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slytherinslut0 · 11 months

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MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Seventeen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, DARK THEMES, Sexual Harassment, Asshole!Berkshire, Extreme Depictions of Violence, Blood, SMUT, PIV, Virgin!Reader, Loss of Virginity, Dom!Mattheo, Sub!Reader, Oral Sex, Multiple Orgasm, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

Emerging from the closet, you and Mattheo shared one more fleetingly charged moment, your eyes locking in a silent exchange laden with unspoken emotions. With a subtle nod, you both returned to your seats, seamlessly slipping back into the roles you had mastered--the poised Ravenclaw and the bad, rebellious Slytherin. The transition was flawless, but beneath the composed exteriors, a storm of emotions raged.

As the game progressed and the night drew on, your eyes locked with Mattheo's from across the circle more times than you could even begin to count--and as the rest of the room remained blissfully unaware, you were acutely attuned to the dance of hidden desires, an intimate connection that thrived in the shadows.

The game of truth or dare continued, growing more wild with each passing round, until most people involved became to tired to continue. In the midst of all of this, Emily and Tom seemed to hit it off, engrossed in their own conversation which seemed to have started before you had even returned from the closet with Mattheo--and as much as the sight was slightly confusing, you were profoundly grateful for the unexpected friendship between them. It undoubtedly relieved the pressure of having to engage with Tom.

As the night wore on, exhaustion settled deep within your bones. Berkshire, thoroughly intoxicated, was gently escorted to his dormitory by Malfoy, his usual disgusting arrogance now replaced by a drunken stumble. Despite the lingering adrenaline from the evening's events, weariness tugged at your limbs, pulling you towards the comfort of your dormitory.

While Emily and Tom remained engrossed in their conversation, you seized the opportunity to excuse yourself quietly. With polite smiles and casual goodnights, you bid farewell to the remaining members of the circle. Each step you took felt heavier than the last, your energy waning with every movement. The echoes of laughter and conversation faded into the distance as you navigated the familiar corridors, the subdued glow of torchlight guiding your way.

Taking a moment to escape the confines of the castle, you stepped into the tranquil courtyard, leaning against the railing and seeking solace under the vast expanse of stars. The night air embraced you, carrying with it a soothing whisper of tranquility. Breathing in deeply, you let the cool breeze wash over you, attempting to shed the lingering tension from your bones after the intense evening you had just endured.

And in the midst of your attempts to find serenity, the peaceful atmosphere shattered like fragile glass, stumbling footsteps making their way toward you. As you glanced over, you watched an inebriated Berkshire stumble his way into the courtyard, bringing himself dangerously close to you, his usual arrogance magnified by the influence of alcohol. His eyes, glazed and unfocused, fixated on you with a disturbing intensity.

"Shit...what do we have here?" he slurred, his words laced with drunken confidence. "A little bird all alone in the night...don't you know it's fuckin' dangerous to be out here all by yourself?"

Your disgust was palpable as you shot him a withering glare. "Save your pathetic lines for someone who cares, Berkshire," you retorted, your voice dripping with disdain. "The only thing dangerous is my dwindling patience at the mere sight of you."

"Why're you such a bitch, huh?" he slurred, his words carrying the stench of alcohol. His proximity was uncomfortably close, his breath hot against your skin. "Must be 'cause you secretly like me, right?"

Your jaw clenched, a mixture of annoyance and disgust bubbling within you. His words were as repugnant as his alcohol-laden breath. The tension you had been trying to relieve was now replaced by a different kind, a sharp pang of frustration at having to deal with his inappropriate behavior.

"I suggest you find your way back to your dorm," you retorted, your voice firm despite the rising irritation. "Your delusions won't make your company any more welcome."

Berkshire's drunken persistence grated on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard, his obnoxious confidence seeming to inflate with every word you uttered. Before you could process it, he closed the distance between you, his movements erratic, invading your personal space. His clammy hand shot up, gripping your jaw with a force that made your teeth clench, forcing your eyes to meet his in a cruel display of dominance.

"Why won't you just admit it, huh?" he slurred, his words punctuated by the reek of alcohol on his breath. His bloodshot eyes bored into yours, his arrogance seemingly impervious to your clear discomfort. "You can't deny the attraction, sweetheart...I see it in the way you look at me when you think no one's watching."

Your patience snapped like a taut rope. Anger flared in your chest, hot and searing. With a swift movement, you pushed his hand away from your face, your voice cutting through the night with icy precision, a steely resolve in your voice that should have been enough to ward off any sane person.

"Let me make this abundantly clear, Berkshire," you said, your tone as sharp as a blade. "There is no secret admiration, no desire, and certainly no fucking attraction. You're nothing more than a nuisance, and I have no patience for your delusions. Now, back the fuck off before you regret testing my tolerance any further."

Despite your unwavering stance, Berkshire's drunken laughter reverberated through the courtyard, a disturbing echo of arrogance undeterred by your resistance. He jeered, taking another step toward you, his movements unsteady but determined. The cold, unforgiving metal of the railing you had been standing in front of pressed into your back as he cornered you, his breath reeking of alcohol and menace.

Panic clawed at your throat, but you refused to show weakness, your eyes meeting his with a defiant glare. "Berkshire, what are you-"

Ignoring your words, he advanced further, backing you up against the railing until there was nowhere left to retreat. Your heart thundered in your chest, the weight of his aggression bearing down on you. And then, in a moment of terror, he grabbed you, his grip surprisingly strong, squeezing tighter than you had ever expected. Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers dug into your arms, pain flaring through your limbs. The situation had escalated far beyond your control, and the realization struck you like a physical blow.

"Let me go," you demanded, your voice strained but resolute, despite the fear tightening your throat. But Berkshire only tightened his grip, his fingers digging into your skin, his drunken gaze wild and unpredictable. "Enzo, fuck, stop..."

"Shut the fuck up," he growled, he breath grazing over your neck as he pressed himself against you. "You're such a fucking-"

Before Berkshire could finish that sentence, a familiar voice--one usually somewhat smooth and composed, cut through the air with a terrifying intensity.

"Berkshire…if you don't get your fucking hands off of her," the threat in his tone was unmistakable, a promise of unspeakable consequences if ignored. "I fucking swear-"

But Berkshire, lost in his drunken rage, remained heedless, his eyes glazed over with a dangerous mixture of anger and entitlement. “Shut up, Riddle…she fucking wants me…”

You caught Mattheo's eyes from over Enzo's shoulder, ones that once held a glimmer of restraint now blazed with an uncontrollable anger that seemed to ignite the air around him. His usual composure shattered, replaced by a raw, primal fury.

In a heartbeat, Mattheo closed the distance between him and Berkshire, his movements fluid and almost supernatural. His hand shot out like a striking serpent, fingers wrapping around Berkshire's throat like an unyielding vice. The grip was tight, a clear message of the danger Berkshire was in.

“I warned you,” he hissed, and with a swift, powerful motion, Mattheo ripped Berkshire off of you, sending him crashing onto the unforgiving stone ground, a stunned gasp escaping his lips upon impact--Mattheo’s throat was shredded with anger as he growled, “I fucking warned you…”

You stood frozen, your lungs burning as you desperately gasped for air, your vision swimming with a heady mix of fear and relief. Mattheo, his eyes ablaze with fury, descended upon Berkshire like a vengeful deity. His arm darted out, fingers clenching Berkshire's collar in one hand while the other transformed into a merciless fist.

“Stay the fuck away from her…you don’t fucking look at her, you don’t even fucking breathe near her…do you fucking understand me?” Mattheo didn’t wait for a response, the first punch landing with a sickening crack, the sound reverberating through the courtyard like a thunderclap. Mattheo jostled Enzo in his grip, practically spitting his words against his face. “No one gets to fucking touch her…no one except me…fucking no one…”

A momentary pause hung in the air, a fleeting heartbeat of stillness, before Mattheo struck again. And again. And again. He was possessed, every punch a release of the pent-up rage that had been simmering beneath the surface, each blow fueled by a primal instinct to protect, to defend, to punish the one who dared to harm you.

Berkshire's face transformed into a grotesque mask of crimson, his features distorted by pain and fear. The courtyard seemed to pulse with the rhythm of Mattheo's anger, the sound of his blows drowned out by the rapid thudding of your heart--and it wasn't until Draco Malfoy, his normally composed demeanor replaced by wide-eyed shock, entered the fray, that Mattheo's onslaught finally came to a halt.

Malfoy, his strength surprising for someone so slender, managed to pull Mattheo off Berkshire, the latter struggling like a wild animal, his rage still burning brightly, his chest heaving with exasperated fury.

"What the fuck happened here?" Theodore dropped to his knees next to his fallen friend, a mixture of concern and disbelief etched on his features as he met your stunned eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I..." you stammered, your voice barely audible, your mind struggling to comprehend the violence that had just unfolded before you. The shock had rendered you speechless, your throat dry and constricted, words caught in the whirlwind of your emotions. "Yes...I'm okay..."

While you attempted to spit out words, Mattheo's heaving form, still seething with raw anger, ripped himself free from Malfoy's hold. With a voice that carried the weight of his fury, he spoke on your behalf, the words sharp and cutting through the air.

"Berkshire thought he could lay his fucking hands on her is what happened," his voice was cold, each word laced with contempt. "After I warned him...I warned him how many fucking times..."

Mattheo's aura, once magnetic and enticing, was now a tempest, an embodiment of wrath that crackled in the air around him. The atmosphere seemed to vibrate with his intensity, as if the very stones beneath your feet could feel his fury. It was a chilling reminder, mostly to you, that beneath the composed facade, there was a force to be reckoned with, a protector who would stop at nothing to shield you from harm--and that thought did inexplicable, disgustingly shameless things to your fucking body.

Draco Malfoy, his usual cool composure momentarily shaken, stepped away from Mattheo, his eyes assessing the situation with a discerning gaze.

"Let's get him to the hospital wing," he suggested to Theodore, his voice cutting through the tension. Nott, too, recognized the need for immediate action, nodding in agreement, before briefly meeting your eyes. "I'm sorry about him...there's no way he hasn't learned his lesson now...fuckin' sorry little prat..."

You nodded in response as the two of them lifted Berkshire, supporting his battered form between them. As they glanced between you and Mattheo, it was as though a silent understanding passed between Draco and Nott. Their glances met, a knowing look shared, acknowledging that there was something more beneath the surface of this situation. They sensed the unspoken connection, the invisible thread that bound you and Mattheo together, but they chose not to pry. Instead, they respected the unspoken boundaries, allowing the complexities of your relationships to remain your own.

Meanwhile, Mattheo turned his attention back to you, his eyes a tumultuous blend of emotions, the storm within him slowly subsiding as he registered the shock lingering in your eyes. With a soft yet determined expression, he stepped closer, his presence becoming a comforting shield against the aftermath of the confrontation that had left both of you shaken.

"Raven, I'm so fucking-" he began, his voice thick with regret and unspoken apologies.

"I'm fine, Mattheo." You cut him off, your heart pounding in your chest, the sight of his breathless, bloodied and dishevelled form doing dangerous things to your cunt--and you knew, more than anything, you just wanted to be alone with him. "Please just take me back to your dorm."

His brows furrowed in confusion, but the desperation in your eyes didn't leave room for questions.

"What-" he started to inquire, but you took a step closer, your neck arching slightly to catch his dark, penetrating gaze.

"Take me back to your dorm," you repeated. "Please."

Upon hearing the raw desperation in your voice, Mattheo nodded, his fingers gently finding yours as he immediately led you down the hall and through the empty corridor to his dorm. The moment he pushed the door open, allowing you to step inside, it felt as though the temperature in the room had increased to a million bloody degrees. The air was thick with unspoken tension, a potent mix of fear, desire, and the undeniable pull that had always existed between you, intensified now by the events of the night.

As you cautiously stepped into his dorm, your eyes were drawn to the familiar sight of the astronomy book lying open on his desk. The memory of the last time you had been in his dorm flashed in your mind--the same book, sitting untouched on his desk, an odd object in the midst of his carefully curated chaos.

"Why do you still have this out?" you questioned, your voice laced with curiosity and a hint of suspicion.

The question hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications. Mattheo hesitated, his stormy eyes locking onto yours in a moment of vulnerability.

"Can't a man indulge in the mysteries of the stars whenever he fancies?" he retorted with a smirk, attempting to deflect the gravity of the situation. His voice carried a hint of playfulness, but the tension beneath the surface was palpable. "Or perhaps stargazing is an art reserved solely for beautiful little ravens, hm?"

"Is it because of me?" Your stare bore into him, a mix of curiosity and suspicion flickering in your eyes. “Is it because of me that you have this book?”

He didn't deny it; instead, after a long, silent moment, he simply nodded, almost impenetrably, his gaze never leaving yours. It was a silent admission, a confession that hung heavy in the charged atmosphere of the room. In that moment, the undeniable pull between you became almost tangible, the invisible thread connecting your hearts growing stronger, defying the boundaries you had desperately tried to impose.

You stepped toward him. "Did you miss me, Mattheo..."

Mattheo met your gaze, his expression enigmatic yet stoic, a mask of his usual arrogance and charm slipping back into place. His silence lingered for a moment, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Then, in a voice that held a depth of emotion he was trying to conceal, he replied, "Maybe I did, Raven..."

You moved closer, the air crackling with need as you closed the distance, your heart pounding in your chest. When you finally stood before him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, you dared to reach out, your fingers brushing against his cheek. His skin was warm, and beneath your touch, you could sense the subtle tremor that betrayed the restraint he was exercising. Your breath caught in your throat as you tilted your head, your lips hovering just millimeters from his.

"Don't be shy, Mattheo..." you murmured, teasing him with your fingers as you trailed over his jawline. "Why don't you show me how much you missed me..."

Mattheo's jaw clenched under your touch, his dark eyes smoldering with an intensity that matched the simmering desire between you. You sighed when his hands, strong and possessive, found their way to your hips, pulling you closer with a magnetic force that left you breathless. His restraint wavered, the barrier between temptation and surrender growing thinner by the second.

"Salazar fucking save me..." Mattheo's voice was a raspy whisper, a plea and a challenge rolled into one, his vulnerability veiled behind a facade of arrogance. "Who the hell are you..."

You leaned in, your lips hovering dangerously close to his, your eyes locking onto his with a daring intensity.

"Sorry to break it to you, Riddle," you purred, your voice a seductive melody that echoed in the charged space between you. "But I'm afraid not even your maker could save you now..." a teasing smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your breath mingling with his. "Better start counting your blessings..."

"Blessings, huh?" Mattheo's lips curved into a half-smirk, his voice low and dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine. "I'd much rather count the seconds until I can taste those sweet fucking lips of yours..."

His words sent a jolt of desire through you, your heart pounding in response to his brazen confidence.

"Gods, you really are a changed man, aren't you?" You murmured, fighting your smirk as his fingers tightened their grip on your hips. "You were never one to wait for permission before..."

"Raven," his voice was a low, raspy whisper, the intensity in his eyes burning brighter. "You're really testing my fucking patience here...and you should know I'm not a patient man..."

Your smirk grew, heat flushing your cheeks, your fingers tracing a tantalizing path along the underside of his jawline, now, teasingly slow.

"Maybe I enjoy testing your limits…maybe I want to see how far I can push you..." you muttered, your voice laced with playful defiance. "Or perhaps I just like watching you squirm, Riddle...perhaps I want to hear you beg for me..."

Mattheo's patience snapped like a taut wire, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of exasperation and desire.

"Look at you, huh...all fucking smug..." he growled, his voice edged with playful frustration as he peered down at you. "You've kept that pussy from me for over two fucking weeks and now you want to tease me like this? Did you forget how bloody fast I can make you crumble for me..."

Your defiant facade began to crack under the intensity of his gaze, a shiver running down your spine.

"Gods, maybe I did..." your voice barely above a whisper, the defiance replaced by a flicker of vulnerability. "Maybe I need you to remind me..."

"Shit...there she is...there's my good fucking girl..." he murmured, his tone a mixture of reverence and desire. "...tell me what you want, Raven..."

A sigh of satisfaction slipped past your lips as his hands tightened their grip, his touch searing into your hips as though he was trying to hang on to his last shreds of willpower. With a trembling voice, you met his dark, penetrating eyes, wetting your lips as you let yourself drown in their depths.

"You," you whispered, your voice a husky admission. "I want you."

He exhaled. "Then fucking have me."

In a whirlwind of desire, his lips crashed onto yours, sending your senses into a frenzy. Your eyelids fluttered shut as both of you inhaled sharply through your noses, trying to catch your breath amidst the electrifying kiss. His hands, strong and possessive, tangled in your hair, pulling you closer with an urgency that matched the racing beat of your heart. Your lips parted in a soft groan of surrender, inviting him in, and his tongue slipped between your teeth with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

His lips moved over yours, claiming every inch as though he needed you to survive, and your fingers found solace in the dark waves of his hair, gripping them tightly. Mattheo responded with a primal sound, a low grunt of satisfaction that resonated between your entwined bodies. With a swift motion, he spun you around, his lips never leaving yours, walking you backwards until the backs of your knees met the edge of his bed. The kiss deepened, his mouth exploring yours with a deliberate slowness, his fingers continuing their sensual dance through your hair, pulling you impossibly closer, melting the space between you.

Mattheo's tongue danced a tantalizing dance inside your mouth before he withdrew, leaving a lingering connection between your lips. In that moment, silence enveloped both of you, rendering you nearly motionless, lost in a whirlwind of emotions, unsure of what to say, think, or do. You felt the undeniable hardness of his arousal pressing against your belly, causing a flicker of anticipation to ignite within you. Your hands instinctively moved towards the hem of your shirt, but he halted you with a gaze as hard as stone.

"No," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Let me."

A flush of scarlet painted your cheeks, but you nodded in silent consent, your throat tight with anticipation. His fingers bunched the fabric of your shirt, lifting it up and off of you. As you raised your arms, granting him permission to undress you further, he completed his task with deliberate care. The fabric landed on the floor with a soft rustle, discarded and forgotten, while his eyes roamed over every newly exposed expanse of your skin.

It was a ritual you knew you’d never tired of, the way he looked at your body as if it was a masterpiece, a gift he hadn't been prepared to receive.

Under the intensity of his gaze, a cascade of warmth flooded through you, your skin tingling with awareness. His hands skillfully moved behind you, unclasping your bra with practiced ease. He pushed it off your shoulders, the fabric gliding down your arms, his fingers skimming over the surface of your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours in a silent question, before gracefully sinking to his knees in front of you. His warm breath ghosted over your belly, holding your stare as to ask for permission before he hooked his thumbs under the rim of your pants and panties, peeling them down your thighs, revealing your sensitive sex to him--inch by torturous inch.

A shiver rippled through your nerves, sending a thrill down your spine as his molten-gold eyes held yours with hunger that seemed to consume everything in its path. His gaze didn't waver for a single moment, even as he expertly removed your shoes and tossed them aside carelessly. As he rose, his palms trailed over the contours of every curve, his touch igniting a trail of electric sensations in their wake. He towered over you, a commanding presence that left you breathless, and one of his hands delicately cupped your face, his thumb tracing the outline of your lower lip with a gentle intensity that sent your heart racing.

"Lie back," he murmured.

Your fingers quivered with anticipation as you nodded, succumbing to the electric tension in the air. Slowly, you eased yourself back onto the mattress, adjusting your position so you could lie flat against the soft bedding.

Mattheo prowled around the perimeter of the bed, his intense gaze scorching your skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Each step he took seemed deliberate, his movements exuding a raw, primal energy. After a moment, he paused, his fingers deftly working on the buttons of his bloodied dress-shirt. With a fluid motion, he peeled off the fabric, revealing the chiseled contours of his chest. His pants followed suit, dropping to the floor until he stood before you in just his boxers.

From this angle, the sight of him made your cheeks flush and your breath hitch in your throat. The raw masculinity and confidence he exuded was both breathtaking and overwhelming, leaving you yearning for more as he loomed over the bed, the outline of his throbbing cock straining the fabric of his boxers doing unspeakable things to your body--the sight of it against the background of hard, tense muscle made you clench, and you bit your lip to hide a moan that was sneaking its way out of your mouth.

And even though you knew he noticed, he said nothing, even as his knee dropped into the mattress, even as he shifted, crawling over you, until he hovered above you, looking more fucking angelic than he ever had before, looking like a man filled with devotion, passion and need.

"Mattheo..." fear was mixing with the pull of lust. You'd never seen him like this. "Matty, I--"

"Shh," he said, pushing a strand of hair away from your temple. "Relax for me, princess..."

You drew in a shaky breath, and nodded--and his lips pressed into yours, plush and wet, before he moved, leading a tingling line of kisses down your cheek, to your jawline, to your neck. Leaning in, he caressed your throat with his warm mouth and you gasped, back arcing into him. In response, Mattheo purred, laying layer after layer of soft, wet marks on your sensitive flesh. One large hand slid down your arm while he kissed his way to your breast, nuzzling his cheek into the valley of your chest before drawing a nipple between his lips.

A cry escaped you, your hips bucking into his abdomen. "Oh, Gods..."

"Shh," he said again. "Relax, angel..."

The nickname he called only made you want to writhe more. Your mind internally fucking screaming with need. Taking a deep breath, you nodded anyway.

"My angel," he repeated, planting slow, soft kisses on your stiffening bud. "My fucking sweet little angel..."

He took your nipple into his mouth again, moaning while he suckled it swollen, his hands painting pleasure on your swathes of naked, aching skin. You whimpered, nibbling on your lip to silence any sound, hands slowly slithering their way through his messy, yet beautiful fucking hair. As you tightened your grip on his strands, a groan slipped past his teeth, and he flicked the tip of your peak with his tongue before releasing it, mouth making a hot trail along your navel, his hands massaging up and down the outside of your thighs.

"You're doing so well," he whispered into your stomach. "You're so fucking beautiful..."

"Matty..." you whined, his words creating a storm of bliss in your chest. You didn't know what else to say.

"Keep being good for me..." he kissed his way to the mound of your pussy, holding a rumble in his chest as his lips grazed the top of your slit. "Are you ready?"

Are you ready? He just fucking asked if you were ready. As you gazed at him, his pink lips glistening with saliva, eyes smoldering with desire, the answer became crystal clear.

"Yes," you said. "Yes, I'm ready."

Without further hesitation, Mattheo lowered his head between your legs, your entire body jolting in pleasure as he licked a broad, flat band up your sex, feeling your fingers twirling in the curls of his hair. His mouth was hot and eager as he showered your folds with deep, heavy kisses, sending shivers of delight throughout your entire being. Mattheo's hands held your thighs in place as he slicked his strong tongue in between your slit, each touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your core. Your eyes were fixed upon him, unable to look away from the sight of him worshipping your cunt with his mouth.

"You taste incredible," he cooed, leaving soft kisses along the crease of your thighs. "You know that I thought about this little pussy everyday, don't you?"

Your breath hitched. "Y-you did?"

"Mmhm."

He returned to working his tongue along your inner-folds, gathering your juices along the tip, humming while he swallowed--he was deliberate, taking his time to memorize every bit of your pussy, to draw as much cum from your core as he could. You whined, your clit desperate for attention.

"Matty..." you pleaded, "please..."

Mattheo's gaze met yours as he hummed, sealing his lips around your swollen nub. The intensity of the pleasure collided into you, causing a wracking sob to escape your lips as your eyes closed in ecstasy. His grip tightened on your thighs, tugging you closer to his face. As he sucked on your clit, he gradually built up the pressure, block by block, pushing you towards the peak of orgasm.

Your hips relentlessly rolled into him, urgent moans filling the air as you fell further and further toward overwhelming bliss. "Fuck, Mattheo...Gods..."

His hands left your thighs, exploring your body, gripping and kneading any inch of flesh they could find, until they finally rested on your breasts, thumbs tracing small, gentle circles on your hardened nipples.

"Oh, fuck," you said, "fuck, fuck..."

As the intensity of your pleasure peaked, any words leaving your lips devolved into incoherent wailing. You teetered on the edge, straining against a wall of unrelenting bliss that threatened to overtake you completely. Then, with two hard sucks, Mattheo eased you over, drawing out your climax long and slow against his mouth. Ecstasy consumed you, numbing your skin as your limbs shook and trembled. Every sensation was intensified as he pulled you through wave after wave of pleasure, groaning as your juices coated his lips, your core throbbing and pulsing at his chin.

It felt like an eternity before he finally released you, dragging his tongue up the top of your slit as he panted and gasped for breath alongside you. The aftermath of your intense orgasm left both of you struggling to regain your senses.

Your head rolled along the mattress, lids fluttering open, hands petting at his hair. "Fuck, Mattheo...that was..."

"Shh." He licked his lips, gaze liquefying your center, and returned his focus to your belly, kissing a steady path to your sternum, his hands still stroking at your skin. "I need you to know how much I missed everything...and I mean fucking everything..."

"Oh," was all that left your mouth, teeth pinching your lip when it began to tremble.

"From your perfect fucking tits to your filthy little mouth..." one hand started to palm at your breast, the other still gliding up your side as he inched forward. "From those delicious fucking thighs to that pretty little pussy..." he was at your neck, now, rasping into it, the heat of his body enveloping you. "Every inch of you is fucking perfect...fuck the drugs Raven, you are my insatiable goddamn addiction..."

Every syllable that escaped his lips seemed to caress your very soul, igniting a wildfire of longing within you. His words were like a spell, weaving around your heart and wrapping you in a cocoon of desire. You craved him in a way that transcended the physical, a hunger that went bone-deep. It wasn't just the touch of his skin against yours that you yearned for; it was the merging of your essence, the melding of your souls into an ethereal dance of passion. You wanted to dissolve the boundaries between you, to lose yourselves in a realm crafted solely for your bodies, where every touch and sigh was a symphony of fervor.

And as you met his gaze, there it was, in his eyes--an unnamed emotion that pulsed between you, an unspoken truth that bound you together in a way words could never encapsulate. It was a force beyond reason, an irresistible pull that drew you closer, time after fucking time again.

"You once called me a plague but fuck...you have no fucking idea..." his voice, raw with desire, clawed its way out of his throat. "I haven't even fucked you, Raven...how the fuck have you done this to me?"

Your heart skipped a beat, fingers instinctively curling in his hair. "Do you want to?..."

Mattheo hesitated, as if time itself hung suspended. His eyes searched your face, seeking the truth in your words, and then, he answered, his voice a low rasp,

"Of course I do..." he breathed. "But after what happened tonight-"

"No," you cut him off, your body moving restlessly beneath his. "After what happened tonight, I only want you more...I've never fucking wanted you so fucking badly, Mattheo...it was you who defended me, not Tom, not Zabini, you...it's always been you..."

Mattheo's jaw tensed, his eyes darkening, his chest heaving. "You want me to fuck you..." he said, as though he was trying to make himself believe it. "You want me to take your virginity..."

You nodded, a silent confirmation of your desire, but Mattheo's fingers found their way to your jaw, his touch surprisingly gentle, yet firm. He held your gaze, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation, any uncertainty.

"Say it, Raven," he murmured, his voice low and commanding. "You know I need to hear you say it. Tell me you want me to take your virginity."

Your breath caught in your throat, his proximity overwhelming your senses. With a shaky inhale, you met his intense gaze, your voice coming out as a mere whisper, "I want you to take my virginity, Mattheo."

"Fucking hell..." he breathed, the desire in his tone making your core scream. "You know that means-"

"I'm yours." You cut him off. "Even though all of this could fuck up my entire future, I don't care...I'm yours...I submit my sanity to the disaster that is sneaking around with you, Mattheo...I don't want the safe option, I don't want soft or subtle...I want dangerous, I want messy, I want sins...I fucking want you..."

"Salazar fucking save me..." he breathed after a long moment of staring at you, shifting himself to pull down his boxers, his throbbing cock springing free, smacking against his belly. "You really are a little fucking devil..."

You clenched at the sight of his dick, head glistening with precum, twitching insistently as he shifted, looping an arm under your neck and cradling your head, his face nestling into your neck while his other hand directed the head of his dick against your wet folds, slicking itself along your wetness, your entire body tensing at the foreign sensation.

He was so fucking big...you weren't sure if, "are you even going to fit...you're so fucking-"

"Shh, Raven." Mattheo huffed against your neck, angling back to meet your eyes, that devilish smirk plastered across his lips. "I'll make it fit."

At his words, you clenched again, unable to deny the intoxication of his primal arrogance, his eyes fixed on your face as he angled himself at your core now, the anticipation radiating off of him only fuelling your hunger, sending thrills through every inch of your body.

"Relax," he breathed, eyes boring into yours, the hand behind your head keeping you in place. "And look at me...I want you looking into my fucking eyes as you feel yourself stretching out for me..."

With a nod, you held his stare, and slowly, deliberately, he pushed himself inside of you, inch by inch, letting you gasp and wince while his thick length stretched you open, until he was fully sheathed within your tightness. The sensation was overwhelming, stretching you to your limit, beyond anything you ever thought possible, and Mattheo only seemed to grow harder with each gasp that left your lips. With him completely seated inside of your cunt, you felt him pulsing at the hilt, felt his already urgent need to cum inside of you. But instead of moving right away, he jerked you closer to his chest, his lips softly grazing yours as he brought his hand to cup your jaw.

"Are you okay?" His voice was torn, shredded, nearly unrecognizable.

You nodded, holding his eyes. "I'm okay."

"Shit, Raven..." a deep groan left his chest as he exhaled, pulling out and plunging back in as slowly and carefully as he had the first time. "You're so fucking tight...fuck..."

You mewled--between the passion in your chest and the newfound sensations between your legs, your head was spinning, something was close to bursting. His skin was so hot against you, and you gripped him tighter, another moan leaving your chest, chin shaking beyond your control, the pleasure and pain commingling in your mind as you surrendered to his skilled touch--Mattheo stared at you through it all with gleaming eyes before he smothered your lips with a kiss, burning and short.

"Is this what you wanted?" The low thunder of his voice melted in your ears, and he murmured your name. "Tell me..."

Your fingers dug into his skin, your voice torn between gasps. "Yes, Mattheo..." you mewled. "It's all I've wanted."

He leaned forward, lips feathersoft on yours, kissing you, still easing his cock into you with careful rolls of his hips. The grip at your head soothed your scalp--and you could feel it, could feel yourself blending with his body as he pushed deeper and deeper inside of you, could feel your pulses pounding in pace, could feel the unspoken, intangible harmony coiling in your blood.

"Who else can make you feel like this, hm?" His embrace constricted you, now, stilling you while he rocked deep into you, stuffing you full, his free hand travelling down your belly, grazing over your clit--and you choked, whimpered, limp in his arms. "Tell me who this tight little pussy fucking belongs to..."

The pleasure was overwhelming, earth shattering, entirely all encompassing. Your lids fluttered, your brain spinning. "Oh, Gods...oh my fucking-"

"Look at me, Raven..." he ordered, voice torn. "Look at me or I'll stop."

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes, nails biting into his skin, heart pounding in your throat as you felt your sanity dangerously fucking close to shattering, your entire body encompassed in a pleasure that you've never known, a pleasure that only Mattheo fucking Riddle could give you, one that burns you from the inside out, one that shatters every inch of your resolve, leaving you bare before him.

"Tell me..." he whispered, his fingers twirling your clit. You could tell he was close, too. "Fuck...fucking say it…”

"You," you mewled, lost in the melted chocolate swirls of his irises. "It fucking belongs to you, Mattheo...fuck...only you..."

"Shit..." he groaned your name, sucking at your shoulder, tongue leaving hot lines on your neck. "You love being dirty for me..." his fingers whirled your clit faster. "You love being my nasty little slut, don't you?"

"Yes, yes, Mattheo..." you wailed, body trembling beneath him. "I love it..."

"Fuck--" A feral kiss bruised your lips, his cock splitting you with long thrusts. "That's it..." he muttered your name against your mouth. "Cum--cum for me, let me feel you..."

You shattered. "Gods--Matty! Fuck..."

Euphoria rended you wide, tearing at the seams of your sanity, and you fractured, convulsing with the sheer strength of your climax. Your walls spasmed around his dick, milking him hard, and Mattheo held you, mouth meeting yours as he came, hips hitting you with every rush of rapture as he quickly followed after you, spilling his release inside your cunt. This seemed to last for minutes, the aftershocks of bliss rippling through your bodies at once while you remained there catching breath, still connected.

You were wilted, spent, a collection of skin and cum and sweat, and when Mattheo finally pulled out, he slumped down on the mattress beside you, pulling you back into his chest, nothing but the collective sounds of your exhausted panting filling the air, neither of you willing to move even though you knew you couldn't stay here all night--but your drooping lids didn't care, your body succumbing to slumber without giving you a choice.

And as you drifted off, you couldn’t help but question how a boy who once had been the bane of your fucking existence, had now become the centre of it.

———————-

Find eighteen here->

1K notes · View notes

thaleleah · 7 months

Text

𝓗𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Academy!Reader

Warnings: Dub-Con, Seduction/Manipulation, Oral (female and male receiving), Handjob, Food Play (feeding each other/licking stuff off bodies, but its more of a seduction tactic), Finger Sucking, Ruined Orgasm, Slight Overstimulation, Slight Dacryphilia Kink, Reader is spoiled and delulu, Sub!Coriolanus

**Based off this irl porn post (takes you to Twitter/X).

Word Count: 10K

A/N: Literally just started the book today so Coriolanus is probs wayyyy out of character but . . . just go with it lol. I wanted him to be ✨subby✨

Summary: When you find out that the great Coriolanus Snow is not as financially well off as he makes himself out to be, you can't help but take advantage of his vulnerability.

Hunger is a weapon - every Capitol citizen knows this.

It’s the most useful piece of knowledge used when carving down an enemy. The people in the districts need to be taught fear, obedience for their devastating betrayal to the Capitol. If they thought they knew oppression before the First Rebellion . . . well, they just didn’t know how good they had it.

Things are back as they should be now. The Capitol stands at the top of the hierarchy, the districts fumbling below in their failure as they suffer their punishments and try to make amends in order to have the favor of those in charge.

Your family was lucky, surviving the war with minimal losses and maintaining your excessive wealth in the process. It’s a life of luxury for you - one of comfort and ease. You want for nothing, desire for nothing that you can’t have in a split second with a snap of your fingers or a hopeful, doe-eyed pout at your father.

Nothing, except one thing.

Him.

Coriolanus Snow.

He walks with such confidence, lean body moving gracefully and an air of arrogant smugness following him around as he vies for the Plinth Prize. He’s smart, very smart - top of the class at the Academy, and you can’t help but admit that you find his intelligence extremely attractive.

He’s beautiful, angelic blond curls always strategically fluffed, the perfect contrast to the Academy’s rouge uniforms. And sometimes, when he’s leaning down to scribble in his notebook during class, a few rogue curls will fall across his forehead and into those eyes - those eyes that sparkle despite his constant controlled and put together facade. You want those eyes on you. Want them to see you, follow you around as you walk the halls of the Academy, never leaving your visage as you sit prettily in class, back straight and legs crossed under your desk - your posture a solid reminder of your high stature within society.

You want them wet with tears, pupils blown wide as he stares up at you while you ride him, hard and fast as his mouth begs for mercy despite his pretty blue eyes begging for more.

You’re a prize, he’d be lucky to have you - and yet, whenever he looks your way, it’s with disdain.

You’re a fucking goddess, beauty unmatched. He should be falling at your feet just to get a second of your time. But no, instead he ignores you, never once looking your way other than when studiously listening to your response to a question asked during class before those blue eyes make their way back to the professor. They never linger, never once. And that realization makes your blood boil.

He’s smart, but you’re smart too - spite and bitterness reenergizing your academic drive. He wants the Plinth Prize and you want him. So you do the only thing that you can think of that will ensure his focus lands on you no matter what.

You go for the Plinth Prize too.

You’re on his ass in academics - every test and every project leading you closer and closer to over taking him for the win. His eyes can’t leave you now, always following you, narrowed and hateful as you smile smugly back at him. Sometimes you think you can see fear in them, like he can physically feel your sharp, manicured nails digging into the vulnerable balloon of his dreams and can hear the shallow hiss of escaping air through the punctures.

You hope he can feel your metaphorical breath on the back of his neck.

The mid semester review comes around and classes are canceled for the rest of the day as professors meet with their students to go over their academic standings. You walk into the building just minutes before your scheduled meeting time, bag slung over your shoulder and a dried fruit bar in your hand as you climb the stairs towards Professor Rosebloom’s office. Normally, you would be at least 15 minutes early, punctuality and proper time management drilled into you from a young age. However, Professor Rosebloom likes her schedules, the exact measurements of time, and plans out each class and meeting down to the minute. It’s useless to assume there’s any wiggle room for early arrivals or dismissals. It’s not beneficial - not when the door to her office won’t open again until the very moment it hits your scheduled appointment time. So you take your time climbing the stairs, taking a bite of your snack bar when you see him.

He’s leaning against one of the pillars in the middle of the hall, back pressed against the rounded edge as he bites into a cookie. He looks stressed, body rigid as he chews, the back of his hand coming up to wipe at his mouth after each bite. You smirk, eyes narrowed in glee as you stalk towards him like a predator sneaking up on her prey. His mind is elsewhere, completely unaware of you coming up next to him until his gaze falls to your shadow overtaking his own along the glossy floor.

He has only a second for his brain to register your presence before you speak, a smooth and sweet, “Coriolanus,” that nevertheless has him jumping in his spot against the pillar.

You watch as he fumbles the cookie in his hand, the half eaten treat falling to the ground, breaking into smaller pieces under the impact. His face is rather comical as he stares down at the ruined cookie, eyes wide and mouth agape, and you swear you see his hand twitch just the slightest bit as if he was going to pick it up off the dirty floor before he takes a deep breath and those piercing blue eyes cut to you.

“What?” He asks, voice sharp.

“Aw, sorry to make you drop your snack,” You say, feigning sympathy. “It looked yummy,”

His eyes fall shut for a moment, long eyelashes creating shadows along the top of his cheeks as he fights for composure. “It was,”

“You should have saved it for after your meeting,” You say, stepping closer to him, just far away enough to still be considered a proper amount of space, but close enough for him to have to tilt his head downwards to maintain eye contact. “As a condolence for when you hear that I’m the top student and a shoo-in for the Plinth Prize and not you.”

A low rumble bursts from his throat and he pushes off of the pillar to tower over you, glaring down at your shorter figure as he growls, “That’s not going to happen,”

His closeness makes your heart race, and you want nothing more than to drop the fruit bar from your hand and tangle your fingers into his fluffy hair. You’d do it too - would risk everything, the perfect image you’ve cultivated and the resulting embarrassment of seeming needy - if only you knew he would reciprocate. But he’s stubborn, you don’t know, and your pride gets in the way of any impulsive decision you might make, no matter how hot the desire burns through your veins.

Instead, you bring the snack bar up to your mouth, perfect white teeth sinking into the sticky bar as you keep your eyes locked on his. Your intense focus on him is the only reason you see how his eyes falter from yours, the furious fire in them dimming into a softer need as they fall to your mouth.

Your glossed lips pull into a smirk. Finally, finally, he’s getting the picture. You knew it was only a matter of time. He was a man after all, and men are weak when it comes to the wiles of women. It was bound to happen, no one with eyes or any sense of a brain would be able to resist you for too long - Coriolanus was just a slight exception.

But you’ve got him now, can see in his eyes how badly he wants you. His eyes are locked on your lips, following the movement as they press together and move as you chew. The bright light in the hall is probably glittering off of them right now, making them look even more plush and enticing as it glistens off the thin layer of gloss that coats them. He’s probably thinking about how much he wants to kiss them right now. Imagining them wrapped around his cock and how soft they would feel as you plant sweet and teasing kisses along his shaft before taking him completely into your warm mouth. He’s probably kicking himself, wondering how he could have been so stupid as to push you away for as long as he has when he could have had you all to himself this whole time.

