not giving yourself a cut. The voices in your head only said one thing, one word now instead of 3, unlovable. You take a knife and drag it across your wrist, of course Melissa wouldn’t want you, she’s only helping you to be nice, nothing more. You did another cut and watched the blood flow down your arm. The voice didn’t stop and it got louder. You went to your other wrist and did the same thing, 2 cuts, but it still wasn’t working. You did it again, only this time, you made a mistake, you cut too deep and you were losing blood. You got lightheaded quickly and passed out.

And that was how Melissa found you a minute later as she came to your house every day to watch shows together or to chat. She opened your door with the key you gave her and she found you passed out on the ground, blood dripping from your wrist.

“Y/N! No no no!” She ran to you and tried to shake you awake and you wouldn’t, she checked your pulse and thankfully you were still alive but weak. She ran to your bathroom and grabbed towels and applied them to the cut and put pressure to try and stop the bleeding. And thankfully it did. As soon as it stopped, she went to get bandages and wet paper towels. She cleaned your arm up and then wrapped your arm with the bandage. She then picked you up and carried you to your bed and laid you down, then she sat on the other side of the bed and stayed with you until you woke up.

You woke up a couple hours later. You opened your eyes and blinked a couple times, you looked to your side and you see Melissa there. She hasn’t noticed you awake yet. She’s hugging herself and looks deep in thought. You call her name.

“Melissa?” You croak out and she snaps out of her head and looks at you. She looks happy to see you awake and then she gets angry.

“What the hell were you thinking!? I thought you were passed this?!? And then I find you on the ground with blood coming out of your arm!!” She yelled at you and you looked at her with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, it just happened.” You tell her.

“I thought you were dead y/n! Do you understand that? And you could have if I didn’t show up when I did.” She tells you and you look at your arm, it’s now bandaged up. “I was able to stop the bleeding and patch you up. I almost called an ambulance.” She tells you and you snap your head to her. Too think that you were so close to death and you have her to thank. “Why did you do it? Why didn’t you try something else? We’ve been able to find different ways, healthier ways, not dangerous ways.”

“I tried but none of them worked and I only meant to give myself a little one, but the voice didn’t stop repeating that one word and it got louder and louder.” You tell her.

“What word?” She asks you.

“Unlovable.”

“Y/n, I’ve told you many times that it’s not true, many people will grow to love you if you let them.” She tells you genuinely.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” She asks confused.

“You wouldn’t love me. I mean you’re only helping me to be nice. No other reason.” You tell her and you look at your hands.

“Y/n, I’m helping you because believe or not, I care about you. I’m your friend.” She tells you and you can’t help it, as soon as she says friend, it spills out.

“Ya, and that’s all you’ll ever be.” You snap a bit.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asks, she has no idea where any of this is coming from.

“Forget it, forget I said anything.” You tell her trying to backtrack, you’re not going to tell her how you feel. You don’t want to ruin this friendship with her over something stupid as your feelings for her. But Melissa pushes you, she’s not going to back down, not after finding you like she did.

“No, you’re not going to do this again. Tell me what you mean. Please.” She tells you. She almost begs you at the end.

“It means that you’ll never be more than a friend.” You tell her like it’s obvious.

“What else would I be?” She asks, still confused. And then you look at her and she looks into your eyes, and she sees the hurt and fear. And then she figures it out. “Y/n, do you have feelings for me?” She asks gently and you close your eyes and nod. You don’t want to see her reaction when she rejects you and then leaves. But she doesn’t do either. To your surprise she cups your cheek. You open your eyes and look at her in shock. “I’m not going anywhere. And if I’m being honest, I have feelings for you too.”

“I thought you were straight?!?” You tell her and she giggles.

No, I’m bisexual, I’ve dated girls here and there but nothing ever stuck.” She tells you and moves the hand that’s on your cheek to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and you lean in. Your lips land on hers and she kisses you back. You think that this is where you’re meant to be, with her, with Melissa. She’s your shining light. “Is that what happened? Did you realise you have feelings for me and the voice in your head happened?” She asked suddenly and you nod. “Oh Bella, I wish you would have told me what was going on.” She tells you and your heart does a flip at the nickname.

“I will next time, before I do anything.” You tell her

“You promise?” She asks and you nod. She sticks her pinky out and you lock yours with hers in a pinky swear. “You can never break a pinky swear.” She tells you and you laugh.

“I pinky swear to come to you before I do anything stupid.” You tell her and that satisfies her. And she puts an arm around you and brings you to her and you cuddle on her chest, listening to her heartbeat. And this you think, are your new droplets of relief.

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[atlafan]

Peaches and Cream - One Shot

a/n: okay yall went crazy for this blurb so I wrote a full one shot for it. lmk if you want to see more from these two! Please reblog, put notes in the tags, send me asks. All feedback is important. It keep me writing! not proofread

warnings: smut, enemies to lovers

words: 8.6K

Masterlist I Patreon

There he was, looking at her with the smuggest look she’s ever seen. He’s tucking his shirt back into his pants, fastening the button and zipper, and looking up at her with rosy cheeks and closed-mouth grin. When all she does is look at him stoically, he chuckles softly, shakes his head, and finishes getting dressed. He leans in to leave a peck to her forehead before departing.

“Harry.” She calls to him, making him turn to look at her. “This was a one-time thing.”

“Whatever you say, Peach.”

And then he’s gone. She frowns at the use of her nickname. The one bestowed upon her by her mother. It was “Peaches” actually, but over the years people have just come to call her “Peach”. It wasn’t something she thought would carry over into her adult life, but she did. Then in bled into her professional life. She doesn’t mind when people call her that…except for him. Whenever Harry calls her Peach or Peaches, he says it in the most condescending tone. Sometimes when he’s feeling especially obnoxious, he likes to call her “Peaches and Cream”.  He turned her sweet nickname into something she almost hates hearing now. But everyone knows her as Peach, and she doesn’t want to rock the boat by making them call her, her actual name. (Which she can’t stand. And her middle name is no good either.)

She hates Harry. He’s been a menace to her for years. So how she allowed him to take her home and fuck her into her mattress…she can’t really recall. As she shuffles into her bathroom and washes her face, she thinks about how the night’s events transpired. They weren’t intoxicated. They weren’t under the influence of any kind. They were simply working late, which was nothing out of the ordinary for either of them.

She and Harry are both account managers at a prestigious PR firm – Harris Public Relations & Media Consultation. Harry is a nepotism baby though. His father worked at Harris for years, was the CFO, that whole thing. So it was easy for Harry to get an internship during undergrad in the marketing department. And it was easy for Harry to get hired on as a copy editor while going for his MBA. And it was easy for Harry to move up the ranks until he was one of the lead account managers.

Peach, on the other hand, well…she worked a little harder. She got a full ride to Columbia thanks to hours upon hours of writing letters and essays for scholarships. She thought she might like to go into journalism, but she only ended up minoring in it. What stole her heart was media relations and literacy. She just found it fascinating! The theory behind what media are, and how to properly learn how to use them interested her more than anything. She took a course on the art of media training, and that was it for her. She knew she wanted to do something in the world of public relations. She also looked up to Samantha from Sex and the City, and how she was able to basically build an empire all on her own. That was Peach’s dream, to someday have her own PR firm.

But she knew it would take time to be able to do that. She had to learn the business and make a name for herself. She found an internship during undergrad, but she had to go through a more rigorous interview process than Harry had. She also got her start in copy editing, but for a small marketing company. Working at a place like Harris would be a huge stepping stone for her career. So when a job opened up on the media relations team a few years back, she applied. And thanks to her networking skills, she had some incredible people to put down as references. It took over a month, but she was hired. She was doing copy editing, working with clients, doing some media training to up and coming artists. All things that were good experience for her to get under belt.

Being an account manager though…that’s where the big buck and the notoriety are. This where are a person can put their money where their mouth is. The CEO, now Harris’ son Jeremy, is the one who assigns the account managers to specific clients. Each manager has a team, that team puts together a pitch, and they all pitch it to the client. The client then picks which pitch they like best, and that manager and their teams gets to work with the client going forward. Everyone gets paid a standard salary, but account managers are given a commission when their pitch is selected. Not to mention the pure bragging rights.

So, she knew if she ever wanted her own PR firm, then she’d start needing experience managing accounts. She requested a one-on-one meeting with Jeremy after working for the company for two years. She did good work. She brought him facts and figures. He was impressed. When he asked what she wanted when she was done selling herself to him, she explained her work goals and aspirations. She didn’t say she wanted to have her own firm, no, she told him she wanted to be an account manager here at Harris and she wanted to be the one to continue getting them in the 21st century. She wanted to bring the company more money and more clients. This is exactly what Jeremy wanted to hear. But since she’s a woman, she had to be a bit more persuasive. She knows how Jeremy is. He looks, but never touches. He’s a married man, after all. So, she gave him various things to look at that day. She wore her tightest pencil skirt that fell about halfway around her thighs, sheer, black tights underneath, a pair of pumps that would help her legs look a little longer, and a blouse that showed off her cleavage beautifully.

It was in the bag. Jeremy’s eyes drifted and wandered as she spoke. She pretended not to care that she was being openly objectified by the CEO of the company. And by the end of the meeting, he told her that one of the other account managers would be retiring at the end of that month, but no one knew yet. So, the open position would go right to her if she wanted it. She accepted, and shook his hand, lingering just a tad to make him feel wanted. Giving a man an ego boost is always the icing on the cake. She got exactly what she wanted.

This tactic may not have been obvious to the other account managers, but it was obvious to Harry. He has no problem working with women. He prefers to work in a diverse space, so that’s not the problem. The problem is he knew exactly how she played it. She used her looks and body to weasel her way into an open position that she didn’t have a formal interview for. Harry was hoping there would be a legitimate search done for a new account manager so one of his friends at another frim could apply. But no…Peach got it.

She was given the office right next to Harrys. Glass all around for easy view of the city and the people working at the desks outside of the offices. There were blinds that could be pulled for privacy, of course. She had her own assistant that would help manager her calendar and meetings. And now she’d be able to put her own teams together for pitches. She knew who she liked in the graphics department, and she knew who she liked in the print shop, and she knew who she liked for writing copy. It was all falling into place.

Harry was convinced that she slept with Jeremy to get the position. To him, it seemed like she had no experience for pitching to clients and making the important things happen. To him, she had more experience in damage control, quality assurance, those types of things.

At her first account managers meeting, Jeremy was there to deliver some new updates. He was a hands on CEO, just as his father was. He didn’t just want to be a figure head for the company. He still took on the occasional client and everything.