All the time he’s wasted because of his pride and ego.

The hand holding the fruit bar lowers slightly, teasing words of victory on the tip of your tongue as you open your mouth to gloat about your obvious success and his pathetic loss as he succumbs to his own desire for you. But you freeze when his wanting gaze doesn’t stay on your lips like you expect. Instead, they fall with the snack bar, following the food source like a puppy waiting for its master to grace them with a treat, and your words die before they can make a sound.

The food? Seriously? He was looking at the food?!

As if on cue, his stomach growls. He snaps out of his daze at the sound, a hand shooting up to press against his belly as if trying to quiet the noise.

You stare at him incredulously, eyebrow arched in disbelief. “Hungry much?”

He scoffs. “I missed breakfast this morning and now you’ve made me drop my snack. So, yes. I’m hungry.”

His words come out confident - practiced and dismissive in the way they would lead someone to believe his verbal jab in a heartbeat. But you’re too close to him right now for it to have the same effect that it normally would. You’re too observant, too eagle-eyed when it comes to all things Coriolanus, and now you're kicking yourself for not noticing it sooner.

The way his eyes flash with a moment of panic before they roll in annoyance, feigned annoyance, because there’s still nervousness clear in those beautiful blue orbs. The way they can’t help but flick just for the quickest of seconds towards the bar still in your hand and your own snap down to the movement of his stomach as he sucks in his belly, an obvious attempt at trying to use the muscle movement to starve off another growl.

The buttons on his shirt aren’t completely round, you notice. They do a good job at pretending to be, but under further inspection you realize that some are more oval than round. A couple are even slightly jagged. They remind you of the tesserae tiles you’ve seen in the maid’s bathroom - nearly a perfect match. Your critical gaze follows the rest of the length of his body, looking for anything else that suddenly seems off about the only son of the great Crassus Snow. Years ago, your father had mentioned rumors that the Snow family might not be in the most opulent financial standing. You hadn’t believed him at the time, the Snow family had always seemed very well off whenever you would see them around the Capitol or at events. Coriolanus had never once let on that they were living in anything less than a life of luxury during all your shared time at the Academy.

And yet, when you reach his feet, it becomes an undeniable reality. There, on the feet of the boy who you’ve been lusting over for the better part of two years, is a pair of too tight and just this side of too worn shoes.

You’re just barely able to hold back your gasp at the realization. He’s always been thin, but you chalked that up to him just being tall and lanky. But this? This is so unexpected.

Coriolanus Snow is . . . impoverished? Penniless.

Needy.

The idea comes to mind before you can even think about it, eyes sliding back up to meet his as you take another slow and mocking bite of your fruit bar.

“What will you do?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in question, slowly chewing the sweet treat. “When I win the Plinth Prize,”

“You won’t,” He answers quickly, and the raw determination in his voice makes you grin.

You take another quick bite of your bar and offer a small shrug of your shoulder. “Why don’t we be smart about this, Coriolanus? Put aside our teeth gritting rivalry in exchange for some good old fashioned, friendly competition.”

“What are you suggesting?” He asks, suspiciously.

“You can come to my home this weekend. We can study together. Make it a fair fight for our next exam,” And then, casual as ever, you add, “I’ll make sure we have lots of snacks at our disposal. Fuel for our brains, yes?”

Coriolanus pauses, clearly torn, and it’s unbelievable how someone who's always put on the face of confidence and self-assuredness can have their mask slip so carelessly so many times within a few minutes of interaction.

The door to Professor Rosebloom’s office opens and out comes a disgruntled looking Festus Creed. He glances at you and Coriolanus standing just feet away from the door, but surprisingly has nothing to say for once as he walks past and down the hall towards the grand staircase. Professor Rosebloom stands at the door, calling your name and gesturing inside her office with a sharp nod.

You look back at Coriolanus, a sickeningly sweet smile on your face as you walk backwards towards Professor Rosebloom. “Tomorrow, okay? See you then!”

The feeling of his eyes boring into you as you turn and disappear into Rosebloom’s office makes you feel unstoppable.

Coriolanus arrives at your house the next day around mid-morning.

He greets your parents respectfully, sharing a firm handshake with your father and nodding kindly at your mother, thanking them for allowing him into their home for the day and politely ignoring the looks of displeasure they both send him behind their masks of well-mannered hosts.

You guide him up the stairs to your bedroom and sit yourself on the bed, smirking when he stands awkwardly in the doorway, one hand gripping the strap of his messenger bag.

It’s so interesting to see him out in public, without the guise of an event or school trip to dictate what he wears. Today he dons a regular pair of pants, nice fitting around the waist and legs, but just a little too short around the ankles. You’re not sure if you would have noticed it had you not been looking. His sweater is a deep burgundy, thin lines of golden embroidery stitched around the collar and wrists to give an otherwise simple garment a taste of class. You don’t even want to look down at his shoes. If his nice dress shoes were looking tight and worn, you don’t want to see what his casual shoes look like.

It doesn’t matter anyway, everything he’s wearing is going to be on your floor in a little while anyway.

“Sit down, Coriolanus,” You instruct, pulling a book from your own bag and laying it out on the bed in front of you. “Don’t be shy.”

He takes a quick look behind him, checking to make sure your parents aren’t trying to spy from the hallway to catch them in the act of anything inappropriate despite this being a genuine study ‘date’ - at least on his part anyway. They won’t. Your father will be leaving for a lunch meeting in the city soon, and your mother will use the time to meet with her lover in one of the barely used guest bedrooms while he’s away.

Coriolanus clears his throat before walking over to the bed, sitting tall on the edge, one of his legs bent at the knee to twist himself to face you while the other leg hangs off the side.

“We should start with the top three points that we think are the most important of each chapter,” he says. He pulls his book and a small notebook out of his bag before placing it on the ground next to the bed and out of the way. “And then we can discuss and expand on each point together.”

“Sounds good,” You nod. “Let’s begin.”

Studying has never been difficult for you. You find yourself blessed with a remarkable brain and an even more determined sense of spite that makes remembering factual information simple. Thoughts of Coriolanus often plague your mind during your study sessions. He is, after all, the reason why you study so hard in the first place. But when the thoughts get too much, thoughts of kissing those plush lips of his, whispering dirty things in his ear and having him moan filth back to you - wanting to thread your fingers into his golden hair and push his head down so it fits between your thighs where it belongs . . . A power break, you call it. A moment of respite from studying in order to take power over your overflowing desire for the only man who’s been able to resist your temptations so far. Your hand would find its way inside your pants or underneath your dress, fingers dipping into your drenched hole and rubbing furiously at your clit imagining it was his until the pent up release sets you free and you're able to focus on your work again.

But with him actually being here, here in front of you, it’s a bit more difficult. Your pen stopped writing a while ago, eyes locked on the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks with each blink as he focuses on his notes. He bites his lip sometimes, teeth pressing into the plump flesh before he seems to catch himself and releases it, leaving behind twin red marks in the skin that you wish were imprints of your teeth instead of his. Your eyes travel down further to his throat, wanting to taste the smooth skin there under your tongue, and you can feel how wet you are already in your panties.

After about an hour, a maid enters the room with a tray of snacks. She’s right on time, entering through your doorway at the exact moment you had instructed her to, but you're so worked up from Coriolanus just existing a couple feet away from you on your own bed, that you glare at her like you want to bite her head off.

She doesn’t waste time, even more so when she sees your expression. The maid deposits the tray of food on the bed between the two of you and places a bottle of wine with two glasses on your side table before hurrying out of the room.

Coriolanus looks up from his notebook the second the food is placed in front of him, eyes immediately locking onto the tray. It’s obvious how badly he wants to go for it, but he holds himself back.

“Looks yummy, right?” You say, slyly, nodding to the small assortment of bread, cheeses, jams, and fruit. “Great brain food,”

He nods, throwing in an indifferent shrug as he responds, “Yes, it’s—it’s fine.”

You grab the wine bottle from beside you, uncorking the bottle with practiced efforts. “I also asked for some tastier things too,” You say, gesturing to the wine and the small bowls of chocolate sauce and whipped cream also adorning the tray. “A little reward to us for all of our hard work this semester.”

It’s funny watching him just sit there, struggling to appear calm and collected in the presence of such delicious foods. What do poor people even eat anyway? Maybe nothing. Maybe he survives on water and the lunches the school provides. What a shame, he’s too pretty to suffer. But if he is going to suffer, you're excited that you at least get to reap the benefits.

You pour two hefty glasses of wine, handing one to Coriolanus and bringing the other one between you, signaling for a toast. “To study dates and good food.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in an aborted smile, and, to be honest, you’re not sure if he means it or not, but nevertheless he clicks his glass against yours anyway. “To study dates and good food.”

You watch his face from behind your glass as he brings his own to his lips. His eyes flutter shut at the first taste of wine against his tongue, and you wonder how often, if ever, he’s had the experience before to make him make such a euphoric face. He licks his lips, catching the stray drops of wine on his upper lip before he clears his throat.

“It’s nice,” He comments, nonchalantly. “Sweeter than the wine I’m used to.”

“Oh, yeah?” You grin, swirling your wine gently in the glass. The wine aerates under your nose as you breathe in the sweeter notes of its smell. “The Snows prefer the taste of drier wines, huh?”

“Yes, we do,”

He cuts the conversation short, looking back down at the plate of food. He still has his pen in his hand, the other hand occupied by the glass of wine, so you take the opportunity to put the next step of your plan in motion.

“Keep writing,” You say, waving at his pen. You place your wine glass back on the side table and grab a small slice of bread from the tray. “You’re on a roll. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this.”

He clears his throat again, pressing the pen to the paper, but he can’t write anything. His eyes are glued to where you're prepping his snack, spreading a thick layer of creamy cheese on the bread before topping it with a few swipes of spiced jam. You want to laugh at how his mouth practically waters for it, lips parted in want and his pupils are unusually large against the bright blue canvas of his irises.

“There we go,” You coo, holding up the savory treat between you both. “Open up, Coryo. The jam on top is to die for.”

You watch in glee as he opens his mouth, letting you bring the bread to his lips before he bites down on it. It’s quiet, too quiet, but the room is quiet too - so no matter how concealed he tries to hide his small moan of pleasure, you hear it anyway. And the sound shoots right to your dripping cunt.

You feed him another bite, and then another, and you’re a little shocked that he’s even letting you feed him at all without protest or a show of pride, but you don’t complain. There’s a small smudge of jam smeared at the corner of his mouth. His pretty blue orbs never leave yours as you slowly trace along the sticky corner with your thumb, gathering up the bits of jam and popping it in your mouth letting out a small moan of your own at the taste.

“So good,” You say again. He gulps, trying to hide his nervousness behind another long sip of wine. “You know what else is really good? This chocolate sauce,”

Your middle finger dips into the chocolate bowl, chocolate coating your finger as you pull it out, the excess dripping back into the bowl. You pop your finger into your mouth, humming at the rich taste as it soaks into your tastebuds. Coriolanus’s eyes follow your movements, still dark in want but also colored with confusion. Poor baby, you think. If you were a better person, you would feel guilty about manipulating him so badly.

But you’re not, and the bitch inside you roars in delight at how well you have him exactly where you want him.

“Hmm, so good,” You whisper, slowly dragging your now clean finger back and forth along your bottom lip. “It’s William Dean, the best chocolate connoisseur in all of Panem. His chocolates are the best luxury, I’m sure you know, but I always prefer the chocolate sauce to the chocolates themselves.”

Your finger finds its way back into the chocolate before hovering it in front of Coriolanus’s slightly parted lips. “Don’t you wanna try it?”

There’s hesitation on his face, eyes flickering with uncharacteristic uncertainty from yours to your dessert covered finger and back again as he thinks. In the end, the want wins out, and he opens his mouth more to let you slip your finger inside. The inside of his mouth is warm and wet, the strong muscle of his tongue licking along your finger as he sucks off every single bit of chocolate offered on it. His tongue vibrates under your finger as he moans, louder this time than the last, eyes fluttering shut at the taste. You wonder if it’s just from the taste of the chocolate or from the combined taste of your skin and spit too.

“Delicious, right?” You ask, slowly pulling your finger from between his plush lips.

When his eyes open again, his pupils are blown wide - only a thin band of blue around the edges - and you can’t help but smirk at yourself in their reflection.

He nods, as if dazed, letting out a low “mhm” in agreement.

“Here,” You grab a strawberry off the tray and coat it with the melty chocolate just like your finger. “Try it with this.”

He doesn’t even hesitate as you bring it up to his mouth, lips parting as his teeth bite into the red fruit. You almost can’t believe how blissed out he looks, just from a few bites of food. His chewing is slow, like it’s purposeful - dedicated to savoring every second as he enjoys what he never gets to have, eyes hazy with an almost far away look to them.

Poor Coriolanus Snow, how the mighty have fallen.

You quickly bite the other half, barely registering the sweetness of the fruit mixed with the richness of the chocolate before tossing the green leafy top back onto the tray. Instead, the visual of him licking the leftover chocolate left on his lips from the bite into the fruit sears into your brain.

“It’s probably the best you’ve ever tasted, huh?” The dig comes out without your permission, but it doesn’t matter because while normally his clever and quick mind would have had you scrambling for a response to whatever his snappy comeback would have been, he doesn’t seem to catch on to your implication.

He’s too drunk right now. Too drunk on the few sips of wine and small bites of food he’s had. Too drunk on savoring everything, desperate in the way his gaze drops back down to the small feast in front of him.

“Hey,” You call, bringing his attention back to your face. He looks like a puppy waiting for his next command. “Are you going to thank me for being such a gracious host?”

“Thank you,” He whispers.

“No, Coryo,” You say, a wicked grin pulling at your lips. “Thank me,”

Your previous dig might have gone over his head, but the unspoken demand doesn’t. Hazy blue meets your own hooded ones, a breathless moment between the two of you as your words sink in, and then he’s leaning forward - soft, pouty mouth pressing against yours gently.

Victory burns through your veins like fire. The urge to scream like a madwoman, the sound feeling stuck at the back of your throat, urging you to let it out just so you can relieve some of this overwhelming excitement that runs through you. But no, you have to be calm about this. Strategic. Don’t fuck this up, you remind yourself. Don’t scare him off.

But your hands itch to bury themselves in his hair, wanting to grip the golden strands between your fingers and tug hard enough to make him whine against your mouth. His lips feel like heaven against yours, the soft press of his bottom lip fitting between yours before he pulls back, breathing into your space for a moment, before coming back in for another kiss without you even having to tell him.

His lips move against yours with an intoxicating combination of shyness and want. He’s still gentle, way too gentle for your liking - you didn’t wait to have him for this long for him to be soft about it. You want the roughness, the passion, the desperation where he wants you so much that he can’t bear to not have his hands on you for even a second. But there’s also power in the shyness, in the nervousness that you have erupting from every pore of his body.

When he pulls back again, you don’t hesitate to move your lips to his cheek, kissing across the cool, smooth skin. His hand has long since dropped the pen by now, now choosing to fist into the lush fabric of your very expensive sheets while the other somehow still holds onto his half filled wine glass. His breathing is starting to get shaky - unsteady shallow breaths puffing out next to your ear as your lips trace the line of his jaw.

Without even having to look, you grab another strawberry, dipping it into the chocolate and bringing it to where your mouth is pressing hot, open mouth kisses to Coriolanus’s jaw.

He jumps at the first touch of the tip of the fruit against his neck, a confused grunt escaping his lips as he mutters a quiet, “What are you doing?” But he doesn’t move away, doesn’t pull back from the way your lips nibble at the sensitive spot behind his ear.

You drag the fruit down the long column of his neck, leaving a line of tempting chocolate in its wake as you whisper a soothing, “Just relax, Coryo. I’m eating,”

Your tongue finds the bottom of the trail, pressing flat and wet against his neck as you lick away the chocolate in one long seductive lick. You're quick to repeat the process, dragging the fruit down the column of his throat, a delicious line of sweetness you can devour while tasting the distinct flavor of him underneath it. His head tips back to allow you access to the trail of chocolate on his throat, and you reward his cooperation by holding the fruit above his upturned face so he can sink his teeth into it while you sink your teeth into him.

His throat bobs underneath your lips when he swallows.

The whipped cream still sits untouched in the bowl, and your neck still stays untouched with Coriolanus’s kisses. So you grab his chin, dragging his face back down to yours once again.

“You hungry, baby?” You ask, your eyes locked on his. “You wanna eat, too?”

“Yeah,” He breathes, nodding frantically against your grip. “I’m starving.”

Whipped cream sticks thickly to the spoon as you pull it out of the small bowl. The white substance sticks to your skin as you drag it down along your neck, your body heat melting some of it directly upon contact and small streaks of white drip down to your collarbone. The spoon isn’t even moved away yet when he leans forward, pink tongue laving eagerly against your skin as he licks up the cream.

His tongue is so soft, wet and hot against your neck, warm breath fanning across the wet skin as his tongue follows the scattered drippings down lower. You're quick to add more whipped cream to your body, smearing it lower across your chest and over the swell of your breast peeking out from the top of your dress. The feel of his mouth on your breast makes your jaw drop, breathy sighs falling from your lips as you watch him lick the cream off your chest. His pink lips look beautiful on the round swell, thick lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks as he latches onto the top to suck gently, still trying to get every last taste of cream onto his greedy tastebuds.

Gripping his chin again, you pull him back up to your face, capturing his lips in a hungry kiss. He groans when your tongue pushes through into his mouth, sliding against his as you suck the taste of the whipped cream off his tongue. His hands come up to hold your face, one hand cradling your cheek while the other hand, still holding the glass of wine, reaches up to touch your jaw and helps to tilt your face up to his.

Your fingers grab the thin straps of your dress, pulling them down over your shoulders and freeing your breasts from the cups. You hate to drag your lips from his, teeth digging into his plump bottom lip and pulling as you pull back, grinning at the groan it rips from him in return. You grab the glass from his hand, arching your back slightly to puff out your chest more as you spill a little of the wine over it. Coriolanus groans at the sight of the red drink running down your chest, cascading over your breasts and dripping down further to soak into the material of your dress.

“F-fuck,” he whimpers, and immediately takes the hint, large hands gripping your waist to hold you still.

His pink tongue draws along your chest, cleaning the spillage from your skin as he nibbles along your breast. His plush lips wrap around your nipple, tonguing the hard bud with the tip of his tongue before sucking gently.

“Good boy,” You coo. You’re trying for a taunting tone, but the words come out more gritted than you would have liked as you feel your panties completely soak through. “Clean it all up for me,”

His pretty eyes look up at you as he sucks, dark with desire as he stares up at you through his lashes. He pops off your nipple with a wet sound, tongue dragging across the swell of your breast as he makes his way to the other one. When he’s done, your chest and tits are wet with his saliva instead of the sticky wine, and you shiver when his warm breath fans over the damp skin.

You lean back against the bed, holding the wine glass straight up as you lie down flat. His hands stay on your waist, seemingly unable to loosen their grip on your sides as he follows you down. He leans over over you, watching with wide eyes as you hike the bottom of your dress up so that it bunches up below your bust and out of the way. Your beautiful body is now on full display for him - soft, smooth, and well fed as his gaze feasts on the bounty now in front of him. His eyes lock onto your white lace panties, now practically translucent with how wet they are, but you steal his attention back with a quick call of his name.

With his eyes now back on yours, you tilt the glass over you, pouring the wine into the divet of your belly button and letting it pool there. Some of the liquid spills over, tickling your skin as it runs out along your belly and sides. Immediately, his head is at your belly, catching some straying droplets before they can soak into your sheets before his lips suction over your belly button, licking into it and sucking out the sweet drink from its makeshift cup.

Your fingers thread into his soft hair, locking into his fluffy curls, and when there’s no more wine to drink on your body, you push his head down further. His breathing is quick and excited as he allows you to push him down to your core, little pants of hot air hitting the drenched fabric of your panties as he peers up at you.

“Please,” He breathes, and you can’t help the smirk that pulls at your lips from the sight of him between your thighs.

“Go ahead and eat your meal, Coryo,” You say, leaning up on your elbow to watch him better. Your other hand casually keeps the still occupied wine glass upright and out of danger. “If you’re good, I’ll let you eat plenty more.”

He’s a good boy, you always knew he would be. Despite his air of confidence and ego he tries to emit daily at the Academy, you’re good at seeing through people’s disguises. Coriolanus is soft - a lost boy trying to find a place among the vicious sharks of Capitol people.

Ready to follow your every command in hopes you deem him worthy enough to throw scraps to.

He licks over the lacy material of your panties, and you can’t help the deep shiver that wracks through your body at the tease. His nose presses against the lace, the tip brushing over where your clit sits beneath it before he hooks a finger under the material and pulls it to the side.

His tongue feels like silk against your drenched folds, the wet muscle flattening against your slit as it slides up the length of your pussy. His hands grip your thighs, using the leverage on them to keep you still as he circles your puffy clit. You briefly consider telling him to put his hands behind his back, just to add to the image of him serving you - being your ‘good boy’ - but the vision of him between your thighs, face finally pressed against your cunt where it always belonged, has you momentarily thrown for a loop.

He looks so pretty down there, blond curls messy where you had your hand in them. You’ve waited so long for this moment. Dreamed about how good he would look between your legs, disheveled and wanting as he begged you to let him eat you out. Begs you to grace him with the privilege of fucking you. And now here it is. The moment you’ve worked so hard for.

And the payoff is gorgeous.

His eyes are half hooded in pleasure, mouth licking and sucking greedily at your juices, moaning into your pussy like he was retasting the wine for the first time again. His moan vibrates through your entire body from where his lips are wrapped around your clit, more wetness leaking out of your soaking hole at the pathetic sound.

You wonder what you taste like to him. Probably like honey.

The sweetest kind he’s ever tasted.

“Do I taste good?” You ask, breathlessly. Coriolanus ignores you, seeming to not even hear you as he shakes his face against your puffy pussy, too intoxicated on your scent and taste for your words to penetrate through the fog clouding his mind. You grin, speaking louder to catch his attention. “Snow, eyes on me,”

Immediately, those baby blue eyes are focused on you and your breath catches in your throat in excitement. That’s right, gorgeous. Keep your eyes on me.

“I asked if I taste good,” You repeat.

Coriolanus nods, mouth never letting up on the suction around your clit as he hums out a little “mhm”. You squirm a bit, switching arms so your weight is being kept up by the elbow of the arm cradling the wine glass while your now free hand reaches out to nudge at his head to urge him down further.

“Put your tongue in,” You demand, fingers gripping his curls again as you shove him down. “Fuck me with your tongue.”

His eyes flutter as he follows your instructions, ever the diligent student, and your mouth falls open at the feel of the tip of his tongue teasing your entrance before it pushes inside, spearing you open around the thick, wet muscle.

“Yes,” You moan, fingers leaving his curls to rub frantic circles around your pulsing clit. “Fuck me faster, Coryo,”

His fingers dig into the plush skin of your thighs, fingertips sure to leave bruises as he desperately pulls you closer, tongue digging as deep as it can into your depths as you clench around it. The coil in your belly tightens, pleasure ripping through you as you bite back the loud cry wanting to burst from your throat as the coil snaps and you cum on Coriolanus’s face, squeezing tightly around his tongue.

You huff for breath, fingers still greedily rubbing at the sensitive nub trying to soak up every last shock of bliss from your orgasm, even as Coriolanus pulls his tongue from your insides, panting. His face is drenched in your juices - debauched and dirty because of you, and the sight alone makes you want to lock your fingers in his golden hair again and pull him back in for round two.

You sit up, listening to the desire to dig your hand into his hair, but instead of dragging him down again, you drag him up, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before licking up the side of his face, tasting yourself on his skin as you clean him up. He’s still breathing hard when you get to his lips again, and your eyes meet his as you press small teasing kisses to his frowning lips.

He’s confused, you can see it in his eyes. Can see the gears in his brain trying to make sense of what just happened and how he’s ended up in the position that he’s in. He’s thinking too much. Coriolanus Snow - always thinking himself stupid. And you're clearly not doing your job right if he’s still able to think after a session with you.

“Hey,” You murmur against his lips. Your hand frees his hair, trailing down his chest and stomach before gently cupping the prominent bulge in his pants. A shocked puff of breath exhales harshly against your lips. “Just go with it.”

“Are you trying to distract me?” He asks, lips brushing against yours with each word. “Keep me from studying so you can with the prize money for yourself?”

“Oh, honey,” You giggle. “We studied plenty today, didn’t we? And besides,” Nimble fingers slide up the smooth line of Coriolanus’s throat, curling around his jaw as you kneel up, angling his face up towards you as you gaze down at him. “You won’t forget a single thing you learned today after I’ve finished with you.”

Your fingers dig into his jaw as you press another head spinning kiss to his lips, completely obsessed with the way they mold against yours, soft and yielding against your demanding mouth. When you pull back, it’s with a wild heat in your eyes that you can see reflected in his own.

“Lie back,”

You watch in muted glee as he does, lying back flat against the sheets even as he scoots back further towards the center of the bed. Your legs move with him, following him back as you crawl over his sprawled out body, taking a small sip of wine as you settle on his hips. His cock pulses in its confines against you, pressed tightly against your soaked panties as you slowly rock your hips along the thick bulge. Pretty moans threaten to escape his lips, only muffled by sheer willpower to not open his mouth to let the sounds out to their fullest potential. His golden curls are unkempt, fanned out against your silk sheets like a halo, and you can’t help but think he looks like an angel like this.

An angel you can’t wait to ruin.

“Hold this for me, won’t you?” You say, pressing the wine glass into his hand. He grabs it as if on autopilot, holding it up prettily with the stem between his middle and ring finger, like a proper gentleman.

Impatient hands paw at his burgundy sweater, bunching the material up as far up as you can get it to reveal his long, skinny torso. Immediately, your mouth is on his skin, lips brushing lightly over his side, soft enough to tickle as they brush over the all too prominent ribs. You look up at Coriolanus, meeting his baby blues as he watches you kiss each individual bump along his side. His eyebrows are furrowed, lips parted as if wanting to say something, and you can only imagine the nonsense that could come out. He has to know that you know something’s up - normal, well-fed young adults don’t clearly have emaciated bodies like this. You have to admit, he’s done an admirable job at keeping the Snow family misfortune under the radar, but you’re not about to let his pride and ego get in the way of you and your prize.

“It’s learning by association, right?” You say, cutting him off before he can form his excuse. You lick a long stripe across his belly, his very flat belly - warm breath fanning across the wet path as you pull back to speak again. “We’re in the classroom, right? And you’re stumped on a question. So you’ll look over the balcony and down one row to the left, where I sit, and see me sitting there all pretty and hard at work,”

Coriolanus lets out a shuttering sigh when you scoot further down his body, pressing another gentle kiss just to the right of his belly button. “You’ll stare at my glossed up lips, all shiny and tempting in the light, imagining them pressed against yours,” Another kiss to the opposite side. “And you’ll remember the date the Treaty of Treason was signed into effect.”

“F-fuck,” Coriolanus whines as you hold his hips, using your grip to keep him steady as you trail your kisses lower and lower towards the waistband of his pants. His cheeks are so flushed, red flaming at the pale skin even as he drags his hand over his face. He’s trying to hide - how adorable.

“You’ll remember the various ecological disasters that brought about the creation of Panem everytime you think about my tits,” You continue, nibbling along his jutting hip bone. You draw a playful heart on his skin with the tip of your tongue. “About how soft and perfect they are,”

Your eyes drop down to the bulge straining in his pants, the dark material only made darker by the wet spot on them made from your own juices.

“The five major economic benefits to a split District-Capitol government will pop into your mind whenever you think about how I tasted on your tongue,” Coriolanus moans desperately when you lick across his clothed erection, hips jerking despite your hold.

Excitement fills your chest as you work the front of his pants open, quick fingers easing the zipper down over the thick bulge and working his gorgeous, gorgeous, oh so gorgeous cock free from its prison. You’ve waited a long time for this moment, and your greedy eyes don’t let it go to waste.

His cock is every bit as magnificent as you knew it would be. It stands tall and hard, thick with the head already coated with precum as it springs out and slaps against his belly. He’s going to fill you up so good, fill you up until you’re so full you think you might just burst from it. You want it. You want it so badly that you almost hate that you’re going to make yourself wait for it.

His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, body just barely trembling enough with nerves that you're able to see it through your own distraction. Your fingers sneak their way towards him, loving the way both Coriolanus and his cock twitch at the feel of your fingers wrapping around the heated length.

“And when you need to remember which US states combined to make up the districts,” You breath, head lowering down, your breath fanning across his weeping tip. “Just think of my mouth sucking on your pretty cock.”

The sound he makes when your lips wrap around the head of his cock makes you want to laugh. It’s pathetic, a high-pitched gasp that rips from his throat as his back arches against the bed. But the taste of his precum coating your taste buds as you suckle on the reddened tip has you distracted. He tastes so good, so much better than you think is fair. He already invades your thoughts and dreams with his too pretty face and better-than-you attitude - he doesn't need to taste as good as he does on top of everything now that you’ve finally got him.

There’s a moment when you consider reaching over to grab a spoonful of the whipped cream still sitting on the now forgotten tray. The food isn’t for you, it’s a means to an end - but there’s a part of you that can’t help but want to see what it looks like smeared against Coriolanus’s cock. You can picture it in your mind already, the flushed tip just barely hidden under the dollop of cream, the heated skin melting the topping just enough for it to start dripping down the sides of his cock before you can lick it all up.

You don’t do it, not willing to part with the much tastier treat you’ve won. Your mouth stays happily in its place as you work your way further down his length, humming as his cock slides across your tongue and brushes the back of your throat. The sounds trying to erupt from him make you suck harder, sucking in your cheeks as you bob your head, tongue laving across the underside of his cock with each up and down motion, greedy to get its fill. His hand clasps over his mouth, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to muffle his moans of pleasure. A pang of irritation zips through you at the thought that even as he’s giving into you - giving you what you’ve always wanted - he’s still being a stubborn asshole and keeping you from fully enjoying your success.

Those sounds are yours. They belong to you. You deserve to hear each and every adorably pathetic whine and gasp that creeps its way up his throat.

You’ve earned them.

He’s trying, he really is, but even his palm can’t keep his tortured groan quiet when you press down just a little too deep, nose aiming for that soft patch of golden curls at the base of his cock but not quite making it there as your throat spasms around him - choking and gagging around the thick length as you use it to bully your own airway.

Thick strands of saliva connect your mouth to his cock even as you pull off. Your hand strokes to make up for your missing mouth as you lean up, only pausing to press a couple of teasing kisses to the underside of the swollen head as you go.

“Open your eyes,” You demand, waiting for him to comply before slowly teasing the tip of your tongue along the slit on the top, just to watch his eyelashes flutter as his pretty eyes roll back. The sight makes you grin, the smug pull of your lips present even as you sit up, hips straddling his thighs as you perch yourself up.

Your nipples are so hard, pebbled and begging for his attention. You wish he could read your mind right now, so he would know to reach out and grab at them - squeeze your breasts in his large hands, message them and play with the tightened buds between his clever fingers. You wish he would pull on them, twist them enough to make you gasp and arch your back, and you’d reward him with tightening your grip on his cock, wrist twisting your palm around his tip in mimic of his own action.

He doesn’t, of course, hand still clamped over his mouth like it is. Still muffling those pretty, clit-throbbing sounds that belong to you.

Your right hand slides around his cock, using the copious amounts of saliva you left behind as a lube, spreading the wetness around his pulsing length and getting it nice and slick. His wet cock glistens in the overhead light of your bedroom, and, honestly - you never thought a cock could look so beautiful. Your other hand reaches out to grab Coriolanus’s wrist, yanking his hand away from his mouth so you can hear his sounds, undisturbed, as you jerk him off.

“Stop that,” You hiss when he tries to pull his wrist from your grip. “Don’t hide them. Wanna hear you. Wanna hear how good I’m making you feel.”

“Ah-hmm,” he moans, wrist ripping from your grip. But he listens, and rather than going back to cover his mouth, his fingers twist into the silk sheets instead, bunching them up in his fist as he watches you with wild eyes.

“Yeah, there we go,” You coo, fist stroking over his hot flesh as you work him faster. There’s a pearl of precum beading up on the tip of his cock, more pushing out the tighter you squeeze each time your fist gets to the top. Wet, slick sounds fill the room in time with your strokes, his pleasured moans cutting through the wet noises like a lewd symphony. “So much better, right?”

His thighs shake underneath you, hips stuttering and trying to buck up into your hold but the prison of your body weight on his thighs keep them pinned down. His moans turn into helpless blabbering - a endless string of ‘oh fuck, y/n, please, fuck, fuck–’.

The sound of him moaning your name sends a new gush of wetness into your already soaked panties. Your neglected clit aches for you to rub it, to grind the swollen nub on his thigh for relief - you think another wet spot on the dark trousers would look perfect.

You double down on your stroking instead, your other hand curling around his hip to keep it pressed against the mattress as your hand speeds up on his cock. Every time the wetness making him slick starts to dry up, you add more, leaning down just a bit to let another long line of saliva fall from your wet lips and onto the red flushed tip of his cock.

He’s so loud. The visual of you spitting on his cock is just way too much for his poor, inexperienced self to handle. The sounds coming out of his mouth are pure filth - hot and stomach clenching as you grin in satisfaction. It makes sense, you think. He’s loud and confident at the Academy, boisterous in his achievements as he speaks with a fake humility. It makes sense that he would be loud in the bedroom, unable to keep his voice down as he moans and whines like a slut.

“So loud, baby,” You tease. The hand gripping his hip finds the forgotten food tray, two fingers dipping into the almost empty chocolate sauce bowl. “You’re distracting me. Shh,”

Your fingers press into his open mouth, his lips automatically closing around your digits with a whimper. He sucks the chocolate off of your fingers like a good boy, eyes wide and wet making him look like he’s on the verge of tears. You want it. Want that push that’s going to make those pretty eyes spill out waterfalls over his flaming cheeks.

Just a little more.

Your hand moves faster on his cock, fist focusing cruelty on the top half of his shaft, palm twisting over the sensitive head with each stroke. The fingers in his mouth push back further and he gags, body jolting from the gag even as he moans around them again. The remaining wine in the glass sloshes from his jolt, but the crystal stays clasped between his fingers.

And there they are: twin trails running from his red rimmed eyes. You coo at him while the overwhelmed tears become victims to gravity. Instead of trailing down his cheeks like in the image in your head, one trails across his temple and soaks into his hairline while the other pools up along the side of his nose - and your empty, aching hole clenches tightly around nothing at the sight.

His cock throbs in your hand, hot and heavy as it twitches in the tight cage of your fingers, pretty red tip coated in a mixture of precum and spit disappearing and reappearing with each quick stroke of your fist. Fuck, you want it inside you so badly, want to feel him stretching you out. You’d make him cum within two seconds of being inside you, your pussy is just that magical. So warm and tight and perfect that men just can’t control themselves when they get inside of you - or so you’ve experienced with the other Academy boys who you’ve deemed worthy enough (although just barely) to have their moment with you. Poor pretty boy Coriolanus wouldn’t stand a chance. Frankly you’re shocked he’s even lasted as long as he has. You thought he might shoot his load in his pants while eating you out, although you’re glad he didn’t or this current playtime would have been unfortunately halted.

He’s so close, just a hair away from falling apart in front of your eyes. And you’re so hungry - so hungry for him.

The whines are muffled around your invading fingers, but they’re a constant now, no time wasted between them as he babbles around your fingers. The words come out garbled, but they sound a lot like ‘I’m gonna cum, please, please, fuck’. So you giggle, light and airy as you breathe, “Go ahead, baby. Cum for me,”

You don’t want to stop touching him. It’s addicting, making him moan and cry for you with just a few practiced strokes from your hand. You’d never stop if it was up to you. But your hand stops stroking his cock the second his eyes roll back into his head, just keeping a firm grip on the base to keep it still even as his body shakes. His cock twitches for a second, reddened head glistening before the first spurts of his release shoot out of the tip. They travel far, dirtying his stomach and splattering the smooth pale skin with white, some even making it as high up as his ribs, just barely missing the burgundy of his sweater. He cries around your fingers and you're sure the lack of stimulation is absolutely killing him. But he made you wait. He made you stress and work hard and put in effort just to get him. He needs to be punished for his crimes against your ego and libido.

He’s so pretty though, so so fucking gorgeous it makes you sick, and your willpower has just about been all used up. You stroke up his twitching length again, working him through the tail end of his orgasm, fist tightening and twisting at the top to milk out any lingering cum from the swollen tip. He’s still whimpering when you pull your fingers from his mouth, those same wet fingers moving to steal the glass from his hand, your eyes locking onto his as you finish the rest of the sweet drink in one last long victorious gulp.

Both of his hands find their way to you as his orgasm comes to an end, clutching at your thighs as the pleasure subsides but your movements don’t. He tries to push your hand away with a tortured groan, the stimulation becoming too much too quickly, but you easily slap it away. He’s weak, poor pathetic baby is too weak to make you stop - bones like jelly and brain still malfunctioning, no doubt. So you take advantage of all he’s worth even as you remove the circle of your fingers from around his cock and switch to palming the oversensitive flesh where it sits against his stomach.

“Ha- fuck, y/n, s-stop p-please,”

Your hand finally leaves his cock, choosing instead to wrap gently around his throat. Stop, he says? No. There’s no stopping now that you finally have him.

“You want me to back off the Plinth Prize, Coryo?” You rasp. “You’re gonna have to earn it,”

#𝑇𝑎𝑙 𝑊𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠 ✎#coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus smut #coriolanus x reader smut #coriolanus x reader #tw: dubcon #tw: dubious consent

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dawn-moths · 2 months

Text

Wriothesley x Female Reader

word count: 1,200+

18+ content! minors dni! smut, dubcon, minimal/no prep, rough sex, sub/dom dynamics.

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In the soft, yellow dimness that floods the room of his office, Wriothesley lets out a hiss through clenched teeth. His hips are pressed into yours, sharp hipbones pinning you against the surface of his desk, every slip of paperwork and sharp-nibbed pen swept away and sent clattering to the floor in his haste to get you exactly where he wanted you.

You let out a soft mewl as his teeth scrape across the rise of your throat, tracing down to one of your collar bones and landing at your shoulder as his grip around your wrists tightens to keep both your hands pinned above your head.

The Warden lets out a cold chuckle, nakedly amused by your struggle as you feebly attempt to break free of his hold. “Ah-ah,” he chides, flexing his grip around your wrists hard enough to bruise the flesh and grind the bones, earning a whimper and a wince from you as you go still beneath him. “I thought we agreed you’d take your punishment without a fight?”

He raises his head, looks you in the eyes, that glacier’s stare of his sending a shiver down your spine, the scar curved beneath his right eye shining faintly as it catches the artificial glow of dim light through the damp, industrial dark. He presses his clothed cock, which has become painfully hard, firmer against your sensitive core, skirt bunched around your waist, leaving only a thin layer of soaked lace between you and so much pleasure.

Shamelessly, as if testing him, you attempt to grind harder against the bulge in his trousers, chasing friction as you whine out a pitiful little, “C’mon… You know that’s not fair…”

Wriothesley smirks, swishes some of that tousled dark hair from his eyes. “Given your offense,” he says, “I’d say this is far more generous than you deserve, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to protest— to tell him that the only reason you’d snuck into his office (broken into, more like, given you’d had to pick three sets of locks along the way) was to win a bet and most definitely not to procure your release forms three months early despite already having your sentence reduced on grounds of good behavior, impatient to step out into the sun again after so much time spent underground. But you suppose you’d gotten a little too cocky. And, besides, you really should’ve known better.

Thievery had been what had gotten you sentenced to two years in the Fortress of Meropide in the first place.

“But I’ll cut you a deal…” the Warden offered, his lips pressed close to your ear, cool breath wafting across your neck, the chill a welcome reprieve from so much heat that had been building between your two bodies as he teased you to damn near torturous lengths. “You just admit what we both know is the truth, and maybe I’ll let you off easy, hm?” You exhaled a shuddering breath, feeling the burden of forbidden desire hazing through your brain, making it hard to think. “So what’ll it be?” He asked, each syllable of his ultimatum laced with condescending manipulation.

You knew, both from first hand experience and the warnings you’d heard passed around by others, that the Warden was particularly fond of playing these kind of mind games.

The best thing to do, especially in your case, was to just count your losses and admit defeat.

“Alright…” you sighed. “Fine. I was breaking in to steal my release papers and forge your signature to get out early. There. You happy now?”

To answer your question, Wriothesley grinded down, mean and harsh against you, eliciting a needy moan from your throat, destroying any and all of your prior obstinance as arousal coursed thick and pleading through your core.

“Gotta admit,” he said, his voice a little more strained than before as he tried to subdue his own desires, “you’re pretty brazen to think you’d get away with it.”

In truth, you didn’t think you’d get away with it. A piece of you had secretly hoped he’d find you. Had secretly hoped he’d back you into a corner and pin you against a wall or a table or a bed like he was doing right now.

But you couldn’t tell him that.

What fun would that be?

“But a deal’s a deal,” he concludes, easing off of you only enough to undo his belt, silver buckle clacking against itself and serving as the bell to toll your fate. He pulls his aching cock free, the sight of its blushing red tip causing your next breath to catch. He’s bigger than you were prepared for, and you shudder at the thought of it bullying its way inside you.

Wriothesley slightly cocks his head to one side and inquires through a crooked smile, a dangerous flash of teeth, “Though, you don’t really want to be let off easy, do you?”

You still beneath him, eyes widening a fraction as you try and subdue the thick swallow that threatens to bob in your throat, exposing your fear.

Cracking a nervous grin, your voice only trembles a little bit as you reply in what would’ve been a smooth coo, if not for the runaway pulse hammering beneath your ribs, “Knew all along, did ya? Well… I guess I have to work on my acting skills then.”

Wriothesley slips two thick, calloused fingers in through the side of your panties and tugs the slick fabric aside. His touch makes your body jolt, your blood humming with trepidation.

“Nah…” he breathes against your neck, leaning in close again to keep your view of what he has planned for you blocked, trapping you in even more suspense and keeping you at his mercy, just where he likes you. “Your act was actually half decent…”

He waits until you exhale your next breath, then buries himself inside of you down to the hilt in one quick, sharp thrust, punching what air remained from your lungs before a startled gasp clipped off onto a yelp punctuates the quiet room.

It takes a moment for him to regain his composure, though feels a sick sense of pride when he pulls back to take a good look at you, admiring how small and helpless you are under his control.

Finally, he speaks again, and when he does it’s a teasing statement of, “Next time though, let me in on it beforehand so I can make sure and let the guards who patrol this area take an early lunch break.” He lets go of your wrists, allows you to grip both his biceps in your trembling little hands, desperate for something to anchor yourself to. “Wouldn’t want anyone to start a rumor I give special treatment to my favorites…”

He covers your mouth with one hand, muffling your next moan as he begins to move, slow and savoring. Sadistic in the way he’s spurred on by the mist of tears welling in your eyes, your tight little hole struggling to accommodate the sudden fullness his cock provides, the sting of the stretch making you fear you’ll end up being split in two by the time this is over.

But it doesn’t matter how rough he wants to be. You’ll take what he gives you and be grateful for it.

And, who knows, maybe, when the time comes, the Warden won’t want to let you out early on good behavior after all.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

#he’s been on my mind so much lately ugh #had to write just a lil something for him #wriothesley #genshin impact #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #wriothesley smut #drabble

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ghoulsbounty · 4 months

Text

From a Previous Life (Pt 3)

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Preg!Reader

Summary: You rush to the Ghoul's aid, but find that hospitality doesn't come cheap in the wasteland.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, pregnancy, talk of cannibalism, mention of child loss, canon-typical violence, blood, angst, grief, yearning, rejection.

Word Count: 8.8K

A/N: This is late! I'm sorry this wasn't finished last week, but it took me a while to get the ending to a place where I was happy with it. Part 4 coming up next! I'd love to know what you think 💌

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

In the weeks that followed, a palpable tension thickened the air, suffusing every moment with a sense of unease. The Ghoul, ever cautious and seemingly intent on minimizing any unnecessary interaction, forwent sleep altogether. Instead, he adopted the role of a silent sentinel, perched upon whatever seating deemed acceptable as he watched over the entryways of your temporary shelters. There he would remain, a solitary figure in the dim moonlight filtering through shattered windows, his hat pulled low over his ghoulish features, shrouding them in shadow.

As you lay awake, restless and watchful, your gaze was repeatedly drawn to him, silently pleading for him to abandon his post and join you in the refuge of your shared space. Still, he remained steadfast, his bed beside you still empty and unused by your departure the following morning.

During the days, you travelled in silence under the relentless glare of the blistering sun, each step bringing you closer to your elusive destination. You would pause occasionally, your keen eyes scanning the barren landscape for any sign of abandoned treasures that could be sold for a fine price. Each discovery was accompanied by a hopeful glance towards your companion, a silent plea for approval. More often than not, his response was a grunt or a dismissive shrug, leaving you to carry the weight of your excitement and disappointment alone.

He had truly reverted back to the aloof and distant man he had been before that fleeting moment of connection shared around the crackling fire—the night he had gifted you the Pip-Boy. It had felt like a heavy reminder of the vast divide between you, a symbol of the distance that must remain for your child's safety.

The internal struggle waged within you relentlessly, tearing at the fabric of your resolve as you walked alongside him. On one hand, the instinct to protect your child, to prioritize their safety above all else, pulsed through your veins like a guiding light. But on the other hand, an undeniable longing stirred within you, a selfish desire to throw caution to the wind and reach out for him, to seek the comfort of the companionship you had felt briefly.

You remembered the warmth of his arms briefly wrapped around you, the intimacy of talking freely together like you had done that night by the fire. The memory tugged at your heartstrings, igniting a fierce longing that threatened to overwhelm your senses. And despite your best efforts to bridge the conversational gap, to break through the walls he had erected around himself, he remained stubbornly distant.

The silence between you grew more pronounced with each passing day, a distinct barrier that seemed to stretch endlessly between you. You couldn't help but feel a sense of resignation settle over you. Some divides were simply too vast to bridge, and perhaps, you thought with a heavy heart, yours and the Ghoul's were among them.

It wasn't until one particularly hot mid-afternoon as you battled against a relentless radscorpion that had sprung at you from beneath an overturned refrigerator in that evenings shelter, the Ghoul's patience reached its limit. With a single, precise shot from his magnum, he dispatched the giant arachnid before turning to you with a sour expression.

"Outside," his voice commanded, firm and unwavering.

You followed behind him obediently, watching in silence as he collected the empty Nuka-Cola bottles scattered on the porch and lined them up along the railing. Once satisfied with his work, he turned to you and nodded, signalling you to follow him. Together, you descended the steps and moved further away until you reached a spot that provided a clear shot at the makeshift targets.

You eyed him cautiously, uncertainty gnawing at the edges of your resolve as you waited for his next instruction. But when his gaze settled expectantly on the gun holstered at your hip, you knew what you were to do. With quick hands, you fumbled to unholster the weapon, your fingers closing around its familiar grip as you prepared to face the challenge that lay ahead.

Despite the sweltering heat and the sweat that trickled down your brow, you squared your shoulders and raised your weapon, determined to prove yourself to the Ghoul—to show him that you were capable of holding your own beside him. And as you took aim at the makeshift targets, a sense of determination surged through you. Today, you vowed, would be the day you proved yourself worthy of his respect.

Pulling back the hammer, you let out a shaky breath as you pinched the trigger. The shot rang out, reverberating through your body like a thunderclap as you felt the recoil jolt through your arms. Taking a step back to steady yourself, you lowered the gun and peered ahead at the targets, your heart sinking as you realized that all five bottles remained stubbornly intact, mocking you from their perch.

A sense of annoyance bubbled up inside you, mingling with the disappointment that weighed heavy in the pit of your stomach. You heard the Ghoul sigh from his spot to your right, where he leaned against a a utility pole with his arms crossed.

"Again," he said, his voice carrying a hint of exasperation. "And keep your eyes open this time."

His words jolted you out of your reverie, pulling you back to the present moment with a sharp clarity. Despite the simmering frustration within you, you nodded in acknowledgment, steeling yourself for another attempt with the gun raised.

"Feet further apart," he instructed, his tone firm and authoritative. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and adjusted your stance, grit crunching beneath your boot. You heard him tut, then suddenly felt him beside you. His heavy boot kicked at the inside of your own, widening your stance even further. His gloved hands pressed against your shoulder with a firm tap, guiding you into position before withdrawing just as quickly. "Again."

As the Ghoul moved back to his post, you steadied the gun out before you, pushing down the giddiness that surged through you like a current. It was an unexpected sensation, sparked by the lingering heat left behind by his brief touch—the first physical contact he had initiated since your embrace around the fire. You took aim at the first bottle, and with the memory of his guidance in your mind, you pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out, its echo reverberating through the desolate wasteland. A split second later, the sharp noise of the bottle smashing reached your ears, the shattered pieces scattering across the ground like sparkling jewels.

"Yes!" you exclaimed triumphantly, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you raised your arms above your head in victory. Turning to your mentor with a wide grin, you hoped for words of praise, but you were instead met with a stoic nod of approval, his expression unreadable as he regarded you with a steady gaze. Disappointment panged in your chest, a fleeting moment of deflation amidst the rush of triumph.

"Four more, then you can celebrate," he gestured towards the remaining targets and you eyed him with defeat as your arms dropped to your side.

Eyebrows furrowed in determination, you rolled you neck as you prepared yourself. A brief glimmer of pride flickered in his eyes as he watched you turn back towards your targets with a raised weapon.

"Four more, then you cook dinner," you countered and he laughed quietly, a short huff of air out his nose that was barely perceptible.

As the afternoon wore on, you focused all your concentration on the task at hand, determined to prove yourself capable not just to the Ghoul but to yourself. With each bullet that flew past its target, the Ghoul's sighs of irritation echoed in the stifling air.

He had retreated to the scant shade offered by a nearby fence, his slumped posture a testament to the oppressive heat that hung heavy in the air. From his vantage point, he observed your progress with a stoic demeanour, offering little in the way of encouragement as you struggled to find your mark. Still, you refused to be deterred by his silence, channelling your frustration and determination into each shot. With each miss, you adjusted your stance, honing your focus. Finally, the satisfying sound of shattering glass filled the air as the last bottle exploded into a thousand pieces, scattering across the ground.

Pride swelled within you as you looked down at your gun, a tool that had once seemed so foreign and intimidating. In that moment, a sense of awe washed over you as you realized just how far you had come from the life you had once known. The image of yourself as a wife, a homemaker, seemed like a distant memory, a remnant of a time before the world had been plunged into chaos.

As you stood there, gun in hand, dirt under your nails, and a sense of purpose burning within your soul, you couldn't help but wonder how absurd your former self would find this scene. The thought of her reaction brought a smile to your lips, a bittersweet reminder of the person you had once been, and the person you were becoming.

A slow clap from behind you drew your attention, and you turned to see your partner walking towards you, his lips pulled into a wry smile. "Well, as long as no one moves, you might just cut it."

Despite his teasing, you welcomed the familiar banter, a reminder of the rapport that had developed between you before it's abrupt end. With a smile, you looked him over, a wave of gratitude washing over you. "Thank you, for this," you said, gesturing with the gun towards the broken glass. "I feel like The Man From Deadhorse."

With a playful grin, you raised your gun towards the Ghoul, a glint of mischief in your eyes. "I hope you like the taste of lead, you commie son of a bitch."

The sudden shift in atmosphere caught you off guard, the playful jest dying on your lips as the Ghoul's demeanour transformed with alarming speed. Before you could react, he closed the distance between you with swift, purposeful strides, his grisly features contorted with rage.

In the blink of an eye, he knocked the gun from your hand, the dull thud as it buried into the sand was loud in the tense quiet. Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched in stunned silence, your wide eyes snapping back to him when he seized your arms in a vice-like grip.

"You don't play like that, you hear?" he scolded, his voice low and harsh, the intensity of his gaze drilling into you like a laser. His leather-clad fingers dug into your flesh, leaving behind faint impressions as he held you firmly in place.

With a shaky nod, you swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper as you replied, "I hear you." The tension hung thick in the air between you. "It was from a movie, I didn't mean nothing by it."

As he regarded you, the intensity of his grip slowly eased, his features softening marginally as he released you from his grasp. Though his anger still simmered beneath the surface, there was a hint of remorse in his eyes, a silent apology for his outburst. "This ain't no movie, darlin'."

"I know that," you said wistfully.

"Then act like it," he grunted, a wheezing cough escaping him before turning away. "Let's get moving," he muttered, his voice tinged with resignation as he retrieved the gun from the sand and handed it back to you.

You holstered your gun, a sense of caution settling over you as you eyed him warily, your footsteps echoing softly against the gravel path as you followed him back to your shelter. He stopped abruptly a few steps ahead, his posture rigid as he doubled over, sputtering into his closed fist.

Instinctively, you moved toward him, concern etched into your features, but you halted in your tracks at the sight of his outstretched hand. "Get back," he rasped, his voice strained, a clear warning in his tone.

You watched with growing unease as he struggled to regain his composure, each laboured breath sounding like a heavy weight upon his chest. The deep, chest-rattling wheeze that emanated from him sent a shiver down your spine, but despite the urge to rush to his aid, you knew better than to defy his command. With a reluctant step backward, you maintained a cautious distance, your eyes never leaving him as you waited anxiously for the bout of coughing to pass.

The coughing had started a few days prior, coming sporadically but with increasing frequency, especially when the Ghoul worked himself up. At first, you had dismissed it as the inevitable toll of his years spent wandering through dust and dirt, but as the days passed and you witnessed the panic in his eyes one evening while he counted his stock of liquid-filled vials, you knew it was something more. The sight of his trembling hands, the frantic glint in his tired eyes, sent a chill down your spine,

You didn't fully understand the significance of the vials, only that they were his medicine—but for what ailment, you couldn't be certain. You had assumed it was for pain, a necessary relief for someone who had endured the relentless exposure to radiation for so long. You knew better than to ask him about it directly. Even in moments of calm, when the worry over his dwindling supply wasn't etched into his furrowed brow, you knew that prying into something so personal would be met with resistance.

The Ghoul staggered back to the shelter and you followed behind him with growing concern, your heart pounding in your chest. You watched in silence as he grasped the stair rails for support, his normally steady gait now faltering. It was a sight you had never witnessed before—him weakened and vulnerable—and fear shot through you like a bolt of lightning, unwelcome thoughts of what this could mean racing through your mind.

You quickly put the invasive thoughts aside, hurrying to join him inside where you found him hunched over his saddlebag. His movements were frenzied as he loaded a vial into the inhaler that distributed the medicine. With a deep, shaky breath, he puffed the inhaler, the sound echoing loudly in the confined space. Minutes stretched into eternity as he fought to regain control of his breathing, his chest heaving with each ragged inhale.

You held your breath in anticipation, watching as his chest heaved and then settled, but your frown deepened when a groan escaped him. He threw himself back against the wall, his movements laboured and unsteady. His arms hung limp at his sides, the inhaler discarded and forgotten on the ground beside him. His hat slipped from his head, tumbling to the dirtied tiles below, leaving his bald head glistening with perspiration, the droplets of sweat trickling down his tired face.

It was a sobering sight, one that filled you with a sense of helplessness as you stood before him, unsure of what to do to alleviate his suffering.

"Told you to stay away," he breathed, his voice weary as he met your gaze, exhaustion evident in his eyes. "I'm fine," he muttered, though the strain in his voice betrayed his words. "Just need to close my eyes."

As his eyes fluttered shut, you moved to his saddlebag with haste, your heart pounding in your chest as you searched desperately for another vial to bring him back to you. But as your trembling hands sifted through the contents, your heart sank like a stone—empty. He had been rationing his vials for days now, telling you there was a place up ahead to get more, but that you weren't to come with him. Another one of his solo trips.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you realized that he was going nowhere in this condition. His shallow breathing reduced you to panic as you fumbled at the inside of his heavy duster, your hands shaking with urgency. Ignoring the incessant clicking of the dosimeter, you pulled out a weathered map that he had drawn up at the beginning of your journey, showing you just how far you had to go until you'd find the haven and the stops that you'd make between.

Your gaze swept over the roughly sketched lines and symbols, tracing the route ahead with a growing sense of urgency. Finally, your eyes landed on a cluster of squares topped with triangles, situated close to the location you recognized as your shelter on the map. Beside them, a lone letter "V" was scrawled, signalling the area designated for his next collection of vials. The distance seemed manageable, just a half-day's journey at most—perhaps even less if you pushed yourself.

The prospect of venturing out alone was daunting, yet despite the risk of leaving him vulnerable, of being scolded for leaving upon your return, you knew there was no alternative. He relied on those vials, and you relied on him.

With a heavy heart, you removed his gun from its holster, carefully positioning his gloved hand around its grip before settling it on his lap. Adjusting his hat back on his head to shroud his closed eyes, you hoped that any passing traveller might be deterred by the implication of a formidable foe awaiting their approach.

Taking a deep breath, you glanced back at your companion one last time, the weight of your decision settling heavily upon you. With a silent prayer for his safety, you asked him to wish you luck before turning away and setting off towards your new destination, determined to retrieve the vials and save the Ghoul.

The two-story house stood large and imposing before you, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon casting long shadows across the grounds. Its faded white paint was peeling, revealing the weather-beaten wood beneath, and its roof sagged precariously as if it could collapse at any moment. The yard, overgrown with tall grass and weeds, was littered with the carcasses of rusty, broken-down vehicles and an assortment of discarded debris, each piece a story of neglect and abandonment.

Stepping onto the sprawling porch, the creak of the wooden boards seemed to echo through the still air as you steadied your nerves. You rapped your knuckles against the front door that hung slightly ajar.

"Whaddya want?" a disgruntled voice hollered from inside, and you stepped back as the door was torn open to reveal a man, his greying hair unkempt and greasy, clinging to his weathered face that was etched with deep lines and one large, pink scar from eye to jaw. "Well, what is it?"

Clearing your throat to dispel the tension, you attempted a friendly smile as you greeted him. "Hello, I'm hoping you can help me," you began, holding the unfolded map up to show him. With a pointed finger, you indicated the spot marked by the Ghoul with a "V." "I'm looking for vials, is this where I can get them?"

He peered closer to the map, beady eyes squinting as he considered it. With a dirty hand, he rubbed at the white stubble of his chin as he hummed, his gaze flicking over you quickly before straightening. "Vials, you say? You're in luck," he gave you a toothy smile, displaying his blackened teeth.

Despite the turn in your stomach, you breathed a sigh of relief. Tucking the map away in the side of your bag, you smiled gratefully. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that," you laughed.

"Well, don't dilly-dally on my porch all night, girl," he said, ushering you inside.

Stepping into the dimly lit home, you were hit by the musty scent of decay and mould. The house was cluttered, filled with stacks of old newspapers, broken furniture, and various knickknacks. The man led you through a narrow hallway into a small room that served as both a living space and a workshop. A cluttered table sat against one wall, covered in tools, scraps of metal, and various mechanical parts.

"Sit," he ordered, pointing to a rickety chair near the table. "I'll see what I got."

You sat down cautiously, the chair creaking under your weight. The man rummaged through a pile of junk on a nearby shelf, muttering to himself as he searched. After a few tense moments, he produced a small wooden box and placed it on the table in front of you.

"Here they are," he said, his tone gruff. "How many you need?"

You glanced at box, your heart pounding with a mix of relief and anxiety. "I need as many as you can spare. How much for all of them?"

The man scratched his head, considering your request. "Caps, or trade?" he asked, eyeing your bag.

"I have caps," you replied, reaching into your bag and pulling out a small pouch. You poured the caps onto the table, counting them quickly. "Is this enough?"

He scooped up the caps, weighing them in his hand before shaking his head. "Not hardly," he said, pocketing them as he stared down at you expectantly. You quickly fumbled in your bag, trying to find something to offer. "How about that there contraption?"

Your eyes followed his to the Pip-Boy on your wrist. What would the Ghoul say if you returned without it? He had insisted you keep it on, gifting it to you as a means of gaining some semblance of control that you desperately wanted. Granted it had recently become an unwanted reminder that loneliness would be your only companion until you met your baby, but he wouldn't want you to trade it. Yet he wasn't here, and you were in desperate need of those vials.

"Please, anything else," you pleaded, one last ditch attempt at negotiation as you rifled through the contents of your bag. "I have scrap, copper, toothpaste, you can even have my gun," you continued, listing your items in a desperate ramble before throwing your gun onto the table beside you.

The man's narrow gaze swept over the array of items you had laid out, his expression a mask of disdain. Without hesitation, he seized your bag and upended its contents onto the worn tabletop. With a rough hand, he sifted through the items, emitting grunts of disapproval as he scrutinized each one.

"No, no good," he muttered, crossing his arms in a gesture of finality. "That thing's worth more than all that junk combined." His lip curled in distaste as he indicated the Pip-Boy resting on your wrist. "It's the gadget or no deal."

Desperation gnawed at you. You needed those vials; the Ghoul's life depended on it. Leaving empty-handed wasn't an option. Fighting back tears, you took a deep breath and looked up at the man, striving to keep your voice steady. "Fine, it's a deal," you conceded, fingers trembling as you unclasped the precious device from your wrist, placing it reluctantly into his filthy palms.

His cracked lips curled into a predatory grin as he regarded his newfound treasure. With a casual shove, he pushed the box of vials across the table towards you. Eagerly, you reached for it, anticipation tingling in your fingertips. But as you pried open the lid, hope turned to bitter disappointment at the sight within.

"There are only three vials here," you stated, disbelief colouring your voice. "We agreed on the Pip-Boy for everything you've got."

A mirthless chuckle escaped the man's throat as he he leaned back against the table, a smug gleam in his eyes. "There it is," he declared, gesturing towards the meagre contents of the box in your hands. "Lesson learned, darlin'. Always check the goods before sealing the deal."

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and frustration, cursing yourself inwardly for falling prey to such a blatant deception. Anger surged within you, fuelled by both the injustice of the situation and the man's smug satisfaction.

"That's not fair!" Your voice rose, laced with indignation, drawing a startled expression from the man across the table.

"Now listen here, you little-"

"What's all this hoo-ha about?" a woman's voice interrupted him as she entered the room. She was about the same age as the man, greying and wrinkled, but whereas his face was stern, hers warmed when she saw you. Her hands went to the apron tied around her thin waist, wiping at the dirty fabric as she spoke. "Well, who do we have here?"

The man released an exasperated sigh, his patience wearing thin. "Just a fool not knowing when a deal is done," he muttered, flinging your empty bag in your direction. "Collect your shit and hit the road."

Before you could react, her hand shot out with startling speed, connecting with the back of his head with a resounding smack. He recoiled, irritation contorting his features as he rubbed the offended spot.

"Goddamn, woman!" he exclaimed, shooting her a venomous glare. "She got the chems, I held up my end of the bargain."

Her eyebrows arched inquisitively as she scrutinized you. "And what might someone like you want with those?"

"My friend, he's unwell," you explained, rising from your seat to begin to deposit your items back in the bag.

"So, he sent you to fetch them," she deduced.

You nodded, choosing your words carefully as you gauged the situation. Despite her apparent kindness, you sensed it wise to withhold certain details of your predicament. "Something along those lines," you replied cautiously, then pointed to the three vials. "I just hoped there were more."

"There are more," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument as she delivered a swift reprimand to the man beside her. "Edwin, why are you lying to this poor girl?"

Edwin, still nursing a sore spot on his head from her earlier blow, shot her a disgruntled look. "Can't a man try and make a profit in this economy?"

Ignoring his protest, she turned her attention back to you, a friendly smile gracing her features. "My husband will whip up as many vials as you need, don't you fret," she assured, her reassurance a comforting balm to your frayed nerves. Casting a disapproving glance at Edwin as he started to object once more, she added, "And to make amends for his rudeness, I'll whip you up a plate."

You breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, but I really must hurry these back to my friend," you insisted.

"Of course you must," she affirmed, her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled again. "Edwin will go fetch you some from the cellar. We can't keep such valuable stock out in the open, you understand." Her explanation was delivered with a nod of assurance, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Edwin grumbled, leaving the room presumably to fetch the vials.

"Why don't you and me wait for him in the dinin' room," she suggested, her voice carrying a hint of Southern charm from the old world. "You ain't tasted nothin' till you tried my brahmin roast."

Your protests dissolved into silence as she gently guided you into the room from whence she appeared. A grand wooden dining table commanded the centre of the space, its unpolished surface bearing the scars of time and use. Two weathered candelabras sat empty upon the worn tabletop framing an intricately designed vase that stood proudly in the centre, its once-vibrant bouquet now reduced to a collection of decaying flowers, a red hue faded to a sombre brown. Despite its faded grandeur, there was a certain charm to the room, a nostalgic reminder of simpler times.

Memories of your past life flooded your mind. You remembered the stressful joy of hosting gatherings, the meticulous attention to detail as you fretted over the correct placement of place mats and whether the centrepiece was in keeping with the latest trends from the home magazines you avidly read. Glenn, ever the laid-back husband, would often be found nestled in his recliner, savouring a glass of whiskey as the radio drowned out your worries. He only intervened when you were on the verge of tears, calling for Patti to come and mend his frantic wife.

As you took in the scene before you, a pang of nostalgia tugged at your heartstrings, a bittersweet reminder of a life left behind in the wake of the bombs. In this dilapidated dining room, this family had somehow managed to create a semblance of normalcy amongst the disorder. You only hoped to do the same for your own child.

"I'll have Junior walk you back to your friend," she announced, her voice carrying a gentle authority as she guided you to a seat amidst the array of mismatched chairs. "He's a good boy, you won't come into any trouble out there with him by your side."

With a tender smile, she disappeared through a swinging door, leaving you to ponder her offer in the dimly lit room. However, your contemplation was interrupted by an unpleasant odour that wafted through the doorway, assaulting your senses with its acrid essence. The stench caused your stomach to churn uneasily, and you couldn't help but wrinkle your nose in distaste.

As she returned with two steaming plates balanced delicately in her hands, the offensive smell accompanied her, its presence overwhelming. Recoiling slightly, you fought to suppress the urge to gag and wondered how the woman wasn't doing the same.

Setting one plate down before you with practiced grace, she deftly produced a worn napkin from her apron, gently draping it across your lap with an air of hospitality. Expressing your gratitude, you watched warily as she took her seat opposite you, her eyes bright with anticipation.

Since your escape from the vault, you hadn't consumed anything that hadn't been prepared by your own hands or originated from a tin can. While her gesture was undoubtedly kind, you couldn't shake the apprehension that gnawed at you, fuelled by the putrid scent emanating from the meat on your plate.

You hesitantly prodded at the dish, watching as the jellied fat quivered around the thick bone it encased. A wave of revulsion washed over you, and opting instead to sample a carrot, you found it had been thoroughly drenched in the juices and carried the same off-putting aroma as the dubious meat.

Swallowing heavily, you mustered an encouraging smile for the woman across from you as she observed your reaction, her gaze expectant. Despite the foul taste in your mouth, you smiled in appreciation, hoping that it was enough to mask your unease.

"It's delicious," you fibbed, delicately patting the corners of your mouth with the napkin. You eyed the door you had entered through. "Will your husband be joining us soon?"

You didn't want to push, but the urgency of your situation weighed heavily on your mind. Every moment spent away from the Ghoul felt like an eternity, and the thought of his deteriorating condition filled you with a sense of dread. You could have left with those three vials, but what guarantee did you have that they would be enough?

You knew nothing about his condition, nor did you possess the knowledge to provide any meaningful assistance. All you could do was return with as many vials as you could carry, hoping that the sheer quantity would be enough to appease him and alleviate any resentment he might harbour towards you for leaving.

"It's a big cellar," she offered in explanation, her tone carrying a hint of apology for her husband's delay. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, her gaze unwaveringly fixed on you. "Gets a mite lonesome in this old house."

You offered her a sympathetic smile, sensing a shared understanding of loneliness in her words. "And Junior, is he your son?" you asked.

"One of 'em," she replied with a wistful smile, her gaze drifting momentarily into the distance. "The only one left. Tall as a redwood and about as sharp as one too, bless his heart." There was a fondness in her tone, a mother's unconditional love for her child evident in every word. "But us mothers, we love 'em all the same, don't we?" she added with a gentle chuckle, her eyes flicking to your pregnant belly before returning to meet yours with a glimmer of joy.

Your eyes widened in astonishment at her revelation, and a surge of vulnerability and protectiveness welled within you, prompting your hands to instinctively cradle your bump. You had grown noticeably, your pregnancy now too pronounced to conceal any longer, compelling you to discard your vault suit in favour of garments salvaged from an old dresser. Amidst the solitude of your journey with the Ghoul, encounters with others had been rare, limited to a handful of oblivious traders who had failed to notice your condition. This unexpected revelation felt like a breach of privacy, like divulging a secret that had been shared exclusively between you and your companion.

"Of course," you replied cautiously, sensing the weight of her words.

"I'd move mountains for my boy, just to ensure he's fed and breathing. In this world, that's about all a mother can aspire to," she murmured, eyes glistening with the threat of tears. "It's a pitiful state when a mother can't even provide that much for her own kin."

Your heart constricted with anguish, fears surging to the forefront as you contemplated the prospect of being unable to provide even the most basic necessities for your unborn child. The notion of welcoming a helpless infant into a world of scarcity and violence filled you with terror. You had been hesitant to confront the reality of impending motherhood, unsure of how you would navigate the responsibilities that lay ahead. Despite clinging to the hope that sanctuary awaited you at the haven, you couldn't shake the nagging doubt that lingered in the recesses of your mind.

As you looked into her sad eyes, a pang of empathy tugged at your heartstrings. This poor woman had endured unimaginable loss, yet here she was, seemingly trying to cling to a semblance of normality by creating a home for her remaining family in the wasteland. It was a fragile existence, one that could be snatched away at any moment, and as her resilience struck a chord within you, you wondered: Could this be your future as well? The thought lingered in the depths of your mind, weighing heavy on your chest.

"Don't feel sorry for me, darlin', I got my time with my boys," she assured you, reaching across the table to rest her hand gently on yours.

You smiled sadly as you regarded her. "I can't even imagine what you've been through," you admitted, your voice laced with genuine sympathy.

"No, I suppose you can't," she replied softly, her hand withdrawing from yours as she settled back in her chair. There was a moment of quiet contemplation before she spoke again, her words carrying the weight of hard-earned wisdom. "I've come to realize in this world that it's not about what's been done to us, but what we are willing to do."

You nodded in agreement. You had been thrust into this harsh reality, subjected to the horrors of the vaults and the betrayal of those who promised salvation. Yet, despite the trials and tribulations you had faced, you had fought tooth and nail to survive, to carve out a place for yourself in this dangerous new world. And now, with the imminent arrival of your child, that determination burned even brighter within you.

"Are you willing to do anything for your baby?" she asked, her voice soft yet resolute. Without hesitation, you nodded, unwavering resolve in your eyes.

Her gaze dropped to the table momentarily, lost in thought, before lifting once more to meet yours. "So am I," she declared softly, an edge in her voice that belied her gentle demeanour.

With a swift motion, she brought her index and middle finger to her lips, emitting a sharp whistle that pierced through the stillness of the old house. Your brows furrowed, trying to make sense of her action before Edwin shuffled into the room, trailed by a looming figure whose long hair obscured the majority of his face. "Christ, Mag, I thought we'd be waiting all night," the older man grumbled. "Junior, grab the girl."

You turned your gaze back to Mag, the panic rising within you like a tidal wave, but as your eyes searched for reassurance in hers, you found only avoidance. Her gaze remained fixed on the table, refusing to meet yours, her expression inscrutable.

Junior closed the distance with two swift strides, his towering frame engulfing you as he efficiently yanked you from your seat, flinging you onto your back on the table with a brutal force that stole the air from your lungs. The table's decorations rattled to the ground, mingling with the scattered food in a cacophonous crash.

As Mag's now stern voice echoed through the room, a cold shiver ran down your spine. "Don't leave any marks, Junior," she scolded, authority in her tone. Her son nodded in obedience.

Your hands trembled as you instinctively reached for your holster, only to curse under your breath when you found it empty. The realization hit you like a sledgehammer— you had handed your gun to Edwin during the negotiations, a decision that now seemed foolish in hindsight. Defenceless, vulnerable, and at the mercy of forces beyond your control. Like a cruel nightmare, you were back where you had started.

"Can't sell meat that's all bruised up," Mag's words lingered in the air as she left the room and your eyes widened in terror as the door swung to a shut. You scrambled to rise from the table, but Junior pushed you back down, though this time with less force.

"Please, you don't have to do this," you begged, tears welling in your eyes.

"She's not for selling, she's for eating," Edwin interjected callously, disregarding your pleas as he seized your ankles. Junior seized your wrists in an iron grip and pinned them above your head, stretching you out before them.

"Says who, you old coot?" Mag challenged, reappearing with a hefty butcher knife gripped firmly in her hand. The awful smell filled the room again, and you felt bile rise in your throat.

"Says me, the one who got her inside in the first place," he retorted, grunting as you struggled against his grip. "Besides, I'm sick of that rancid meat. He's been festering in there for weeks." He nodded toward the door where the putrid smell was emitting from.

His words sent a chill down your spine as you glanced at the mess of food scattered across the floor. Your eyes honed in on the repulsive meat that now lay splayed on the grubby carpet amongst the ceramic shards of the plates. Brahmin meat, she had told you, but now you realized it was another poor soul who had crossed this family's path.

Perhaps you were naïve to not consider the act of cannibalism in this dire new reality, but your mind reeled at the images of teeth ripping through bloody flesh.

"Please, why are you doing this?" you cried, tears hot on your cheeks as panic consumed you, each futile struggle met with unyielding strength from Edwin and Junior. Mag moved to your side.

"We've had this conversation, darlin', you know why," Mag whispered, her face looming mere inches from yours. The warmth that once suffused her features had now drained away, replaced by a chilling resolve as she gazed down at you. "Motherhood demands sacrifice, and this is the sacrifice I'm willing to make."

Her gaze shifted to your belly, assessing it before turning to address the old man. "We'll keep her for meat and sell the babe for a hefty sum," she declared, eliciting a triumphant whoop from him. As her hand tenderly caressed your sweat-dampened hair, a shiver ran down your spine at the realization of your fate. "I want you to know that I mean you no ill will," she murmured, her voice a soothing contrast to the horror of her words. "But my boy has to eat."

The gentle touch of her hand offered little comfort as you recoiled from her touch. When you shook your head in a futile attempt to rid yourself of her grasp, she stepped back, her voice hardening once more.

"I wish I could promise this won't hurt, but there's only one way this baby's comin' out," she stated matter-of-factly, her words ringing with finality as the weight of your impending ordeal settled like lead in the pit of your stomach.

As the blade hovered menacingly above you, your mind raced with desperate thoughts. You couldn't shake the image of the Ghoul alone, abandoned where you'd left him while you embarked on this ill-fated rescue mission. What if he awoke to find you gone, vanished without a trace? Would he think you'd left him, angry over what had transpired between you both? Or perhaps that you'd waited until his weakest moment to finally run from him. The mere notion tore at your heartstrings.

You needed him to know the truth, to understand that your departure was in aide to help him not abandon him. You couldn't die knowing that he may think so badly of you, even though you weren't sure why it mattered so much. He'd been difficult and stubborn, scolded you and made you cry, but there was a yearning that you felt for him beyond your own understanding. With every fibre of your being, you silently pleaded for a chance to return to his side, to make things right and ensure that he could never doubt your devotion.

But you were trapped, with nowhere to run and no escape from the horrors unfolding before you. The full stretch of your body left your bare stomach uncomfortably exposed to the imminent danger. The cold, unforgiving blade of the knife traced a path across the swell of your belly, its touch sending shivers of dread coursing through your veins. Though the first cut was not deep, the sting of pain accompanied by the trickle of blood down your side served as a grim reminder of the perilous situation you had walked yourself and your unborn child into.

Since escaping the clutches of the vault, you hadn't dared to picture your future, quickly learning that the dangers of the wasteland were capable of shattering your reality with ruthless brutality from one moment to the next. Yet, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, one thing had remained constant: your unwavering determination to protect and nurture the life growing within you.

From the moment you heard the doctor confirm your pregnancy, a flicker of hope ignited within you. Despite the deceit of your husband, the looming threat of war, and every obstacle that stood in your path, you had clung to the unwavering belief that you were destined for motherhood. It was a truth that resonated deep within your heart, but you felt it slowly being swallowed by the hollow ache of despair and regret.

With a heavy heart weighing down every fibre of your being, you closed your eyes, bracing yourself for what was to come. In that harrowing moment, a chilling realization swept over you like a tidal wave: if you were to remain conscious through these next moments, you would meet your baby. You were so far from carrying to full-term, but why would Mag go to such lengths unless she was confident that your baby would survive. Afterall, a living baby must be worth a fortune in the wasteland. A commodity, as the Ghoul had described you.

Then, the thought pierced your soul: your baby would enter the world alone, without you, unaware of what transpired or why you weren't there beside them. Growing up to think that their mother never loved them. You couldn't let it happen.

With your last shred of resolve shattered, a primal scream tore from your throat.

A distant crash from another room shattered the tense atmosphere, bringing the woman's relentless pursuit with the knife to an abrupt halt. All three members of the family turned their heads towards the doorway, their eyes widening in shock as it was obliterated before them. A deafening cacophony of splintering wood filled the air as a single bullet burst through, sending wooden fragments flying in all directions.

Instinctively, you turned your head away, seeking whatever meagre protection you could get. In the midst of the commotion, Edwin's agonized holler pierced the air, his body recoiling as the bullet sliced through his neck. With a forceful impact, he was thrown back against the kitchen doorway, his form crumpling to the ground with a heavy thud that reverberated throughout the room.

Junior's anguished wails pierced your eardrums. Despite his distress, his vice-like grip remained unyielding, keeping you firmly in place even as he grappled with the shock of his father's demise.

Meanwhile, Mag offered only a fleeting acknowledgment to the lifeless form of her husband before her attention snapped back to the now-open doorway. There, a figure emerged, a silhouette framed by the shattered remnants of the entrance. With each step, the sound of spurred boots rang out like a beacon of hope.

As the Ghoul's hulking frame filled the doorway, a wave of relief washed over you. He appeared worlds apart from the unconscious man you had left behind in search of aid, and as you took in his daunting appearance, you noticed the inhaler clutched in his hand, an almost empty vial inserted inside.

Locking eyes with him across the room, you watched as his weary gaze swept over the scene before him: you, splayed out and held down on the table, a small cut marring your belly, tears streaking your face.

In that fleeting moment, his expression darkened with a silent fury. With swift and merciless precision, he raised his magnum, his aim unwavering as he first targeted Junior. In an instant, the sound of gunfire shot through the room, a single slug piercing through Junior's skull, extinguishing his cries in a heartbeat.