“And my last announcement is to welcome our newest account manager, Peach.” He smiled in her direction, and everyone looked at her. She smiled at everyone sheepishly, then they turned their attention back to Jeremy.

After the meeting, Harry saw her refilling her water bottle at the water bottle station near the bathrooms. He was going to refill his bottle as well.

“Congrats on movin’ on up.” He said her. At first she thought he was being sincere. Could the nepotism baby actually be a kind person with a soul?

“Thank you, Harry.”

“Please, just call me H, everyone else does.”

“Alright.” She smiled and stepped aside to let him refill his water.

“So, what kind of a name is Peach? Did your parents have an affinity for the fruit?” He asked her nonchalantly.

“No, it’s just a nickname my mom gave me when I was a kid. She used to call me Peaches, and then that shortened to Peach as I got older. It sort of stuck, and I prefer to use it. It’s shorter than my actual name. Rolls off the tongue easier.”

“Ah.” Harry nodded, screwing the cap back onto his bottle. “I bet Jeremy thought you were just the sweetest thing, then?” He said sweetest thing with a slight country twang. Was he mocking her? Her mother may have been from the south, but she was no bumpkin.

“I don’t know about that, but I know he liked what he saw when I showed him my portfolio.”

“Mm.” He nodded again. “Well, bless your heart, Peaches. Welcome to the team.”

He turned and walked away from her, leaving the foulest taste in her mouth. So what if she was born in Georgia. She wasn’t raised there. Her parents got divorced, and her mother moved them up north to Boston where one of her cousins lived. Her mother met a man that worked in IT, and she got a new step-dad in a matter of a couple of years. She doesn’t even have an accent. Her mother barely has one anymore. What the fuck was Harry’s problem?

The two didn’t see much of each other except for the weekly account managers meeting. They were often working on different projects, and they never used the same people for their teams. Jeremy assigned specific managers to specific pitches because he knew where certain people had expertise. Different clients needed different things. So, really, Peach didn’t have to work with Harry all that much. She hated that her office was next to his, but it’s not like he was a distraction.

He knew how to push her buttons, though. He’d throw in various version of her nickname during meetings to make her look stupid and juvenile. Saying things like, “We haven’t heard from Peaches on this”, or, “Settle down Peach and Cream”, or literally anything that would make her the butt of a joke. She loathed him. Harry knew it was childish to pick on her, but he was pissed. If she could schmooze her way into this position, who’s to say she won’t do that again for an even higher position? No way will she ever be the boss of him. Harry works hard, and he’s good at what he does. He’s one of the top account managers at the firm. If anyone’s going to get a bump up, it should be him.

It went on like this for a year. They made each other crazy. Then came the day when Harry, Chris, John, and Peach were all called into a meeting with Jeremy and his executive assistant. This is usually how he assigned really important pitches to a select number of account managers. What both Harry and Peach couldn’t figure out is why they were being called into the same meeting.

“You all are familiar with the popular hotel chain called RJR, right?” Everyone nods and hums in agreement. “They’re looking to rebrand. They’ve had the same logo, slogan, and branding for over thirty years, and they want to change things up. They want to get more young people using their website to book rooms and events. The majority of their clientele are older people, and they love them, but they want to expand and market to more.” Everyone takes notes as Jeremy explains. “You all have experience when it comes to helping a company work through rebranding. This is going to be an insanely involved project, so I wanted my top managers on this.”

Harry thought he was going to explode. Since when was Peach a top account manager? She’s only been at this for a year! Harry’s been managing accounts for over five! He knows he gets paid more, especially since his pitches are usually the ones chosen by the client, but now he seems to have some real competition. Jeremy’s assistant emails everyone the briefing on what the hotel is looking to do. Now it’s on the account managers to do some market research before pulling their teams together. They have a week and a half before the VP of Marketing from RJR comes to hear the pitches.

She stays late every night to do take notes and put her information together. They all still have other work during the day to get done. It’s not unusual for people to stay late. She wants to be able to articulate what different populations are looking for in terms of hotel service. What’s important to these different age groups? 24-hour front desk service? A proper mini-fridge? Storage space? Free breakfast? It’s a lot to consider. If the nightly rate is high, what are the customers getting for that price?

“Well, look he’s still here.” Harry’s graining, agitating voice rings loud and clear to her as he steps into her office. “It’s Miss Peach Pie.”

“What do you want, H? I’m busy.” She says flatly.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “I was just finishing up my work for the night. I used one of the conference rooms that has a larger whiteboard so I could brainstorm a little.” He puts his hands in his pockets and smirks at her. “Don’t get too excited though, I erased everything, so you won’t be able to steal any of my ideas.”

“Your ideas are probably just as stupid as you are, so I’m all set.”

“Oof.” He puts his hands over his heart to fake that she’s wounded him. “That was a good one. Calling me stupid is so high level.”

“I apologize, I’m a bit tired from the day. I promise to insult you properly tomorrow morning after a good night’s sleep.”

“You know you’re not going to be selected for this, right? You’re going up against me, John, and Chris. You don’t stand a chance.”

“Sounds like someone’s projecting.” She sing-songs. “You’re that scared of me stealing your thunder?”

“All I’m saying is, you’re running with the big dogs now. Some of us aren’t exactly friendly.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice about that.”

“Just don’t be surprised when one of us bites you on the ass.”

“Hm.” She grins and crosses her arms over her chest, leaning back in her chair. “And what would a bitchless guy like yourself know about biting asses?” Harry’s mouth falls open. “I mean, it’s one thing for a woman to work late. I don’t have kids to get home to, and I pay my neighbor’s kid to feed my dog and take him out. But you, a man of such stature and status, you’d think you’d have some hole to rush home to.” She pouts mockingly at him. “What’s wrong? Your pocket pussy just not doing it for you anymore?”

Harry narrows his eyes at her. “My private life stays separate from work. Pardon me for not talking about what or who I get into on the weekends like some of our other colleagues.”

“It’s okay to admit you’re a virgin, H. Everyone does everything in their own time. I’m sure it’ll happen for you someday.” She smiles ever so sweetly at him. “Life isn’t a race.”

“Go to hell.” He huffs, and leaves her office to go to his, gathering his things and leaving her in their wing all alone.

He hates her. He loathes her. He has to beat her at this, he can’t let her win.

//

After a week and a half of snide comments, and hours upon hours of extra work, the VP of Marketing from RJR is here in the nicest conference room to hear the four different pitches. Jeremy is sitting with her. Her name is Adelaide Benjamin. She looks to be in her late forties, but her eyes are kind. It’s not often the managers get to pitch to a woman. It makes John and Chris a little nervous for their presentations. They’re both guys’ guys. Harry can charm anyone, so he’s not worried one bit. And Peach, well, she’s not stupid enough to relax just because she’s pitching to a woman. Often times in business, women aren’t so quick to support other women.

The four of them get to meet with Adelaide, sharing a delicious breakfast catered by the firm’s dining department. She goes over her plans and what the company over all is looking to do. They all are given time to freshen up and use the bathroom before the presentations start. John goes first, then Harry, then Peach, and then Chris. The four of them are brought back in after Adelaide and Jeremy chat for a while.

“Thank you all so much for your marvelous presentations. I’m going to take back the materials you’ve given me to my team, and talk things over with them. I should have an answer on who I’d like to take this on in a few days.”

Oh, she’s thorough. Today is Thursday, which means they won’t have an answer until Monday. Which means the four of them are going to be on edge until then. It makes it difficult to concentrate on their other projects. Peach’s stomach isn’t feeling too great. She’s not sure if she ate too much or too little earlier. She’s not sure if it’s the nerves. She’s not sure if maybe her skirt is just a little too tight around her stomach as she sits. It’s really a better outfit for standing.

She manages to get through the day unscathed, but around 5:15, she’s rushing to the bathroom. She’s never sure which end is worse for things to come out of, but at work, she’d prefer to throw up. Luckily, that’s all it is. She heaved hard until her stomach was empty, and it was just bile coming out. She stands up slowly, and goes to rinse her mouth out at the sink. She keeps a spare toothbrush in her office, and makeup wipes. She sighs with relief at the thought because looking at herself in the mirror right now…

Her forehead is clammy, her body feels sweaty, and she looks like a raccoon because now her eye makeup has smeared and clumped under her eyes. She’s just happy she had the good sense to put her hair up before coming to the bathroom to throw up. Feeling exhausted, she pushes the bathroom door open only to be met with Harry refilling his water bottle. He looks at her like he’s looking at a ghost. He almost looks concerned? That can’t be.

“Was…was that you in there?” He blinks, and she nods. “Christ, I don’t think I’ve heard someone yak that violently before. Do you always sound like that when you spew?”

“I don’t know, I don’t usually pay attention to the way I vomit while it’s happening.” She wipes under her eyes and sighs when she sees how much makeup comes off on her hands. “I need to go clean myself up.”

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks as he follows her back to her office. He watches as she pops a piece of gum in her mouth, and uses a wipe to clean her face. “Are you sick?”

“My stomach’s been bothering me all day. I think it was something I ate this morning.”

“Well, I feel fine and no one else seemed to get sick from the food.”

“Maybe it’s a stomach bug, then. I don’t know. I plan to take a sleeping aid and knock out when I get home.”

“Could be something else.” He smirks. “Maybe you’re pregnant. What a blessing that would be. You’d go on maternity leave, we’d hire someone on in your place on a temporary basis, they’d excel, and then you’d be fired a month after returning.” He looks off, smiling, as if he can really picture it. “What a world that would be.”

“Just because a woman throws up does not mean she’s pregnant.” She bites. Harry looks at her. He’s never seen her face look so plain and delicate. He’s seen her at the end of the day before. He knows what she looks like when she’s exhausted. This is just the most vulnerable he’s ever seen her. It’s like she’s taken all of her armor off. “I’m packing up so I can go home. Hopefully it was just a one and done.”

“Maybe you should stop by a pharmacy on your way. You know, grab some Nyquil, maybe some O.J., and a pregnancy test, just to be sure.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t be an ass about things like this.” She huffs as she stuffs her bag with her things. “What if I was trying to get pregnant, hm? What if I’ve miscarried? What if I couldn’t have children? Do you know how awful it would be to be questioned like this if I had all that going on? You don’t like being asked about your personal life, well, neither do I. So drop it.”

“You’re right, it was insensitive me to joke about that.” He says genuinely, and it helps her to calm down. “It was stupid for me to even bring it up. I mean, it’s not like you’re fucking anyone. You said it yourself, the only thing you’re going home to is your dog.”

Her bottom lip juts out in a pout. Harry’s about to roll his eyes because she’s famous for using that pout to her advantage, but when he notices her lip start to quiver and tears slipping down her cheeks, well, his entire demeanor changes.