Mag's horrified gaze barely had time to register the terror before her own fate was sealed. She turned to the Ghoul with venom in her eyes. "Coop—"

With ruthless efficiency, another bullet tore through her chest, sending her crumpling to the floor beside her fallen son. In the span of mere seconds, the room fell almost silent, the only sound being the Ghoul's heavy breaths as he surveyed the aftermath of his swift justice.

A low groan echoed across the room, drawing the Ghoul's attention to the source of the sound. Without hesitation, he fired off two more shots into Edwin's chest, putting an end to his suffering. As the final ring of gunfire faded, the Ghoul lowered his gun, his gaze fixated on you once more. His eyes, dark and brooding, seemed to bore into your very soul, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable in their intense scrutiny.

With trembling hands, you pushed yourself up to sit on the table, the weight of so many emotions swirling within you like a windstorm raging inside your chest. Fear, relief, guilt, and gratitude warred for dominance, each vying for your attention as you struggled to make sense of the harrowing ordeal that had unfolded before you. In that moment of uncertainty, you found yourself paralyzed by indecision, unsure of how to proceed as you watched the Ghoul, awaiting his instruction.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he holstered his gun and tucked the inhaler back inside his coat, the look of anguish etched upon his scarred face. With a silent understanding passing between you, he beckoned you to him with a curl of his fingers, a wordless invitation for comfort that you never thought possible from him. Your body moved on instinct, propelled forward by a force beyond conscious thought, as you leaped from the table and into the safety of his waiting arms. In that moment, all pretence of strength crumbled away, leaving you clinging to him with a desperation that bordered on frantic.

You held onto him so tightly that you could almost feel the air being squeezed from your lungs. As his muscular arms enveloped you and your unborn child, a floodgate of emotion burst open within you, unleashing an outburst of tears that wracked your body with their intensity.

"I never left you," you whispered through each sob, your voice hoarse from screaming, the words spilling out in a plea for understanding. "I swear, I was coming back."

His touch was tender as he stroked your hair, his breath warm against your ear as he comforted your trembling form. "Nobody would blame you if you hadn't," he murmured softly, then cleared his throat. "I told you, you weren't to come here."

"I had to save you," you insisted, your voice shaking but resolute.

"Sure did a fine job," he said, glancing around the room at the carnage. "Looked like you had everything under control."

His teasing stung, and you pulled away from him, hurt flashing in your eyes as you stood your ground. "You were unconscious. If I hadn't come, you would have—" your voice cracked, unable to finish the thought.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" he interrupted, irritation thick in his voice. "Good thing too, because I wasn't aware just how dumb you could be."

"I didn't know if you'd make it," you shot back, your voice a raw blend of frustration and fear. "I had to do something, I couldn't lose you."

For a brief moment, his eyes softened, a flicker of understanding passing between you. But it was quickly replaced by steely conviction. He pointed a gloved finger at your belly, his tone firm yet edged with concern. "I shouldn't be your concern right now."

You cradled your bump protectively, looking up at him with glistening eyes. "And yet here we are."

He was silent for a moment, his hand dropping back to his side as he regarded you with a mix of frustration and helplessness. "What am I going to do with you?" he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You didn't answer him. Instead, you moved back into his chest, seeking the comfort you'd felt moments before. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, the tension in his muscles softening as he held you close.

"This can't keep happening," he said after moments of silence passed between you, his words hammering at your heart. You couldn't tell if he was referring to the intimacy of your embrace or your reckless brush with death once again. Regardless, you tightened your grip on him.

"Just a little longer," you whispered, your voice barely audible. He sighed in resignation as he gently disentangled your arms from his waist, pushing you back to look into your eyes. His hand slipped into the pocket of his coat, and he retrieved the device that would sever any remaining physical connection between you.

You had barely had time to enjoy the unbridled freedom of those moments in his embrace, the silence broken only by the rhythmic beating of his heart against your cheek rather than the disturbing clicking. But now, as your eyes fell on the Pip-Boy, you realized you weren't ready to relinquish that freedom, despite the protection it promised.

"I told you not to take it off," he chided. When you started to explain yourself, he cut you off. "I don't care, just put it back on."

You shook your head, your eyes locking with his, defiance met with disappointment. "Don't make me do it," he pleaded earnestly, his voice softening, laden with a desperation you hadn't heard from him before.

"I have a choice, and so do you," you told him, your voice steady but your heart pounding.

He smiled sadly, a bittersweet expression that deepened the ache in your chest. "I wish that were true," he replied, pulling your hand gently and fastening the Pip-Boy around your wrist. The device closed with a sickening clink, severing the fragile connection between you. You held his gaze, chin high, though you wanted to curl into yourself.

"I wonder if it really is me you're protecting with this thing," you said, your voice trembling with rage and sorrow, your hand still enclosed in his as the clicking commenced. "I'm not so sure anymore."

His gaze dropped as he took a deep breath, bracing himself before looking back at you with a rueful smile. "Me neither, vaultie," he admitted, his voice a whisper of regret. He dropped your hand and turned to leave the room. "Maybe it's better that way."

He disappeared through the open doorway, leaving you alone with the heavy silence and the cold weight of the Pip-Boy on your wrist. The freedom of touch you had tasted moments ago now felt like a distant memory, replaced by the stark reality that, regardless of anything else, the Ghoul was determined to keep you at a distance.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484 @lothiriel9 @ancientbeing10 @sillysimping @maeplaysbass @moon-trash1507 @spookyoat @rebelmarylou @writtenbyhollywood

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #fallout #fallout prime #fallout fanfiction #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout x reader

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drnikolatesla · 29 days

Text

Reviving Tesla’s Dream: The Future of Wireless Power Transmission

“My project was retarded by the laws of nature. The world was not prepared for it. It was too far ahead of time. But the same laws will prevail in the end and make it a triumphal success.” – Nikola Tesla

In the early days of radio technology, there was a crucial decision point that split wireless technology into two distinct paths. One path, pursued by Marconi and others, focused on electromagnetic wave transmission. The other path, championed by Nikola Tesla, aimed to minimize electromagnetic waves and use the Earth itself for energy transmission. While the world predominantly embraced the former, Tesla’s innovative approach was largely forgotten. Let’s explore Tesla’s lost art.

Tesla's wireless power transmission system, often known as his "Magnifying Transmitter," was a pioneering approach to sending electrical energy over long distances. Unlike today’s wireless technologies, which rely on electromagnetic waves, Tesla's design aimed to transmit energy through the earth, which he believed was more efficient.

Tesla showcased his system’s potential during his 1899 experiments in Colorado Springs. He successfully transmitted energy through the ground, illuminating bulbs about a mile away from the transmitter. Tesla saw this as a matter of engineering: just as a machine that can throw a rock 5 feet can be engineered to throw it 1,000 feet, he believed his system could be adjusted to transmit power across any distance on Earth.

Modern wireless technologies, such as radio, Wi-Fi, and cellular networks, use electromagnetic waves that spread outward from a source. These waves lose strength according to the inverse square law, which means signal strength decreases with the square of the distance from the source. This energy loss is a significant limitation for long-distance communication and power transmission.

Tesla’s vision was quite different. He recognized that while electromagnetic waves were effective for communication, they were inefficient for transmitting large amounts of power. As he put it, “I only used low alternations, and I produced 90 percent in current energy and only 10 percent in electromagnetic waves, which are wasted.” Tesla aimed to minimize electromagnetic radiation, which he considered to be energy-draining. Instead, he focused on transmitting energy through the earth, which he believed was more efficient and recoverable.

Tesla's system utilized a large coil known as the "Magnifying Transmitter," which generated a high-voltage, low-frequency current. This design featured significant self-inductance and minimal capacitance, producing a strong resonant effect. By accumulating and directing massive amounts of energy with minimal losses, Tesla aimed for efficient power transmission. As he explained, “I accumulate in that circuit a tremendous energy... I prefer to reduce those waves in quantity and pass a current into the earth, because electromagnetic wave energy is not recoverable while the earth current is entirely recoverable, being the energy stored in an elastic system.”

The scientific principles of Tesla's system include:

1. Resonant Circuits: Tesla's system used resonant circuits, tuning the primary and secondary coils to the same frequency. This resonance allowed for efficient energy transfer between coils, amplifying energy while minimizing losses.

2. Self-Inductance: A key component of Tesla’s system was self-inductance. A large coil with high self-inductance generated a strong magnetic field essential for creating high-voltage, low-frequency current. Self-inductance helped store energy in the coil’s magnetic field, critical for high power levels.

3. Capacitance: Tesla’s design involved large capacitors to store electrical energy. Capacitance was kept small compared to self-inductance to achieve desired resonant effects. The capacitors would discharge rapidly, creating high-voltage pulses for transmission through the earth.

To construct a system similar to Tesla’s, he advised:

1. Low Frequency, High Voltage Design: Build a large Tesla coil to generate high voltages at low frequencies. Ensure the design minimizes electromagnetic radiation and focuses on efficient energy transfer into the ground.

2. Loose Coupling for Resonance: Use loose coupling between the primary and secondary coils to achieve significant resonant rise. The coils should be inductively linked but not too close to avoid direct energy transfer.

3. Earth Connection: Establish a deep, effective ground connection to allow the transmitter to send electrical currents into the earth, utilizing its natural conductive properties.

4. Minimizing Radiation: Design the system to suppress electromagnetic radiation, aiming to retain energy within the circuit and direct it into the ground. Tune the system to maximize energy storage and transfer.

5. Energy Storage and Discharge: Incorporate large capacitors for storing and rapidly discharging energy to create high-voltage, low-frequency oscillations.

Tesla’s system faced significant challenges, including the need for large, expensive equipment. In 1914, he estimated the cost of his "Magnifying Transmitter" at $450,000—around $15 million today. These financial constraints prevented him from fully realizing his dream and unfortunately led to his public image as a mad scientist with unrealistic future visions. However, the potential applications of his system are vast, from global wireless power transmission to reducing infrastructure costs and powering remote areas. With ongoing advancements in technology, Tesla’s vision may be within reach.

Tesla’s system presents an alternative approach to wireless energy transmission, focusing on efficiency and long-distance power transfer over the broad dispersal of electromagnetic waves. While modern technologies have advanced in different ways, Tesla’s principles—especially his focus on resonant circuits and earth currents—provide valuable insights into alternative methods of energy transmission. Exploring these principles today could lead to innovative applications, such as more efficient long-distance power transmission or new energy transfer methods.

#nikola tesla #science #history #wireless #energy #power #technology #quotes #ahead of his time #ahead of our time

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charnelhouse · 2 years

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Do you think Soap has ever thought about joining Red and Ghost? In your universe, is Soap attracted to her?

A/N: Soap x F!Reader x Ghost. Threesome. This happens before Ghost and her are ever serious....also this is a crack drabble I was discussing with @yeyinde after watching this vid. I wrote this in the wee hours so it's chaos.

It’s almost silly how it happens. It begins before she realizes it.

Red is on a mission with Ghost and Soap down in Ecuador. It’s a swathe of screaming green jungle. The leaves are fat and waxy as rubber. It’s a mosaic of color. Unparalleled biodiversity. The hoot and call of birds swimming through the air and Red feels like she is perpetually damp. Humidity is syrup-thick. She slips in the mud, her boots heavy as cement. The air scalds like a fever.

Ghost and Soap take turns holding her up, giant arms firm around her waist as they carry her over perilous holes and thin brown streams. She doesn’t fight them on this. She doesn’t whine or snap that she can take care of herself. She trusts them. She knows they respect her, and rather than point out that her legs are shorter and her strength blunted, they silently step in to erase the differences.

The mission is fairly simple: just an extraction of data. Minimal blood-loss. Not guaranteed, of course.

The facility with the files is a giant cement building at the center of the Amazon. Vines cling to the corners. The sun bounds off metal sheeting.

“That’s an eye sore,” Soap remarks as he wipes the sweat from his brow. “What do you think, L.T.? Me and Foxy on the inside while you hang on the perimeter?”

Ghost grunts.

“Affirmative.”

***

Their voices are like smoke. Gruff. Velvet. Somehow full of gravel but also like melted chocolate. Dark. Bittersweet.

“I’m already countin’ down the minutes until we’re back at the safehouse,” Soap groans.

“Because that single mattress is so inviting,” Ghost replies flatly.

“Only our bonnie lass gets the mattress, L.T. You and I will be curled up together on the hard ground.”

“As long as you don’t rub up against me like you did last night.”

“I was cold!”

They continue to bicker back and forth, teasing and taunting each other while she attempts to drown them out. Ghost’s sentences scrape the floor, they’re so damn rough and rich as whiskey.

Do they know how they sound?

Like they’re licking between her legs, tugging her panties down with their teeth. It’s distracting.

“Foxy,” Soap purrs.

“What?” she snaps a little too violently.

“Ooh, someone’s carnaptious.”

“Is that your word of the day?”

“It might just be, hen.”

She swallows, massaging the cramped muscle in the nape of her neck. The computer in front of her is too bright. She can’t break through their security wall to access the data they’re here for. She’s good with guns, not with keyboards.

Ghost clears his throat. “You alright, Red?”

“Fine,” she says tightly. “But if you guys keep distracting me, we’re never getting out of here.”

“Distracting you, hmm?” Soap croons before lowering his voice to something dark, sensual, and heavy like a mudslide. “You like listen’ to us talk?”

How’d he get her right on the fucking money? She scowls even if neither of them can see it.

“Let her work, Soap,” Ghost warns, but it lacks all of the threat he usually utilizes.

“You’re too tense, lass,” Soap murmurs, and it feels like blunt nails skimming her scalp. “You need to relax.”

She sighs, squeezing her thighs together. “How?” It’s out of her mouth before she can stop it. Her curiosity tapping at the door. Her desire.

“How?” Soap echoes like he’s slightly surprised she took his bait. “Well -”

“After,” Ghost interjects. “Not here. When we’re back.”

She returns her fingers to the keyboard to work faster.

***

She didn’t expect it to go down like this. When they return to the safe house and that small room with a single mattress, they say nothing. It’s just instinct. It’s Ghost who removes her clothes, tugs gently at her shirt, and undoes her tac gear.

Soap presses her against the shower wall, his hand locked on the nape of her neck, fingertips digging into the knots. “God, Red,” he taunts. “You’re so tight.”

She laughs, and he smashes his mouth against hers to muffle it. His tongue plunges behind her teeth, his cock hard against her inner thigh. She grasps him, thumb nudging over the head until he jerks against her.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Fuckin’ hell.”

***

Ghost keeps his mask on. She doesn’t say anything, and neither does Soap. It’s fine in their secret room. It’s normal because it’s part of Simon. They hold her between them as Soap forces her knee over Ghost’s enormous thigh.

“Take it easy on her, L.T.,” Soap hums as he traces the seam of her cunt. He pinches her clit as he rocks against her ass, and she can feel the bulbous head of his cock smear against her entrance, nudge and prod until, finally, he sinks to the hilt. She yelps due to the shock of his size and Soap’s hand flies to her mouth, muffling the noise.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare, Johnny,” Ghost growls. “I want to hear her.”

“Aye,” Soap husks as he kisses her shoulder, sucking the skin until it bruises. "C'mon, bonnie...we know you can take it."

She should be embarrassed, flushed with shame that Ghost forced such a noise from her. She doesn’t care. Not really. They respect her. She trusts them. It’s easy.

Ghost continues. He doesn't fuck fast, but opts for slow, agonizing strokes that deliberately push into the center of her nerves. He breathes heavy, grunting when she clenches around him. The room is unbearably hot. There's sweat beneath her arms and under her tits and she's sandwiched between them. Worshipped. Treasured.

Good girl. Fuck. You're so fucking pretty.

“Shit,” she gasps when Ghost drives further, clamping his hand down on her waist to hold her steady. “Simon…”

He pauses, and the punishing drag of his cock halts only to pulse and throb in the clutch of her womb. She buries her fingers into his muscular shoulders. She needs the movement. She needs him to keep going because he’s just getting bigger, stretching her to her limit. Growing in place.

“Red,” Ghost murmurs as he palms her cheek. She lifts her gaze to his, and something shudders in her chest. Ghost’s eyes are clearer than they’ve ever been. A bright, velvet sky. Evening-dark. She can tell how blue they are against his black make-up.

Soap is still tasting her skin, he’s still grinding against her.

But, Ghost?

He’s looking at her like…like….

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #call of duty modern warfare ii #modern warefare 2 #ghost imagine #simon ghost riley x you #soap x reader #simon 'ghost' riley

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yunho0o0o0o · 1 year

Text

right, babe?

pairing: yandere! dom! san x sub! fem! reader

genre: smut, yandere

tags: virgin reader and san, corruption, best friend! San, loss of virginity, minimal plot, cum eating, vaginal fingering, light marking, possessiveness, unprotected sex (use protection kiddos), creampie

note: hello! I have emerged from my cave to post smut once again. requests are open! I write for ateez and seventeen. feedback is greatly appreciated, hope you enjoy :) (not edited)

wordcount: 1.5k

You press a hand against his chest to keep the distance between you, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into his arms. Looking up, you meet his smug look with an exasperated one.

“San, I told you this is ridiculous. Stop trying to make something out of nothing. They were just messing around.” Your friend just had to mention your attraction to him in a casual conversation, leading you to the situation you’re currently in.

Since they had left he’d been continuously hounding you on the significance of their comment.

"Messing around, huh? You know, pushing me away just makes it sweeter when you finally cave into your desire for me." He trails his hands down your arms and eventually, he holds your hands in his own. "You can't deny you want me in the same way I've desired you for months, darling."

He guides your arms to lace around his neck, then places a hand on the small of your back, pressing you further into him. You nearly bury your face in his neck just to hide your flushed face.

"I-I don't..." You struggle to find the words, but he's quick to shut down your response with a tight squeeze of your hips.

"Oh come on, babe. I see the way you look at me. You aren’t as subtle as you try to be.” Previously when he’d call you babe, it would be in a jokingly flirty manner. You had always thought that was just how he was with all of his friends. But now, you weren’t so sure about your past assumptions.

“Are you being serious with me right now?” you ask, voice full of nerves. You dodge eye contact with him, but his hand pulls your chin up to match your gaze to his. His voice quiets to a whisper as he leans into you.

“Of course I am.” A gentle smile graces his features as he awaits your response. You wrap yourself around him in a hug with a small sigh of relief.

“I’m really glad to hear that, San…” A moment of silence passes between you two before you continue. “What they said was true. I… I like you. As more than a friend.” You tense up when the man in front of you remains quiet until he looks up at you with a bright, teasing smile.

“Sorry, what was that? I don’t think I heard you.” He goes as far as to put a hand to his ear and tilt his head. You playfully shove him.

“Nevermind, I take it back.”

“Hey, no take-backs! You already said it!” He stares at you with puppy eyes for a long moment before you give in and the both of you are falling onto your bed, laughing until you’re clutching your sides.

It takes a while for you to regain your composure. When you do, he’s laying with his head propped up on his hand and his curious eyes follow yours.

“So, you like me huh?”

“Yeah, I do,” your response comes out as barely a whisper, eyes darting nervously between the ceiling and his form.

“I like you too. You know that?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“I don’t think you understand just how much I like you.” You let out a confused hum, prompting him to continue. “Can I show you, babe? Show you how much you mean to me?” You nod hesitantly.

Instantly he leans over you, arms encasing you on the bed.

“Let me touch you. I’ll treat you well, darling.”

“Okay…” you whisper. He hovers over your body, his head placed just above your ear. Body heat radiates in the small space between you.

“I need a more enthusiastic response if you actually want me to do anything with you, babe.” It takes you a moment to steel your nerves before responding firmly.

“I want you, San. Touch me, please.”

“That’s my girl. You’ll be good for me, won’t you?”

You nod. When he stays silent and raises an eyebrow at you, you add on a verbal ‘yes’. This seems to satisfy him because he settles his weight next to you on the bed.

His tongue flicks at the column of your throat while he takes his time to explore your body with his hands. The warmth of his palms slips under the fabric of your shirt to tenderly squeeze at your breasts.

It’s not long before he’s stripping the both of you completely and disregarding the fabric in a heap on the floor. The room is quiet save for the soft rustle of the bed sheets and your combined heavy breathing.

One of his hands finds its way to your chest again, gently squeezing at the flesh. His body looms over yours on the mattress and a teasing grin lights up his face.

Three fingers press into your mouth when your lips part to let out a moan. You swirl your tongue around the digits, covering them with your spit. After some time, he takes them from your mouth and positions them at your entrance.

With your reassurance, he gently presses two of his fingers into you. His fingers scissor inside you for a moment before he starts pushing them in and out of you.

Eventually, he adds a third. With each thrust, he presses them upwards into your g-spot. The sensation has you tensing your thighs, pressing your legs tighter around San’s frame.

You raise a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the whines coming from your lips. His free hand grabs yours and holds it against the mattress next to your head.

“Let me hear you, baby. I think I deserve at least that after you took back your confession earlier.”

He continues at that same pace until you’re panting for air, head hung back in pleasure. A jolt of warmth shoots down your spine and you tighten even more around him, straining your whole body. His thrusts slow down and eventually, he pulls his fingers out of you.

He pulls your chin up to meet his heated gaze. Once your eyes meet, he presses the same fingers that were just inside you to his tongue. He sucks on his own fingers just as you had before. When he pulls them from his mouth a trail of saliva clings to them.

“You taste even better than I could have imagined.” He pauses for a moment with his heavy gaze on you. His hand absent-mindedly strokes up and down your thigh.

“I’m the first person to make you feel this way. Right, babe? The first to have you whine on my fingers. The first to make you cum.”

“You’re my first, San.”

“You’re my first too, you know that? I’ve never done these kinds of things with anyone else. I was waiting, just for you. I’m the only one who deserves to touch you like this.” His hands slide up and down along the curves of your hips and he lets out a small sigh. “See what happens when you give in to me? I can give you everything you want.”

He leans in close to you and whispers, “What is it you want now, princess?” You have trouble looking at his face as you mumble your answer. He lets out a ‘hmm’ before asking, “What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Your cock, San. I want your cock. Please give it to me.” A grin splits his face at your admission. He leans back and pushes your legs up toward your chest, pumping his cock a few times before pressing the tip against your entrance.

He slowly pushes it in, stilling every once in a while to let you adjust before continuing. Once he’s fully inside you, he stills for a moment. After your encouragement, San gently starts to move. He holds his body right above yours, his head resting at the intersection of your hair and neck.

From his position, you can clearly hear every noise that comes from his mouth. Every groan, every whimper, goes straight into your ear. His panting matches the pace of his hips.

He slowly pumps into you, gradually building up the pace with each stroke. A slap on your ass has a familiar coil of heat tightening in your abdomen. Eventually, he hits a pace where his hips slam into the flesh of your ass with every thrust. You writhe in pleasure, releasing your built-up tension and clenching hard around him.

His voice breaks in a loud groan as he spills inside you. Slowly, his hips come to a halt inside you. Both of you take in deep gasps of air as you come down from the high of your orgasms.

San bites and sucks at the skin of your neck. Once he's sufficiently marked your neck, he rests next to you on the bed and carefully traces a hand up and down your figure in a comforting gesture. He uses one arm to prop himself up to look at you.

“So we’re like… a thing now, right?”

#yandere ateez #yandere kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #kpop scenario #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #san x reader #yandere ateez x reader #yandere san x reader #ateez fanfiction #ateez san #san smut #yandere au

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whxtedreams · 15 days

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Sound of Safety

Even in Silence: A Din Djarin x f!reader mini series

Summary: In the safety of home, you wake up with Din.

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: Illusions to smut, kissing, love bombs, established relationship, fluff, anxiety, mentions of boba fett

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

His hand traced your outline, his touch soft and exploratory. His naked body was pressed against yours, the absence of armor allowed you to feel every contour of his form. It was an intimate feeling, intensified by the minimal coverage of the thin blankets that draped over you both. His breath was warm against your skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest like a soothing motion.

The lights in the Crest were turned off, the room a soothing darkness you had come to crave. Your eyes were blindfolded, a gesture to respect his privacy and protect him from your gaze. But despite the lack of sight, you could feel him. The solidity of his body next to yours like a comforting presence. Your mind painted the picture of his face from the memory etched into your mind from your touch as you traced his features.

He stirred as he let out a low hum into the hollow of your neck, his arm around you tightened as he began to awaken. The sound vibrated against your skin, the sensation sent a shiver down your spine. He nuzzled against you as he came to consciousness, his movements more instinctual than deliberate.

You shifted in his arms and turned to face him fully. As you raised your hand to his cheek, you could feel the smile on his face against your palm. His breath warm as he exhaled. He leaned into your touch as he chased the comfort and warmth of your hand against his skin, his own hand rose to cover yours. For a moment, all was still. Just you and Din in the safety of the home you shared.

"You woke before me cyar'ika," he said, voice soft and groggy. His words tinged with affection.

His fingers tangled with yours, intertwined as he squeezed your hand gently. His other hand rose to brush some stray hair from your face, his fingertips trailed across the cloth that covered your eyes and down to the back of your neck.

He tugged you closer, closing the minuscule gap that had remained between you. His lips grazed against yours, their touch tender and affectionate. A soft hum escaped him as he deepened the kiss, the sound vibrated against your mouth like a gentle roll of thunder. He carefully maneuvered you back onto the bunk, the cramped space no hindrance to his determination to feel you beneath him.

You were familiar with the weight of him as he covered your body, his muscular frame settled over you with a sense of purpose. Instead of hovering, he pressed himself down against you. Pinned you against the thin mattress.

Your hand instinctively traveled to his hair, your fingers tangled in the soft locks and gave a gentle tug. He responded with a deep groan and the sound vibrated through his chest. His hips rolled against yours, the movement an unconscious reaction to the feel of your touch in his hair and the action elicited another shudder from him.

Your breath hitched at the unexpected movement, a gasp escaped your lips. He pulled his lips from yours, a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "You're sensitive this morning, was last night not enough?" he murmured, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. His body was still pressed against you, the weight of him a delicious pressure that bordered on too much yet not enough.

You opened your mouth to respond to his teasing, a plea on the tip of your tongue, when the shrill sound of Din's comlink cut through the space. He sighed and reluctantly pulled away from you, his body lifted off yours and left you feeling the sudden absence of his warmth. You whined at the loss of his weight on top of you, the sound almost pitiful in the quiet of the room.

His hand caressed the skin of your thigh, his touch gentle yet distracting as he sat at the edge of the bunk. You attempted to focus on his conversation through the comlink, but the closer his fingers inched towards the sensitive, inner part of your thigh, the more your mind struggled to focus on anything other than the way his touch sent jolts of electricity through your body.

The dull ache from the previous night still lingered, the memory of pleasure as his fingers grazed against your sensitive skin. You couldn’t help the soft whine that escaped your lips as your body moved involuntarily, trying to shift his hand to where you needed him most.

He was back over you in a moment, his body pressed you into the mattress again. His mouth claimed yours in a deep, possessive kiss. The kiss was all consuming, his tongue delved into your mouth, the taste of him mingled with your own neediness. His fingers finally found their way to the spot you'd been aching for, the pressure and touch elicited another guttural moan from you, the sound lost against his lips.

He lifted his body from you once more and your body instinctively tried to follow his movements but he gently pushed you back against the bunk. "As much as I would love to fuck you into this mattress again, and again, and again," he huskily said, his voice filled with desire, "I really have to leave." He released you, his hands reluctantly pulled away from your body as he left you laying there.

You sat up as he stood, your hands instinctively reached out in the darkness, searching for him. He gently caught your hand, his touch familiar and comforting as he laced his fingers through yours. He brought your knuckles to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against them before murmuring, "I'll be back soon."

The gesture was simple, yet it held a promise: a promise that he would return, that this moment between you was not yet over.

“How long?” You said.

He hummed softly as he dressed, the sound a comforting low rumble in contrast to the soft scrape of fabric against his skin and the clink of Beskar plates as he methodically attached the different pieces of his armor to his body. It was a familiar sound, a silent ritual that you'd heard countless times before. The pieces of Beskar clicked into place, their weight and coolness against his skin transformed him once more into the hardened warrior he needed to be.

"Just a simple meeting, no more than an hour," he said, his voice modulated by his helmet. The familiar cold and emotionless tone concealed the warmth you knew lay beneath. You winced as the cloth was pushed from your eyes, the light stung slightly as your vision adjusted. Slowly, his helmet came into focus and the visor stared back at you in its usual stoic manner. Although, you knew the feel of the smile he wore beneath.

“Promise?” You said.

“Promise.” He said.

You laid on the bunk as you listened intently to the sounds of him moving around the Crest. You heard the metallic clatter of his weapons as he attached them to his body, the familiar click of each blaster and blade as he secured them within easy reach. The heavy weight of his boots against the floor echoed through the ship, their solid thumps a testament to his warrior's gait.

Despite his usual quiet movement, the sound of him was a comforting constant, a reassurance that he was still there. The silence that enveloped the ship when he left was almost unbearable, as you found yourself missing the familiar sounds of his movements. There was a reassurance in every click of his armor, every footstep across the floor, even the subtle sound of his breathing through the helmet. It was the sound of safety. Of home. And as long as you could hear it, you felt a sense of comfort.

You rose from the bunk and slipped on your shirt from last night as you heard the distinctive sounds of the Crest being secured, the mechanisms clicked and locked into place as he prepared to depart. You padded quietly towards the door and met him just as the ramp began to lower, the metal of the ramp clanged softly against the ground as daylight filtered into the ship.

“Promise me you’ll won’t leave?” He said as he turned to you.

“I’ll be waiting for your return.”

He nodded as his gloved hand rose to rest on your shoulder. You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him without comment. You ignored the hardness of the Beskar armor as it pressed against your body. For a brief moment, you held on to him and tried to memorize the feel of him against you. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The comforting solidity of his frame.

He slowly ducked his head, the cold, smooth surface of his helmet pressed against the top of your head. Then, his arms tightened around you as he pulled you closer to him. He began to sway gently from side to side, the rhythm slow and soothing. You could hear the faint sounds of his breathing, the steady, rhythmic inhales and exhales as he held you tenderly in his arms.

“I love you Din.” You said into his chest.

He hummed softly as he drew away from you. His hand rose to touch your face, the leather of his glove rough against your skin. His fingers traced your cheek and you felt his eyes on you through the visor. "I love you more than you'll ever know, cyar'ika."

Your heart constricted in your chest, the simple words stirred a wave of emotion within you. Your breath caught in your throat and you closed your eyes as you savored the gentle caress of his gloved hand against your skin.

He touched your cheek with a gentle tap, his silent signal to draw your attention back to him. As you opened your eyes, you found yourself staring into the dark void of his visor. "I'm serious though," he said, his voice stern, "I don't want you leaving the ship. I don't trust this crew, and I'll work better knowing you're safe."

You nodded.

You were aware that Din held reservations about the crew of his current assignment, but the generous payment had ultimately persuaded him to accept the job. It was clear that Din prioritized your safety as he kept you securely within the confines of the Crest. He shielded you from the sight of the crew, as he didn't want anyone to be aware of your presence. He had parked his ship far enough from town that no lingering eyes would see you. Despite the promise of financial gain, your safety was his top priority and you knew he would not compromise on that aspect.

He leaned his forehead against yours, a silent, intimate gesture, before he straightened up. Then, he stepped back, turned away from you and walked backwards down the ramp. "Be a good girl and I'll do whatever you want me to do to you when I get back." His parting words, spoken in a low, seductive tone, sent a thrill through you. The promise was almost like a challenge, a tantalizing tease of what was to come once he returned.

You couldn't help but laugh, a sense of amusement and affection swelled within you. As he placed his foot solidly on the ground, he pressed a button on his vambrace, setting the ramp in motion. Slowly, the ramp began to rise as it created a barrier between you. He lifted his hand in a brief wave, his gloved fingers slightly wiggled in farewell. You responded with a wave of your own, your smile stretched across your face as you watched him disappear from view behind the closing ramp.

Just as the ramp was about to fully close, you shouted, your words tumbled out quickly, filled with love and concern. "I love you!" The words echoed through the air, mingled with the sound of the ramp closing with a loud clank and hiss.

A fond smile tugged at your lips as the sound of Din's voice crackled through the comlink that rested on the crate beside you. There was a hint of amused gruffness in his voice as he replied, "I love you too." The admission, though brief, somehow made it feel as though he was still there with you.

You sighed.

“An hour. Only an hour,” you said to yourself.

Although it wasn’t only an hour.

Din did not return that day.

Or the next.

The comlink laid dormant in your hands, its smooth surface cool against your skin as you clutched it in your palm. There had been no further communication since his declaration of love, the device remained silent and still in your grasp. The absence of his voice only amplified your worry, the silence in the ship grew deafening as the hours passed without any sign of him.

When Din had first agreed to take on the job, he had issued a stern command: In case of any unforeseen circumstances, you were to reach out to Boba Fett. He had explained that Boba would offer his assistance and that under no circumstance were you to follow him.

Din had meticulously walked you through the process of reaching out to his ally the first day you landed, ensuring you understood the exact steps and protocol to follow. He had gone a step further, writing out detailed scripts for various scenarios, each one more concerning than the last. The very thought of the worst-case scenarios had made you nauseous, your stomach churned as your imagination ran wild.

He had tried to reassure you as he sat you down in his lap, his strong arms encircled you in a comforting embrace. He had whispered reassuring words, attempting to soothe your concerns and fears. "Don't worry," he had said, his voice steady and calming as he held you close.

He had explained that those detailed instructions were written solely for his own peace of mind. He wanted to ensure that you were safe and cared for, even in the event that something went wrong on the job.

He told you that nothing bad was going to happen to either of you.

As a tear slid down your cheek, Din had reached up to wipe it away, his touch gentle and tender. "After this, we'll go anywhere you want. I won't need to take a job for a while, so you'll have me all to yourself for a few rotations."

You turned in his lap, your shoulders shifted to lean against him. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you laid your head against his shoulder. His strong arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you securely against his chest.

“Anywhere?”

His hand squeezed your arm, “anywhere.”

You ascended to the cockpit on the third day, your steps determined as you moved with purpose. Your heart clenched in your chest as your eyes fell upon the vacant seat where Din usually sat. The sight of it empty, void of his presence, caused a pang of pain within you. The cockpit felt cold and empty without him, and the absence of his form where he usually sat only amplified the ache in your heart.

You tore your eyes from the empty seat and located the unanswered message you had sent to Boba in the early hours of the first night.

Frustration filled you, and you let out a curse as you hit your fist against the panel, the impact created a loud thump that reverberated through the cockpit.

You carefully went through the steps you had taken, double and triple checked that the message you had sent to Boba had been correct and that you had properly signed off. Your hands shook slightly as you worked.

You had done everything right.

He should have answered by now.

The realization weighed heavily on your heart, but it also fueled a newfound determination. If he wasn't coming home on his own, then you would have to bring him home yourself. Even without help.

You could almost feel Din's disapproving gaze upon you as you opened the weapon locker, the weight of his disapproval palpable even though he wasn't physically present. It had been several rotations since you'd last set foot off the ship, and the addition of the weaponry on your person felt heavier than you remembered.

“Don’t leave the ship” Din’s words echoed in your mind as you reached for his spare vambrace. With a sense of defiance mixed with determination, you attached it to your wrist. You knew that going against his instructions was a risk, but the risk was worth it if it meant getting Din back.

“Don’t leave the ship” Din’s words echoed in your mind as you laced your boots.

His voice played in your mind as you opened the ramp, as you walked down and set foot on the ground where he had been days earlier. Only this time, there was no one to wave you off like you had for him.

You pressed the button on his vambrace and the words echoed in your mind once more as you locked the ship.

“Don’t leave the ship” Din’s words echoed in your mind as you left the ship.

Notes

Id like to thank everyone who left comments on the one shot that inspired this. I will be putting these two through absolute hell FYI. Get ready to cry because I will be. I’m in a little bit of a writer’s block with my current wip’s so writing this little mini series to get the creative juices flowing again.

#din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin fluff #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #mando x you #mando x reader

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floristjimin · 1 month

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charles and edwin's enneagram types

ok so I’ve been seeing a lot of really good analysis on charles and edwin’s internal motivations and how they tend to react to difficult situations. I’ve also had a deep interest in the enneagram for several years, and I just started reading a book about it, and my brain immediately connected it to DBD. so here are my thoughts on what charles and edwin’s enneagram types might be, how this influences many different aspects of their personalities, how their types complement each other really well, and how they’ve supported each other to be the best versions of their true selves.

What is the Enneagram?

More than just a personality type, the nine types of the Enneagram describe the “basic archetypes of humanity’s tragic flaws, primary fears, and unconscious needs.” Most Enneagram authors agree that we are born with a dominant type, and that this type “determines the ways we learn to adapt to our early childhood environment.”

The types are not static — there are different “levels of development” that describe how each type behaves when they are psychologically healthy or unhealthy. There is also something called the direction of integration/disintegration — each type behaves like another type when they are under stress or in growth (e.g. type Nines behave like Sixes when they are stressed, and Threes when they are in growth). So two people with the same type may not behave the same way as each other, and a person throughout their own life may grow and change, but they will still align with that dominant type.

All this to say, the Enneagram is a really useful tool for self-understanding and for having empathy for yourself and others, because it gives a lot of insight into a person’s core fears and underlying motivations.

charles - type nine

A big part of Charles’s character arc in season one was the repression and denial of his own anger. This was the biggest clue for me that he might be a type Nine.

There are so many examples of this, especially in episode 4:

the scene with Charles and Crystal on the lighthouse where they talk about the events of the devlin house (Crystal: Charles, could we just for one second talk about what happened? Charles: Crystal, I don’t have anything else to say. yes, that guy was horrible. yes, my dad was horrible. yes, I got angry. now I’m fine. Crystal: you don’t have to keep things bottled up)

the scene (1) when Charles is upset that Edwin hid the fact that he saw the cat king again, Edwin directly asks “why are you getting so angry?” and Charles immediately falls quiet

the scene where Charles attacks night nurse — he can no longer hold back his anger, and his friends are shocked (2). It is unusual for him to express his anger like this.

Ok, so why do Nines tend to be out of touch with their anger? Type Nines are “the peacemaker”, described as easygoing, reassuring, and agreeable. The basic fear of the type Nine is of loss and separation (3), and their basic desire is to have inner stability, peace of mind. “They want everything to go smoothly and be without conflict, but they can also tend to be complacent, simplifying problems and minimizing anything upsetting.” Nines want to avoid conflict; they have seen from past experiences that anger can be a huge source of conflict, so they learn to repress their anger.

This could also be part of the reason why Charles decides to stay (4) with Edwin when they first meet. Going with Death would mean having to fully accept the fact that he is dead, and that’s upsetting to him. Nines are also known as “chameleons” and tend to mirror/blend with those they are around (a way of avoiding conflict) — “being a separate self, an individual who must assert themselves against others, is terrifying to Nines. They would rather melt into someone else or quietly follow their idyllic daydreams.” So it makes sense that staying with Edwin feels like the safest option to Charles.

Some other scenes that make more sense through the lens of Charles being a type Nine:

Any time Edwin tries to initiate a serious conversation, Charles’s immediate reaction is to downplay things, and give a lighthearted response in an attempt to minimize tension (ep 6 (5), ep 7 (6)). There’s also that flicker of emotion on his face before he promptly represses it and tries to present a more reassuring reaction (ep 6 (7))

“Every (8) day, I’m fuckin’ smiling. ‘Cause who else is gonna be the one holding it together and keeping spirits up? … What good am I even doing? I couldn’t stop Devlin from murdering his family over and over, I can’t stop Crystal from hurting, I can’t stop whatever it is that’s going on with you, I can’t stop anything! I sure as hell couldn’t stop my dad from beating the shit out of me. No matter how good I was.” — This directly points to his desire to create harmony in his environment (and taking on way too much personal responsibility (9) for it)

The scene in ep 5 where Charles admits he is afraid (10) that he’s like his dad, and Edwin’s response (11) — this is a really important moment where Charles finally allows himself to acknowledge his feelings, and Edwin learns to respond with patience and mirrors the reassurance that Charles himself so freely gives.

edwin - type one

One of the things we learn about Edwin in the very first episode of season one is that he deeply cares about solving cases and helping others.

“Our (12) deaths didn’t matter. No one ever solved them. Now you are sharp and fun, but this is not a game. We are solving cases that would never be solved. Police don’t know what to do with a fucking witch! We didn’t matter. He and I. So these cases matter. They have to matter!”

Type One is “The Reformer”; they are described as principled, purposeful, and self-controlled. The basic fear of the type One is that they are corrupt, evil, and defective (which makes it even more devastating that he spent 70 years in hell), and their basic desire is to be good, have integrity, and be balanced.

This description above reminds me a LOT of the conversation he has with the cat king in episode 4:

Cat King: Why do these cases of complete strangers matter to you so much? Edwin: Not that you would understand, but I help ghosts whose cases would go unsolved. I right wrongs. [after Cat King forces him to tell the “truth”] Edwin: I’m also doing as much good as I can, so that eventually if I have to go back to hell, I can make my case for leniency … I’m ashamed. It’s selfish.”

A lot of Edwin’s repression definitely has to do with the time period he’s from, but I think it also points to that type One desire to be “good”.

Does this not perfectly describe Edwin’s entire journey (13) of self-discovery in season one? See also, his remarks about emotions (14) and human connection (15).

Lastly, I’ll link to this post (16), as well as the fact that it took me a lot of thinking to figure out that Edwin was a One — he does not fit the usual stereotype of a One. He’s not overly perfectionistic or highly critical, he’s not afraid of making mistakes. Instead, we see a One at a healthy level — principled, a person of integrity, who is able to see that imperfections are part of perfection, who is able to work on undoing those patterns of repression. Additionally, type Ones tend to look like Sevens when they are in a direction of growth — Sevens are described as spontaneous and playful, constantly seeking new and exciting experiences. We definitely start to see this side of Edwin, and I think part of why he is able to grow in this direction is because his friendship with Charles has given him an environment where he feels safe and comfortable.

charles & edwin - the relationship between Ones and Nines

Even more interesting, there is a section on the Enneagram site that discusses relationship dynamics between different Enneagram types. This part highlights how the One and the Nine have different ways of reacting to stress and how they express (or don't express) anger:

For Edwin, this perfectly captures his prickliness and snippiness in the first few episodes towards Crystal.

And for Charles, this lines up with his emotions (17)/reactions starting from episode 3 in the devlin house and how he tries to ignore his emotions and repress his anger

Lastly, on a more positive note, this part really describes their partnership and synergy perfectly:

I also think this ties in to Charles’s direction of growth — as a type Nine, Charles would look like a type Three in his direction of growth. Threes are described as adaptable, driven, and energetic (as well as attractive and charming). I think he exhibits all of these traits -- being friends with Edwin for the past 30 years has definitely supported Charles in this direction of growth.

Overall, I think all of this really speaks to how realistic and complex these characters are. If you read this whole thing, THANK YOU. I would LOVE to hear your thoughts on this, if you agree with these types, if you have any more examples you can think of in the show, if you think they fit better with a different type, etc.!! And if you’re interested in learning more about the Enneagram I’ll leave some sources below.

The Enneagram Institute website

The Sacred Enneagram by Christopher L. Heuertz

Sleeping at Last podcast feat. Chris Heuertz, about type One and Nine

One by Sleeping at Last

Nine by Sleeping at Last

references: 1 - @that-ineffable-devil 2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 14, 15 - @mellxncollie 3, 7 - @homoquartz 4, 13 - @nikossasaki 9 - @asidian 16 - @abeautifulblog 17 - @melefim

#dead boy detectives #charles rowland #edwin payne #dbd meta #payneland #dbda #edwin x charles #dead boy detective agency #long post #anyways i haven't even finished reading the book yet so I'm very likely going to find something else that I'll need to add to this #but i need to post this now so i'm not the only one going INSANE over this

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sequinsmile-x · 3 months

Note

I love your young hotchniss fics where they got together young and stayed together - can you write a minimal loss au based in a universe like that? I can’t stop thinking about Aaron and how he’d react if she was his wife in there. bonus points if they have a kid or two

Ahhh bestie I LOVE this idea.

And, as always, it massively got away from me and this is now a 3 parter.

I really hope you enjoy this <3

-x-

Even Statues Crumble if They’re Made to Wait

She can't stop thinking about the fact she isn't even meant to be here. That she's still supposed to be at home on maternity leave instead of sitting in a church in Colorado wondering if she'd ever see her husband or her little girl again.

A Minimal Loss AU with a Young Hotchniss twist.

Part 1/3

-x-

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: None for this chapter - but future chapters will have warnings for Emily Prentiss whump, canon typical violence

Read over on A03, or below the cut

November 1993

It’s her idea.

He always liked to joke that most of the crazy things they did were and this was no different. Aaron was sensible. All sharp edges and carefully pressed suits. Emily was the opposite. Wild and slightly all over the place, still rebelling against her parents even though she was now in her 20s. The desire to not conform to what she knew her mother expected of her, to not force herself to be something she knew she could never be, making her make choices she knew her mother would hate.

It’s what had drawn Emily to Aaron in the first place, a need she still didn’t quite understand to mess with him, to blur his clean lines and make him smile when he was trying to be serious. He was different to most people she’d ever met. She’d grown up surrounded by people who never really said what they thought, every word carefully chosen and curated. Aaron didn’t speak much, especially at first when they first met, but he was always honest when he did.

He said so much more than everyone else she knew and now, just shy of 6 months down the line from when she’d first leant in and kissed him, he didn’t have to say anything at all. She knew what he was thinking when his eyebrows would furrow slightly, revealing the line between them that she loved to press her thumb into, easing whatever it was that was troubling him with no more than the feel of her skin against his. She knew when he half smiled at her, one of his dimples peeking out from the depth of his cheek, he was trying to hide his amusement, silently asking her to wait until they were alone to carry on with whatever she was saying.

She sighs contentedly as she stretches in bed, smiling when she feels him pull her close, his arm heavy over her waist as he buries his face in the back of her neck, his lips pressed against her skin.

“Morning,” he says, his gruff voice making a shiver run down her spine. She loved early mornings like this with him. Loved the parts of him that were just for her. She turns in his arms and smiles as they end up face to face, both of them sharing her pillow.

“Morning,” she replies, pressing her lips against his. He drags her impossibly closer, his hand skimming under the shirt she’s wearing, his shirt, his palm warm against her skin, “You sleep okay?”

He nods, taking the opportunity to kiss her cheek, then the tip of her nose, “I always sleep well when I’m with you.”

She can’t help but smile even wider at him, familiar warmth spreading through her chest as his words settle over her. She’d never liked it when people had said things like that to her, the disingenuous nature of it enough to make her skin crawl, but it was different with him. He meant it. He never said anything he didn’t mean.

He loved her, and she loved him. And that was why she was sure she’d made the right decision, even if it would seem nothing short of irrational and impulsive to anyone else.

She reaches for his hand, smiling as she links her fingers through his and the wedding band on her finger clinks against the matching one on his, “Well it’s a good thing we’re going to wake up together forever, huh?”

She’d never intended to get married young and certainly not to a man she’d been with for less than a year. For a long time, she’d claimed she’d never get married at all, her defiance a last stand of sorts against her parent’s expectations of her. A never-ending stream of appropriate men paraded in front of her at boring parties as she dreaded a life as a bored socialite. Aaron changed that. He was older than her, by a couple more years than she was sure her father would approve of, but he never made her feel less than. He never used the fact he was older, that he knew what he wanted from life, against her. Instead, he tried to encourage her, let the parts of her that he’d lost in himself, if he’d ever had them at all, get drawn out She often joked he was born middle-aged even though he was nowhere near it yet, the last few hours before his 29th birthday spent in bed together after getting married.

It’s how she finds herself barely 23 and married to the man she knows is the love of her life. She didn’t have to wait any set amount of time to know that, no matter how much a year ago she never could have believed this was where she would have ended up.

She especially wouldn’t believe it had been her idea. She’d suggested that they get married, something that she’d initially said as a half-joke that quickly turned into a serious plan. He was due to start his new job at the FBI soon, she was just about done with her master’s degree and unsure about what she wanted to do next. The only thing she was sure of, the only thing she thinks she’s ever been sure of, was him.

Aaron had taken some convincing. He’d looked at her like she’d lost her mind, his eyes wide as her suggestion that they just got married hanging in the air around them as they discussed their options going forward. She talked him around, eventually. Gently assuring him that she meant it, that even though they’d only been together a few months she loved him, that she knew he loved her. They’d snuck off to city hall just the two of them with rings she’d bought at a jewellery store on the other side of town just to ensure no one who worked there knew her mother, and now she was lying in bed with her husband, the novelty of it nowhere near wearing off.

“We’re going to have to tell people now,” he says, a nervous edge to his smile as he tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “A secret boyfriend is one thing, a secret husband is something I doubt even you’d manage to keep to yourself.”

She laughs and shakes her head at him, any attempt to pretend to be mad at him lost before it can even begin, “I know. It sounds insane because I know people will have something to say,” she says, smiling softly at him, “But I can’t wait for people to know.”

“Me neither,” he hums, pulling her closer, “I can’t wait to show off my wife.”

Her stomach flips, love she would have wasn’t real outside of the pages of her favourite fairytales making her heart pound in her chest, the beat of it loud in her head as she rests her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes as she settles into him again, keen to drag out this slow morning between them as long as possible before they had to invite in the outside world.

She kisses his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him, something that never fails to calm her down, “Happy birthday, baby.”

He kisses the top of her head, his smile so wide she can feel it against her scalp, “Thanks, sweetheart,” he kisses her again, squeezing her impossibly closer, “I have a feeling 29 is going to be my favourite age yet.”

___

October 2008

He knows his wife is going to be annoyed the moment Stauss asks him to speak to her. He pauses on the porch of their house, giving himself a moment to blow out a slow breath before he steps inside.

“Sweetheart, I’m home.”

“We’re in here,” she replies, her voice floating out from the living room and he smiles, any concern about the conversation they were about to have disappearing as he shrugs off his coat and slips off his shoes. His smile gets wider as he walks into the living room, an invisible weight lifting off his shoulders the moment he sees his wife and daughter. Emily smiles back at him, her exhaustion clear but in no way diminishing her beauty, and she turns so the baby girl against her chest is facing him, “Look Alice, Daddy’s home.”

He walks over and kisses Emily before he cups the back of his daughter’s head, stamping a kiss against the 10-week-olds dark hair, “How are my girls?”

“Tired,” Emily says, kissing him as he stands back up straight, “But good. How was work?” She asks, starting to pace back and forth as Alice cries out, “We missed you.”

“I missed you both too,” he says, offering his hands out, “Want me to take her?”

She shakes her head gratefully, “It’s okay,” she says, kissing the top of Alice’s head, “She’ll need feeding soon anyway.”

He nods and clears his throat, his earlier conversation with his boss coming back to haunt him as he watches his wife and daughter, “Strauss asked how you were doing earlier.”

Emily pauses for a brief second before she carries on, her eyes narrowing slightly, “Why?”

“She was interested,” he says, clearing his throat again when she raises her eyebrows at him as she sees through his obvious lie, “She asked if I’d ask you to work a case.”

She frowns, coming to a stop, “When?”

“The next couple of days.”

She scoffs, adjusting her hold on Alice, “You do realise I’m on maternity leave, right?” She asks incredulously, “I had a baby 10 weeks ago. You were there as she tunnelled out of me.”

He covers a laugh, knowing it would be the wrong thing to do at the best of times, let alone when she was exhausted and hormonal, “Yes. I remember.”

“Does Strauss?” She asks, sighing when Alice starts to fuss again, “Sorry sweet girl,” she says, kissing her forehead as she starts to pace again, “Mommy’s sorry,” she looks up at her husband and sighs, “I’m not even in the BAU anymore. When I go back I’m back in Counterterrorism.”

“I know that too,” he replies, and she gives him a look, one he knows is a warning, “Sorry. She asked if you could do it because it requires a bit of undercover work as a social worker at a compound out in Colorado. She thinks that your background at Interpol and your experience in child advocacy will help. I told you it's impressive that you used to be a spy.”

"I wasn't a spy," she grumbles as she always did when he made that joke, "I did paperwork in their DC office for years." She sighs, guilt blooming in her chest, forcing her to breathe in deeply part of what he'd said stuck in her head, “Child advocacy?”

He walks over and places his hand on her arm, “We got a call that the leader of the sect has taken some child brides,” he says, hating how she presses her lips together and shakes her head, her cheek resting against Alice’s head, “Strauss and the Deputy Director believe it’s time critical.”

She nods, blowing out a shaky breath, “It can’t wait another couple of weeks until I’m supposed to be back?”

“I’ll tell her no if you want me to sweetheart,” he says, placing his hand on her back, pulling her and Alice into his arms, “You and Alice come first. You know that.”

She does know that. She knows he’d do whatever she wanted and she loves him for it. When she was younger, in her early 20s and freshly married to a man she’d known only for a few months, a part of her worried her feelings for him would fade over the years. That reality would eventually set in and real life would get in the way. If anything, reality had only ever made her love him more. Everything they lived through together, good and bad, was evidence that she’d made the right decision when she asked him to marry her.

“I should go,” she says eventually, her lips pressed firmly together, her duty to her work, to the innocent people stuck on a compound in Colorado that she could help, “I’m not sure how I’m going to make it work when I’m breastfeeding our kid,” she quips, forcing the humour in an attempt to settle the anxiety in her belly, “But I’ll go.”

“You’re sure?” He asks, and she nods, holding Alice impossibly closer, “I’ll come with you,” he says, and her eyes go wide, panic that he’d forgotten their agreement they wouldn’t work cases together anymore because of their daughter flooding her chest. It was one of the reasons she’d left the BAU when she had Alice, so that her little girl would never lose both of her parents, “No, sweetheart. Not into the compound. I don’t think I’d pass for a social worker anyway,” he feels something in his chest ease when she smiles at his poor attempt for a joke, “Reid will go in with you. I’ll come to Colorado with you and stay in the hotel room with your mini-me,” he says, running his knuckle up and down Alice’s cheek, “That way you can still feed her as normal around the visit to the compound, and we’ll be there to meet you when you’re done.”

She hums, raising her eyebrow at him, “You’ve thought this through.”

“I’ve been married to you almost 15 years, I knew I had to have a plan ready,” he winks at her, “I told Strauss we’d need the jet.”

She scoffs, the sound startling Alice for a moment as Emily stares at Aaron, “Damn right we’re using the jet. I’m not taking my tiny perfect baby on a commercial flight.”

___

Emily tugs at the blue material of her shirt, groaning as it doesn’t sit quite as she wants it to over her chest. She turns to look at Aaron and Alice, the little girl content in her father’s arms and she smiles. It fades as she turns back to the mirror and looks at her reflection.

“You’re damn lucky you’re cute, sweet girl,” she says, looking at herself once more before she walks over and joins them on the hospital bed, “Because Mommy used to be hot. Now she’s all…lumpy and it’s your fault.”

“You’re not lumpy,” Aaron says fiercely, his eyebrows knitting together at her criticism of herself, “You’re beautiful,” he adjusts his hold on Alice, his heart swelling in his chest as his little girl smiles when she looks at Emily, “Mommy is so beautiful, right Princess?” He laughs when Alice babbles and looks back up at his wife, “See, she agrees.”

“You two are sweet,” She hums and leans in to kiss Alice’s forehead before she kisses Aaron, she checks her watch and hesitates, blowing out a slow breath as she realises it’s almost time to go, that she’s about to leave her daughter behind for more than a few minutes for the first time since she’d been born, “I guess I should go.”

Aaron wraps his arm around her and pulls her close, his lips against her forehead, “We’ll be fine, Em. The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll be back,” he says, cupping her cheek as he pulls back, “You just fed her, that mini fridge in the corner is full of milk you pumped. She’s probably going to sleep the entire time you’re gone and when you get back you can have all the snuggles you want.”

She nods and then swallows thickly, “You’re right,” she kisses Alice’s cheek and then her forehead, taking a moment to breathe her in, “Mommy loves you so much sweet girl,” she says, kissing her once more before she sits up straight and kisses Aaron, “I love you as well.”

“We both love you,” he says, kissing her once more before she stands up, only letting go of her hand once she’s moved far away from the bed for their fingers to slip past each other, “We’ll see you in a little while.”

“Yeah,” she replies, taking a moment to look at them, to take in the sight of them together, “See you in a little while.”

The way he smiles at her, the way he lifts Alice’s hand to wave at her as she closes the hotel room door, is the image that stays with her as the next few days unfold.

-x-

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misshoneyimhome · 5 months

Text

But with three of us, honey, it's a sideshow I William Nylander & Matthew Knies - Part two

Summary; A quote by Hector Urquhart goes "One man's rubbish may be another's treasure" - however, what happens, when the first man realises that it wasn't rubbish after all?

Other notes: Alrighty babes, so here's the continuation (yes, there will be a part three) of the threesome drama I've been imagining 🙃 And if you notice me alternating between the good guy and the bad guy, it's because I'm debating with myself along the way 😉 Anyway, I hope you still find it enjoyable 🤍

Tropes & Warnings; William Nylander x Matthew Knies x reader, Friends to lovers; jealousy; 18+ smut; fingering, protected penetrative sex (p in v); bloody nose, mild "fighting";

Word count; 6.2K+

Taglist; @couldawouldashoulda50 @findapenny @justwanderingbutneverlost @Fortheloveofnylander

➼｡ﾟ

The game against the Tampa Bay Lightning turned out to be incredibly frustrating and verging on awful for the Leafs. They just didn’t perform at their best, and the Lightning quickly gained the upper hand. Only Auston’s power play goals offered a glimmer of hope for the team, but it was short-lived as they struggled to coordinate effectively.

And what was particularly evident to everyone, especially the team's coaching staff, was the lack of teamwork between players 88 and 23. So, as the game ended with a 4-1 loss for the Leafs, Coach Keefe wasted no time in pulling the two players aside in the corridor.

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on between you two… but whatever it is, you better fucking sort it out and stop behaving like spoiled kids.”

“Yes coach…”

“Sorry, coach…”

It was a stern reprimand, but a necessary one. While neither player had intentionally avoided each other on the ice, their subconscious actions had influenced their performance, which was unacceptable at their level of play.

So, as they stood there in the Scotiabank Arena corridor, exchanging glances, they understood that they had to address the issue. Their focus had to be on the game, and no personal matters should interfere. However, putting this into practice would prove to be much easier said than done.

Once both lads had changed into their regular attire and left the locker room to greet the gathered family and friends, they purposefully avoided you. Not out of desire, but out of necessity.

You seemed to be a source of disruption for both of them, and at that moment, they needed to clear their minds and concentrate on hockey. With the playoffs looming closer, both of them had much to demonstrate.

And in truth, you didn’t mind the avoidance. You weren’t inclined to confront either of them, so the lingering silence among the three of you created a strangely calming atmosphere for the already lacklustre evening.

Even in the subsequent two days, there was minimal communication from both players, leaving you feeling somewhat unsettled. Unsure of the nature of their exchange, you contemplated initiating a conversation, but instead, you welcomed the drama-free days, immersing yourself in work and sidestepping your own conflicting emotions.

However, that all changed when you were picking up your favourite coffee at the quaint nearby café you frequented, and you turned around only to find William's handsome face before you.

“Willy,” you gasped, feeling a sense of déjà vu as if history were repeating itself with his unexpected appearance.

“Hey y/n,” he spoke softly, a charming smile playing on his lips.

“What are you doing here?” you asked tentatively, aware that this wasn’t exactly his usual haunt, though close enough for him to drop by easily.

William chuckled lightly, shrugging as he gestured towards his hands in his pockets. “Just passing by, taking the dogs for a walk,” he nodded towards the window, where you spotted Pablo and Banksy tied up outside, patiently awaiting their owner.

“Oh,” you simply replied, surprised by the slight prickle of disappointment that flickered in your heart.

“And... I sort of... was hoping to bump into you,” William admitted nervously, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided meeting your gaze.

And just like that, the disappointment swiftly faded, replaced by a small smile that crept onto your lips. You couldn’t quite pinpoint why this moment held such significance for you, but seeing William here, making an effort to find you on a Tuesday before the match later, warmed something inside you.

“Oh,” you responded with a gentle smile, still standing amidst the quiet of the small coffee shop. Fortunately, there were few people around, given that it was just before the afternoon rush. “Why... why were you hoping to see me?” you asked softly, the curiosity evident in your voice.

“Well, uh... I mean... I think I just... I just wanted to apologise... for being distant and all...” William began, his tone hesitant as he tried to collect his thoughts and find the best way to express himself. Then taking a deep breath, he timidly continued, “Listen, y/n... I know you’ve started something with Kniesy, and... that you’re happy, but... I’ve come to realise that lately, I’ve just been missing you a lot, and, I know, it’s a pretty mad and shitty thing to do, but... I just know that I really like you - and I’d hate myself if I didn’t tell you that… I guess I’m sort of... maybe, in love or something…” William released a heavy sigh of relief. “I’m not trying to come between you two, but... at least now you know... sorry.”

You couldn’t believe it. Was he truly serious right now? Just when you were finally making an effort to move on from him, to try and bury the wonderful moments you’d shared, he drops this bombshell.

Lost for words, your eyes nearly glistened as your mind waged an internal battle between wanting to punch him and wanting to kiss him. But instead, you remained still, managing only a soft voice.

“Yeah... this is a pretty shitty thing to do, Willy,” you said, mustering half a smile. “Where was all of this last year?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his apology sincere. “I guess I was just so focused on hockey that... I didn’t want to risk, you know, feelings messing with it…” he admitted with another sigh. “But as it turns out, they did anyway... and now I fear I’ve lost you for good.”

You had to swallow hard as you noticed the sincerity in his eyes, and you couldn’t deny that his words made your heart sink in your chest. Taking a deep breath, you tried to find the best words to navigate this difficult situation.

“Willy, you could never lose me for good,” you whispered. “But... I didn’t need to see you with someone else to know I liked you... and now, I’m just worried that the only reason you feel this way is because of Kniesy…”

A part of you resisted believing that this was true, but you’d been hurt enough times before to know this seemed like the most likely explanation.

“Y/n, I swear... I mean, seeing you with him did make me realise it, but…” William struggled to find the right words. “It’s not about him... it’s about you. And the other night, when you called me because you were scared... it just hit me how much you really mean to me… But if you say you don’t feel anything for me and you want me to stay away…. Then I promise I will…”

Once again, you found yourself unable to reply, your breath caught in your throat as he left you breathless. His hold over you was a mystery, and you knew he was tearing you apart. Yet, your heart raced as his mesmerising eyes locked with yours and his smile erased all logic in an instant.

“Anyway… I just, uh... I guess I just wanted to tell you that… so, I’ll see you around…”

And with that, he left you in turmoil, your thoughts swirling as you remained breathless and undone. “Fuck...” you muttered under your breath as you watched him casually stroll away with his doodles by his side.

William Nylander had you completely captivated, and no amount of work could distract you from thoughts of him. His name and face seemed to follow you everywhere, whether on the street, social media, or the radio. And it made sense—he was a hockey star in Toronto, having one of the best seasons of his career, and naturally, he was receiving all the attention he deserved.

And every time you caught sight of his handsome Swedish face; a quiet ‘fuck’ would escape your lips.

But what truly caused the ache was the fact that your heart was torn in two, and you knew you had to confront it. Ignoring it wouldn't make it disappear, especially since both William and Matthew were part of your inner circle of friends, and you would soon see them both again.

And with the playoffs drawing nearer, the players' focus would soon be solely on that, and for good reason. While they had almost secured their spot to advance, the real challenge lay ahead.

So, as you headed to Matthew’s apartment on a fateful Friday evening for a casual dinner and a movie, your hidden agenda was to resolve things. At least within yourself. You knew you had feelings for him, but a part of you couldn’t let go of William either, and you didn’t want to be unfair to Matthew. In your mind, he deserved only the best, and right now, you couldn’t provide that.

“Hey,” he greeted you with a broad smile as he opened the front door, and immediately, you couldn’t help but return the smile. Despite rehearsing how you would approach the situation on your way there, he completely flipped the script as you stepped into his cosy apartment and saw that he had already prepared, or attempted to prepare, dinner. The dining table was set with a cloth and fake candle lights, almost like the most romantic gesture a man had ever made for you. And your heart swelled in that moment.

“Matts…” you breathed softly, wide-eyed, and breathless as you stood frozen in place. “You didn’t have to do this…”

You were taken aback. He was being so sweet that suddenly, all the rational thoughts about ending things slowly faded into the background of your mind.

“I know I didn’t…” Matthew chuckled lightly as he came to stand gently behind you, softly caressing your arms as he smoothly helped you out of your coat. “But I wanted to.”

Matthew Knies wasn’t particularly an expert about romance. In fact, he was a rather typical young boyish lad, with hockey and hanging out with his teammates occupying his thoughts. However, ever since you’d entered the picture, a small part of him wanted to explore the realm of romance. You seemed more mature, with your life seemingly in order and possessing a strong mind - and he wanted to impress you.

So, drawing from his limited experience in past relationships, he saw the chance to woo you in a way he believed William wouldn’t. Recognising that his Swedish teammate had already captured your affection with his sexual talents, charming personality, and grounded demeanour, Matthew decided to take a different approach. He thought that his own mix of youthful innocence yet mature demeanour could work in his favour—romantic gestures with a hint of flirtation.

And it was working.

As the evening slowly unfolded, you found yourself swiftly enchanted by Matthew's charm as you savoured the delightful dinner. Sure, perhaps the culinary skills could have been improved, but that wasn’t the crux of the matter. The important part of the evening lay in the effort Matthew had invested in it all.

And soon, both of you were immersed in hearty laughter, exchanging jokes and interests as you had done countless times before. In that very moment, he was the most important person in your life—someone with whom you could truly be yourself and unwind. His company required little social energy, and it suited you perfectly.

However, as you finished dining and began to clear the table together, what should have been a simple and innocent task took on a more sensual tone. With gentle touches as you manoeuvred around the small kitchen, occasionally brushing against each other and sharing giggles, it was inevitable that the movie night would carry a certain level of sexual tension.

You tried to maintain your composure, really, you did. However, as Matthew tenderly enveloped you in his strong arm, drawing you nearer to his large, comforting frame while lounging on the sofa, you couldn’t resist the yearning inside you.

The memory of the pleasurable sensation of his lips was all too vivid, and soon enough, you found yourself back in his embrace, your mouths meeting as your fingers tangled in his hair and your tongues intertwined.

It was intense and brimming with desire as you straddled his lap, your body moving against his in a sensual rhythm as his hands explored your form.

Matthew was undeniably attractive, that much was certain. But this wasn’t part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to feel this exhilarated with his chest against yours, your hips moving against him as if your primal instincts had taken control.

No, you were supposed to end things. To explain to him that he deserved someone fully committed to him, not torn in two.

Yet, as you delved deeper into the passionate kiss, there was no room for such thoughts.

Instead, you were consumed by pleasure, gripping his brown locks tighter as he nibbled your lower lip and sighed softly into the kiss.

To be fair, this hadn’t been Matthew’s plan either. He had simply wanted to impress you with a romantic dinner. Yet he didn’t exactly protest when he felt you responding to him. In fact, he felt rather pleased about it, sensing your longing for him as much as he longed for you. Perhaps he had secretly hoped for this to happen, yet he didn’t want to get his hopes up too high, knowing you still had feelings for someone else.

But the moment your lips were locked in a passionate kiss, Matthew’s worries about William faded into insignificance, and his sole desire was for you.

The sensation of your body pressed against his surpassed anything he had imagined. And though he had experienced a glimpse of it before, tonight, he yearned for more, his hard member, evident in the bulge in his trousers, betrayed his most fervent desires.

The small living room was growing warmer with each passing moment, almost overwhelming you as your body yearned for more than just his lips. And when you finally pulled apart to catch your breath, your eyes locked in a lustful gaze, both exhaling deeply as you contemplated what would happen next.

You couldn’t resist the pull towards him. With your core throbbing between your legs and feeling his bulge pressing against you, you lacked the willpower to resist the situation.

And while Matthew took a moment to think it over as well before proceeding, there was no doubt about his desires.

So, summoning the courage, he had gathered from their romantic dinner, he gently tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear as he spoke softly.

“Want to… go upstairs?”

His voice remained steady, devoid of any trace of insecurity, which only fuelled your desire for him. And with a soft smile and a teasing bite to your lower lip, you nodded, encouraging him to effortlessly lift you into his arms and carry you upstairs to his bedroom.

The touch of the younger hockey player was nothing short of exquisite. The way his lips lingered on yours as he eased you onto the mattress was pure bliss. His hands on your curves were both firm and gentle as he explored every contour, slowly undressing you.

In return, you took the initiative to remove his t-shirt, unbuckle his belt, and slide down his jeans. Matthew's physique was simply impressive. His toned torso resembled that of a Greek god, with broad shoulders and hips that were nothing short of captivating.

Likewise, he admired your body as you lounged before him in your underwear. The light blue lace complemented your skin beautifully, while your bra provided just the right amount of support without distorting the natural size of your breasts. Your hips formed a graceful curve, your thighs exuding strength. And as his gaze devoured every inch of you, he couldn't help but lick his lips in anticipation.

Then with a playful smirk, Matthew leaned in for a quick kiss before kneeling back and slowly pulling down your panties, revealing your core to him. And it was a delightful surprise for him to feel your wetness, as he wasted no time in stroking his thick fingers along your folds, preparing you for the pleasure to come.

And it felt good. A soft gasp then escaped your lips as Matthew allowed his fingers to gently penetrate you, stretching you slowly, while your toes curled into the sheets beneath you, and soft moans spilled from your lips as ecstasy washed over you.

The hockey player was utterly captivated by the array of expressions crossing your face as he skilfully massaged your inner walls, surprised by how much pleasure it brought him to please you. Yet, beneath it all, he felt a deeper longing to feel his own length buried within you. The mere sensation of his fingers enveloped by your tightness and warmth caused him to already drip with pre-cum in his boxers. So, with gentle care, he withdrew his fingers before discarding his final piece of clothing.

Matthew was a big boy, much as you had anticipated even before seeing him naked. And as you saw his long and thick member, hard and proud, you were relieved he had used his fingers first. In comparison to William, his proportions were likely similar in scale, but Matthew stood a little taller and broader, so his member naturally slightly larger.

Then rising from the mattress, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him as he carefully rolled a condom onto his shaft, your anticipation nearly palpable as you longed to be filled and stimulated. And fortunately, you didn’t have to wait long.

Drawing you into another kiss, Matthew reignited the fire between you, gently parting your legs as he removed your bra, his hands tenderly exploring your rounded breasts. Meanwhile, your fingers threaded through his hair as you pulled him in for a deeper kiss, the mutual longing for the final act palpable between you.

And then, a surge of confidence coursed through you. Biting his lip, you signalled for him to lie back, to which he complied. You weren’t typically the dominant type in bed, but given that Matthew entirely wasn’t either, at least not with you, you seized the opportunity to take control.

So, straddling his hips, you gently guided his cock between your folds, riding it a few times while supporting yourself on his chest. Then, with careful precision, you positioned the tip at your entrance and pressed it in slowly. Gasping, you allowed him to stretch you as you relied on your legs for support, sinking down a little before rising back up, repeating the motion until he was fully inside you.

“Oh, fuck, Matts,” you cried as he filled you completely. He was definitely bigger than William, although lacking the slight curve that would hit your sensitive spot every time.

But as soon as you had adjusted to his size, you gently began to rock your hips, his shaft sliding in and out of your moist cunt with each sensual movement.

Moans filled the room as pleasure engulfed both of you, Matthew's hands finding your hips for support as your tightness brought him a little closer to climax sooner than he expected. But he couldn’t resist the intense sensations. You felt incredible around him, and the faster you rode him, the louder his moans grew, and the nearer he came to the edge.

And it was gratifying to watch him pant beneath you, his eyes occasionally fluttering shut and his breath erratic as he struggled to maintain composure. You sensed his climax approaching, mirroring the impending arrival of your own.

So, with the orgasm building in your stomach, you increased your pace, your fingers digging into his chest while your breaths mimicked his—panting and gasping in unison.

Though it didn’t flow as smoothly and naturally as it had with William, it was still pleasurable. Matthew felt good inside you, and his physique was impressive. Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. With William, there had been a sense of fluidity, effortlessly moving around and smiling as he brought you to climax.

With Matthew, it required more effort. You had to focus on riding him and bringing yourself closer to orgasm. Even his thumb on your clit didn’t quite get you there, and after a short while, you started to worry that you wouldn’t reach the peak you desired.

However, everything changed when Matthew grew more eager, suddenly flipping you over into missionary position. With his hands on either side of your head, he picked up a faster and harder pace, thrusting into you deeply.

And at this point, the intensity was overwhelming. His large cock overstimulated your walls as he pounded into you with quick and passionate motions. Your hands instinctively grasped the back of his shoulders, your legs wrapping around his lower back as euphoria consumed you entirely. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head, your nails digging deep into his shoulder blades as your climax now quickly approached.

It was more fervent and eager than it had been with William, perhaps a bit less refined compared to the older hockey player's skill and experience, yet it felt surprisingly satisfying. Your moans were loud cries mixed with whines of pleasure, and you found your fingers digging deeper than you intended.

But in that moment, neither of you cared. Matthew's mind was entirely consumed by the intensity of the moment, his deep gasps punctuating each eager thrust as he knew he was nearing climax. Despite his desire for a more romantic encounter, your tightness around him was too much to resist.

And with a few final hard pounds, he let out a deep grunt as he released himself, thrusting one last time and pushing you over the edge as well. Loud moans, almost screams, filled the room as both of you reached your peaks, yet the rush of orgasm didn’t linger as long as it had after your encounters with William.

Stop it, you reminded yourself. You couldn’t keep comparing the two.

You had to push every thought of William out of your head as you slowly came down from the high, your mind emerging from the blur as Matthew gently withdrew from you. And despite feeling a twinge of guilt when Matthew returned from the bathroom and pulled you in for a cuddle on the warm, steamed mattress, you pushed it aside.

The fervent and intense sex had shifted back to the romantic and sweet atmosphere that had characterised the beginning of your evening, with Matthew turning to face you, gently stroking your features as he admired your beauty.

Lying on your sides, you let the soft moment linger, the scent of sweat and sex filling the bedroom as you simply enjoyed his tender touches and the comforting atmosphere. And though you had briefly felt guilty, Matthew had a knack for washing away all concerns. In his arms, you felt safe and content, and there was no reason to feel guilty about that. Especially not considering the outcome of your casual relationship with William Nylander, who, for the record, had been the one to avoid any progression into a more serious relationship, and then had the audacity to confess his feelings for you months later, when it was too late.

No, Matthew Knies was different. He was sweet, kind, gentle, and caring. He showed his emotions openly, despite the looming playoffs. He wasn’t afraid of love like William had been, and since you weren’t either, being with him felt incredibly fulfilling.

It should have been a no-brainer.

Matthew embodied everything desirable in a potential partner, despite his younger age. While he may have been slightly less mature, it wasn’t as pronounced as many would assume.

But William had left his mark on you so deeply. It felt as if he had poisoned your mind and heart, his influence spreading through your veins like venom. So, despite the comfort and warmth Matthew provided, you chose not to stay the night after your intimacy, as you reasoned with an early morning and the need for him to focus on the upcoming game. And though being with him felt incredible, you had to admit to yourself that your heart still wasn’t fully committed.

Naturally, he was disappointed, but he understood your reasoning. Part of him knew that the rational and sensible choice would be to let you go and simply focus on hockey and his career. Yet, as you left his apartment, a sense of emptiness lingered. It felt as though you were the missing piece in his otherwise hectic yet successful life.

As the morning skate approached, Matthew felt like a renewed person. The night with you had been nothing short of wonderful, and as he prepared for the game day, he couldn’t help but smile.

Matthew understood that you weren’t completely devoted to him, at least not yet. However, he was confident that you felt something for him, something deep and profound. In the time he had spent getting to know you, he had learned that you weren’t malicious or intentionally trying to hurt him. You were simply torn between two men you cared for deeply, unable to make a choice.

And he tried to empathise with your dilemma. While he wished you would declare that you had forgotten about his Swedish teammate, he recognised that pressuring you to make a decision would only exacerbate the situation. So, for now, he accepted the situation as it was. Even as he arrived at the training centre, his lips still curved in happiness, and his demeanour did not go unnoticed by his teammates.

“Woohooo,” Auston whistled. “You seem a little too happy over there, Kniesy!”

“What’s brought such a smile to your handsome face?” Gio added, joining in the laughter.

“Or more like who?” Max chimed in with a grin.

It was nothing but the typical banter among teammates that filled the locker room as they all undressed to change into their gear. However, something more profound caught their attention this time, prompting a need for answers.

"Whoa, hold up there, beasty!" Auston nearly shouted, noticing the scratch marks on his fellow Arizona teammate's back. "Who the fuck has been doing some artwork on you?"

"And more importantly," Max chuckled deeply, "what did you do to deserve it?"

Dark chuckles filled the room as more players gathered to admire the nail scratches left from your intense night with the forward the night before.

"Looks like someone got laid last night!" Reaves added with a loud, deep grin. "And who's the lucky girl?"

"Or guy?" Mitch playfully joked.

Matthew took a small breath, glancing over to the empty stall where William would have been sitting if he hadn't been perpetually late, before deciding to speak up. "Her name is y/n," he spoke proudly, perhaps slightly boasting, though it lacked the same satisfaction without William in the room.

"Wait, you mean Willy's y/n?" Auston raised a brow, a light grin playing on his lips.

"Well..." Matthew began to respond, but then Max interjected.

"Oh, she's not Willy's girl anymore, man! Did you see those marks? Seems like our freshman here really showed her what a real man can do!"

Matthew felt a twinge of embarrassment at the words, but it was quickly overshadowed by the pride he felt. He had given you a good time, and the marks you left showcased the pleasure he had provided you.

And he couldn’t help it as his eyes gleamed with pride and he chuckled along with the other players. However, as the door then swung open, the laughter faded into a subdued murmur as William walked in, fashionably late as usual.

"What?" he asked, noticing the not-so-subtle change in atmosphere.

But the boys simply muttered 'nothing' before returning to gearing up for practice before the crucial match. They all sensed it was better to keep things low-key before the match that could either propel them into the playoffs or have them fighting for a few more games.

And it almost worked, until the practice games had William and Matthew facing off on opposite teams.

Initially, it hadn’t been a problem. William had resolved to act maturely about the situation, acknowledging his own villain role in it and allowing you to make your own decisions about how you felt toward each of them.

But as training progressed and he and Matthew found themselves in continuous physical battles on the ice, tension began to mount. What started as friendly hockey banter, suddenly changed when Max couldn't keep his mouth shut, and the atmosphere shifted.

"Looks like Kniesy isn’t just stealing Willy’s girl – he’s also beating his ass on the ice!"

Those words set William's mind spinning. What did Max mean by that?