“Shit, I took it too far.” He crosses the room over to her just as she’s grabbing a tissue to dab her eyes with.

“You always do, it’s nothing I can’t handle.” She says through her tears. “Don’t go all soft on me just because I’m tearing up.” She wipes under her eyes and reaches for her coat. “You have no idea what I’ve been through in the last six months because I check my shit at the door. Work is a good distraction. I used to have more to go home to, but I don’t anymore.” She brushes by him over to her door, and she motions for him to leave so she can lock it. “But at least I still have something there that’s happy to see me when I get in. What do you have, huh?” He furrows his eyebrows as he looks at her. “You have absolutely nothing outside of this place.” She zips up her jacket and locks her office door. “See you tomorrow, asswipe.”

//

She doesn’t see him tomorrow. She actually had to call out of work. Turns out she does have a stomach bug. She’s feeling much better by the time Monday comes around. She knows she was really harsh when she last spoke to Harry, but she doesn’t care. He’s been harsh with her time and time again. It’s about time someone gives it back to him.

Her assistant tells her she has a meeting with Jeremy at nine, so she prepares for that. She wonders if he’s letting her down easy for not getting the pitch. She figures Harry probably got it. She stops short at Jeremy’s office when she sees Harry chatting with Jeremy’s assistant.

“Oh, good, you’re both here. Come in.” Jeremy says, and she and Harry both go to sit on the other side of his desk. “I had a video call with Adelaide last night. After looking over all the materials with her team, she feels as though it would be best if the two of you worked on the account together.”

“What?” They say at the same time.

“She enjoyed both of your pitches immensely, and was having a hard time choosing. She said you both bring different and interesting ideas to the table, and she’d like to see them combined cohesively. You each will still get a full commission, so it’s not like you have to split this one.” He looks at Harry, then at her, smiling fondly as his eyes rake over her body. “Peach, I think it would be a good opportunity for you to work with Harry. As you know, he’s one of the top account managers at this firm, he has plenty of experience under his belt, especially a rebrand of this caliber.”

“Yes, sir, that makes sense.” She says, swallowing her pride a bit as she nods.

“And Harry, you could learn a thing or two from Peach. She’s very up to date on what Gen Z is up to online. Adelaide noted that she enjoyed Peach’s ideas for getting the company on Tik Tik. I know social media outside of Facebook and Instagram isn’t your favorite, but it’s a fad that seems to be everlasting.”

“Tik Tok…right.” Harry nods slowly.

“You have a month to get a concise concept together for her review. You’ll be sent some of their own market research that her team has done. It should help you figure out how to best target the audiences they’re looking draw in. Any questions?” They both shake their heads no. “Excellent. Hop to it.”

The two stand up and leave in complete shock. They don’t speak to each other for two days. Neither of them know what to say to the other. But Wednesday rolls around and it hits them that a month really isn’t a ton of time to put everything together, so they need to meet. They block out the whole afternoon to meet in one of the larger conference rooms so they can looks over the other’s materials and use the whiteboards to brainstorm.

“I still don’t understand the need for a Tik Tok account for a hotel chain. Who would want to watch videos about a hotel?” Harry asks her.

“The videos wouldn’t be about the hotel. People like it when brands jump onto weird trends that have absolutely nothing to do with their product. It’s funny and unexpected. It drive those viewers to their account page which is where a link to the hotel site would be.” She smiles smugly. “I didn’t think I’d have to explain something so simple to you, but that’s on me for assuming you have at least one brain cell in that giant head of yours.”

“Making fun of someone’s personal appearance is shallow, rude, and cheap.” He turns his nose up at her. “I didn’t look at the Tik Tok thing in that way. I don’t use the app myself, so I guess I’m not up on all the trends and whatnot.”

“It’s actually pretty fun. There are definitely people on there with brain rot, but you can just block the accounts you don’t want to see. Let me guess…you use reels?”

“No.” Harry says defensively. “But I have friends that send them to me from time to time.”

“Wait a second.” She shakes her head in confusion. “You have friends?”

“Not all of us prefer to only converse with four-legged animals, Peaches.” He sighs. “What did you think of the mock ups my team did for the logo?”

“I actually really liked them. You had Lee do these?”

“Yeah, he’s always my go to.”

“This one’s my favorite, it’s sleek, not too busy, but it still has some pizazz.” She taps her finger on one of the pieces of paper.

“Alright, something we actually agree on.” Harry sets the other logos aside on the other side of the table. “Now, I was thinking we could do some type of mailer for the crowd that doesn’t like digital marketing. A post card with a coupon code could go over very well. They can be directed to the website or call the hotel directly.”

“We can send it as an email as well.”

“Right.” Harry nods. “I was thinking long-time rewards members could get a voucher for one free night, or free breakfast during their stay. Adelaide said the company is fine with spending a little to make a lot.”

“I think giving that to long-time members is a good idea. It costs more to get and retain new people, let’s focus on the people we have.”

“Exactly.” Harry smiles. “So, here’s a binder full of information I had my assistant put together. If you could look through it and take some notes, I can-“

“I’m going to stop you right there.” She slides the binder back over to him. “I’m not your admin, I’m not going to be the only one doing the clerical work. Also, do not assign tasks to me like I’m lesser than you.”

“Jeremy said you could learn from me. I’m just showing you my process. Like me or not, I have a good track record with my clients. I’ve already looked through the binder and put my notes in the margins. I just wanted you to look it over as well so we have the same information.”

“You could have said that in the first place.” She murmurs.

“You’re very hostile when you don’t need to be.”

“If I’m hostile it’s because you make the environment that way. You’re always so combative. You make everything a competition!”

“That’s our job! We compete for clients.”

“But you’re especially competitive with me. I’m a woman in a male dominated field and office, I have to work twice as hard as you. If I show the wrong emotion, I’m a bitch or a pushover or weak or nasty.”

“Are you telling me that I don’t work hard? That I didn’t work hard to get to where I am?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Your father was the CFO! Of course you got one of the best jobs here.”

“I worked my way up same as you.”

“It wasn’t the same, Harry.”

“You’re right, I didn’t sleep my way to top.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Don’t act so surprised that I figured it out, it’s obvious.”

“What’s obvious?” Her eyes and nostrils are flaring.

“You hooked up with Jeremy, that’s how you got the open position without going through the formal interview process. That’s why you dress and act the way you do. You wanted his attention, you got it, and you have him something in return. Now, I don’t know if you blew him under his desk or if you let him fuck you, but-“ Smack! Harry clutches at his cheek, and looks at her in shock. Her chest is heaving and her eyes are watery.

“How fucking dare you.”

“Did you just slap me?! I could report you, I could-“

“And I could report you for sexual harassment and defamation of character! That’s how you think I got this job? By sleeping with the CEO?”

“It had to have been! I see the way he looks at you. I see the way everyone looks at you.”

“I asked for a meeting with him, not even knowing there was going to be a position opening up. I just wanted to sit with him and go over my goals and where’d I’d like to be in the next few years. I showed him my portfolio, he asked me a few questions, and we had a great conversation. He didn’t touch me, I didn’t touch him, it was all professional.”

“Mhm.” Harry rolls his eyes. “So every time we meet with him, I’m just imagining the look he gives you?”

“What look?”

“Like he’s ready to devour you right then and there.”

“Jeremy looks, but he doesn’t touch. He would never cheat on his wife, he needs her, and he knows she’d leave him if he did anything behind his back.”

“How could you possibly even know that?”

“His assistant told me. She wanted to know what the meeting was for, she was excited for me, and she gave me some tips. So, yeah, I wore one of my best outfits and let my cleavage pop a little, but I didn’t sleep with him. And even if I had, shame on you for shaming me for it. We all have to learn to play the game, Harry. Women are dealt a different hand, so we play the game differently. I didn’t do anything wrong.” She starts gathering her things. “I cannot believe that I have to continue to work on this project with you.”

“I can’t believe you slapped me.” He rubs his cheek and starts chuckling. “Got me pretty good.”

“I’m not a particularly violent person, but you said something totally out of line, H.” She looks at him. “It’s not funny.”

With that, she leaves the conference room. They communicate via email and Teams all day Thursday. She couldn’t bare to be in the same space as him. She even worked in a separate area so she wouldn’t have to look over and see him in his office. They agreed to meet late on Friday to get back to the task at hand. They ordered takeout and got to work. Keeping things strictly professional, not getting distracted by petty conversations. Harry ended up ordering some ice cream through Uber Eats. He’s got a sweet tooth, so now they take a break while they soak in the sugar.

“I think this is really starting to come together.” He says as he walks around the conference table, looking over their materials. “I think we could probably start putting our team together next week.”

“Agreed.” She nods. “I have to say, ice cream was a good idea.”

“Much needed.” Harry sets his cup down and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I…haven’t formally apologized for what happened the other day. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“It’s not about the way you spoke to me, it’s about you assuming I was fucking around with our boss to move up. And even if I was, it’s none of your business.”

“You’re right, it’s not.” He slowly approaches her. “To be honest, I don’t think it would have bothered me if it were anyone else.”

“Why? Because you already didn’t like me?”

“Yeah.” He smirks, stepping closer until her bum hits the edge of the conference table. He’s never been this close to her before. “But also…” He places his hands on either side of her on the table, their noses nearly brushing. “I hate the way the other guys look at you, especially Jeremy.”

“What do you care how other people look at me? Why do you even notice?”

“Because after I’m done looking at you, I’m looking to see if anyone else is seeing what I’m seeing.”

“What do you see?” She asks carefully, not faltering or backing down even though Harry is extremely intimidating in this position.

“The most frustratingly gorgeous woman.”

“You’re being mean.” Her bottom lip pouts ever so slightly, and Harry’s eyes darken.

“I’m being serious.” He closes his eyes and presses his forehead to hers. “You have no idea what it does to me when you pout like that.”

“H.”

“Tell me to back off if I’m making you uncomfortable.” He looks at her. “We can get right back to work, and I’ll promise to never get this close to you again.”

“You’re trying to get me caught up in something for leverage.” She pushes on his shoulders to get him to back up. “You want me to make a move so you can hold it over me. You’re being an ass and messing around.”

“I’m not messing around. Jesus Christ, not everyone in this world is out to get you.”

“I never said they were! God, you love to put words in my mouth.”

“I actually only have one thing I’d love to put in your mouth, but something tells me you wouldn’t go for it.”

“Oh, please.” She scoffs. “You’d blow your load the second the open air hits your prick. Virgins tend to lose it a little faster, but I’m sure you’ve looked that up before.”

“Why do you think I’m a virgin?” He laughs, exasperated.

“You seem very sexually repressed.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and looks him up and down. “And all this.” She gestures around him. “It doesn’t exactly scream, ‘this guy fucks’.”

“I’ll have you know I get compliments all the time on my clothes.”

“Just because they fit right doesn’t mean they’re appealing.”

“How would you know if they fit right?” He smirks.

“It’s hard not to notice when you’re always wearing pants that are tight around your ass. You’re like a math teacher or something, you love to lean over a table during a meeting and stick your butt out.”

“It’s more comfortable to stand that way.” He shrugs. “And just to circle back, if anyone’s sexually repressed, it’s you.”

“Me?”

“You’re entire aura screams that you need to get dicked down, and you need it bad.”

“Well you’re right about that.” She agrees. “But not from you. I’m not in the mood to explain the female anatomy to someone. Did you know that women can orgasm too? It’s not just something men can do.”

“Is that right.” Harry nods.

“Mhm, and we can get wet as well. Not something I would expect you to know anything about.”

“Are you wet right now?”

“That’s not a question you ask someone.” Her cheeks flush.

“Why not? Our conversation is already so vulgar. Answer the question, are you wet? Are you turned on? Are you hot?”

“Come find out for yourself.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” She motions to him to come closer. “I give you full permission to touch me and find out.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“I’m not.”

Harry steps towards her, slinging an arm around her waist to pull her closer. His other hand reaches to unzip the zipper on the side of her skirt. His fingers skim along her sheer stockings before tucking them inside. She takes a deep breath, but continues to hold eye contact with him.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” He asks.

“Yes.”

His fingers slide down further, moving between her folds and the cotton cloth covering her. His nostrils flare when he feels how wet she is. He didn’t think he did it for her, he’s pleasantly surprised. She’s not overly drenched or anything, but she’s definitely aroused. They look at each other, both of their hearts  beating rapidly.

In a flash, Harry’s hands are flying to her jaw and he’s taking her bottom lip between his teeth. The surprised gasp she makes gives him access to the inside of her mouth. His tongue molds with hers. He’s aggressive, but not in an inexperienced excited way that would have him slobbering all over her, no, it’s the type of aggressive where if he doesn’t keep kissing her they’ll both die. He moves the various papers behind her on the table and sits her up on it. She’s on her back in seconds with him on top of her, pressing his hard cock into her hip. She tries to shift to get him where she wants him, but her skirt is too tight around her thighs. She moans into his mouth and tugs on his tie. They’re doing a lot of grinding and grabbing, but it’s frustrating.

“I’m about ready to just rip your blouse open.” He growls against her mouth.

“We can’t do this here.” She pants. “C-cameras.”

“They’re only in the halls.”

“Harry.” She pushes on his chest and she sits up. “I don’t feel comfortable doing this here.”

“Right.” He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s late, we both got carried away. We should-“

“Let’s go back to my place.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m only offering once.”

“Text me your address, I’ll meet you there.”

//

She’s freaking out. She almost tells him not to come, but it’s too late. She can see his headlights through her front windows. She opens the front door before he even has a chance to knock, but he’s not complaining because his lips are back on hers. He pushes her up against the nearest wall, hard, and gets a hand wrapped gently around her throat. He hooks his thumb into her mouth, and she sucks on it, but she doesn’t give him the satisfaction of smiling while doing so. She nips at the pad of his thumb before he takes it out.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

“Upstairs.”

“Lead the way.”

She tugs him up the stairs, and into her room. She starts unbuttoning her blouse, but Harry’s got her on the bed before she can get it off. He kisses on her chest, biting and sucking on the top of her breasts. She weaves her fingers through his curls, pushing him closer to her. He kisses down her sternum and tugs her skirt off of her. He cups her over her stockings, grounding his palm against her. She arches her back slightly and moans. He grips the band of her stockings, curls the material around his fist, and stretches it tight over her pussy. She gasps as he wedges his thigh between hers while keeping the material tight over her. It all provides the perfect amount of friction.

“Go on, work for it.” He says to her.

“Huh?”

“You like working hard for things, right? Show me how you work for your orgasm.” He moves his thigh from side to side against her, and she groans.

She moves along with him, feeling herself get warm all over. He licks into her mouth, and stretches the stockings tighter. She’s breathing heavily against his mouth. She didn’t something like this would be getting her there, but the whole thing is just so hot, and he’s really turning her on. Her back arches as she grinds against him, her head moving from side to side on her pillows, and she comes just as her stockings tear at the crotch.

“Oops.” He says as he looks down.

“Happens more often than you think.” She breathes. “They’re not expens-“

Harry’s tearing them further at the crotch, and moving her panties to the side so he can lick over her. He presses down on her stomach to keep her in place. His mouth is warm, and he’s moaning into her. She’s squirming against him. It’s been a really long time since someone’s made her feel this good. And being fucked by her colleague that she can’t stand is giving her a type of euphoria she’s never experienced before.

Her toes curl when he sucks on her clit. He pushes her thighs further apart, and licks inside of her. He sucks, and licks, and spit, and makes a sloppy mess of her. She’s in complete shock, but she’s not complaining. She’s too busy tugging on Harry’s curls and grinding against his mouth. He told her to work for it, so she’ll continue to do just that.

“Oh, shit. Oh, shit!” She comes unexpectedly, and it knocks the wind out of her.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. They start grabbing at each other and rolling around on the bed to get their clothes off. They can’t get naked fast enough. He pins her down again once they’re unclothed, keeping her wrists above her head on the bed. He slips a finger inside of her and her mouth falls open. He sucks on her bottom lip as a second finger joins the first.

“You’re just as sweet as a peach, you know that?” He says hotly into her ear, making her eyes roll back. His thumb starts rubbing around her clit as his fingers work deep inside of her. “Knew you would.”

“You’ve thought about going down on me before?”

“I’ve thought about doing everything to you.” He moves to look at her, wanting to watch her face as he loosens her up. “I don’t have any condoms with me.”

“I have some in my d-drawer.”

“Good. Get one.” He pulls his fingers from her and stands up. She reaches into her side-table drawer for a condom and hands it to him.

“It’s so big.” She says to him as he rolls the condom on.

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it fit.” He knees back onto the bed and knocks her legs back open. He lines himself up with her and pushes inside. “Jesus.” He clutches at the pillow by her head. “Sucked me right in, but you’re still so tight.” He pulls out and pushes right back in. “You good?”

“Yeah, please, just…fuck me.”

He gets a steady rhythm going for them. He wants to get a feel for her body before doing anything fancy. Besides that, he’s really liking the feeling of being chest to chest with her. He sits up slightly to grope at her breasts. He sucks one of her nipples into his mouth and groans. He wants to touch and kiss her all over. He sits up all the way and puts of her legs over his shoulder, moving her slightly so she’s on her side.

“Oh my god!” Her mouth falls open. “S-so deep. Oh my fucking god.” She starts panting, feeling like she can’t even breathe. This position is incredible.

They shift until she’s on her belly, and he’s fully on top of her fucking her from behind. He snakes an arm between her and the mattress. They’re grinding together in perfect sync, moving their hips in slow circles. Her breathing evens out, and he gives her hip a squeeze. He drags his fingers to her ass and rubs her between her cheeks.

“Is this okay?” He asks her. “Can I play with it a little?”

“Yes.” She nods.

He rubs her clit at the same time with his other hand, and she tightens up the second his finger starts to circle around her other hole.

“Need you to relax for me, Peach.” He nibbles on her ear as she tries to calm herself. “That’s good, just breathe.”

She moans out as she starts to feel completely overstimulated. Her clit is throbbing, her pussy is pulsating around his cock, and his other hole is taking his finger in with ease. It’s all too much, and it’s all so good.

“I’m gonna come again.” She shoves her face into her duvet as cries out into it. Harry doesn’t let up one bit, elongating all of the sensations. She can’t stop moaning and crying. He pulls out of her and lays on his back. She immediately shifts to straddle him, sinking down until she’s completely full of him. Her nails rake down his chest. “It’s really annoying that you feel this good.”

“Still think I’m a virgin?” He smirks, gripping her hips to move her along with his thrusts.

“N-no.” She grabs at her own breasts and lets her head roll back. “You can get a lot of experience by just fucking one person.”

“You’re a brat.” He swats at her ass as he chuckles. “Normally I don’t like, but right now it’s really doing something for me.” He sits up and smiles at her. “Keep your wrists behind your back and fuck yourself on me.” She nods and uses her knees to help herself move up and down on him. She switches between that and grinding down on him in circles. His hands come up to grope at her breasts, loving the way they feel in his hands. She tightens around him and starts moving faster. “Fuck, that’s it. Fuck me, god, just fuck me.”

“Oohhh my god.” There’s sweat rolling down her spine, and she can’t help but wrap her arms around him as she comes around him again, kissing him with everything she’s got.

He moves them so he’s back on top of her, hooking an arm under her knee, and fucking into her deeper than he has all night. His free hand wraps around her throat, gently squeezing and applying the perfect amount of pressure.

“Okay?” He asks her, letting up to make sure she can answer.

“Yes.”

Her hand comes down between them to take care of her clit, making him nearly lose it right then and there. He loves it when a woman just takes what she wants to get what she needs.

“I want you to keep your eyes open and on me.” He tells her. “Can you do that?”

“Yes.” She says to the best of her ability.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful. I wish you could see how you look right now.”

“Harry.”

“Aww, are you gonna come again?” He pouts mockingly at her, and she nods. He nods along with her, still pouting. “You’re gonna come with me, so hold on.”

“Please, I…it feels so good. You feel so good.” Her free hand comes up to his shoulder, sinking her nails into his skin.

“It must piss you off that I’m making you feel this good.”

“You have no idea.” She says through gritted teeth.

Harry grins, and comes down to kiss her. He moans into her mouth as he starts to let go. His orgasm is right at the base of spine, and he’s ready to spill. She moans louder from hearing moan loudly. The room fills with the sounds of their sex, and they both fully submit to each other. He continues with slow thrusts as he drops her legs. His hands cup her jaw as they kiss each other without any precision, they both just need to do something with their mouths. Her hands squeeze at his hips and ass. His skin feels so good on hers.

After a few tender moments, Harry gets up and makes his way into her bathroom to clean himself up. Her head is reeling. What the fuck did she just do?! Did she seriously just sleep with her coworker whose guts she hates?

He comes out of the bathroom, letting the light from that guide him to find his clothes. He glances at her a few times, his chest is flushed and his forehead is damp. She sits up slightly, covering herself with her sheets. She’s overthinking everything. All of this is insane.