Yet trying to shake it off, the Swedish forward focused on the training match, but to his frustration, he missed a crucial opportunity for a goal.

“Fucking hell!” he shouted loudly, banging his stick against the boards in frustration.

“Hey,” Auston came over, lightly chuckling. “Just because Kniesy’s sleeping with your girl, you don’t need to take it out on your stick, man.”

It was meant to be nothing but a playful remark, a joke among teammates, but William didn’t find it amusing at all.

“What did you just say?” he asked with a serious tone, more serious than Auston had expected.

"We- well… you know… Kniesy and y/n…" Auston stuttered, realising he might have just sparked something more serious.

“They what?” William asked again, his tone stern as his eyes fixed on the smiling freshman on the ice.

Matthew hadn’t intended to taunt William about his success in winning over a girl, but as the Swede took to the ice once more, an urge within him rose to showcase his newfound confidence and dominance.

As the two players were positioned in front of each other, they were ready to face off. And that's when William couldn’t maintain his composure any longer.

“You slept with her?” His eyes bore deeply into his teammate's, who simply nodded.

“Last night,” Matthew confirmed, prompting William to nod, his throat tightening as he imagined his teammate's hands on you.

“Hmm…” he muttered under his breath, unsure of how to react.

But before he could respond further, Matthew, perhaps emboldened by his newfound confidence, spoke again. “Guess I won her after all.”

And those were the wrong words to utter in William’s presence. Straightening his back, he halted the game and skated closely to Matthew’s face. “She’s not a prize to be won.”

The Swede asserted his dominance over his teammate, causing everyone to pause and observe the unfolding confrontation.

“Come on, Willy,” Matthew huffed, giving his shorter teammate a little push. “You’re just angry because you were the one who treated her like shit... and now she doesn’t want to be with you.”

“Fuck you, Kniesy!” William shot back, but Matthew was ready to defend himself.

“Oh yeah? Well, she did!”

And this had William push back, both physically and verbally, relinquishing the control he had been determined to maintain.

“Well, at least I know I won’t always be her second choice!”

What transpired between the first punch and the two boys ending up in the locker room with ice packs on their faces and towels containing the blood streaming from their noses was a blur to most. It happened so quickly, both players taking swings at each other in a fight far more intense and serious than any on-ice altercation. The coaches naturally intervened, while Tavares and Morgan pulled them apart, and with Reaves and other players chuckling in the background.

It was a coincidence that you had been nearby, as Stephanie had invited you to join her and some of the girls for preparations in case the Leafs continued into the playoffs. But the joy you had felt among the girls froze when you heard what had happened at training, prompting you to swiftly make your way to the Ford Performance Center.

Walking through the halls, your heart pounded in your chest, uncertain of what to expect when you faced the two boys who had torn your heart in two and claimed a part each.

And as you entered the locker room, you couldn't help but mutter, "Shit…" under your breath. Yet, other than your soft curse, there was silence. The tension filled the air as the three of you stood and sat frozen, no one wanting to take the first step and potentially worsen the situation.

It was as if all three of you were silently expressing the guilt you felt toward one another.

William for dismissing you and then trying to reclaim your deep feelings for him and acting aggressively toward his teammate.

Matthew for attempting to win you over despite knowing your feelings for his teammate, and then wanting to boast about his success.

And you, for leading Matthew on while being unable to let go of William, unwilling to accept that Matthew might be the better choice, yet not fully believing it, as William still held a grip on your heart.

It was anything but an easy situation. And sensing your inner panic, the turmoil you were feeling as he saw your concerned expression shifting between him and his teammate, William chose to be the one to act.

Rising from his seat, the Swede let out a deep sigh, his eyes meeting yours in a heartfelt gaze. And without a word, he decided to be the one to walk away. He didn’t want to be the cause of your pain anymore, so he stepped down.

“Willy…” you softly gasped as your heart felt like it was being ripped out of your chest, a tear forming in the corner of your eye as you followed his movement.

You were on the verge of breaking, tears pressing on, yet you managed to focus on controlling your breathing. In the corner of your eye, you noticed Matthew’s intense stare as he watched your reaction, curious to see whether you would stop William or let him go.

And as it turned out, William walked out of the locker room, leaving you alone with Matthew.

Your heart pounded faster than ever before; palms sweaty as a tear trailed down your cheek. Breathing felt almost impossible in the moment, and your mind, soul, and body felt torn apart. You had never expected a heartbreak to hurt this much, and never had you expected it would be William to be the one to cause it.

The air felt thick, and though a small part of you felt relieved that now you didn’t have to make the hard choice between them, another part didn’t want that to be the case. So, without even consciously acknowledging your next move, you suddenly found yourself moving out of your frozen position and making your way with fast steps out of the locker room, following William.

“Willy, wait!” you heard yourself shout. But he didn’t stop. Instead, he just kept on walking, so you picked up your pace. “Willy, please!”

“What for?” he suddenly responded, halting in the middle of the corridor as he turned to face you. He didn’t shout, yet his facial expression conveyed signs of defeat and hurt.

“Because I don’t want you to leave…” you tried to argue, but it came out vague.

“Of course, you do, y/n… you can’t choose between me and Kniesy, so I’m deciding for you…”

“Willy,” you softly cried. “Please don’t do this…”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re too important to me…”

“That’s not enough, y/n… I promised I’d stay away if you didn’t feel anything for me, so that’s what I’m doing…”

You held your breath for a moment, torn between your emotions and rationality. “But I do feel something for you, Willy…” you admitted softly under your breath.

And in a swift motion, William's hands cupped your face, as he pressed his lips onto yours.

It was the familiar warmth coursing through your body as you felt his touch once again. The intoxicating sensation had your mind in bliss as his mouth melted with yours, lips moving in perfect sync as your hands instinctively reached to palm his chest.

Time seemed to stand still. The world stopped turning as you connected with the one who had captured your heart from the start. And though a part of you wanted to feel guilty for leaving Matthew in the locker room, it slowly washed away under William’s touch.

And as you then pulled apart to catch your breath, you shared a tender moment of gazing into each other's eyes. William's thumb gently wiped away the tear that trailed down your cheek before you managed to flash him a timid and soft smile.

“Please don’t leave…” you whispered.

“I won’t…” he spoke gently in return.

There was another moment of silence as you stayed connected.

“I’m so sorry, Willy…”

“I know,” he simply responded, gently placing a kiss on your forehead before pulling you into a tight hug. Your body immediately responded to his, wrapping your arms around his warm body as you relished your re-found connection.

“I’m in love with you…” you sobbed into his shirt, tightening your arms around him.

William let out a deep sigh as he held you close, finally feeling the happiness that only you could bring him. But then, pulling back slightly, he looked down at you with a soft, concerned expression.

“But you’re in love with him too…” he stated softly, finally acknowledging the truth of the situation.

And you could only nod in response. “I am…”

#william nylander x matthew knies x reader #wn88 imagine #william nylander imagine #matthew knies imagine #william nylander smut #toronto maple leafs fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey imagine #nhl hockey smut

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prettysweetprettysweet · 8 months

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So I was thinking further about the issue at the heart of this post regarding how a lot of the audience is put off or puzzled by Achi's way of conducting himself in relation to Karan, how he seems too reserved, low-energy, or minimally invested in their relationship. I've been thinking on another circumstance that I think influences it beyond the issues I had talked about in my post.

At the beginning of our story, Achi seems to be completely adjusted to a life without romantic love or sexual relationships. When reminded of cultural expectations about all the necessary milestones for men his age, he does feel insecure and unhappy about falling short, but beyond that he probably doesn't spend an awful lot of time in a headspace where he would contemplate romance and sex at a deeper more emotion-based level. I think support for this idea is that he only made an attempt at instigating a romantic relationship (bringing coffee to a colleague) when he was feeling insecure about turning 30. When he overheard her saying essentially that he was undateable, his sadness came more from what he saw as confirmation that he was too boring to be loved rather than the loss of a potential relationship.

Achi's baseline seems to be that he doesn't spend significant time thinking about romance in relation to himself, not with good emotions - he thinks about romance mostly in terms of being a measure of failure and a gauge of character (no person has wanted to even kiss me, so I must really be an unappealing and unremarkable person) - completely detached from what makes love what it is, an incredible feeling of adoration, comfort, safety, etc. At the beginning of the story, Karan's role in his life is solely as a model of what he should be and a daily reminder that, from Achi's point of view, he is not talented, smart, unique, driven, handsome, or likable enough to reach the milestones that Karan has.

Because Achi doesn't invest much in romance, and because the idea of being in a relationship with someone as perfect as Karan is so ludicrous as to be inconceivable to him, there is absolutely zero connection in his mind between the idea of Karan and the idea of romance at the point in time when he discovers that Karan thinks about him in romantic terms near constantly. At the heart of the struggle is Achi needing to transform his view of his worth as a human being, so that he can truly give credence to the concept of he and Karan genuinely being in love with each other.

But something that I think is being overlooked is that Achi has a huge mental and emotional task in transforming how he views Karan. He needs to dismantle the idea of Karan being an idol - a model to aspire to, envy, and resent for his effortless perfection - and reposition this new, real Karan into a romantic and sexual context. That is a very layered, intricate task that can only be worked on by spending more and more time with Karan.

It is funny, though, how often idol worship bleeds into romantic yearning. We've heard Achi say some spin on Karan being the most perfect, most handsome, most prized, most kind and considerate man in the world over a dozen times. The root feelings are there - he just needs to weed out the negative thoughts and emotions that he's associated with Karan for seven long years, and try to view him as a real person with love and desire for him instead of some abstract ideological concept of male perfection.

That would be an arduous process for anyone, but especially for Achi, who thinks he has no instinct for love and desire, and zero experience to draw from. This fact coupled with his abysmal view of himself means that Achi is receiving and synthesizing Karan's overtures at a glacial pace, slow to react and completely unsure about what's right and wrong or what's normal and strange. And, really, he's just getting used to being a person who talks to another person with no masks or airs. He's realizing that he actually can offer words and thoughts from his inner self, out loud -- and that he has an avid, invested, passionate listener in Karan.

Randomly - one of my favorite illustrations of this whole thing is Achi sitting audience to Karan as he's soaking himself in water, and Achi is just...completely silent, hypnotized, deeply studious but also smiling unconsciously from some good feeling he's getting from seeing Karan like this. I was so proud of him for that moment, like yesssss the flames of physical desire are being fanned! You gawk at that boy, Achi!

Anyways I sort of think of it like one of those pictures that changes depending on the angle and distance you're viewing it from. From far away and a profoundly unhappy angle, Karan is the perfect man that Achi will never be. when he moves in close and tilts his head back upright, Karan is now a beautiful, complex, flawed man that is deeply in love with him and inspires those same feelings in return. Achi just has to get himself to that place.

#cherry magic #cherry magic thailand #cherry magic th #karanachi #yo mismo #thai bl #tay tawan #taynew #new thitipoom #ไทย

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absurdthirst · 2 years

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Married to the Mafia {Dave York x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 33.2k

Warnings: Forced marriage, dub-con, virgin reader, threats and intimidation, talks of infidelity, oral sex (male and female receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mentions of anal sex, talks of infertility, breeding kink?, allergies, pregnancy, angst, heart break, medical emergencies, childbirth

Comments: Dave York never has anything pure, his life as the mafia leader for the York family pretty much assures that. But you are pure, and he wants you. Erasing your father's debt if you marry him to have his children, he finds himself fighting against the inclination to fall in love. How can the leader of the mafia love, after all?

Co-written by @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Dave York MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Dave hates being kept waiting. One of his biggest pet peeves. He is a man who lives on a schedule so if one minute is off, he is annoyed, and when Dave gets annoyed...God help the people around him. As the boss of the biggest mafia family in America, undercover in the D.C area (which he says is full of crooks just like him except he knows who he is and doesn't pretend to be a martyr), he has to ensure that his operation runs smoothly. His father, God rest his soul, had taught him that letting anything slip leads to mistakes, and mistakes lead to being caught...or killed. He checks his watch just as the double doors to the hotel suite open and Dave shifts to stand, buttoning his suit jacket.

"Mr. York, apologies for being late. Traffic was awful." The man says but Dave barely listens. his eyes on you. He's seen you before. During poker games between his men where you are serving drinks at the casino. He wanted to fuck you as soon as he saw you. When he found out you were a virgin, he wanted to marry you. Dave has always had the desire to marry but not for love, no, he wants an heir. He wants an heir from a woman who has never been fucked by anyone other than him. You are perfect. Beautiful, smart, pure. Everything he has ever wanted. His eyes meet yours, scared and confused. No doubt your father didn't tell you what you were doing here.

Your father, as good a man as he is working for the York family, has a gambling problem and Dave took advantage of that. Deciding to offer to pay off your father's debts in exchange for you. It took some convincing, the man pretending to be hesitant in essentially selling his daughter, but he agreed after some persuasion. Now, here you are and Dave is ready to take what is his. "Hello sweetheart." Dave smiles, wanting you to relax a little. No one likes a stiff broad.

"Mr. York." You almost whisper, certain that you are here because you did something wrong. Working in one of the York casinos was always risky - you never knew who would react badly to a loss - but you don't think you have done anything wrong, at least not to be fired or killed.

Your father looks stiff beside you, never explaining why you need to come with him to his meeting with his boss. You had just been told to get dressed in the outfit he had tossed you and make sure you wore minimal makeup. Apparently Mr. York had strict rules about the women who were allowed in the meetings with him if the modest white dress was anything to judge by. Nervous, you wonder why you are here, wracking your brain to try to think of what you had done that could have drawn the man’s attention.

Dave steps towards you, reaching out to grip your chin so he can look into your pretty eyes. "Did your daddy tell you why you are here, sweetheart?" He asks and you can't shake your head so you whisper, "no." Dave tuts, looking over at the older man who is sheepish.

"I'm sorry sir, I thought it would be better coming from you."

Coward, Dave thinks, but he doesn't care. He knows what he wants and he will do what it takes to get it. "Your daddy has allowed me the honor of marrying you. You're going to be my wife."

“What - no.” You want to shake your head again, but you don’t. “I- I don’t know you, not personally. You don't want to marry me, we aren’t - what about love?” Your eyes seek out your father, praying that this is some kind of trick. A joke between the men or perhaps a bet on how you would react. Your father would gamble on anything so you don’t put it past him. “I- I promised myself I would only sleep with the man that I love after we get married.”

Dave wants to scoff. What a juvenile concept: love. As far as he is concerned, it doesn't exist. People marry for convenience. People marry for money. People marry to fuck. He doesn't believe in love. His parents married to bring two mafia families together. An arrangement. He needs you to be on board. He's not a monster, he won't force you. He caresses your cheek, letting go of your chin, "that's why I want you. You are perfect. Pure enough to give birth to my heir. I want a child...children. You are the woman I want." He knows he has to entertain you if you are to agree. "Love...comes later." He nearly spits the word but he forces himself to practically coo it.

You aren’t naive, you know that there is something else going on. Dave York didn’t just decide that you are the woman he wants as his wife one day. Not when women throw themselves at him. “What else is going on?” You demand, looking over at your father who looks guilty. “What did you do?”

Before your father answers, Dave speaks. "Your father is a very lucky man. I have decided to pay off his...extortionate gambling debt in exchange for you. He agreed and I expect you will be resentful of me but I do plan to look after you. You will want for nothing. Whatever you desire, it will be yours. As long as you do as I say, you can have the world."

Jesus, you’ve been sold. Your eyes widen in horror and you almost start to cry. You have no choice in this, you are marrying Dave York whether you like it or not. “Dad….” You whimper and your father winces.

“He promises he will take care of you.” Your dad assures you. “He is a man of his word.”

Dave sighs softly, stepping away from you to give you a moment to process and he knows this must be a lot to process. He is a monster but not that kind of monster. "The wedding has been scheduled for next month. I organized a wedding planner. You can pick whatever you want, cost is of no consequence. Pick whatever dress you want. It is your day and, despite what you might think, I want you to be happy." Dave offers, not liking the tears in your eyes. He shakes that thought away, knowing that softness is not a good thing. You will be his but he can never be yours. Not truly.

Feeling numb, you merely nod your heat meekly, looking down at the ground. “I don’t want much.” You murmur, knowing that you won’t have a wedding with a man you love. You won’t be an excited, exuberant bride like you had imagined when you were a little girl. “I will make sure that it’s worthy of you.” You add, knowing that he is an important man, and people will expect a certain level of sophistication.

Dave knows this is going to be difficult, trying to get you on side, but he will do it. He has to win you over to ensure you have his child. You’re the perfect candidate to be the mother of his child. “I will have my men go to your home to gather your things. You’re coming home with me now. Say goodbye to your father. You will see him soon.” Dave promises, wanting you to know you’re not his prisoner.

You turn to your father, angry and hurt that he would sell you to pay his debts. He has always been reckless, but this is over the top. However, he’s your father, your only living parent left. “Goodbye, I’ll see you soon.” You offer woodenly, only hugging him when he pulls you into his arms for a hug.

Dave watches the exchange, knowing your father feels guilty but the money...he owed a million dollars. He was gonna be killed if he didn't pay it off. Dave waits until you step back before he offers his hand. "Come on sweetheart, let's take you home." He can't wait for you to see the room he has set up for you. He knows you wouldn't want to sleep in the same bed as him right away until you adjust.

You bite your lip as you take his hand, allowing him to lead you from the hotel room where you had met him. “Why did we meet in a hotel room?” You ask curiously, wondering if he conducted all his business in the hotel or if it had been for some other reason.

Dave sighs again under his breath. The truth is that he had a woman in the hotel room. One of the women he fucks around with on a regular basis. All of them know the arrangement - it’s just sex. Dave York doesn’t do emotions and if they got a new purse out of it, they are happy. However, that’s all over now. He will have to be more discreet if he fucks around. He doesn’t need you hearing about it. “I had a meeting. Wanted privacy.” He answers smoothly, hoping you don’t notice the wrinkled sheets despite him having the room made up after his escapade. “Don’t worry about that now, let’s get you settled.” He insists, guiding you out of the room and away from your waste of space father.

You sigh, knowing that he’s lying and he won’t tell you the truth. You had noticed the bed was mused and he obviously had been fucking someone in the room before you had arrived. Probably the woman who had been waiting for the elevator when you arrived on this floor. Your stomach flips, unhappy with the idea of your husband sleeping with other people, although you know that you won’t have a say in what he does. He owns you. You will just have to continuously get tested to make sure he doesn’t give you something. You don’t want to hurt any potential children you have. Instead of saying anything, you just bite your lip and watch your feet as he leads you down the hall to the elevators, trying to figure out how to handle this.

Dave sees his men trail behind and he gets into the elevator with you, just you. They will take the other one. “I know this is a lot to take in but we will have a fulfilled life together. You can have whatever you want. Jewelry. Purses. Clothes. Shoes. Cars. Whatever your heart desires.” He promises and you let go of his hand, swallowing harshly as tears sting in your eyes.

“My heart wants love.” You choke, a tear escaping as reality hits.

Dave steps towards you, reaching up to gently wipe the tear away. “Don’t be a silly girl. Love…it’s just what people say to each other when they want to fuck. Have you ever been in love?” He asks and you shake your head. “Exactly. How do you know it’s what you want?”

You blow out a sigh, knowing that he won't understand. "I want to be with someone because I cannot bear to be away from them, not because they can buy me jewelry and purses. Just like I want them to only want to be in my bed and not have liaisons in hotels with whatever woman they fancy." You murmur, batting his hand away so you can wipe away your own tears. "I want laughter and happiness. Jokes and dancing in the kitchen. I want butterflies when he kisses me. For him to be able to come to me for comfort when he's upset or stressed."

Dave pauses, realizing he has never seen that kind of companionship. His parents were very cold towards each other. Civil but practically lived separate lives. His mother raised him and served on several charity boards while his father ran the family business, being kept away at all hours. “Sounds like a Disney movie. It’s time to grow up. Face reality. This is real life, sweetheart and you’ll realize that sooner or later, all that shit is just a dream.” He’s harsh but you are pissing him off. He’s offered you things that most women would be humping his leg for and you want things he can’t buy you. Things that, quite frankly, don’t exist. The elevator doors open and he wraps his arm around your waist. “Chin up. Don’t want people to see you’ve been crying.” He orders quietly, guiding you through the lobby to his awaiting car.

You realize that this is your life. You can either make the best of it, or you can wallow in misery. Wallowing can be saved for when eyes aren't on you. You lift your head and lean into his side as if you want to be there when the doors open, plastering a brilliant smile on your face. As if you were the luckiest woman on earth for what is happening. Some might think that you were, but you don't.

Dave smiles at a few of the staff who greet their boss, and he guides you towards his awaiting car. The driver opens the door of the town car and he helps you into the backseat before sliding in beside you. The door shuts as his driver and guard get into the front seat and he looks at you. Christ, you're gorgeous, even when you've been crying, and he swears he will do what he can to make you happy. Within reason. Dave doesn't do emotions.

You don't remember most of the car ride, looking out at the world as it passes by. Once in the car you feel his eyes on you, but you don't acknowledge it, knowing that he would talk if he wanted. It wasn't as if Dave York needed permission to do anything. If anything, you needed permission. Since you were technically his property, bought with the sum of your father's gambling debt. Soon enough, you are pausing at a large set of gates and they swing open ominously, the walled estate of his is now your prison.

Once the car comes to a stop outside of the main building, Dave exits the car and holds his hand out. You ignore it, helping yourself out of the car and he swallows down the urge to roll his eyes at your childish move. He plasters a smile on his face, guiding you into the house and his housekeeper. Mrs. Jenkins is waiting for your arrival. "Welcome home sir." She greets Dave. "Sweetheart, this is Mrs. Jenkins, my housekeeper. She is going to show you to your temporary room. I have some work to attend to so I will see you for dinner." He kisses your cheek and walks off, knowing that this transactional engagement doesn't require all of his time.

“Hello.” You offer, nodding politely at the housekeeper, she looks like she is a nice lady. She’s not in charge of Dave and can’t make him change his mind, so there is no reason to be rude to her. “I apologize for any inconvenience I’ve caused.” You offer. “I will try not to be too much trouble.” As much as you hate that this is happening, you wish Dave had stayed so you at least could have a familiar face.

Mrs. Jenkins tuts, "trouble? None at all. You are going to be the lady of the house. Come on honey, let me show you to your room." She gestures to the hallway. "And you can tell me what foods you like and what time you eat breakfast. I want to prepare something special to celebrate you being here. It's about time we had a woman in the house."

“Oh.” You brighten up and bite your lip. “I like making french toast.” You admit, knowing that it takes awhile for the custard casserole that you make to set up. “Would it be…okay if I used the kitchen sometime?” You ask. “I love to cook and perhaps there can be a night where I cook for the staff instead of them taking care of us.”

Mrs. Jenkins smiles, already liking you. “You don’t have to do that. We are here to look after you and Mr. York. Please, you can use the kitchen whenever you wish. This is your home now. Whenever you need something, you tell us and we can get it for you. I will have the chef make you French toast for breakfast tomorrow.” She declares as she opens the door to the biggest guest room of them all, already set up with your things since Dave had his men get it all from your home.

“Wow.” You gasp breathlessly, looking around the ornate room. Your things look out of place, as if they don’t belong, but you had not lived in opulence. Your father’s house was modest and you hadn’t been concerned with having the best of everything. “It’s beautiful.” You look over at the housekeeper, knowing she had set everything up. “Thank you so very much for arranging everything.”

She smiles, pleased you are happy. She has missed having someone else in the house. Dave tends to keep to himself and she wants children to run around after and assist with so she’s eager. “I hope you’re happy here.” She pats you on the shoulder. “Dinner will be ready at 6pm.” She announces, “I will leave you to settle in.” She steps back out of the room, leaving you as she shuts the door.

You look around the room and sigh. It’s a beautiful gilded cage, meant to distract you from the fact that you have been bought by a man who doesn’t love you. He bought you because you are a virgin, untouched by anyone else. Sighing, you walk over to the book shelf that was loaded down with your favorite books and pick up one of the sweetest romances you had been reading. Maybe there was some way to find a way out of this. Before you were married.

Dave walks into the kitchen, his suit jacket and tie abandoned and his sleeves rolled up. His home has a big dining room but he hates eating in there unless he has a party. It’s too big and he feels stupid. When you come into the kitchen after Mrs. Jenkins went off to get you, Dave is once again taken back by how pretty you are, even as you glare at him. “Glass of wine?” He asks, reaching for the bottle of red he had the cook air earlier.

“Why do you want me?” You demand, ignoring his question in favor of one of your own. “Is it just because no man has touched me? That’s the requirement to carry Dave York’s heir?” You ask sarcastically. “Why not use one of the women that fall into your bed?”

He bites his lip, keeping his eyes on yours. “I want you because you…you are gorgeous. I know you’d be a good mother. You aren’t greedy or flashy. You aren’t desperate for wealth and you don’t want to show off. You want to live a simple life and be happy. The fact that you’re a virgin…it’s what I have always wanted. Someone pure since I’m…I’m not. In any way shape or form. I picked you because you’re perfect.” He answers, hoping you will accept his response and he pours you a glass of wine.

You take the glass and nod. “I’m not perfect.” You correct him. “Far from it. But I know that I am what you want because I am pure.” You take a sip of the wine. “Does that mean that you won’t want me once I’m not pure?”

Dave shakes his head. “No. I want the mother of my children to only have my cock inside of her, filling her up, impregnating her.” He says it nonchalantly but his cock twitches at the mere idea of you being the mother of his children, cumming on his cock and no one else’s.

You snort and send him a narrowed eyed look. “While you are trying to impregnate me, you won’t be sleeping with your floozies.” You tell him. “I’m not catching something that I pass to the children.”

Dave clenches his jaw, the retort that threatens to spill over his lips nearly escapes but he stops himself, offering you a soft smile instead. He has to pick and choose his battles and you just said you’d let him knock you up. “Of course sweetheart. Just you. Until you’re pregnant.” He promises, offering a compromise and the guard brings over the large velvet box. “What is that?” You narrow your eyes. “You get to pick your engagement ring.” He declares, opening the box to display the five ornate rings.

Your eyes widen at the size of the rings. “I- they are too big.” You tell him, sure that you would never wear something so big and ornate. “I - is there something simpler to wear? I would never wear these beyond events you want me to attend.”

Dave sighs, knowing that most women would kill to be given one of these rings, let alone be allowed to pick one. He does know of a ring that is simpler, but he didn’t think you’d want it. “I do have one. I- it’s my mother’s ring. Wait here.” He stands up, making his way to his office and the safe, quickly opening it to grab the small velvet box and he returns with it, sitting down then opening the box to show you the simpler ring.

“Oh.” You sigh softly and your eyes go slightly dreamy at the simple ring. The diamond is still bigger than you would like, but it’s a solitaire with a thin band. “It’s beautiful.” You reach for it and hesitate, looking at Dave for permission. “May I try it on?”

Dave nods, taking it out of the box, and he can’t stop himself from staring at your dreamy eyes as he slides the ring onto your finger. It’s a perfect fit. He inhales sharply, admiring how the ring looks on your hand, his hand still holding yours as he cradles your fingers.

Dave realizes that all the money he has could never replace this ring and he hopes you care for it. It looks perfect on your finger and he swallows harshly, knowing his mother would’ve loved you already. “It’s yours now.” He rubs his thumb over the ring before he lets go of your hand, just in time because the cook sets the dinner down in front of you. He snaps the other box shut, he will have someone return those rings tomorrow.

You feel weird with the weight of the ring on your hand. Unable to keep from glancing down at your hand continuously as you pick up your fork and knife. “Dinner looks delicious.” You comment. “I’ve asked if I could perhaps cook sometime.”

Dave is shocked. The kitchen hasn’t been cooked in by anyone other than a chef since his mother died. “Uh yeah. You can. Of course you can. You cook?” He asks, cutting into his food and he is pleasantly surprised. Yet another reason why you are perfect for this position.

“I do.” You nod quickly. “I normally cooked for me and my dad.” You tell him, cutting into your own food. “I love to experiment with new dishes. Love to bake. I routinely bring in cookies or cakes to the others when I work - oh, does that mean that I am not working anymore?”

Dave immediately wants to say no to you working but he can’t take your entire life away from you. He can keep an eye on you at work and he can let you have some freedom. “Until we are married. You can continue working until we are married.” He compromises.

“Good.” You are relieved at that, giving him a genuine smile and you reach over to touch his arm without thinking about it. “I am glad that I can keep working, I want to be able to say goodbye to the friends that I work with.”

“I will have a guard keeping an eye on you though. I’m a powerful man, sweetheart. I have enemies. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me so a guard will always be near you while you work.” He adds, cutting into the chicken before taking a bite.

You grit your teeth, hating the fact that you will have someone watching you at all times. However, he could have just told you that you wouldn’t be able to work at all, so you will take the win where you can get it. “As long as they don’t interfere with me working, we will be okay.”

“They will just be watching you…unless they need to intervene. You’re going to be Mrs. York. You’ll be the wealthiest woman in this cesspool of a town. Those asshole politicians think they run shit but they don’t. I do. And you will be beside me, my beautiful wife. I will have the wedding planner come tomorrow so you can start telling her what you want.”

You nod, wondering what he would want for the wedding. “Is there anything in particular you want?” You ask him, wanting to know more. You just know Dave York, the boss. But he’s going to be your husband and you want to know him as the man.

He thinks about it for a moment, remembering the photos from his parent's wedding. "I want red roses. Lots of them. Everywhere. Money is no object." He tells you, and you nod, "why red roses?" He smiles, setting his knife and fork down since he has finished eating. "They are beautiful but have thorns that can hurt, make you bleed. They are the best of us both. You, sweetheart, are the rose. I am the thorns."

You lift your brows at the surprising sentimental viewpoint. Nodding again, you give a wistful smile. “That will be the flowers for the wedding then.” You decide. “Blood red roses and white baby’s breath.” It would look striking of course, classic. The comment that he had made gave you a small amount of hope that he might be a secret romantic. You smile at Dave again, your eyes softer.

Dave hums with agreement, your soft smile making his stomach twist and he forces himself to ignore it, reminded once more of what connections can do. He has to keep his distance. Mrs. Jenkins gathers your plates once you've finished eating and brings in the dessert. "I thought you might like something special since it's the night of our engagement." He hadn't even asked you but he wants you to think he somewhat cares for you. You won't be open to having him inside of you without him being nice somehow. He hopes you like the delicate cake he had asked the chef to prepare. His favorite...raspberry and vanilla.

“Oh thank you.” You bite your lip and look down at the cake that is brought out. It’s beautiful and it looks delicious. Except…you won’t eat it. It looks like it has raspberries and you are allergic to them. “It looks beautiful. Is this your favorite?”

Dave nods, eagerly digging into the cake and you hesitant, not picking up your fork. "Is something wrong?" He asks and you bite your lip, nervous to say anything.

"It has raspberries and I'm allergic." You declare and Dave immediately regrets not asking you if you had any allergies. He should know this stuff.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I didn't know." He stands up, taking both your plate and his and walks into the kitchen.

"Dave." You call out and he ignores you, coming back a few moments later with a plate of the chocolate cake the chef had prepared earlier alongside the raspberry one.

"You're not allergic to chocolate, are you?" He asks hesitantly, cursing himself for not asking you beforehand. There's so much he has to learn.

You smile at the new cakes in his hand. “No, I think I would cry if I was allergic to chocolate.” You joke. Dave nods and sets down the cake in front of you and sits down. “You didn’t have to give up your own cake.” You protest softly, hating that he was giving up eating his favorite cake because of you. “I would have been fine being around it, I just can’t eat it.”

“Oh.” He flushes slightly, realizing that he should’ve asked that first but he knows people can be allergic just from airborne particles. “It’s okay. I like chocolate too. More indulgent.” He winks at you, trying to make you as comfortable as possible and he finds it’s not as hard as he thought it was going to be. “I can eat that tomorrow. Now, eat your cake.” He orders softly.

Picking up your fork, you feel a bit more relaxed. He had shown more heart than he realized in that small little action and you feel better about this idea. You really wish that you had a choice about marrying a man you love, but maybe Dave is right, maybe love will come with time.

Dave watches you dig in, happy you are eating the cake, and after you’ve finished, Mrs. Jenkins comes in to clear the plates. “I have emails to respond to. Get some sleep. You have a busy day tomorrow. Night sweetheart.” He says, standing up, and he drops a kiss to your forehead before he strides off, reminding himself that this is an arrangement. Nothing more.

****

Rushing around the craps table at the casino, you drop off the drinks at the blackjack table like you had been ordered to. The last few days have been a whirlwind and honestly the scheduled day of work was a nice break from picking out colors and arrangements, music and all the small details that go into a wedding. Dave hadn’t lied when he said there was no limit to what you could spend, but you were trying to go for elegance and yet have it feel like you were actually in love with your intended. Fulfilling drink orders and caring for the gamblers, even with the security that was shadowing you, was a needed change.

Dave enters the casino, deciding to visit you. He had accepted yesterday that he is looking forward to marrying you. You are smart as a whip, funny, and ridiculously sweet. Far too sweet for his murdering ass. He has learned about your interests during dinner and he plans to get you the cooking things you want but could never afford. Like a pasta maker. Who makes pasta? Apparently you do. The staff are always on edge when he enters one of his establishments and that’s just how he likes it.

He strides over to the table you’re serving, just about to greet you when he sees the asshole put his hand on your ass. His pace quickens and he grabs his knife from his jacket, opening it and in a flash, he grabs the man’s hand from your ass and slams it on the table, his knife going through his palm within seconds. “Fuck!” The man screams.

“You never touch her again. Otherwise the knife will be going in your fucking chest. You understand?” Dave growls. The man’s gurgled wail of pain isn’t good enough. “Do you fucking understand?” Dave hisses and the man nods, crying out in pain and he screams when Dave withdraws his knife, turning to you.

Your eyes are wide and you are stunned into silence. It was quick and brutal. You know what kind of man Dave is, you’ve heard the rumors but you’ve never witnessed anything like this. Security always drags off the people who are causing problems, but Dave had not only done this very publicly - since all eyes are on this table - but he also ruined one of his busiest tables. Your mouth drops open in shock and you look back at the man before looking back at Dave. He had just stabbed that man, for touching your ass. Granted, you didn’t want him touching you, but you don’t think the action warranted a knife through his hand.

Dave looks at you, seeing the horror in your eyes, and part of him feels guilty you had to witness that, the other part feels happy you’re horrified. Reminds him that you could never love a monster like him. “Come on sweetheart. You’re done.” He says, grabbing your waist and guiding you towards the staff area, feeling pent up enough to fuck but he can’t.

“Wait, I have to finish working.” You tug on his hand but he ignores you, continuing on towards the doors that are clearly marked ‘Employees Only’.

“No, you are finished.” Dave growls. “You are not working here anymore.”

You huff and tug on his hand again. “You said I could work until we get married. I haven’t said goodbye to everyone! It will leave them short staffed.”

“I will make sure they hire someone else. You can get your goodbyes now without going back on the floor. You are done here. No one touches what is mine. Tell me, how many fucking times does that happen?” He asks, furious that this could’ve been happening without his knowledge.

You bite your lip, looking up into his dark eyes. He’s livid and you know you shouldn’t lie to him. Right now, you see why everyone is scared of Dave York. “At- at least once a shift.” You admit softly. “Although it happens to other girls more.” You add, as if that makes it better. “We just deflect or joke around with them so that they stop trying to grope us. We have a symbol for marking the ones that are handsy in the system. Put it next to their names to let the other girls know to be on the lookout. Since the manager says that it’s a part of the job serving drinks here.”

Dave shakes his head. He might be a murderer but he’s never been a perv. He’s pissed, shaking his head. “I am going to tell security that anyone doing that will be thrown out and banned. No one should be pulling that shit. You aren’t gonna be working here anymore sweetheart. If you want a job, I’ll find you something else. The next person that feels you up is a dead man. That fucking manager of yours is a dead man. Get your stuff, you are leaving after you say your goodbyes.”

Gathering up your things, you feel Dave’s impatient gaze on you. He’s irritated and it’s because you opened your mouth. Yes, the servers and drink runners here had continuously gone to the manager about people sexually harrassing them until the man had simply stated that it was a part of the job and if a high roller asked you for sex, to consider it a compliment - but that didn’t mean the man deserved to die. Once you have your things, you turn to him quietly and walk over to where he is standing.

Dave is practically vibrating with anger as he guides you back into the main hall. Some brave men look around at him, others try to avoid his eye and therefore his wrath. "Say your goodbyes sweetheart." He orders, grabbing your things and handing them to his guard standing nearby. He crosses his arms, knowing that he could easily kill that motherfucking manager, but not today, he wants to take you home first. He won't allow anyone in this sewer of a town to touch what belongs to him.

You quickly say goodbye to the girls that are standing around, word going out on the floor and others rushing over to hug you. You had made a lot of friends here, some of those attending your wedding, but you wanted to say goodbye. You wish you had more time, but Dave is tapping his foot and you rush back over to him. “I’m- I’m ready.” You offer quietly,

Nodding, he reaches for you to pull you close, a protective hand around your waist, and he glares at anyone who looks his way while he guides you out of the casino and to his awaiting car. Once you're inside, he pulls out his cell and dials his right hand man, Resnik.

"Boss?" Resnik answers immediately.

"I want Liam Pollock in the building this evening. He's the manager for the casino on Fifth. I want to have a chat with him." Dave declares, "make it 8 o' clock. I want to be on time for dinner with my fiancé." He hangs up the phone, sliding it back into his jacket and he doesn't look at you, not wanting you to see the monster that lures in his eyes.

You bite your lip, wondering if you’ve made a mistake. Wondering if you should have lied to Dave about what was happening in his casino. Instead of dwelling on it, you decide to watch the people passing. “Since I’m off work, why don’t I fix dinner tonight?” You offer, turning to look at his side profile.

Dave is surprised that you want to cook dinner for him. “You’re not gonna poison it, are you?” He jokes, smirking at you. “If you want to work, I can find you another position in the business. Something behind the scenes. I just - I cannot have you out on the floor. I’d kill too many men.” He says without any humor, deadly serious.

Your eyes widen and you almost laugh, thinking he was serious. Until he doesn’t laugh at all. Then you choke slightly and cough. “Oh, uh, I guess whatever you want me to do.” You murmur, feeling a bit uneasy. “Do you want me working? I know that I will be worried about having my own money.”

“You don’t have to worry about money when you’re a York, sweetheart. I am having a pre-nup drawn up that you can review with your own attorney, paid for by me, picked by you, which offers you a very good alimony in case we divorce. As for while we are married? You will have your own credit cards, you could spend a million bucks and it wouldn’t make a dent.” He reveals, knowing he had to have this conversation at some point.

You shake your head. “I don’t want your money.” You insist. “I don’t have to have a lawyer read over anything. Your money is yours, I just- I can’t even imagine you allowing a divorce.” You reveal, knowing that despite what he said, once you’re married, the only way that you are leaving the family is in a casket.

Dave doesn’t argue with that. He won’t divorce, absolutely plans not to, but shit happens and who knows? He wouldn’t leave you in the lurch. Especially since you’d be the mother of his child. “The child would remain in my care, of course if we were to divorce.” He says, like it’s obvious. “You will hire an attorney of your choice and you will review the pre-nup. Then we will get married and you will give me an heir to my empire.” He declares like it’s easily done.

You bite your lip, not willing to say that you would never abandon a child that you had. “Fine.” You huff. “I will hire an attorney to go over any paperwork that you send over.” You don’t feel like he will drop this and you don’t care about money, but he seems obsessed with making sure things are settled. Maybe it was because you’ve never had money.