And there he was, looking at her with the smuggest look she’s ever seen. He’s tucking his shirt back into his pants, fastening the button and zipper, and looking up at her with rosy cheeks and closed-mouth grin. When all she does is look at him stoically, he chuckles softly, shakes his head, and finishes getting dressed. He leans in to leave a peck to her forehead before departing.

“Harry.” She calls to him, making him turn to look at her. “This was a one-time thing.”

“Whatever you say, Peach.”

And then he’s gone.

[ardentprose]

the day matt murdock became devout

Type: angst, no relationships, young!matt murdock

Length: 1.5k~ | 6 min

Warnings: grief; mourning; mention of bullying; religious subjects; mention of blood and injuries; depression

Feel free to message me if a necessary warning isn’t mentioned.

Summary: A short scene exploring the time shortly after nine-year-old Matt Murdock loses his father.

Read on AO3

A/N: (I am still figuring out how to format these...) So this one was written after a downward spiral of emotion. I wrote it in one sitting and lightly edited it, but it's not beta read. I'm not Catholic, so forgive me if anything is amiss. However, I was raised in a religious background and this draws inspiration from that.

This is the song that inspired the work and which I kept on repeat while writing, if any are interested.

__________

Nine years old is too young to know the taste of blood.

It smells like acrid dust that burns the throat.

It smells of rain and rotting wood and moth balls.

It smells of claustrophobic velvet.

Matt doesn’t know where he is. All he knows is he ran with hands outstretched, stumbling into walls and corners until he found a closet deep in the recesses of the church.

It’s dark. It’s quiet. It’s safe. For now.

Sobbing until he chokes on the blood running into his mouth and spewing from his lips. Salt and iron.

Dust. Cobwebs. He knows there are spiders in the corner above his head. He doesn’t know why but he knows they are there, on webs that thrum like pricked violin strings.

Loneliness, like a dagger, tears with every inhale. It deepens the black gash of loss that has bled into the cavity of his chest for weeks now. His ribcage thunders against his heartbeat. His veins strain with agony.

Matt falls to his knees in scuffed jeans. He swallows, grasping at oxygen before the next round of grief wracks his body.

He’s scared.

He’s alone.

Alone.

So very al-

May we sing.

Together.

Always.

Matt huffs, trying to stop the momentum of soft cries tumbling from his lips. His panic stops only because his curiosity outweighs it. He tilts his head, his ears ringing with voices.

May our voice be soft.

Soprano. Alto. Tenor. Bass.

A choir.

Angels.

May our singing be music for others

And may it keep others aloft.

Matt sucks in a sharp breath, determined to stop crying so loud so he could hear. It wasn’t that the choir was distant, it was that his body was too close. He could hear everything, from his heart, to his blood, to his organs convulsing and squelching and it was scary. He was so scared.

He wanted a hug. But his father was gone.

He has no mother.

He has no one.

A wail tempers at his mouth, threatening to spill, but he bites his lip until it stings. Matt bows his head, screwing his eyes shut and holding his breath so he could hear better.

Sing,

Sing gently,

Always.

Sing,

Sing as one.

He releases his breath slowly. His body shudders.

May we stand together,

Always.

May our voice be strong.

The voices blend together as they carry to the ceilings of the cathedral and echo throughout the church. Matt can picture it. He can sense it. His eyes flit back and forth, chasing fiery impressions behind his eyelids as they continually morph into different shapes.

He rests his forehead on his crossed forearms, bowed into a shivering ball on the ground. His cries become ragged whispers.

The voices rise once more and caress his senses. They lull him into a state of temporary stability. Nowhere near alright, but just enough to be fascinated.

To be transfixed. To have a shred of comfort.

Guilt flashes across Matt’s chest. Maybe he shouldn’t be eavesdropping. He shouldn’t be here, hiding from Sister Maggie and the other nuns. He’s going to get in so much trouble if he doesn’t show up for dinner.

But he can’t bear to leave the four walls he’s cowered in, listening to the choral melodies reverberate around him. It feels like a cocoon. Like a safe haven.

May we hear the singing and

May we always sing along.

Fresh, hot tears pour from Matt’s obscured eyes. Peace, or at least a semblance of it, takes the tension from his shoulders. He presses into the floor, now sobbing for a completely different reason.

Now he cries for the beautiful music soothing his heart. He cries for the comfort he’s longed for since everything changed for the worst. He cries for the choir with their sacred voices singing for a divine love towards heaven and one another.

How badly he wants to be apart of it all. To not be alone anymore.

He hugs himself tighter and tries to remember his father’s scarred hands on his stomach and back.

No one hugs here. Not law enforcement, social services, or reporters. He’s too old for the nuns to give him more than a reluctant pat on the back, pushing him towards his next activity on the itinerary.

For one sacred second, here in this closet, Matt Murdock feels comforted, held, and loved. Through their voices alone, Matt feels the presence of God wrapped around him.

If the church was the bride of Christ, then maybe it could be his mother as well. Embrace him with the maternal affection he will never experience in the flesh.

_____

Matt jolts awake, startled at first.

Why is it so dark? Where is he? Where did the voices go? Did he fall asleep and for how long because it’s so dark and- oh.

Right.

His heartbeat settles as he remembers everything. Then his brow crumbles, threatening to repeat the entire process of the previous moment.

A firm hand squeezes his shoulder.

“Matthew? Matthew Murdock?”

A low, soft voice. Father Lantom. He recognizes that quiet authority from mass.

Matt is half asleep, eyes swollen and aggravated. His temples pulse with the start of a migraine. His lips are puffy from being chewed on, drool and spit and blood crusting on his round cheeks. He flushes with embarrassment at how he must look in front of the priest.

“Son, what are you doing in here?” He’s in huge trouble now.

How can he explain to the priest that he wasn’t trying to disobey? He just needed to-

He only wanted to…

Hide.

He doesn’t remember how it started. Only that the other boys made fun of his father for losing a match and that he must not have been that good. Jack Murdock was probably so embarrassed he killed himself and then, Matt’s hands were flying out in wild directions until they struck someone. Then he was shoved. Kicked. And a fist flew into his nose.

The sound of his cartilage crunching and the blood bursting from between his skin cells terrified him more than the pain of being beat up by three other boys. Somehow he crawled far enough away to scramble to his feet.

Their laughter and feet were loud and so he ran. He ran, collecting more bruises on his knees, face and feet as he kept slamming into things, unaware of his surroundings and too terrified to orient himself.

Then he found the closet. The choir. God’s divine bride cradling him in heavenly voices.

“I…” Matt shuffles into a sitting position, still half-coherent. He felt drunk on the music and now that it had stopped, he felt the stark emptiness that was quickly taking over his whole life and becoming a constant companion.

Father Lantom hums and Matt can feel he’s being stared at.

“Never mind it. You’ve made quite the mess. Let’s get you outta here and cleaned up. We’ll have you back to the nuns before anyone’s the wiser.”

“Sir? I-I mean Father…” Matt is confused by the lack of punishment. He’s trying to sort through why he can hear Father Lantom’s skin stretch into a smile and further away, hear the sound of churchgoers arriving in the sanctuary. Footsteps and coats and soft greetings.

“Unless you have something to confess?”

“What?” Now, Matt’s truly confused. Did the boys lie to the nuns? Well, Matt did instigate it…but it was in self-defense so technically speaking-

“Matthew, you’re sitting on the floor of the confessional and by the look of that guilty face, something awful is weighing on your conscience. It’s enough that you’ve made quite the mess in here and those blood stains won’t come out that carpet for a good while. Now, either tell me what’s on your mind or let’s clean you up.”

“Oh…sorry.” Matt sniffs. He runs the back of his arm across his face, unbeknownst to him, smearing the snot and blood garishly across his young face.

Father Lantom sighs. He stands up, then offers his hand. “Up you go, Matthew.”

Matt accepts the hand that pulls him to his feet as if he weighs nothing.

Father Lantom clamps down on Matt’s shoulder and Matt expects him to turn his small body in the direction of the nearest bathroom to clean up.

Matt nearly twists his ankle as Father Lantom pulls Matt into his chest instead. Matt finds his face buried in the priest’s shirt, buttons pressing into his cheek. The priest hunches slightly to wrap both arms around the young boy.   

Hugging him.

Matt’s lips tremble, but he couldn’t face anyone if he cried again. Besides, he was too exhausted. Everything hurt.

Father Lantom pulls back, keeping his arm across the young boy’s shoulders. Matt turns his face up at him, waiting for some explanation.

“You just looked like you could use it.” Father Lantom smiles. Then, satisfied with his appraisal, Father Lantom turns Matt’s stance the opposite direction and begins to walk with him towards the back exit, towards the orphanage.

“Now, we’ll keep this a secret between us. Priestly confidentiality and all that. I’ll tell Sister Susan a wild rat got into the booth and I had to do what I had to do.”

Matt snorts. Pain flares up his nose, across his face and to his temples.

But he keeps smiling. Bloody face and all.

[geraltofriviacollection]

Chapter Seven

Paring: Geralt x Reader

Summary: Reader is thrown into the Witcher’s world. Will she survive? 

A/N: I have not edited or proofread. Please do not repost, translate or copy my work without permission. Please leave comments! ❤️ “Absolutely not!” I almost shouted at Vesemir. I can see the slight glow on my skin at his suggestion. 

“We have a chance to do something extraordinary. Do you know how long it has been since we had a new witcher? This could change everything with Ciri’s help.”

“How long exactly have you two been hatching up this plan? Hmm? There is something wrong with this and both of you know it. On a moral level to mutate children and not even have most survive the process is wrong. You are fucked in the head if you think I will let Ciri be a part of this.” I snarl at  Vesemir. The room is getting warmer the longer this conversation goes.

“It's Ciri's choice if she wants to be a part of this.” Vesemir  volleys back. I try to breathe as my vision goes red at his words. It takes a full minute before I am able to respond. 

“I will be damned before I let you sacrifice more children to the cause.Tell me did you think how Geralt was going to feel at this news? I may not like it but you can bet all the rats in the keep that he’ll fucking hate it.” The tension in the room is thick as it settles in Geralt's opinion about all of this. 

“Geralt will see the reason of this.” Vesemir says, but lacks a good amount of certainty. 

“Fine!” I shout. “You will not do a single thing until Geralt has returned.” I tell him. 

“Lass, I don’t think-”

“That was not a question, suggestion or comment. Vesemir, nothing will be done about this until he’s come home.” I grit out.

“I can make my own decisions.” I turn around to see Ciri standing in the doorway looking at us. “I don’t need your approval or Geralts to help them.” She says coming further into the room. 

“Ciri, this is bigger than you-” I start but she cuts me off and turns to Vesemir.

“How can I help?” She asks, cutting me out of this completely. 

“Have you ever heard of feainnewedd?” He asked her. “It’s an ancient flower that only glows in one place. Where elder blood is spilled.” He explains showing her the flower. She moves and goes to inspect the flower. 

“These have been sprouting all over the training course, where I’ve bled” Shw whispers mostly to herself. “My grandmother..she hated the elves.” She says looking at all of us. I look over to Triss who is annoyingly quiet right now standing there simply reading Ciri’s reaction to this. Fucking interesting time for her mouth to be shut all of a sudden.

“Sometimes our deepest hate is for the things we can not change about ourselves.” Vesemir says. If I wasn’t so mad I might have enjoyed his imparting words of wisdom. Ciri sighs and moves to sit on the steps processing all of this. “Something bad is brewing out there. With a vial of your blood we could protect generations to come.”

“How are you so sure it will work?” She looks up at him.

“I’m not.” He plainly says. 

“I’ll do it. On one condition. You have to test it on me first.” She says. 

“Alright! That’s enough.I have entertained this for just about as much as my temper will allow. No one is testing anything. If we did you can be damn sure you would not be first in line for the weird juju kool aid.” I exclaim looking at Ciri. 

“You aren’t my mother. I can décide my own fate.” She says not looking at me. A sharp painful flash runs through my body at her words. True her words may be but less painful they are not. 

“You’re right. I’m not your mother but that does not mean that I don’t love you any less than if I was. “ I told her. “Have you thought about Geralt? Hmm? Why do you feel the need to push yourself to the edge?” I nearly shout. 

“Because I am sick of being lost! Everything that I was told my whole life was a lie! And the people I love most in the world were taken from me before I could find out the truth. This might help me find a new truth.”

“Then let us help you find your way. I can’t change the past but I can help you or at the very least we can be lost together.” 

“Maybe there is another way to find out where your powers came from.” I turn to see Triss standing in the doorway. Ciri’s eyes move from me to her. 

“What do you mean? Like what you did with the myriapod?” Ciri asks her.

“Less scientific than what we did there. It’s called a dol dusza. The best translation of it is Valley of the Soul. It allows me to enter the deepest layer of your consciousness and allows me to uncover things that may be hidden there. Genetic memories that tell the story of who you really are. Where you come from.” Tris finishes explaining. 

“Is this dangerous?” I ask Triss. 

“No. It just requires that ciri and I trust each other.” I look over to Ciri and she looks at me. I nod my head in encouragement.

“All right then. I’ll do it.” Ciri tells her. 

Vesemir and I cleared the table for Ciri to lay down on. Triss hops up to sit and Ciri places her head in Triss’s lap. I walk and place my hand on Ciri’s arm and she offers a small smile at me in acknowledgment. They begin with Ciri taking deep breaths and I watch as her body relaxes with every breath. Triss begins to chant in Elder the next thing I know we are all in a tavern of sorts with different people talking. 

“Ciri” I called out to her. She looks around as if she hears my voice. She turns around but looks right through me. I reach out a hand but it goes right through her like a mist. “Triss!” I called out. Tris never turns. 

“Can you hear that?” Ciri asks Tris looking around trying to find the source calling for her.. 

Neither Tris or Ciri can see me, it seems. 

Ciri sees the black knight and starts to hyperventilate. Triss manages to calm her by pulling Ciri to her. Children laugh while playing a game of knuckle bones. Ciri sees her mother sitting beautifully in a green dress. 

“Would you like a story?” Pavetta Ciri’s mother asks, looking over at Ciri and Triss before looking at me with a smile. 

“You can see us?” Says Triss. 

“What’s wrong?” Ciri asks, looking at Triss.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to work.” Tris says with a frightened look on her face. Memories start to speak to Ciri. Looking around a dark hall opens up in front of us. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to work at all.” Tris says as I follow behind them. Low murmuring of voices ensues. 

Doors open and Ciri’s parents are speaking about Ciri. Little baby Ciri

“They would kill her if they knew.” Dad

“It’s a prophecy. Maybe it’s not true.’ Pavetta says stroking a small baby Ciri as she plays on the bed

“It doesn’t matter if it’s true, it only matters if the people believe it. And they will.” Man says, looking at his wife and daughter. He comes around the bed and strokes Pavetta’ s hand. “The boat’s ready. We can leave under the cover of darkness.” Pavetta nods once and looks back down at a small Ciri. 

“This is it. This is the night that my parents died.” Ciri says softly. Pavetta turns and looks straight at Ciri. Triss gasps and tries to pull Ciri away. We all leave and an ominous voice calls out asking “What are you child? ……Cirilla.” It calls to her.  The voices around us continue to whisper Ciri’s name. 

A bright little suddenly appears before us. I see Ciri walk towards it as if in a trance. The space begins to change as feainnewedd blooms litter the ground as we enter into a forest.  The sounds of a baby's cry can be heard in the distance at the lighting strings brightening the fog around us. We walk in the direction of the cry’s and the sound of humming begins to get louder. 

A woman with pair hair like Ciri’s sits at the bottom of a tree humming to her crying child. The woman begins to tell the story of an elven warrior who was made to kill the human invader. As she tells the story she winces in pain, only then do we see the blood on her hands. Triss goes to the woman to help with her wound when the woman sets her child down and grabs triss by the throat. Triss calls out for Ciri as her feet dangle off the ground. I try to pull tris from her grip but my hands slide through Triss like I’m a ghost. 

“You can not help us.” The woman calls out with many voices. “Child of elder blood, Child of wrath. The time of contempt is nigh. The world will die amidst frost and reborn of the new sun.Reborn of elder blood, of the seed that has been sown. A seed that will not sprout, but will burst into flame.” Her head turns back to Triss and begins to squeeze her again. I move to Ciri and try to shake her but all that I manage is a light push before my hands go through Ciri too. 

Seven figures on horses come through the sky on horses and earth worldly voices cry out around us. I look back around trying to find something to stop this. I turn back to Ciri, determined to try one more time to snap her out of it. She looks at Tris being held by the elven woman and Screams Geralt's name. 

I gasp as I sit up finding myself on the floor. I see Triss fall to her knees off the bed with her hand covering her throat. Ciri reaches for her and Tris flinches and screams backing herself against the wall. 

“Something is ending. It’s because of you.” She gasp. “A seed that burst into flame. It’s you. You will destroy us all. I saw it.” She cries.

“Enough!” I shout trying to stand. I look at Ciri first. She looks terrified as she runs from the room. “Ciri!” I call out, but she just keeps running. I look back at Triss and see her still there weeping. 

“Triss.” I say and she flinches. “Triss, everything is okay now. You’re safe.” I try to say in a soothing tone. I managed to wrap and arm around her, helping her from the floor. She starts to mumble somewhat incoherently. Once I got her from the floor. I am able to walk her down the hallway back to her room. I get her tucked into her bed and she just lays on her side eyes staring blankly at the wall. I gently tell her I will come back to check on her but she simply looks straight through me as if I am not even there. 

I take off down searching the keep to find Ciri. I hear a shout that sounds as if it came from Geralt.  I jog in the direction of his voice. When I enter the room Geralt is sitting at the foot of a bed Ciri is in and I see the vial in Vesemir’s hand. I look up at Vesemir and he looks to me and the room goes still. I feel the glow almost instantly looking at that vial in his hands. Ciri stands and leaves the room. I barely feel Geralt’s hand on my arm pulling me and I resist for a moment before I let him. He turns to look at Vesemir once more as he practically shoves me out of the room and we catch up with Ciri in the hall. 

“Ciri, I need you to go pack your things.” Geralt tells her. She opens her mouth to say something but one look at my face and she nods and walks back down the hall. “What happened?” Geralt asks as he gently tugs for me to follow him to the great hall.

“You mean besides my almost committing murder?” He winces slightly at my barked question. I launch into a full accounting of everything he has managed to miss in the whole 6 hours he’s been gone. By the time I’ve finished, I’ve managed to calm significantly. “The reason we all think I’m here is to protect her but I’m scared for her, Geralt. It feels like with every step I’m pulling her away from the edge in the end I’m pushing her closer to it.” I express dejectedly placing my head in my hands.  Geralt pulls my hands away from my face and pulls me into his arms. 

“You are helping her, even when it may not seem like it. I am more grateful for it than you know.” He tells me. 

“Thank you, Geralt.” I smiled at him. I pull away from him but even after his arms leave me his touch still lingers. 

“You should get some rest and pack your things.” Geralt says turning to leave. 

“Where are we going?” I ask him.

“The Temple of Melitele in Ellander.” He says striding from the room. I freeze knowing that name. Knowing that this is where shit actually hits the fan. 

Well fuck.

@freegardenbanananeck​

[rosesloveletters]

midnight rain.

pairing: Commodus x Fem. Reader

word count: 3,777

warnings: toxic/unhealthy relationship dynamics(?) and mentions of specific gender roles (I don’t know how else to describe it)

summary: A retelling of the ‘frightful dream’ scene . . . Your husband Commodus requests some time alone while he reads scrolls from the senate. When night comes and he still has not sent for you, you take matters into your own hands; you find him fast asleep, but never at peace. // Reader stumbles upon her husband Commodus who’s been crying and offers him comfort. 

author’s note: I never thought I’d write for Commodus again and I am so pleased that inspiration struck! A few things before reading: I am not trying to promote toxic masculinity or the idea that men shouldn’t cry or express emotion, but at the time, it would have been viewed as a weakness especially from someone of Commodus’ social standing. I wanted to delve into his mind a little and write a softer side to him that he surely has, but that we did not see too much of onscreen. His descent into madness intrigues me and I wanted to explore that in this fic somewhat. All seriousness aside, I just want to hold Commodus while he cries and writing this allowed me to do so, at least, in some form. If you read this fic, I hope you enjoy it. 

Edited. 

The emperor was midnight rain.

Winds rich with humidity blew through the open palace halls, carrying the pungent scent of fresh herbs, smoke from guttering torches and the heavy rains yet to come. Storms were brewing on the horizon and while the people of Rome slept, unbeknown to them, there too was a cacophonous melody playing inside of their Caesar’s tired mind.

It was far too late for you to be wandering the palace alone, but Commodus had bid you leave; he was to spend the twilight hours poring over scrolls from the Senate, as his father was apt to do in the past. The young emperor sought not to follow in his father’s footsteps, but be that as it may, some things cannot be helped.

You had busied yourself in the gardens earlier, when the light still stretched across the sky and plunged the Roman landscape in a vibrant orange glow that slowly faded until the wispy clouds high above your head twisted into a mesmerizing purple-pink majesty. You found solace amongst the flowers, watching idly as little bees busily buzzed from bloom to bloom.