Dave hums with contentment, pleased that you didn’t argue. The car pulls into the estate and Dave’s door is opened. He turns to look at you before he gets out, “you are to be my wife. I won’t have anyone saying I don’t provide for you. I will give you a credit card and you will go shopping for new clothes. I want you to get whatever you want. It’s the least I can do since you are mine.” He says, getting out and buttoning his jacket as he enters his home, making his way to his office to prepare for beating your moron manager.

You don’t appreciate the way that he simply walks off from you, but you hold your tongue. Instead you walk into the kitchens and smile at the cook. “I want to give you a night off.” You tell him with a smile. “Is that alright with you?” The cook nods with a smile.

“Of course it is. It’s your kitchen.” He tells you, although you don’t argue that you aren’t married to Dave yet.

****

Dave enters the house, the smell of whatever it is that you’re cooking hits his nose and he inhales deeply. He groans, his stomach rumbling and he walks into the kitchen. Your ex manager, Pollock, will be ensuring that no one touches anyone inappropriately in his casino and that involved teaching Pollock is a lesson. Dave usually has his men take care of such…messy interactions but this time was personal. His knuckles are bruised but he had cleaned up enough to return home to you. He walks into the kitchen after hanging up his jacket and he sees you at the stove, barefoot and wearing an apron. It’s adorable and sexy at the same time. He wants to wrap his arms around you and kiss your neck but he doesn’t. You aren’t open enough to him yet. “Something smells good.”

You turn and notice the specks of blood on his shirt and the bruises on his knuckles. You bite your lip and don’t say anything about his appearance, just turning back to the stove. “I’m making roast chicken and vegetables, mashed potatoes and gravy.” You offer him. “And I made a pudding for dessert. It’s not fancy, but it was a last minute meal.”

Dave is impressed and he walks closer to you, crossing his arms as he leans against the counter. “Sounds delicious, sweetheart. You want any help?” He offers, “maybe I can open a bottle of wine.” His eyes drift down to your ass, those leggings you changed into making his cock twitch.

“That sounds good.” You glance back over at him and your eyes drift down to his knuckles again before you stir the boiling potatoes again. “Whatever you want with the chicken. Did you kill him?” It’s the first that you’ve acknowledged his disheveled appearance and you are trying to seem nonchalant about it.

Dave chuckles, admiring how ballsy you are to ask him. He shakes his head, shifting away from the counter and he walks over to the resting chicken, grabbing the carving knife. “I didn’t kill him. He, however, won’t be allowing any handsy fuckers to touch the staff.” Dave replies just as nonchalantly.

“That’s good, the girls don’t deserve that kind of treatment.” You firmly believe that. “I believe that he would have had us sleep with the men if it meant they spent more money in the casino.” You fork up a potato and check that it’s perfectly tender, flipping off the burner and moving the pot over to the sink to drain the potatoes to mash. Watching carefully as you pour off the seasoned water and move over to the counter to start adding butter and milk and more spices to mash in with it and whip them to a creamy perfect consistency.

Dave clenches his jaw, “knew I should’ve killed the motherfucker.” He hisses under his breath, grip tightening on the knife as he cuts the chicken and puts it on the awaiting tray. He sets the knife down and walks over to you. “No one…you didn’t - no one has touched you before?” He asks, wanting to double check.

“No.” Shaking your head, you stop stirring the potatoes before you turn to him and frown. “I haven’t ever done…anything. I mean, I’ve been kissed, but nothing beyond that.” You grab the bowl to transfer the potatoes into and sigh, “I’m sure you want to have that verified by a doctor?” You ask.

Dave trusts you but he wants you checked out by a doctor for your overall health as well as your virginal status. He walks over to you, stopping you scooping the potatoes so he can grip your chin, making you look at him. “Who kissed you?” He asks, wanting to know.

Your breath catches, staring into his dark eyes and you wonder if he will try to kill the man who had kissed you. “I- it was in high school.” You admit quietly, telling him the name of one of his own men. “It never went beyond that. I swear.”

Dave hums, content that it was a while ago. No doubt that teenager had kissed you poorly. He wants to kiss you now, slide his tongue into your mouth and show you how good it can be. “I want to kiss you.” He declares, his dark eyes focused on yours, never shifting and it’s intense.

“You bought me, didn’t you?” You ask softly, knowing that he could do anything he wanted with you. The fact that he was marrying you was surprising now that you think about it. He could have just taken your innocence instead of making you the wife of the most powerful man in the city.

He shakes his head, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "I won't force you. I may be a bad man but I will never make you do anything you don't want to do. I would hope that I am not repulsive to you, that you would want me to touch you eventually. Let me kiss you, show you how good it can be." His voice lowers, his eyes focusing on your lips.

You bite your lip, watching his nostrils flare slightly in response and you swallow. Nodding, you watch his eyes meet yours again. “I- you can kiss me.” You know that you have no clue what you’re doing and perhaps when he sees how unskilled you are, he won’t want to go through with this.

Dave leans closer, his lips brushing yours until he tilts his head, kissing you properly. His hand cups your cheek, his other hand gripping your waist to pull you closer and he hopes you enjoy the kiss. He wants you to marry him, to have his child. It will make his life easier if you are on board. His tongue slides along your lower lip and you whimper when he pushes his tongue into your mouth. His stomach twists as he realizes this is the first time he has kissed since his college girlfriend. He never liked kissing his dalliances since it was too intimate but you are to be his wife so he needs to offer you some intimacy. He pulls back after a moment, pecking your lips. "Food is getting cold. Let's sit down." He says, trying to ignore his long frozen heart as he turns back to the plate of carved chicken.

You stand there for a few moments in shock. Awed at how your stomach had flipped and dipped when his mouth covered yours and his tongue caressed inside your mouth. “Yes. Dinner.” Shaking yourself out of your stupor, you dish up the gravy into a boat and rush to bring everything to the table while Dave brings the platter of chicken. Now dinner feels intimate, like you were cooking for your fiancé. Which you guess you were, his ring still on your finger.

Dave watches as you sit down after he’s taken his seat and he hates how his lips tingle from the kiss. He hasn’t had that happen before. He clears his throat and starts to serve the food, placing some chicken on your plate. The silence is heavy but not uncomfortable. “Did you get the flowers ordered?” He asks after several moments.

“I did.” You nod and spoon up some of the mashed potatoes and pass the potatoes to him. “I think we have ordered every red rose within two hundred miles.” You laugh quietly and give him a small shrug. “There will be plenty of flowers for the wedding and reception.”

"Good. I want it to be the wedding of your dreams...well almost." He adds, knowing you want the ridiculous addition of love but since when has love ever been good? Great men have failed, some died, because of love. It's insanity. "You have your appointment to go dress shopping?" He asks, "you have no budget. I want you to pick whatever you want."

You open your mouth and then close it, wondering what he would say if he knew what you really wanted. “I made an appointment, but I - I would like to see if they can alter my mother’s wedding dress. I’ve always dreamed of wearing it.” You reveal, biting your lip as you wait for his reaction. “With modifications, of course.”

He’s taken back that you want to use your mother’s gown. It’s sweet and he already knows the best tailor to send you to to have it adjusted. “Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want. This is your wedding. Perhaps you can buy a dress for the reception?” He suggests.

You nod eagerly, happy that he would allow you to have your mother’s dress. “That would be nice. The wedding dress can just be for the ceremony and I’ll change into a party dress for the reception.” You decide, giving him a sincere smile.

“Sounds like a plan, sweetheart. Do you want to have anyone at the wedding? Your father of course is invited but any other friends or family?” He doesn’t just want it to be all his associates. He doesn’t really have friends. All of his “friends” would step on him the moment he slipped up and they had a chance to get above him.

“There are a few from work.” You admit quietly. “I don’t have a lot of friends. I was busy working and trying to keep my father from gambling too much.” You huff, “I obviously failed on that front.”

“Invite your friends. Whoever you want. As for your father…he is invited but I will not fund any more gambling. He got up to a million bucks in debt. He was gonna be killed by his other lenders.” Dave reveals, wanting you to know that he did something good even if you aren’t happy with the result.

“Oh my god….” You whisper, feeling sick to your stomach at what could have happened. Your father would have been killed. Men had been killed for much smaller sums than that in the gambling world. You sigh and for the first time, you thank him. “I appreciate you saving my father.” You hum quietly. “Even though it was for selfish reasons, you still did something nice.”

Dave finds that he likes you thanking him. He likes your praise and that unnerves him. Usually, he only appeases himself, does what he wants, but he finds himself - for a moment - wondering what you’d expect from him. Shaking it off, he nods and digs into the food, trying to ignore that nagging feeling. “That was delicious, sweetheart. Thank you.” Dave hums, rubbing his belly. He should go for a run tomorrow morning, and try to trim up for the wedding.

“Oh, thank you.” You fluster slightly and bite your lip as you try to suppress the happiness that surges through you at him enjoying your cooking. You love cooking too much to have to never do it because your husband hates your food. “Maybe I can do it again sometime?”

“Anytime you want. God, it was amazing. I haven’t had a meal that good since my Mom died. Shit, don’t tell the cook that.” He pleads, knowing the cook won’t be pleased by that statement but it’s true. The cook is too fancy sometimes. You giggle and wink at him, making his cock twitch and he huffs at himself, reaching to gather the plates to distract himself.

You are in shock that Dave is picking up his own plates and yours to take into the kitchen. It’s the picture of domesticity. The only thing that is missing is music playing and laughter, followed up by the two of you dancing. “I’ll have to make you some of my favorites.” You promise as you bring the rest of the dishes into the kitchen behind him.

Dave watches you as you begin to wash up and he helps, loading the dishes into the dishwasher. He doesn’t remember the last time he did this but he can’t allow you to cook and clean up. “Go get the pudding, I’ll finish this up.” He orders, loading the plates after rinsing them.

Drying your hands off, you turn away to go into the refrigerator to pull out the two dishes of chocolate pudding you had made, along with the homemade whipped cream. “I know it’s almost childish, but-“ You shrug as you bring the bowls over to the counter near the sink. “It reminds me of desserts with my mom. She loved chocolate pudding.”

Dave groans, “I do too.” He follows you to the table and sits down, taking the dish with eager eyes. “Can I- I saw a summary but…what happened to your mom?” He asks, wanting to hear the story from your lips.

You sigh and your spoon drags through the whipped cream. “Mom and dad wanted lots of kids.” You explain, looking up to give him a small smile. “Did you know that?” Dave shakes his head, unaware of that but he knows you are an only child. “They promised me a brother or sister for Christmas but mom went to the doctor when she was late and they both came home crying.” You scoop up some of the pudding and examine it so you don’t have to look at Dave. “She wasn’t pregnant. She had cervical cancer. She- it was quick. Spread throughout her body rapidly and by Christmas, we were visiting her grave and dad was losing himself in the casinos and card games.”

Dave stares at you for a moment, looking into your eyes that are watering, and Dave wants to take all of that pain away. “I’m so sorry sweetheart. That - there’s nothing I can say to make that better but I promise you, when we are married, you can have as many kids as you want. If we have a daughter, you can name her after your mother.” He vows, reaching for your free hand. He squeezes and sighs, now understanding why your father is the way he is.

“My parents…they were killed. I was, God, around twenty two and my mom wanted me to attend this stupid political gala and I refused to go. I was young, wanting to go out and party. I didn’t want to put on a suit and go make small talk. They went without me and on the way home…their car skidded on black ice. Turned over and went down a hill and hit a tree. Both of them, their driver, and their guard…dead. I still remember getting that call.” He shivers slightly, “and then I had to take over the family business. I didn’t have time to grieve, I had to get to work. So I did and here I am today.”

“I’m so sorry.” You don’t think, reaching out and covering your combined hands with your free one. “That is horrible, you didn’t have time to mourn and you should have.” You don’t like the fact that you are marrying a man you don’t love, but you hate that he has been alone and unable to process that grief. “Were they - was it a good relationship?” You wonder if that is why he doesn’t put any stock in love.

Dave sighs, looking down at your hands. “My parents were arranged. My mother’s father knew my dad’s father and they arranged their marriage. It was a good choice based on political and financial factors. Love? Didn’t apply. They barely spoke. My mother was always busy with charity events and my father was running the family business. They didn’t love each other. It was convenient to them both. I admired my parents but when they died, I realized that admiration couldn’t save them. It didn’t help me run the business at such a young age.”

Understanding now what made Dave York think that love wasn’t necessary, you pat his hand softly. “I’m sorry.” You murmur softly, your heart breaking at the younger Dave not having the loving home you believe all children deserve. Yours hadn’t been perfect, but it wasn’t cold. It sounds like they had little time for the child they created together. “I- I know you speak of heirs, and they are the future of your dynasty, but…” you shake your head. “My children will know love.”

With a sigh, Dave pulls his hand away from yours. He doesn’t want to argue about fucking emotions anymore. If you want to believe in that shit, who is he to stop you? He wants you to be there for his children, to be a good mother and give them what he couldn’t have from his own mother. “The President will be attending our wedding. I gave a lot of money to his re-election campaign so he will be attending with the First Lady. I want to keep the President in my pocket. He knows to leave my…less than legal business alone.”

“Okay.” The moment has passed obviously and your own sigh is much quieter. Looking back down at your pudding and trying to ignore the pang of hurt and sadness at the coming lifetime of loveless interactions. “I will make sure that you are not embarrassed.” Your chair scrapes back from the counter as you stand, suddenly not wanting the sweet dessert. “I am tired.” You announce, dumping the bowl in the sink. “Goodnight.”

Dave watches you go, forcing himself to ignore the way his stomach twists at the sad look on your face before you get up. He stands up, grabbing his own dish and washes everything up, cleaning down the countertop and table so Mrs. Jenkins doesn’t have too much work to do, and he makes his way to his study. He didn’t even get to thank you for dinner. He wanted a business only marriage…so why does he want to go and see you? To make you smile. “Fuck.” He huffs, slapping his cheek softly to make himself see sense. This is an arrangement. Only an arrangement.

****

Taking a deep breath, you try not to cry. Not tears of happiness as you stand in the altered perfection of your mother’s wedding dress and look at your reflection. In a matter of minutes, you will walk down the aisle to marry a man who doesn’t love you, and you don’t love him. Everything is picture perfect and it’s all a farce, an image for him to project to the world. The powerful mafia boss with his virginal bride, pure and innocent, to bear the future generations of his dynasty. You look away from the mirror, blinking quickly so you don’t ruin your makeup and straighten your spine. Today is the result of the last month of careful planning and you will not ruin it for him. You will give him what he’s bought. “I’m ready.” You tell the coordinator, nodding for emphasis.

Dave adjusts his bow tie as he stands at the altar. Waiting for you, he’s anxious, especially since the crowd is large. Pretty much all of D.C are in attendance. The President sitting with his security, and Dave’s own security are scattered throughout the room. He worries for a moment that you have run away, decides to try and escape him. His worries are assuaged when the music begins and the doors open. You didn’t want any bridesmaids and Dave doesn’t have a best man so your father walks you down the aisle and Dave’s stomach twists when he sees how beautiful you look. He can’t look away as you make your way down the aisle to him and he knows he made the right choice. This past month, you’ve been civil towards him, cooking meals now and then but he wouldn’t let you break down his walls. Staying away almost every day to ensure he wouldn’t want to get attached. He shakes your father’s hand when he approaches, taking yours after letting go to escort you the rest of the way to the officiant.

Dave leans in as the officiant begins to ramble. “You look beautiful.” He whispers and you offer him a small smile, “thank you.” He truly means it. Your mother’s dress is gorgeous with the alterations and the red roses in your hand highlight your complexion. You look like an angel and he guesses that that makes him the devil. When it’s finally time for the vows, Dave repeats what he has to say, barely paying attention to them. They don’t matter. He won’t be obedient and loyal. Never has been. He slides his finger into your finger, his dark eyes meeting yours as the officiant turns to you for you to say your vows.

“I.” Your voice is clear, without a waver in your voice to indicate any nerves, is picked up easily by the microphones for the video and the guests in the back of the large church. “Take you, David Anthony York, to be my husband. To have and to hold, in sickness and health, to forsake all others, for as long as I live.” You know your husband will not be faithful, having gone to the hotel where you had been told you were marrying him, several times in the past month. You have already told him what you expected and if Dave didn’t listen, there was nothing you could do about it. There was a ring for Dave, the thick gold band fits perfectly on his hand but you aren’t sure if it will be worn beyond tonight. You slide the ring on his hand and turn towards the officiant again.

Dave doesn’t listen to the rest of the speech, not really interested until the officiant declares you husband and wife. Announcing that Dave can now kiss his bride. He hasn’t kissed you since that night in the kitchen so he steps closer, reaching out to cup your cheeks and presses his lips to yours in a kiss that declares to everyone in the ballroom and the world that you belong to him.

You feel the possession in the way that his lips cover yours. He’s not kissing you in love and joy, it’s to show status. You are now his completely. Your eyes flutter closed, knowing it will look better on camera, as if you are melting into the kiss. Listening to the applause from the guests as Dave breaks off the kiss.

He smiles, grabbing your hand to walk you down the aisle as everyone cheers for the newly wed couple and once you’re beyond the double doors, he drops your hand. He ignores your hurt look and the photographer comes over so he wraps his arm around your waist. “Come on sweetheart, let’s take some photos.” He hates taking photos but it’s necessary for his heir to have photos of his parent’s wedding day.

It’s hard to smile for the photos when it’s obvious that Dave is putting very little effort into making this day enjoyable. You are stiff in his arms and any hope you have for the future dies. You stand how the photographer tells you to and smile when they say smile, plastering the look on your face - one that doesn’t reach your eyes.

Dave is grateful when the photos are over. He fucking hates taking photos and his mind hasn’t been changed. He takes your hand once more, guiding you into the ballroom that is being used for your reception and the crowd cheers as the band announces Mr. and Mrs. York. Dave guides you to the dance floor, not even knowing what song you picked for the first dance but he is a surprisingly good dancer. All those years of fighting made him coordinated.

The guests are already starting to drink, several open bars that are scattered throughout the reception hall are already packed with people to get booze. Waiters are gliding around the room with canapés and champagne to those that don’t want hard liquor. You try to focus on the crowd, instead of the man that is guiding you through the dance. After this, you will go change into the dress you had picked out for the party, packing your mother’s dress away carefully.

Dave smiles as he twirls you around, leaning in to softly kiss you once the song ends. He doesn’t listen to a lot of top 40 music nowadays, but he knows Adele and you picked one of her songs for the dance. He wants to roll his eyes but he doesn’t. 'Easy On Me' isn’t exactly romantic. “Strange song choice sweetheart.” He comments as he pulls back, knowing he has to go mingle while you go change. He wants your wedding dress on for the first dance for photos but now you can go get out of it. He’s hoping you picked some of the lingerie he sent you to wear under it.

You don’t answer him, instead you walk out of the reception hall and hurry with the coordinator back to the room you had used to get ready. The next dress is sexier, more flirty than the wedding dress and it matched the white lingerie you had picked out. You have no doubt that Dave would want to consummate your marriage tonight and you were honestly scared of it. You don’t know what kind of man, lover, he is and you’ve only shared three kisses.

Dave greets people as they approach him, business associates both legal and illegal all gathered in the same room to celebrate his wedding. He waits for you to get changed and when the band announces your return, his cock twitches at the new sexier dress you’re wearing. A perfect virginal white and he immediately wonders what you have underneath it. You approach him and he kisses you again, pressing his lips to yours to show his intentions. “So fucking beautiful and all mine.” He murmurs against your lips, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you close while the crowd cheers.

Dave grins, turning you around so he can guide you over to the President’s table. “Mr. President, Ma’am.” He greets the couple, “this is my beautiful wife.” He introduces you, wanting you to have the honor of meeting the only man possibly as powerful as Dave in this country. He can easily whisper in the man’s ear to get shit done, he’s just gotta offer a few million towards his campaign.

It’s a bit surreal, the idea that the President is at your wedding and you shake his hand, trying not to grimace when he kisses the back of your hand in a wet, opened mouth kiss. Barely resisting the urge to wipe your hand off, you turn to his wife and greet her warmly, wondering if she accepts what kind of man she is married to.

Dave clenches his jaw at the way the president kisses your hand. He wraps his arm around your waist, dragging you back towards him after you’ve greeted the First Lady and he turns to the President, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “You ever touch my wife again, I’ll make sure no one in D.C even remembers your name.” He threatens, knowing that even the secret service won’t intervene in his threat. Dave pulls back and plasters on a fake grin as he turns to you, “shall we go eat, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” You aren’t hungry but you want to get away from the President before something else happens to cause a scene. The last thing you needed was your wedding to be surrounded by scandal. “Is it what you wanted?” You ask as the two of you are seated at your wedding table.

Dave smiles, nodding. He’s not sure if you mean the wedding or you but he knows he’s happy with both. “I am very happy. The wedding is incredible and so are you. My beautiful bride. I can’t wait for tonight.” He reaches down to squeeze your thigh.

You bite your lip, staring down at your plate as you try to hide how worried you are. You know what to expect, you aren’t naive, but you had always imagined giving yourself to a man you loved.

Dave noticed your hesitancy and sighs. “Don’t worry sweetheart. I’ll look after you.” He promises, leaning closer. “You’re gonna cum on my cock tonight.” He coos, squeezing your thigh before letting go.

Your cheeks heat up and all you can do is nod as you try to eat a little bit of the beautiful meal the caterer has made. It’s easily a dinner that is easily better than any state dinner. However, you are so nervous, you can barely stomach anything.

Dave watches you barely eat and he isn’t happy about that. Wondering if it’s anxiety. He will ensure you eat later. He will get you whatever you want. “It’s time for the cake cutting.” The band singer announces and Dave guides you over to the huge cake, smiling as he cuts it with his hand over yours, the cameras flashing. He kisses you before feeding you a piece of the cake. Wanting you to be fed and comfortable. He feeds you another piece of cake, happy you chose chocolate. “Now it’s time for the garter toss before the bouquet toss.”

Shivering slightly, you allow Dave to guide you over to the chair that had been set in the middle of the dance floor while all the single men are invited on the floor to try to catch your garter. You’ve never had a man touch your bare thigh where Dave is going to be reaching and it embarrasses you that it’s going to be done in front of all these people. Sitting down in the chair, you’re shocked to see Dave kneel down and give you a smug wink before he starts sliding his hands under your dress.

Dave ducks under your dress, his hands sliding along your thighs - clad in silk stockings - until he finds the garter. He shifts closer once he is between your legs and he inhales deeply the heady scent of your body and it makes his cock twitch. When he looks up and sees the pretty white lace covering your virgin cunt and the matching garter belt he groans, loving how sweet and innocent it looks. He knows he can’t take advantage so he finds the garter on your leg, gripping it with his teeth and slowly, so slowly, drags it down your leg.

Your gasp of shock makes everyone laugh, your new husband’s head under your dress. You hear some vulgar comments, but you are too busy burning in embarrassment from him seeing you under your dress. Cringing and trying not to when you feel the grade of his teeth on your skin.

Dave emerges from your dress, victorious with your garter in his teeth, and he winks at you before he shifts to stand up, his cock semi hard and he discreetly adjusts himself before turning back to the group of single men. “Ready fellas?” He asks and all of them cheer. Part of him doesn’t want to give up your garter but he knows this is good for show. He tosses it, rolling his eyes when Resnik catches it. He turns back towards you, holding his hand out to help you up and he notices your flustered appearance. “Nice panties sweetheart.” He murmurs with a smirk.

“Oh my god.” You huffs, ready to just melt into the floor. This man was your husband by law and had every intention of taking your virginity tonight, but you are so flustered by the fact that he just saw your panties. “Shut up.” The coordinator saves you from saving anything else, bringing over your bouquet while the DJ announces that the single women should come to the dance floor for the tossing of the bouquet. Giving you something else to focus on besides the fact that you hadn’t missed the way that your husband had to adjust himself right in front of your face.

Dave watches you toss the bouquet, one of your coworkers catches it and flushes when she has to dance with Resnik. Dave wraps his arm around your waist and kisses your neck. “They’d make a good couple.” He murmurs.

You scoff, “pretty sure murderers aren’t her type.”

Dave snorts, “yet you married one.” He is anxious now to get this reception over with so he can get you back to his home. He can’t wait to see you. All of you.

“It wasn’t as if I had a choice.” You remind him, pulling away and giving the excuse that you wanted your glass of champagne. While you were tossing the bouquet, you noticed a lot of your guests were well on their way to being drunk and it sounds like a perfect way to survive your wedding night. You don’t want to remember it. Tossing back your head, you down the rest of your champagne and motion to a waiter to take this glass and give you another.

Dave frowns, grabbing the glass before you can take it when the waiter returns. "Don't you think you've had enough?" He reprimands, setting the glass down on the nearby table then he grabs your hands. "Why are you trying to get drunk?"

You snort, annoyed that he has taken away the glass from you like a naughty child. “Perhaps I wanted some liquid courage, this is my first time.” You remind him, as if he had forgotten. “Forgive me if I just don’t trust that it will be an amazing experience.”

Dave feels himself get pissed at that. He reaches to grab your chin, making you look into his eyes. “Don’t you ever think that I am a selfish lover. Tonight, you might be losing your virginity but I will be good and make you cum. I want you to enjoy having sex with me. We need to have sex multiple times to make sure you’re pregnant, so why wouldn’t I make it good for you? Don’t ever fucking assume sweetheart. You’re done with the champagne. I want you to remember tonight.” He orders.

Your eyes prick with tears and you know that this - everything - is what Dave wants. If he wants you sober, he will have you sober. “Yes sir.” You hiss spitefully, furious that you have no say in anything in your life. You will be fucked regardless of your own wishes and get pregnant when he wants you to be. Your doctor’s appointment proved to him that you are indeed a virgin and fertile.

Dave caresses your cheek, leaning in to kiss your forehead despite you shoving lightly on his chest. “Go say your goodbyes. We are leaving.” He orders, stepping away from you to bid goodbye to the important people and he tells the wedding coordinator that you are leaving so the guests can see you off.

You stall as long as you can, making sure to make every person feel like they are special. You see Dave coming back over to where you are, going through his goodbyes much quicker and taking you by the elbow to hurry you along. You want to cry, but they will see that and you can’t have that. Instead you plaster a smile on your face as people file out of the hall, ready to shower you in bird seed before you climb into the car to take you back to Dave’s house.

Dave takes your hand and smiles as the bird seed is thrown over you, people clapping as he guides you to the car and helps you in before he slides in beside you. “You ready?” He asks. You don’t even look at him, staring out the window as the car pulls away. Dave sighs when you don’t respond, leaning back into the seat .

Your knees tremble, your nerves getting the best of you. You wonder how he is going to touch you. All the porn that you’ve watched is geared towards women and Dave - despite what he might say - is going to be concerned with his own pleasure. You don’t need to cum in order to get pregnant. “Why are we going home? Wouldn’t the hotel be more appropriate?”

Dave looks at you, a smile on his face, and he reaches out to stop your knee bouncing. “I wanted our baby to be conceived in my home, not my hotel. Plus…I don’t want any interruptions. I want it to be just us.” He removes his hand from your knee, looking back out of the window.

You bite your lip, even more nervous now that you know that you will be alone in the house. Often there are plenty of people roaming around but if Dave wants it empty, it will just be you. “How long are you having the house to ourselves?” You ask, trying to make it seem like you aren’t terrified.

“As long as I want.” He answers without looking over at you. He knows you’re nervous, can feel it in the air, but he won’t allow you to use that as an excuse. You are nervous of the unknown but he knows he can make you relax. He meant what he said. You need to enjoy sex with him and he wants to fuck you to get you pregnant. Once you’re pregnant, he’ll go back to his women. Not wanting even more attachments. The car pulls into his estate and he thanks the driver once the car has stopped, opening his own door and making his way around to open your door.

For a split second, you consider jumping in the driver's seat and stealing the car. It’s completely ridiculous and it makes you snort, slightly panicked as Dave opens the door and holds out his hand for you to take. Swallowing, you let him guide you out of the car and into the house.

Dave unlocks the unusually quiet house and turns towards you. “I’ll go wait in my room for you. I’m sure you’ll want to get ready, freshen up.” He tells you, “I’m going to get a scotch. You want anything?“

“You don’t want me drunk.” You remind him as you turn towards the stairs without waiting to see what he has to say. You climb the stairs and sigh. You are going to strip out of the dress and put on the robe that you had bought with the lingerie. You know Dave will want to see what you are wearing underneath. Maybe after it’s over he will send you back to your room.

Dave ignores your sass and makes his way to his office, pouring himself a scotch, then he makes his way upstairs to his bedroom, leaving the double doors open so you can come in when you are ready. He didn’t want any staff in the house for this moment, his cock already half hard with the fact that he is going to be taking your innocence tonight.

Taking a deep breath, you step out of your bedroom and make your way down the hallway to Dave’s suite. The master suite was larger than yours and you pause when you see the doors are open in invitation. Making you swallow again before you slink into the doorway. Watching him stare out the window while he sips his scotch, you wonder if you will ever come to love the man you call husband.

Dave turns when he hears you enter his bedroom, feet bare and robe swaying around your ankles. He’s never seen a more angelic sight, especially since you are wearing virginal white. Your face is pinched but he shifts to sit down on the plush seat by the window. “Sit.” He orders, grabbing the chair to drag it in front of him. You frown, confused as you sit down in front of him. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, the scotch sloshing as he grips the glass. “Take your panties off and spread your legs. I want to see what I paid for.”

Your face burns and you close your eyes in utter humiliation. Swallowing again, you turn around, knowing you will have to unclip your stocking to slide your panties down. The fact that this man bought you is never more obvious than right now. Fingers shaking, you unclip the delicate clasps that keep your thigh highs up so you can do as he orders.

Dave watches you as you roll your thigh highs down after unclipping them and you seem to take a while but he doesn’t rush you. When you’re done, you reach up, hands shaking as you hook your fingers in your panties, lifting your hips so you can push them down to your ankles. You kick the lace aside and inhale deeply, face on fire as you open your legs to display your cunt. Dave’s eyes focus on your pussy, untouched and fucking perfect. “Christ.” He hisses, fingers flexing against the glass he’s holding. “Have you ever touched yourself, sweetheart?” He asks, voice raspy.

“Y-Yes.” Your voice is low and you wonder if he will be upset that you’ve touched yourself. Wondering if he wanted you completely innocent. “I’ve just- I’ve never put more than a tampon inside me.” You admit quietly. You hadn’t ever wanted to stick your fingers inside yourself, but you had the standard doctor’s visits.

Dave’s nostrils flare as you confess you haven’t really touched yourself. “Have you ever made yourself cum?” He asks, sipping his scotch while keeping his eyes between your thighs, loving the thatch of curls above your pretty folds.

“I think so….” You whisper, your cheeks burning. “I- it felt really good.” You try to explain as you think about the times you had touched yourself in the dark. “It’s not like I’ve really…talked about this with anyone else. Not even my friends.”

“You will with me. I’m your husband. I want you to spread your folds for me, use your fingers to show me the pretty pussy that’s now mine.” He orders, shifting to set the glass of scotch down on the table beside his chair.

You bite your lip, shuddering slightly and taking a deep breath before you try to follow his orders. Fumbling for a moment before you pull your lips apart, your index finger pressing against your clit and you gasp and close your eyes so you don’t have to see him watching you.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” His voice lowers even more and you reluctantly open your eyes and look across the room. He tuts, shifting closer and he grips your chin to keep your eyes on his. “Keep looking at me.” He orders, licking his finger on his free hand and he brings it down to your clit, slowly rubbing the bundle of nerves.

Moaning quietly, your hips squirm, away from his touch or seeking it - you don’t really know. Not that Dave York would allow you to refuse his touch. Your eyes are watching his darken with desire. “Fuck.” You whimper quietly, shuddering when a burst of pleasure rushes through you.

He watches you as you whimper and he rubs your clit a little harder, wanting you to get wet enough for him to open you up a little. He releases your jaw, leaning in to kiss along it instead. “That feel good, baby?”

You can’t help but breathe out a little sigh of agreement. You bite your lip to try to keep from making too much noise. Even though it’s not like the house isn’t empty.

“Good. Wanna make you feel good. Wanna make this pussy mine in every way.” He rubs your clit, wanting you to cum like this before he starts to open you up for his cock. He doesn’t want you to be in a lot of pain. His cock is hard in his pants but he doesn’t adjust himself, wanting to focus on you.

Keeping your eyes on him, his fingers make your hips start to move again. Rolling against his hand on instinct and your own moans getting louder. Watching the pride bloom across his face and your breathing speeding up.

“Good girl.” He coos, needing you to cum, so he rubs your clit a little harder. Loving how you are already so responsive. “Want you to cum for me. Want that pussy weeping for my cock.” He tells you, pressing his lips to your jaw again.

The feeling of his mouth on your jaw makes you fall over the edge. Crying out loudly, you feel your entire body tense up. You’ve felt that before but not nearly as intense as what you have been able to do. Feeling your cunt start to clench down around nothing.

Dave fucking loves watching you cum. Already addicted to it. He rubs your clit to work you through it for a moment then he slides his finger lower, circling your entrance and he slowly pushes his finger into you.

“D-Dave.” You gasp out his name, feeling his fingers start to push inside you. It feels foreign and fantastic. “I- oh god.” You moan, reaching down and grabbing his wrist. You don’t know if you want him to stop but you need to touch him. Wishing you had something more than just being married between you.

He pauses, watching you to see if you wanted him to stop but you don’t. He continues, pushing his finger into you, groaning at how fucking tight you are. “Jesus. I’m gonna have to work you open. You’ll never take my cock otherwise.” He murmurs, pumping his finger in and out of you.

Cheeks burning, you whimper at the way he talks to you. It’s different than being talked to by men hitting on you, you would never have let them touch you. But this man is touching you. He’s your husband. “Just-“ you bite off the order to tell him to get it over with as you moan again, his fingers curling up and pressing against something wonderful inside you.

"There it is, baby." He murmurs, pleased you are moaning and relaxing. He works his finger into you, curling it into that spot and he adds a second finger, wanting to slowly open you up. "This okay?" He asks, pumping his finger a little deeper on each movement, his dark eyes. watching your face.

“I- don’t stop.” You had meant to tell him that it didn’t matter if it was okay. That he had bought you and this was what he wanted. Instead you beg him not to stop, but it feels so good. Your eyes flutter every time he pushes his fingers deeper and you moan his name quietly.

Dave wants to make this good for you. He scissors his fingers, working you open even more and he curls them. His thumb pressed against your clit. He wants you to cum on his fingers, he wants to see you fall over the edge again. “Cum for me baby. Cum again.”

The way he orders you around should piss you off. But it doesn’t help that his tone is low and raspy, helping that fire in your belly burn brighter. It only takes a few more pumps of his fingers and you are crying out again, this time your walls squeezing his fingers while you try to grind down on them as much as you can with your legs draped over the arms of the chair.

Dave hums in delight, working you through it and he shifts off of his chair, withdrawing his fingers and he kneels in front of you. “My beautiful bride.” He murmurs, kissing your inner thigh, his dark eyes looking up at you as he kisses along the sensitive skin until his tongue slides through your folds, groaning at your tangy taste.

His words makes your traitorous heart leap in your chest. Right before your entire body turns to melted wax at the touch of his tongue to your cunt. You never expected him to do something like this. Your head drops back against the chair and you moan out his name again. “Oh Dave, oh shit.”

Dave caresses your thighs, squeezing the flesh while his tongue flicks your clit. He loves how you taste, knowing that he isn’t the type of man to go down on women but this is your wedding night, your first time. He wants this to be special for you. His tongue delves into your tight pussy, curling and he shifts closer to press his nose to your clit.

Whining is definitely not a sound you thought you would make during this, but you are. Loudly and enthusiastically while you experience something that you’ve only read about or watched. It is as good as everyone says and your hand reaches for the back of his head and your fingers tangle into his hair to hold onto.

Your whine is music to his ears, his tongue delving deeper, and he shakes his head so his nose rubs your clit. One of his hands slide up your body, cupping your lace clad breast, pinching your nipple through the material while his tongue curls deep in your cunt.

You whimper from the pressure against your clit and give a soft cry at the surprise of his tongue piercing into you. Making you shudder and rock your hips. It feels strange, but not unpleasant, but his nose against your clit feels amazing.

He needs you to cum one more time. His hand sliding higher to take over from his nose, his thumb rubbing your clit while his tongue keeps curling deep inside of you. He loves how you taste, mixed with the scotch he’d been drinking, you’re a fucking treat.

Your eyes slip closed again, not to keep from looking at Dave, but because the pleasure is starting to get to be too much. One hand in his hair and the other clawing at the chair, you feel your body start to shake again. Crying out as the rush of heat spreads through your core and you hear Dave groan into you.

He loves hearing you cum. It’s music to his ears, and he works you through it, his tongue lapping up every drop of your cum. He smacks his lips when you push his head away when it becomes too much, and he kisses your thigh while you come back down from your orgasm.

Panting softly, you try not to jump when Dave’s hand squeezes your breast again. “Get up, sweetheart.” He orders. “We are moving to the bed so I can strip you down.” Your stomach flips and you nod, moving so you can stand after Dave rocks back away from you.

He helps you over to the bed, his lips pressing against your jaw as he reaches around you to unclasp your bra. You whimper and he chuckles against your neck as he drags the straps down and steps back to look at your tits. “Fucking perfect. Shit. I can’t wait until those are full of milk.” He groans and reaches out to squeeze your breast.

You shudder and look away, fully aware that his plan for you includes being pregnant just as soon as possible. Swallowing, you stand in only your garter belt, letting him touch you how he wants. Your breathing is shallow, almost panting but it’s mainly from being nervous.

Dave wants you completely naked, so his hands slide down to unclasp the garter belt, tossing it aside so he can see every single inch of you. “Fuck, you’re so perfect.” He groans, cock now throbbing and he reaches up to tug on his bow tie, starting to undress himself

Laying down on the bed, you try to keep your eyes off of him but you are curious as to what your husband looks like. After all, this is the man that you are married to, the man whose children you will bear. Biting your lip, you watch him strip off his shirt after removing the cuff links and unbuttoning it. You wonder if the other women he slept with anticipated sex while watching him undress or if they were merely giddy about the things he could offer them. Right now, you feel like you are going to be sick.

Dave takes his time to strip off, setting his clothes over the back of the chair you had soaked. He finally gets down to his briefs and pushes them down, allowing you to see his hard cock for the first time. The first cock you’ve ever seen and if he has his way, the last one you’ll ever see.

“God.” Your eyes widen as you take in the sight of Dave’s heavy, thick cock. You’ve only ever seen one in a porn and it looks a lot more intimidating in person. “I- I don-don’t know.” You stammer, sitting up and shaking your head. “It- that is - oh God.”

Dave can’t help but feel a little smug at your reaction but he won’t let you get too anxious. He shifts to kneel on the bed, grabbing your waist to lift you up onto the pillows and he kneels between your thighs. “It’s gonna fit baby. Don’t worry.” He slides his hand along your thigh before pushing two thick digits into you. “It’s gonna hurt for a moment but then it’s gonna be good.” He promises, curling his fingers until he withdraws them, shifting to position his cock at your entrance. He slowly pushes in, just the head, and gives you a moment.

You gasp and your eyes close, turning your head away. “Look at me.” Dave huffs, gripping your chin lightly and turning you back towards him. You want to refuse him, but you shouldn’t. His lips slide over yours softly and you whimper again, opening your eyes to look up into his dark ones. It feels different, but he doesn’t hurt you and your walls clench around him experimentally.