When the light died and you still had not been sent for by the emperor, you took leave of the gardens and reentered the palace through the open doors.

Inside, you made yourself comfortable in the library for a few hours to delve into a book or two, devouring the words on each page like your mind was starved of food for thought.

Immersed in another world were you and did not pay mind to the bustling which took place beyond your imaginings.

Servants passed through the halls, completing their evening duties, lighting torches for ease of sight as the night set in, cleaning the already spotless floors, checking and rechecking stock to be certain there was enough of everything… Even the ghastly praetorians and their looming, statuesque figures faded while you were so captivated by ink on a page.  

As the pitch black of midnight bled in through the outer walls of the fortress, the hustle and bustle of evening had dissipated considerably and the only prevailing sounds were those of the whispering winds through silk curtains billowing in the minor disturbance or a barely imperceptible clink or grate of armor as a praetorian moved from his post.

Still, no word from your emperor.

That fact disturbed you, though you knew he was safe. The palace would have been thrust into chaos had anything been amiss, yet it still gnawed at you that this was highly unusual.

Commodus was protective to a fault and rarely let you out of his sight for any length of time, but he had been pulled in many a direction for the duration of the week at hand and you had to find entertainment where you could. The Senate and the people of Rome needed him now; you could wait.

When Commodus became emperor, everything changed like midnight.

You put your book back in its place on the shelf and quietly crept from your sanctuary. Your guards, stationed at the door, fell into step behind you and trailed you down the hall like phantoms of night. It felt silly to be so cautious inside the palace, but it was Commodus’ orders; what was the use in listening to him if he was just going to forget about you?

Turning, you dismissed them and, with a shared, confused expression between the two of them, they branched off and left down a side hall.

It appeared that you were finally alone, but such was never the case in Commodus’ domain.

You forged ahead beneath the watchful gaze of praetorians you knew were there, but you could not see them. They were there for your protection, to diligently guard the palace and the emperor, but their strict stoicism and the serious air about them made you nervous. The unwavering loyalty between emperor and his personal guard was strengthened by one man’s resolve, though your Commodus had been plunged into manic paranoia until it became oppressive.

Your footsteps carried, heightened by the fact that there were no other movements or sounds coming from elsewhere to blend with yours.

You took yourself straight to Commodus’ chambers.

There were two guards posted at the doors that were still shut tight. All was as it had been when you left, except these guards were fresh and bright eyed, having replaced the two that had been there before.

You approached them and bid they let you enter, “I request that you allow me access to the emperor’s chambers,” you said.

“Caesar has requested that he not be bothered,” one of them spoke, unconvinced to let you pass despite your connection to the emperor.

“I can assure you that, should Caesar be displeased by my admittance, it will not fall upon your shoulders.”

They seemed uncertain, but soon relented, stood aside and allowed you to enter.

You did not want to disturb him and you did your best to keep any sound of your entrance to a minimum as you slid through the doorway and into the vast room.

The cold floors were contrasted by the wet winds that blew in from the open terrace. Night was well under way and you were worn, though your walk from the library to your emperor’s chambers had accelerated your heartrate considerably. It would be nice to relax with him, alone, if he had found himself at a proper stopping place with his scrolls.

Upon initial inspection, the room looked relatively unchanged. The desk was still covered with open scrolls, parchment and ink. His quill rested idly by and, though all appeared well within your initial inspection, the only thing out of the ordinary was that the emperor was missing from his workspace.

You cast a look over your shoulder, noting the miniature scale of the colosseum was unchanged, and your searching gaze landed on the bed. Commodus was curled in on himself tightly, his back to you, as he snoozed lightly on the plush mattress.

You smiled to yourself, reasoning that he must’ve gotten so absorbed in his work that he’d not realized the time, grown exhausted and retired for the night before he could send for you.

Odd as that may have been, it was plausible. Commodus had never been known to have forgotten you before, but things were different now. He made a conscious effort to please the Senate and that meant spending extra time revisiting scrolls, passing legislation and participating in, as well as negotiating, Rome’s politics with the dry old men your emperor had once been so critical of.

Commodus rarely slept, at least, undisturbed sleep was near impossible for him to achieve. Perhaps the scrolls kept him from thinking of it, you thought, and that was why he had been able to visit the land of dreams, but you were relieved that he had finally found peace.

Your fingers skimmed one of the jade marble pillars as you shifted about the room, uncertain of how you should bridge this gap. Torchlight streamed in from the carved stone latticework, coating half of the room in a spectacle of oddly shaped shafts of light, including the curtains which framed the imperial bed.

To avoid the embarrassment of awakening him, you swiftly removed your sandals so that the noise of you walking would not echo. You shivered as the chill of the marble floor penetrated your skin and sank deep within you – a pleasant reprieve from the humid air.

However, when the wind blew in through the open terrace particularly hard, you drew your yellow stola in closer about your shoulders. You noticed that Commodus’ own garb had been removed – his cape and armor lay on a table not far from the colosseum model – and he slept in just his tunic.

It puzzled you that he lay on top of the linens and your brow creased in thought.

Tentatively, you approached the bed, careful to remember to step up onto the raised platform; the thought of tripping and unceremoniously toppling onto the emperor of Rome as he slept was not a pleasant one, but the thought still made you smile. If something of that nature were to happen, it might make Commodus shriek in terrible fright and send the guards at the door into a frenzy, but once he realized it was only you, there would have been no repercussions, only gentle laughter as he pulled you into the bed beside him.

You had fallen in love with the young Roman prince, before he had become emperor, three summers ago when the heat of late August was not the only thing which left you feeling breathless.

There was nothing he would not have done for you then and that was still the same now, even if everything else was different.

You remembered fondly how he had courted you, eventually asking for your hand in marriage and how you had eagerly accepted. You were wed the summer before this; little did you know those few months would be the last time that things would ever be so simple.

You sank onto the bed and the mattress dipped beneath your weight.

Commodus murmured softly and folded in on himself a bit more, instinctively protective of his vulnerability. It pained you to witness his paranoia, even while he slept. The ever-present thought that at any given moment someone might burst through the door and try to hurt him kept him from ever letting his guard down completely. That, among other things, kept him awake most nights.

The torches and oil lamps still burned bright; the fuel had been replenished earlier by some servants while Commodus was busy with his scrolls. Your heart ached for the young man who never slept in the pitch black of night; he was afraid of the dark and maybe that was why he never would look in the mirror either, because that same darkness lived in him, too.

You were compelled to reach out and touch him, then, gently stroking your hand along the curve of his face and as you did, you gasped in surprise, almost drawing your hand away; his warm cheek was damp with tears.

It had not been long since the emperor had fallen asleep, cried himself to sleep, you painfully reminded yourself.

Why had he not sent for you?

Resisting the urge to wake him, you shifted your weight as you settled in behind him and draped an arm over him. Soon, the solid press of his back against your front eased your nerves and you carefully and deliberately reached up and combed your fingers through his dark hair. He cooed softly in his sleep, sniffling a little as he relaxed beneath your touch. The tension flooded out of his shoulders while you held him like this. Even in his sleep, he could sense that the comfort was yours, brought to him by his cherished wife who loved him more than his own father ever had.

His father.

Commodus had tried to be the son that the great Marcus Aurelius had wanted. He had tried to make his father proud, but nothing he had done was good enough and, what was worse, he did not know why. Why did his father not love him? Commodus did not know the reason, but in the end, it was clear: Marcus Aurelius had longed for a different son.

Since then, Commodus had tried to squeeze love from various sources but it never satisfied him.

Not until he met you.

“My love…” you whispered to him, careful to lift him gently out of his dreams, “please awaken and talk to me.”

Commodus moaned and for a moment you were not sure if he had heard you until he responded with a full-bodied stretch and the rustling of fabric met your ears as he turned to glance at you over his shoulder.

His eyes were green like freshly sliced limes and just as bittersweet; they were red-rimmed and tired, lined with dark circles that alluded to the many nights he had suffered through without sleep.

He said nothing, but turned over until he was able to wrap his arms snugly around your shoulders. He remained that way for a time, clinging to you while his body adjusted to wakefulness after the impromptu nap.

His heavy eyelids fluttered and his head dropped to your shoulder, “I’m sorry…” the apology was whispered into your skin and you almost did not hear him.

When he looked up at you with an almost childlike expression on his face, you cupped his cheek in the palm of your hand and stroked across it with the pad of your thumb, “Commodus,” you started, “is everything alright, my love?”

He craned his neck and kissed your palm, “it is,” he said, “now that you are here.”

Your hand fell away and reached for his, sliding your fingers into the spaces between his own thicker digits. He squeezed you tight, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips before he looked away again, “I meant to send for you, but I was in such a state…”

He did not need to tell you more. He had been crying, that much was confirmed by the drying tear tracks upon his smooth cheeks and the redness in his eyes. Commodus’ emotions were often left unchecked; he felt so viscerally, violently and brutally and the tears would come, whether they were born out of pure sadness, or frustration and rage.

It was one thing to express emotion, but it was another entirely to witness it from the emperor of Rome.

The only time he could fall apart was when he was by himself.

He was supposed to be a fearless hero but instead he cried more than some women did and that was unacceptable.

At least, it had been for the stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius, who had once grown tired of his son’s outbursts. Commodus doubted it would be any different now. The palace was his own, but this new life was not.

He did not want his servants or his guards to see him crying while asking after you; that was not an image he wished to paint for them.

While he waited for the tears to subside, he had relaxed on the bed until he succumbed to his exhaustion.

“That is alright,” you assured him, “I was reading in the library for a time because I thought you were still at work.”

“No,” he responded, the dulcet tones of his honeyed voice was indicative of sleep, the vestiges of which still clung to him like ivy on stone, “I finished with that some time ago. These senators demand more from me each passing day that I have no choice but to work as I do now, just like my father had done.”

That sentiment hit some nerve within him and was certainly the source of these tears and what had brought them forth, “Commodus,” you repeated his name but the sound of it did not reach him.

He was looking through you, unsettling as that was, he was prone to it. Often did you wonder what he heard and saw in these moments that were lost to the wind and rain. These elements were, too, present within the emperor who was waning into crescent, tearstains glittering like stars on his cheeks – this man was made of midnights and he was hauntingly beautiful.

Only, when the darkness had overtaken him, he did not reemerge anew.

You tenderly kissed his forehead; his skin was warm against your lips. He drew you closer through the barely imperceptible inhale as his nose rested at your collarbone and you tilted your head back, allowing him to find comfort where it was needed.

He had dropped your hand in favor of holding you while his full lips pressed bruising kisses against the bare column of your neck. Your fingers found his hair again, giving it a gentle tug of affection that made him groan appreciatively.

He lifted his head and leaned close, his sweet breath fanning across your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. His eyes flickered in the lamplight as he looked at you, “do you know what my father said once?”

You languidly chased his lips with your own, but he eluded your desires, resolving to let you capture and conquer him in his own time, when he was ready.

“I don’t,” you replied, “won’t you tell me?”

“He said that it’s a dream…a frightful dream, life is.”

You looked into Commodus’ eyes, but he was somewhere else. You did not have the courage to speak up until he asked you, “do you think that’s true?”

You hesitated, momentarily assessing how best to respond.

“Sometimes it is,” you settled on a half-hearted agreement for now and his shoulders slumped into you as though out of some sort of relief.

“And I have only you to share it with…” Commodus’ eyes brimmed with tears and he bit back a sob, “but I have no proper time with you now. It is all like some great nightmare!”

Your arms encircled him comfortingly and you rubbed his back to soothe him, understanding that his tender state was in part the fault of his father who had failed him as a child, but also because Commodus was just so tired. In his fitful sleep, it was difficult to reach him, but even more when he was awake because he could not escape his nightmares even during the day.

There was a slowly burning madness inside of him and soon it would boil over.

But, not tonight.

“Shh, Commodus.”

You held him close while he cried, shoulders shaking with the force of each painful sob that carried and reverberated off the palace walls and made it seem all the louder.

You pulled him in against you, your bodies flush to one another and you could feel his heart beating rapidly against your chest.

Commodus scrounged for love in every aspect of his life, searching for fulfillment in dealings with his guards, the people of Rome and occasionally even the senate. He desired love himself, but he also wanted to be the provider of love to his people because if they respected him then perhaps, they might love him, too.

It was you who gave him what he needed, only, it seemed that it was not enough.

He had an empire to run, scrolls to read, legislation to propose and citizens to care for; Commodus was meant to be an emperor first and a husband, second.

His sobs grew quieter and more restrained, changing from full-bodied cries to soft whimpers. Your cheek rested against the crown of his head, your hand still rubbing his back as you held tight to him.

Many times had you found yourself in this position, but few of them were like this.

The tearful emperor would have been perceived as weak by anyone who might have seen him like this, but not you. You knew what he was capable of, even if no one else did. The moon might only reflect the sun’s light back upon the shadowed earth, but there were things one could only dream of that lurked in the darkness that not even the light of day could brighten. There, too, were demons veiled by the emperor’s dark side and once in a blue moon they were revealed by the light.

He was quiet now, but he breathed deeply, dragging in oxygen harshly through his nose while his cheek rested gently against your chest. He could listen to your heartbeat in this position and his lips bore a marginal smile.

“You know I love you,” Commodus whispered to you in that unassuming, hushed tone his voice took on when he was calm.

His lips found purchase on your neck again and you released a pleased sighed, “and I love you, too.”

The storm had passed.

The drought had been the worst, but the rain was over and the clouds had begun to part; Commodus was returning to himself, and after the downpour, you both would flourish again.

When he was overwhelmed, Commodus had to purge the emotions that consumed him.

“Shall we ready ourselves for bed, darling?” you posed the question as not to disrupt him; he seemed comforted by your closeness, satiated and remedied now that you were in his presence once more.

You felt him nod once, “I think that would be for the best,” he agreed, lifting his head when the sound of rain suddenly flooded into the room.

Beyond your chambers, the sky opened and rain came down from the heavens like you had anticipated might happen into the night. The gods were crying with the emperor, watering the lands of rich, fertile soil for the flowers, plants and food that would grow here.

Commodus smiled wistfully as he gazed out to watch the droplets fall to earth, “What did you mean?” he asked.

The sudden question perplexed you.

“Meant what, darling?”

“That life is a frightful dream, only sometimes,” he clarified, “implying that it is not so all of the time.”

He had turned to look at you and your heart skipped a beat. Your lover’s eyes held their usual mischievous brightness that enchanted you, sparkling like springtime and full of icy vitality. His full lips parted as he waited for your response and you had to steel your imagination against kissing him instead.

Your fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck that had grown long enough to curl a little, “well,” you began and felt him press even closer, if that were possible, as he hung on your every word, “life does often feel like a dream to me, but not always an unpleasant one.”

“Yes,” he appeared childlike as he agreed with you, “I suppose that for all of the unpleasantness, there are still good things.”

“Like you,” you said, “us.”

Commodus expelled a brief, lighthearted chuckle, “you are right about us, my love.”

That is a good thing. We are a good thing.

You heard the admission in his voice, he did not need to say it because you felt it. It was there, in all that he did. You were enough for Commodus and you always would be, even on days when he was pulled in different directions that did not lead to you; he would always come home.

The love was present in the way he held you, kissed you, made time for you, loved you.

Yes, Commodus loved you.

He always had.

[mavrisfanfics]

[Request] - Ezio x F!ChildhoodFriend!Reader - Waiting

Request: 

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed

Pairing: Ezio Auditore x F!ChildhoodFriend!Reader

Words:1246

Warnings: None, I think

Notes: I wrote this super quick because I didn’t have much time, I don’t even remember what I was trying to do here, it’s been months since I wrote and I only edit it now because I forgot to do so until now. Past few months have been draining, sorry!

She shuddered in the cold breeze. The wind whispered in the dark, coaching her to retreat back into the palace for the night, but she stood her ground.

Waiting.

The wind would, sometimes, carry to her the sound of clinking armor, and occasionally she'd see the glint of said armor peeking through the foliage of the garden, reflecting the torches the guards carried in their rounds.

She dreamt of running, of stealthily weaving through the guards in the gardens bellow and disappear into the night, forever. But she knew she couldn't do it alone.

She had to wait.

Her shoulders sagged. She clicked her nails against the balcony's rail. She sighed.

She waited.

She was running out of time. Her wedding was tomorrow. To Cesare Borgia, of all people. 

If she were anyone else, she'd be happy with this arrangement. Cesare was powerful, and so far the interactions between them had been nice. It was one of the best marriages her family could have arranged. 

But she knew about the rumors. Worst yet, she knew they were true. She knew getting into the Borgia family would be a death sentence. But she couldn't just leave on her own. 

So she waited. 

The very soft and light clink of armor right behind her pulled her from her thoughts.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting, bella" Ezio's voice cut through the silence. She turned to him. He stuck to the shadows, making sure the light that bled through the window didn't give him away. She couldn't see many of his features, but she knew he was as handsome as usual. She smiled. 

"Took you long enough! I almost thought you wouldn't come." She whispered.

"You know I'd never leave you to rot here." Usually his voice carried a light, teasing, tone that put her at ease, even in the most dire of situations, but not this time. 

It brought her terrible memories of that day in Florence. It was the first time she'd hear him use that tone, when he's told her of his family's execution, that he was running away, and that he promised he'd come back for her someday. 

It was terrifying seeing him leave like that, distressed, and knowing there was nothing she could do to help her friend, lest she put her own family in danger. 

So she waited. 

And when he finally returned, he told her everything, like he always did. But unlike all those times as children, where Ezio would sneak her out of her house and out into the city to cause trouble, she couldn't join him in his mission that time. 

So, she waited some more. She waited for a more appropriate time to tell him her feelings. She waited for a time where she could have Ezio back in her life safely. 

And then she got offered to the Borgia. Because her family didn't have enough power, apparently. 

She thought nothing of it. She knew she couldn't stay single forever and it was only a matter of time until her family sent her off to marry in an arrangement that would benefit them. Sure, she heard the rumors, but she thought they were just that, rumors. 

It wasn't until Ezio found out that she realized how bad it was. The way he almost flew into a fit of rage when she nonchalantly told him who she was going to marry was terrifying, but nowhere close to the way she felt when she realized just who she was about to marry. 

Her interactions with Ceasare had been pleasant, but once she knew what hid behind the mask she couldn't help but notice the little tells in his behavior. It was hard to keep her composure, but she could smile, nod and pray. Ezio promised he'd take her far away from that madness, but they had to wait for the right time. 

So she waited. 

And now, just before her wedding day, here he was. 

As promised. "Let's get out of here, then!" She said with a smile. Ezio, however, signaled her to stop. 

"Not yet, I have a plan, but we'll need to wait for tomorrow." She glared at him, mouth wide open. "Don't worry, bella, it's a solid plan, you just need to wait a few-" 

"No!" Ezio jumped at her tone. She noticed his reaction and realized how loud she'd just been. After checking to see that no one had heard her, she continued with a lower volume, but voice just as sharp. "Ezio, I am done with waiting! I've waited for years! I waited for my best friend to return to me for years after you ran from Florence, I waited years for you to solve your stuff so I could have you back in my life again. I've waited months for you to take me out of this God forsaken marriage and away for these lunatics, and now you tell me I need to wait even more!? No! Take me out of here right now! I'm tired of waiting to be with you, damn it!" 

"... For a moment I thought that was a confession, bella." Ezio chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. She wasn’t having any of it. 

"...It was." 

Silence hung around them. Nature itself held its breath, waiting. 

"I've waited so long to tell you how much I love you, Ezio." She knew it was risky to confess like this. If he didn't feel the same, he could leave her there to rot. 

But she didn't care anymore. She didn't want to wait any longer for someone else to save her.  She'd leave on her own if she had to.  

Ezio reached out to her. He grabbed her wrist delicately, as if she was made of glass, and slowly pulled her into the shadows, into his arms. 

"Bella, you have no idea how long I waited to hear that." 

With his warmth around her, she finally relaxed, as if the weight of the world had fallen off her shoulders. She reached for him, held his face in her hands. She drowned in his eyes. Even in the dark of the night, his eyes shone like gems. 

"Take me out of here, then. Right now. I don't care if it's dangerous, if I'm leaving everything behind. I only need you, Ezio. I'll follow you to end of the world just… take me out of here." 

Ezio had no words to reply. He nodded, before leaning in and capturing her lips in the softest, yet most desperate kiss any of them ever had. 

Nature finally released its breath, content with the outcome. The cold wind shook her hair and sent a shiver down her spine, as if urging the two to get moving, to get someplace warm and, most of all, safe. 

"Let's go then, bella." 

As they ran away from the Borgia estate, she couldn't help but look back. She questioned if she should have stayed in her bedroom, in her comfortable life, one most people would kill for. But despite how warm the light looked, still bleeding into the empty balcony, it didn't feel as warm as Ezio's hand, guiding her through the darkness, towards her freedom.  

It sure didn't beat the smiles on their faces. Warm, loving, honest. Smiles she never would have seen or had, if she decided to stay. 

She held no regrets as she ran through the dark night, guided by pure happiness, one she'd waited for so long to have.