He pushes deeper into you. You’re so fucking tight and the fact that you are completely his has his ready to cum but he doesn’t, wanting to savor this moment. He pushes deeper, rocking his hips to work you open. “Relax.” He orders, feeling how tense you are beneath him.

You try, gripping the sheets under you as you try to force your body to relax. It’s impossible though. It’s pinching slightly and it’s nothing like you had imagined. No soft, loving words or whispers of adoration. You get the feeling that he’s being more gentle than he normally is, but there no love in this. You choke back a sob and try to remind yourself that he promised you that it would be okay.

Dave caresses your side as he pushes into you, wincing when you gasp at the final push to seat him fully inside of your tight, wet cunt. “Oh fuck.” He groans, trying to control himself while he presses his forehead to yours. “You’re so perfect. So fucking perfect and all mine.” He rasps, slowly rocking his hips now that you seem to relax beneath him.

You take deep breaths, trying to focus on the way that he feels inside you. His body is hovering over yours and you feel the slow grind of his hips. Your body seems to know what to do, your walls fluttering around him and squeezing down on him every time he pushes deeper when he pulls his hips back. “Yours.” You gasp out, knowing that you are his.

He fucking loves hearing you say it. He grabs your hand, lifting it above your head so he can admire the beautiful rings on your finger that display the fact that you are his. He grinds deep, rocking his hips, and when he thinks about getting you knocked up on this first time, he loses it. With a low groan, he cums. Painting your walls with his seed.

You feel the heat, hearing him groan and stiffen over you. He’s cum. Closing your eyes, the tears squeeze out and you turn your head away while his face is buried in your neck while he continues to rock into you. It’s over. He’s taken your virginity and possibly filled you with his baby. Making your heart ache knowing that there is no way you can ever tell your future child that you created them with love.

Dave grunts as he finishes rocking inside of you, kissing your neck. "God that was good. Sorry you didn't cum. Next time." He promises, shifting to pull out of you. "I'll clean you up then I gotta go to my office and do some work. You should get some sleep." He says, shifting off of the bed to walk into his bathroom, wetting a rag and carrying it back in.

You cringe and try not to flinch when he wipes you clean with efficient swipes of his rag over your cunt. Disappearing back into his bathroom while you lay there for a moment before you bolt off the bed. If his room is like yours, the closet is inside the bathroom and you hurriedly gather your lingerie and the robe before you rush out of the room for the safety of your own room, trying to hold back the tears.

****

Dave never came into your room. You had cried and then soaked in a bath after you had calmed down. You were stuck in this, it was too late to regret it and there was nothing that you could do change it. You just have to make the best of it, but it hurts to know that he hadn’t even cared enough to come to you after he had finished his work. He was probably glad you left his room, his dismissal clear from his attitude. Dressing quickly, you slip out of your room, eager to eat something and hopefully make it back before Dave ever woke up.

****

Dave looks up as you enter his office, tears in your eyes as you avoid looking at him, and he frowns. You look relieved. "What's wrong?" He huffs, not having time for dramatics. "I got my period." Dave sighs, knowing that it would take more than one fuck to knock you up. Since hearing you cry, he left you alone, but he needs to fuck you again. "When your period ends, we will have sex until you are pregnant. I want you to track your fertility. I will have the doctor help you to ensure you are pregnant before your next period." He says before turning back to his computer. The discussion is over.

You stare at him for a moment and huff. “Maybe you should get checked by a doctor.” You hate the way that he is just dismissing you. It’s obvious that you are nothing more than his little pet. The virgin (not anymore) bride to keep to breed his spawn. “You should get tested, that way if you are sterile, I don’t have to endure being in your bed.” You hiss before you turn around and stalk out of his office, angry at the bastard now.

Dave rolls his eyes. He had already been tested. He knows he is fertile. He’s a man who lives for the details. He tries to keep away from you, knowing you hate him. He doesn’t need you to love him, he just needs you to have his child.

****

“Don’t forget we have the charity dinner tonight. I am having Manuel come over to do your hair and makeup. Theres a new dress hanging up in your closet.” He says while he eats his breakfast opposite you.

“Whatever you need.” You answer, poking at your own breakfast. You aren’t very hungry, it’s been days since the scene in his office and he has barely spoken to you. The house stays quiet and you hate it. “I will be ready when you need me to be.” You finished your menstrual cycle last night and you are hoping to get a few more days before he makes you come to his room.

“Tonight. I want to fuck you so be ready for it.” He says like he’s discussing the weather. “We will need to have sex every night until you are pregnant.” He declares, not willing to negotiate. This isn’t a negotiation and he wants to show you off tonight. His beautiful wife.

“Of course.” Your jaw clenches slightly but you don’t say anything else. You are just his brood mare and the sooner he gets you pregnant, the sooner he will leave you alone. There’s nothing between the two of you beyond the fact that you are married. “Anything else?”

“Make sure you don’t have this attitude tonight. I need to make sure no one questions this marriage. I need my associates to believe you at least like me.” He can’t say he isn’t bothered by how much you hate him but he can understand. “I didn’t pay for you to hate me.” He quips as he sets his coffee cup down, looking at you.

“Hard to like someone I don’t know.” You mutter under your breath and narrow your eyes at him before you change into a bright sunny smile and look adoringly at him. “Is this better, honey?” You coo mockingly, knowing he he could care less about how you actually feel about him. He’s made that clear.

Dave shakes his head, grabbing your hand. “Don’t mock me sweetheart. You might not want to be married to me but you don’t want to know what I’m capable of. I can break you down. I can destroy you. Destroy your father. Don’t ever fucking forget that.” He squeezes your hand before he lets go and stands up. “Be ready for six.” He orders then strides out of the room.

“I fucking hate you.” You hiss quietly, tears forming again and you feel completely alone even though you know that there are people around.

****

At six, you are ready. His stylist had come to fix your hair and makeup. It was flawless and the dress that had been picked out was stunning. You would be the Belle of any ball, although you would not be on Prince Charming’s arm. After breakfast, you had walked outside for hours, talking to yourself before you had gone into the kitchen and started baking. Muffins, cookies, and cakes were all piled up on the counters as you thought about your dilemma. You decided that while you would never love Dave, you wouldn’t fight him anymore. It wasn’t doing you any good. So tonight, you were going to be the perfect dress up doll. Give him exactly what he paid for.

Dave adjusts his bow tie, making his way to the foyer to wait for you. The car is ready and he is anxious to see what you look like in the dress he had picked out. When you appear, walking down the stairs, his cock twitches and he holds his hand out. “You look gorgeous sweetheart. Perfect.” He kisses your cheek and is surprised when you don’t wince. “Come on, let’s get in the car. The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can leave.” He’s excited to strip the dress off of you.

You hum in agreement and let Dave escort you out to the waiting car. Thanking him as he helps you in and closes the door behind you before he climbs in on the other side. “I asked the stylist to do my makeup in a way that you preferred.” You offer by way of conversation. “Which charity event is this tonight?”

“Who the fuck knows? Probably something to do with orphan children. Or animals. I don’t know. I just show up, write a check, smile for some photos and leave. I get sick and tired of these events. My parents used to drag me to them constantly. We will go, give the check, have a dance, and come home so I can fuck you. Your period is over?” He asks for confirmation.

“Yes.” Apparently charity work isn’t his favorite thing. But you remember that his parents died while attending an event such as this. “It ended last night. They don’t last long.” You aren’t going to lie to him, knowing it’s useless to do so. “So don’t plan on making small talk, good to know.”

Dave looks out of the window, watching D.C pass by until the car pulls up to one of the hotels. Not one of his. He sighs as the door is opened and Dave helps you out, wrapping his arm around your waist as he guides you into the hotel and to the ballroom. “You do look beautiful tonight. I’m the luckiest man in this entire place.” He tells you as he notices the stares of other men.

You flash Dave a smile, one meant to show everyone that he was the best man in the room in your eyes. “Thank you, honey.” You reach up and smooth the lapels of his tuxedo. “I have to make sure that I am suitable for the most powerful man here.” You coo, knowing others will hear and spread gossip about how Dave York’s wife simpers over him.

He grins, loving how you coo over him and he leans forward to press his lips to yours, claiming you in front of every men and woman who dares to desire what belongs to him. His hands slide down to almost grab your ass, his tongue dipping into your mouth before he pulls back and kisses your lips once more. “Let’s get a drink and drop off the damn check.”

You are going to have to get used to the way Dave operates. He can just turn off the charm like a switch, blowing hot and cold so much that you are reeling from that kiss. Instead of protesting, you tuck your hand around his arm and lean into his side like the dutiful wife, determined to make sure he has nothing to complain about tonight.

Dave guides you over to the host of this evening. Some old politicians wife who loves to throw a party and call it a fundraiser. Dave knows they pocket a large chunk of money but doesn’t dispute it as long as they vote the way he wants them to when it comes time. “Janice. How are you?” Dave charms the old woman who kisses his cheek, leaving her old fashioned lip color on his skin. “Wonderful Dave. How are you? Is this your new bride? Our invite to the wedding must’ve gotten lost.” Janice offers you a fake smile. Dave chuckles, just as insincere. “It was an intimate wedding.” Janice snorts, “with most of D.C in attendance.” Dave wants to roll his eyes but he offers her a charming smile and hands her the check. “Here’s my donation. Now, I am going to take my wife on the dance floor.”

Dave guides you away before you can do more than smile and nod to the older woman. “Should they have been invited?” You ask, knowing Dave had produced the list of people attending beyond those you wanted to come.

“No.” Dave scoffs as he strides out to the middle of the floor with you on his arm. “Her husband won’t be re-elected next year.” He tells you confidently before he pulls you against him.

“Oh.” Your hand slides up to wipe away the woman’s lipstick off his cheek. “Then I won’t worry about it.”

“You shouldn’t worry about it. These people think they run the show but they don’t. The man who has the money runs the show…me. I won’t let these sneaky fuckers ruin my business, my country. I control their asses with my money so she can bitch all she wants but her and her husband are of no use to me.” He loves the way you wiped the lipstick from his cheek. “I hate that shade. Like your lipstick more.” He murmurs, his eyes dipping down to your lips.

“It goes with the dress you picked.” You fluster slightly, even with your feelings towards your husband not the best, he was very handsome and it is disconcerting to have his attention on your mouth. “I assume it was you. And thank you, it’s gorgeous.” He does provide many expensive things and you know he could make you pay for them if he wanted to.

Dave smiles, starting to move you around the dance floor. “You’re gorgeous. Every man in here wishes he was me. I am so proud to have you as my wife. When you’re pregnant…Christ, you’re gonna be the most incredible woman in this town.” He promises. “I know…I know you hate me but I do want you to be happy with me. I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

“I don’t….hate you.” You turn your head and look across the dance floor, noticing a lot of eyes on the two of you. Photographers are snapping photos and you know it will end up in the society section of the newspaper. “I don’t know you.” You turn back towards your husband. “I just - I wish that it wouldn’t seem like a business deal.” You confess. “Why do you want me pregnant so badly?”

Dave sighs, his hand caressing your back as he turns you away from the photographers. “I-” Before he can answer you, his name is called and he turns his head to see old Oliver Platt. One of his father’s associates who has since retired to allow his son to take over. Dave continues dancing with you as Oliver guides his wife over, swaying her to the music.

“How are you, son? This is your beautiful bride we have heard so much about from everyone.” Oliver beams and Dave nods, offering the old man a smile before introducing you. “She’s gorgeous. Your old man would’ve been proud of you, ya know. Always said he couldn’t wait to see you married with kids of your own, running the show. Look at you now.”

Dave’s smile falters but remains in his face. “It’s good to see you sir.” Dave offers him with respect, his heart aching, and Oliver winks at you.

“You got a good man there. Look after him.” He orders then dances his wife to another associate.

Dave stares at a blank spot across the room for a moment until his dark eyes come back to you. “To answer your question….I want a child because I don’t have a family. My parents are dead. I have no siblings. No aunts and uncles or cousins. My grandparents are dead. It’s been just me for long and I want a family to protect and who loves me for who I really am. Not just what I can give them. I don’t want to be alone anymore.” He knows he sounds vulnerable and he avoids that at all cost but right now, you’re his wife and he trusts you. Even if you do hate him.

Your heart aches for Dave, knowing that admitting that must have been very hard for him. He’s not a man who likes to expose weaknesses. He’s lonely, a feeling you can understand and relate to. Your own life was lonely and filled with worry about your father for so long. Maybe this could be a fresh start for the two of you. Taking a deep breath and deciding that you will make the first move, you lean in and press your lips to his. It’s a gentle kiss, more comforting than passionate but you know it catches him off guard. “Take me home, Dave.” You ask him softly, accepting that you are going to willingly go to his bed until you are carrying the beginning of the family he wants.

Dave is shocked by the soft kiss and your words, certain that you loathe him, but here you are, looking at him like that and asking him to take you home. He nods, reaching for your hand, and he doesn't bid goodbye to anyone as he guides you through the ballroom and out to his awaiting car. He wants to touch you, to kiss you, to make you moan his name. He wants you to want him. When you're in the car and driving home, he shifts closer to you, kissing your neck, the scent of your perfume driving him crazy. "I want to fuck you." He groans, his hand on your thigh where the dress slits to expose your skin.

“That’s why we are going home.” You remind him breathlessly. His lips on your skin makes your pulse jump and you know that your attraction to Dave isn’t linked to your heart. It makes you sad, but you push away the thought. “Or we can fuck right here.” You offer, taking his hand and sliding it up further. “I’m not wearing anything under this dress.” You reveal.

Dave groans at the feel of your bare pussy. Wet but not wet enough for him to fuck you. He kisses your neck again, biting down on the sensitive skin, and he slides his fingers through your folds until he finds your clit. "Want you to cum on my fingers first." He murmurs, rubbing your clit slowly.

You are biting back a soft moan, closing your eyes as his fingers work over your sensitive skin. Whatever else can be said about Dave, he doesn’t mind touching you. You know enough about men that most would have already been pulling their cock out and getting ready to slide inside you. “Dave.” You whimper, knowing that he won’t stop until you are cumming for him.

Your whimper has him hard as a fucking rock and eager to make you whimper his name again. He rubs your clit a little harder, remembering what you liked before, and he groans when your hips buck into his hand. "Stay still." He orders, kissing along your jaw. "You looked so beautiful tonight. Every man in there wanted to fuck you but they can't because you're mine. Only I get to touch this pussy. Only I get to make you cum."

He loves to remind himself and you that you are his. But instead of rolling your eyes or making some kind of snarky comment, you give another soft moan. “Yes you do.” You agree breathlessly. “Make me cum. I want to feel good, Dave.” You reach up to stroke his cheek and turn your lips to his.

He groans into your mouth, tongue immediately plunging in to caress yours, and he slides his fingers lower to push two thick digits into your tight cunt, his thumb pressing against your clit. "So wet for me." He murmurs, loving how wet you've become, and he begins to pump his digits in and out of you.

In a move that is shocking to even you, you push your dress up to your hips and move to straddle your husband. Your neck is bent down so you don’t hit the top of the car but you don’t care. For the first time since you had married Dave, you want this. Maybe it’s pity, or acceptance, you aren’t sure - but you want to have sex with Dave, and you grind down on his fingers shamelessly.

Dave is shocked at your sudden move and he is fucking hard as a rock, his fingers pushing deep into you as he kisses you, his tongue tangling with yours. He curls his fingers, his covered cock pressing against your thigh.

The kiss becomes heated, frantic and your hands move from his shoulders where you were holding them for stability, to his hair. Tangling into his locks and tearing apart the carefully styled look that portrayed his power and status. You tug on it, moaning into his mouth when his other hand grips your hip even harder and his fingers push a bit harder into your cunt. “Dave.” You pull away from his lips and your teeth nip down his jaw. “Can I- can I touch you?”

"Yes. Yes. You can touch me." Dave permits and you reach down to work on unbuckling his belt. "Eager, are we sweetheart?" He teases, making you huff until he curls his fingers just right to make you moan and grind down onto his digits. "That's it baby. Want you to cum for me."

You squeeze his cock, not too rough, but you grin when you are rewarded with a quiet moan from your husband. “I want to-“ you break off, embarrassed by the thought you had of kneeling down and sucking his cock in the back of the car. “You know.”

"Jesus. You never have to ask if you want to do that, sweetheart." He promises, "but you need to let me cum inside of you. Not down that pretty little throat." He orders, withdrawing his fingers to help you release his cock from his pants.

“Okay.” Nervous, you slide off his lap and kneel between his spread thighs. Looking up at his dark eyes and then back down at his cock. Your fingers wrap around him again and you give him and experimental pump. “I’ve never done this before.” You confess, aware that he knows this. “I don’t know if I’ll be as good as the other women you have.” You don’t say more, not wanting to anger him so you lean forward and take the tip in your mouth.

Dave's retort that you are his wife so this will automatically be better dies on his lips and he groans at the way your lips look wrapped around the head of his cock. "Jesus baby. You look so pretty." He hisses when you experimentally take him deeper. "Do what you want. I can guide you but I want you to do what feels right."

Surprised that you aren’t being urged to take him deeper, you do just that. Realizing that Dave has done nothing but make sure that you aren’t hurt during sex or that you are ready for him has you dripping. He might not love you, but he cares about you in his own way. You know that other women aren’t given the same courtesy instinctively. Moaning around him, you squeeze the base and give him a gentle suck.

"Shit. You are a natural." Dave hisses, watching you as you experiment with his cock. "Such a good girl. Such a perfect wife. You are doing a good job. Taking my cock in that pretty little mouth. You gonna do what you want to me?" He rambles, glad the driver is paid to keep quiet.

You hum, feeling powerful as you feel your husband’s control slipping. Right now you are in control and you feel like you could tell him to do anything and he would. Instead of testing that theory, you think about all of the things you had read and watched, pulling off of him again to kiss the tip and kitten lick it before you take him deeper again. Pushing him to the back of your throat, right before you gag and you slide a hand down to gently explore his balls.

"Careful. Don't - shit - don't hurt yourself." Dave orders, reaching down to cup your cheek despite the urge to thrust down your throat. He won't hurt you, won't add that sin to the neverending list of reasons why you hate him. "Shit. You are a dirty girl, aren't you? Where - fuck - did you learn this?" He pants.

Satisfied that you are pleasing him, you pull off his cock with a smirk. “I might have been a virgin, but I still read and watched porn.” You admit, rolling his balls around in your palm and your other hand slowly jerks off the base of his cock. “Plus, I love eating bananas.” You tease before you lower your head again and take him back into your mouth.

Dave's cock twitches inside of your mouth and he lets you bob your head a few more times until he grabs the back of your neck to drag you off of his cock. Reaching for you, he pulls you up into his lap. "You're gonna tell me what you read and watched while you ride my cock." He says, reaching between you to grip his cock and he checks you're wet enough before notching the head at your entrance, groaning at how hot and wet you are as he thrusts up into you while pulling you down.

“Dave!” You cry out as he stretches you. There isn’t the pain that there had been the last time, but you feel him just as vividly. Instead of trying to squirm away, you grind down on him, your head falling forward onto his shoulder while he grabs your hips. “I- I don’t know all the porns.” You admit breathlessly. “A website. Bellesa House.” You whimper when you pull your hips up by bracing your knees on the seat and then quickly sink back down on him. “B-books are in my- my room.”

“What do you want? What have you seen in the porn or read in the books that you want done to you? Or to do?” He asks, his voice low and raspy as he tries to control himself. You are so tight. He grabs your ass, helping to guide you as you rock on his cock.

“I want- I want you to cum down my throat.” You know he won’t, not this time. But you want to taste more than the salty spurt of his pre-cum. Dave groans, and you think he’s going to say no, but you keep talking. “I- I want to be- to be taken from behind.” You admit, cheeks burning as you try to voice what you had seen. It had turned you on and you imagined being fucked like that but you couldn’t imagine it realistically.

He loves hearing you talk like this. “Not so innocent. That sweet little virgin rubbing her clit while thinking of swallowing cum and getting fucked from behind. What a little whore.” He teases, kissing your neck. “We can do that. Just want you pregnant. You can swallow my cum after you’re pregnant. I can fuck you from behind when we get home. I want you to ride me now. Cum before we get home.” He smacks your ass.

Squealing, you move a little faster on his lap. Bouncing on his cock unsteadily before you start finding that natural rhythm that makes it feel so good. “Dave.” You moan softly, ducking your head down and biting his bottom lip. “Slap my ass again.” You demand, enjoying the sting so much more than you thought you would have.

He obliges you, slapping your ass again, and he hisses when your walls clamp down on him. "So beautiful." He murmurs, kissing your chest and he reaches up to tug on the gown, breaking the strap so he can pull it down and wrap his lips around your nipple, biting down on it.

You whine, having played with your nipples before, but Dave hadn’t sucked on the first for long. It makes you clench down around him again and roll your hips fast. “Oh god.” You whimper, making him chuckle. “Not God baby, your husband.” He corrects you and you tug on his hair harder. Pulling him towards your breasts more. “Fuck.” You gasp out, not even worried about the driver up front, too engrossed in the way that he is making you feel.

To see his previously virginal wife ride his cock like a pro and moan like a whore, it has him ready to cum. You are a fucking angel and devil combined in one beautiful package and he knows in this moment that he has made the right choice. It would be easy to love you but he won't allow himself. Love gets people killed and he won't do it. He switches to your other breast, ripping the other strap of the expensive gown and he groans when your walls flutter around his length.

“Fill me up.” You gasp out, feeling your cunt start to clench down around it. It’s dirty sounding, filthy - but right now it sounds like the sexiest thing ever. “P-please Dave.” You beg, grinding down on him as your hips stutter. “Fill me up, want to feel it.”

Dave wants you to cum first, you haven't cum from penetration. He clenches his jaw, willing himself to hold off from cumming, and he reaches between you to rub your clit. "Cum first baby. Need to feel you soak my cock."

It only takes a few more rolls of your hips before you are crying out. You stiffen in his arms, your walls shaking around his length and you feel the hot rush of pleasure flood your core and hear the squelch the next time you slide up on his cock.

Dave loves seeing you cum, the way your mouth opens and your brow furrows, it's fucking art. He lets himself go, grabbing your hips to pull you down onto his cock, pushing into your tight walls before painting them with his hot seed, a low groan escaping his lips while he buries his face in your neck.

This time, you don’t cry. Instead, you drop your cheek onto his shoulder and sigh, trying to catch your breath. “Oh wow.” Giggling, you can’t believe that you just fucked your husband in the back of the car. Feeling free and slightly thrilled about that. Feeling him throb and your walls randomly flutter around him as you both relax.

Dave kisses you softly, praying that you just got pregnant, but he knows it’s unlikely since you aren’t ovulating. He sighs and shifts you off of him, grabbing his handkerchief to clean you up and he just straightens himself up as the car pulls up to the house. He can’t allow himself to be fully invested in this marriage. Love causes distractions which cause mistakes which ultimately lead to death. He refuses to be his parents. Getting out of the car, Dave helps you out and you lean against him until you’re inside. “I have work to do.” He declares, gently pushing you away.

You stare at him for a moment, unable to believe after that he is pushing you away. “Okay.” You watch him walk away as you hold onto the straps of your gown. He obviously wants a family that he can pay attention to at his leisure. When he decides that he wants to give you more attention, you will have a headache.

Dave sighs, shutting down his computer, and he knows you hate him but what can he do? It’s better this way. The less attachment the better. Especially when you demand a divorce. You wouldn’t want to stay married to a man like him. Dave bites his lip and remembers the way you felt around him and his cock twitches. “Fuck.” He groans, rubbing his thighs, and he stands up, malign his way to your room. “Sweetheart. Can I come in?”

You had been reading when your door knob turned before the lock stopped him from opening it. Huffing, you set aside your book and stand. After he had left you, you had taken a bath and changed into your sleep clothes. Walking over to the door, you fling it open. “No.” You state firmly. “You cannot. I- I don’t understand you. You blow so hot and cold and I’m not putting up with it.” You tell him. “We have a fantastic time in the limo and then you just push me aside. I’m your wife, not some whore you fuck in that hotel room.” Tears gather in your eyes but you ignore them. “You want to treat me this way? Fine. Your sex for the day is already accomplished. There’s no need for you to come inside or touch me again tonight.”

Dave wants to push past you and enter your room but something inside of him tells him that it will do damage to your somewhat reasonable relationship. Dave slams his hand on the door frame, leaning in slightly. “Fine. I’ll go to the hotel and find one of those whores if my wife won’t let me fuck her.” He growls, pissed off at you for thinking he’s cold when you are like the damn arctic. “I won’t touch you tonight. I’ll touch someone else. Enjoy your evening…sweetheart.” He adds sarcastically and stalks downstairs, calling for his driver to take him to the hotel.

You swallow, heart plummeting as you hear him slam the front door of the large house and you are left with the ringing silence. You have lost this round. He doesn’t care enough about you to even hide the fact that he wouldn’t be faithful to you. Tears in your eyes, you start walking down the hall towards the kitchen. It’s not like you will be able to read your book tonight while you listen for him to come back. You might as well do some baking. Maybe you would drop off treats for some of the local food banks or soup kitchens around the city. Something to make you feel better than you do right now.

Dave enters his home, pissed because he couldn’t bring himself to fuck another woman. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to risk catching something and passing it onto you and therefore a baby, but in reality he couldn’t do it. He stalks into the house and he frowns when he walks in to the kitchen to find you baking. “What’s all this?” He gestures to the cupcakes and muffins and cookies covering the countertops.

“Baking.” You answer as you turn around to slide another tray of muffins into the oven. “I knew that I wouldn’t be able to go to sleep, so I decided to be productive.” You turn around and take the oven mitt off before you look over at him standing in the kitchen doorway. “I’m planning on taking them to the soup kitchens and orphanages tomorrow. Give them a treat and credit the York family.” You are surprised he’s home, having anticipated him to be gone all night rather than a few hours. “Was your night to your satisfaction?” You ask politely.

Dave is taken back by how kind you truly are. He knew that before he married you but for you to bake cookies for orphans? Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking angel. You deserve to be treated as such. “No. I am not satisfied because my wife wouldn’t let me touch her. I spent the entire night imagining spreading her legs and burying my tongue in her cunt but I couldn’t do that because she barred me from her room.” He steps closer to you.

“You didn’t find someone else’s pussy to lick?” You ask with an attitude and Dave chuckles.

“No one else’s pussy seems to do it for me now. Tell me to stop.” He orders, his fingers trailing along your arms and he spins you around. “Tell me to stop and I won’t put you on the counter and bury my tongue in your sweet cunt.”

“Stop pushing me away the second you finish with me.” Your demand, looking into his eyes and then at his lips. His tongue is good, even as inexperienced as you are, you know that. “I just want to feel like I’m more than a trophy and brood mare for you.”

“What do you want from me? I can’t give you love. I know you want it but I can’t - I can’t love you. I can give you anything else in this world. I am a killer, a cold bastard who doesn’t even know how to cuddle. Can’t you accept me as I am?” He pleads, looking into your eyes.

Your heart breaks, hearing that he will never love you. At least it’s honest, and that’s a start. “I want faithfulness.” You admit. “I- you won’t love me, I’ll- I’ll accept that.” Your voice wavers slightly but you continue on. “Just- when we are done, talk to me. Even if it’s about your work. Share it with me. A marriage is supposed to be a partnership, so share your burdens with me.”

He nods, reaching for your hands. “I can do that.” He promises, squeezing your hands. He knows he should work on his aftercare. “I can be faithful to you, I don’t - your pussy has honestly ruined any other for me.” He admits, blushing a little.

You snort and lift a brow, not quite believing him. “It’s because it’s a new toy.” You remind him. “I’m sure you won’t feel the same way when I’m fat and unattractive carrying that child you want.” You reach up and poke him in the chest. “Speaking of - you may not be able to love me - but our children will never know that their father doesn’t believe they hung the moon.” You tell him fiercely. “They will brag to their friends that they have the best dad in the world.”

Dave chuckles at your ferocity, it’s sexy and admirable. “I’m sure they will tell everyone their mama is the best in the world more than me. You’ll be an amazing mother. I can’t wait to witness it.” His hand slides down to your stomach, wishing you were already pregnant. “Besides, I think you’ll be the most beautiful pregnant woman. I think I’ll want to worship you.” He murmurs, his cold heart thumping when you offer him a bashful smile. “Now, are you gonna let me lick that pretty pussy?” He hums, kissing the side of your head.

“You really didn’t touch someone else?” You ask quietly, looking at him solemnly and Dave shakes his head.

“I didn’t.” He promises you, making you lunge forward and press your lips to his. Your marriage is tumultuous and there have been some hard feelings, but you want this to work, because you are his. Yes, it will hurt that he will never love you, but you will worry about that later.

Dave groans at how eager you are, his hands squeezing your ass until he grabs your thighs, managing to lift you onto the countertop that is covered in flour. He reaches for your shorts, dragging them down your legs along with your panties until he pushes them apart. “Best fucking pussy in D.C.” He growls before he dives in, sliding his tongue through your folds.

You giggle at his actions, plopping you down into flour without a care. “I- you only have ten more minutes Dave.” You tease, looking over at the timer on the counter top. “Think you can make me cum that quickly?”

Dave pulls back to smirk at you, “please baby. I’ll have you cumming in seven.” He dives back in, sucking your clit into his mouth and he has never been a man to give oral unless he’s going to receive too but fuck, you’re so sweet. Just like you, sweet and a little sour. He loves it. His tongue flicks over your clit and his finger circles your entrance before he pushes it inside of you.

“Cheater!” You gasp, tangling your fingers into his hair and sliding down the counter, pushing some of the flour onto the floor. “N-not f-fair to use your fin-gers.” You pant out, smirking the entire time. You love the smirk he had given you and the playfulness in his tone. That is what you want from him.

Dave chuckles at your protest but suck’s your clit into his mouth. He never said he plays fair. He always gets what he wants and that will be him making you cum in less than seven minutes. He pushes another finger into your cunt, curling them before he resumes sucking your clit.

You whimper, whine and moan your way closer to an orgasm. Every suck if his mouth is paired with a curling of his fingers and you are just barreling closer to falling apart every second he is touching you. Rocking your hips again this face, you lean against the cabinets and moan out his name, hoping the housekeeper doesn’t come into the kitchen.

You cry out, pulling at his hair while your entire body bows up and you start to cum. Flooding his fingers with your release and your thighs close around his head. “Dave!” You cry out in pleasure.

He hums, making your thighs shake, and he works you through it, loving the way you cry out his name. He pumps his fingers a few times until he withdraws them, sticking them into his mouth to clean them up while your chest heaves as you relax from your orgasm.

“Jesus.” You sigh, blissed out. “That is so much better than what I could do.” You admit softly. Taking a few breathes, you open your eyes and look at Dave. “How do you want me after I pulled the muffins out?”

Dave waggles his eyebrows, making you giggle, and he loves the sound. He winks at you and reaches for your shirt, glad you didn’t put a bra back on. “I want you to bend over the kitchen table, I want to fuck you from behind.”

You pull the muffins out of the oven completely nude, with Dave behind you trying to pull his cock out of his pants like he had in the limo. You set the tray down on a cooling rack and bend over the counter, laughing when your breasts are dragging through the impression of your ass from earlier. You look over your shoulder and shake your ass at him playfully. “Hurry up.”

He chuckles at your impatience, slapping your ass then he grips his cock, positioning himself at your entrance and pushing in without premise. “Fuck.” He hisses at how tight you are, his forehead resting against your back as he looms over you.

“Oh fuck.” You feel him from the sex in the car on the way home, but he feels amazing right now. Even larger from this position. “Dave.” You whimper quietly. “I- I want you to fuck me.”

He kisses your spine and he starts to move, a quick, hard pace that has your hips slamming against the edge of the counter. He groans your name at the way your cunt grips him and he can’t believe he ever thought any other pussy could compare. This is his cunt. He owns it. He just wonders if you are starting to own his cock. “Shit.” He hisses to himself as he realizes he is starting to care.

“Fuck.” You reach back and grab onto his hip, urging him on. You love the way he feels shredding up into you. Wondering if tonight in the kitchen is the night you get pregnant. “Fuck Dave.” You whimper, collapsing forward and your breasts press into the flour.

He grunts, sweat beading on his brow from the force of his thrusts. “So fucking good. So good baby. Jesus, such a good pussy. The best. And mine. God, gonna knock you up right now. Just - just need you to cum again.” He pants, squeezing his hand underneath you to rub your clit.

“Fuuuuuuuck.” You whine, pushing back against him and gasping when he finds your clit with precise accuracy. “I- oh god, I’m gonna cum again.” You slap your hand down in the flour and wail his name again, clenching down around him.

“Good girl. Good girl. Fuck. Gonna make me - you’re so - oh fuck.” He growls, burying his cock deep inside of you and painting your walls for the second time that night.

You pant, feeling him continuing to grind into you as he rides out his high. As you catch your breath, you wonder if he will push you away again or actually try to open up slightly. If he doesn’t, you will just try to get pregnant as quickly as possible.

Dave sighs, kissing along your neck. His instinct is to pull out of you and rush off to his room but he can’t. Even if he wanted to, he can’t leave you right now. He grabs a clean dishcloth from the nearby drawer and he pulls out, gently cleaning you up. “Gotta shower with all the flour that’s on you. Or do you want a bath? I can go run it once you’re done baking.” He offers, wanting you to be happy and not sad with him.

“Shower.” You decide, biting your lip and looking around at all the food. “Will you take one with me? Then I’ll put this stuff away.” You will let him escape after the shower, knowing he doesn’t want to spend too much time with you.

Dave nods, knowing it's getting into dangerous territory but he can't refuse you when you look at him like that. "Okay baby. Let's go shower." He takes your hand and decides to let you guide him. "Yours or mine?" He asks, not caring about the flour that's all over his suit and the house.

“We can use mine.” You offer softly. “It will give you a reason to have to leave.” You squeeze his hand in yours to let him know that you aren’t upset about it. You asked for time after sex and he’s giving it to you. You wouldn’t be bitchy because he didn’t live up to romance novels.

Dave appreciates your acceptance that he won't be your prince charming. He lets you guide him to your bedroom and he watches you lean in to turn on the shower. "You've got flour all over your ass." He chuckles, slapping your ass playfully and he works on undressing himself.

You giggle and turn around to watch him undress. “Flour on my tits as well.” You remind him, watching him reveal inch by inch with every article he takes off. You step into the shower and adjust the spray, watching the flour start to stream down your body in white rivulets. “Maybe you did it this time.” You murmur, mostly to yourself as you run your hands over your body.

Dave hears you and he is torn. Part of him wants you to be pregnant, anxious to see you grow with his child. The other part of him wants to keep trying to get you pregnant. He kicks his boxers aside and steps in behind you, groaning at the hot water hitting his chest. "Are you ready to be pregnant?" He asks.

“I- I don’t know.” You confess. “Our relationship is very…precarious, but then again - it is what you married me for.” You step to the side and reach for your body wash. “I think I’m- I’m afraid.” You sigh softly. “Who knows what will happen while I’m pregnant. Most women are hormonal and you aren’t known for your patience.”

He watches you, knowing that your fears are valid, but he would never reprimand you for your hormones. He reaches for your cheeks, bringing your eyes to his. "Sweetheart, if you are - or get - pregnant, I will worship the fucking ground you walk on. I have wanted this, a family, for my entire life and for you to give it to me...I could never thank you enough. Please don't be scared. I'll be there for you." He promises.

You swallow and nod, hoping that he’s telling the truth. “You say that now, but wait until I’m crying because the pickle and chocolate chip muffins don’t taste like I imagined.” You joke, wanting to lift the atmosphere a bit.

He chuckles, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, and he leans forward to kiss your forehead. "Ice cream and pickles was what my mom craved. Anything you want...it is yours. I can give you whatever you want." He promises.

You sigh, handing him the body wash, "except you." Dave doesn't respond, working on cleaning himself off.

The rest of your shower is quiet, not uncomfortable, but it’s clear that the two of you are lost in your own thoughts. Once both of you are clean, you turn off the water and brush past Dave to reach for a towel for him as you step out. “Have a good night Dave.” You offer softly. “I’m going to go clean up the kitchen and then go to bed.” You lean in and press your lips to his. “Sweet dreams.”

He wraps the towel around his waist, watching you go and he wants to drag you back into his arms. Shit, he’s already in deep and he doesn’t know how to pull himself away from you. He needs to stop feeling like this. He grabs his clothes and makes his way back to his room, determined to not go back and crawl into your bed.

It doesn’t surprise you that Dave is gone when you come back to your room. The baked goods stored and the kitchen cleaned, it’s been at least two hours. Climbing into bed, you sigh softly. You’re probably never going to know what it’s like to sleep in the same bed as him.

****

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait for Mr. York?” Mrs. Jones asks as she frets. “He should be awake soon and you can have breakfast together.”

You smile at the older woman and continue to put the boxes of goods into the car that the driver had pulled around to the kitchen door. “No, I want them to have them while they are still fresh.” You explain. “Mr. York knows I am delivering them. He won’t even notice that I’m not at the table.” You promise with another smile. “He’ll be reading his paper or answering emails on his phone.” Turning to the driver you nod. “I’m ready to go. You have the list of addresses.” You had woken up early and written cards to go along with the treats, explaining who they were from and why. It was a gesture that you hoped makes Dave’s family name shine.

Dave comes downstairs dressed in a crisp suit, ready for his day of meetings, and he frowns when he doesn’t find you sitting at the kitchen table. He looks at his housekeeper. “Where is my beautiful wife this morning?” He asks and she tells him that you’ve gone out to deliver the baked goods you made last night. With a sigh, he resigns himself to breakfast alone until he makes his way to his office, driving himself since you have taken the driver.

You come back home, feeling better and happier than you have in quite awhile. You had delivered the muffins, cookies and cakes to surprised and grateful directors on behalf of the York family. Early enough for breakfast to be able to watch the kids in the orphanage enjoy the rare breakfast treats that made them all think it was a special occasion. You had cried when you had gotten back to the car, vowing that you were going to get Dave to either donate to them or arrange a charity event to bolster their stretched budget. Feeling a little disappointed that you had completely missed Dave, you decide that you will take lunch to him at his office to make up for it and surprise him.

Dave is surprised when his secretary pages in to tell him that you are here. He tells her to send you in and stands up, his jacket already removed and tie loosened. “Hey sweetheart. What are you doing here?” He asks, kissing your cheek. He thought he wouldn’t see you today, knowing that it’s going to be a long day.

You hold up the large bag you had packed from the kitchen with a sweet smile. “Since I didn’t make it back in time to see you before you left, I decided to do the wifely thing and bring you lunch.” You bite your lip and look at him playfully. “Is that okay? Or do you have a lunch routine I shouldn’t interrupt?”

Dave thinks about his schedule and remembers he has a phone call with a CEO of some new tech company who wants his investment. Dave picks up his phone to dial his secretary. “Hey Sally, can you reschedule that tech kid for another time. I am going to have lunch with my wife instead of speaking with that little Zuckerberg wannabe.” He orders and when she says “no problem sir,” he hangs up and turns back to you. “What has my beautiful wife brought me for lunch? Herself?” He teases, wanting to be a little less formal around you now.

That thought had crossed your mind, so you send him a smirk. “That’s for dessert.” You tease, happy that he hasn’t sent you away. “I packed up some sandwiches and some soup that I had made last night between baking batches.” You know it’s not the most formal lunch, he probably at five star restaurants for lunch, but there had been something very sweetly domestic about fixing the lunch yourself. “A fruit salad, some tea. Just something to power you through the day.”

Dave is taken back. He doesn’t remember the last time someone cooked for him that he hasn’t paid as a cook or a restaurant. “I- Wow. You made all of this?” He asks when you start to unpack it. You nod, biting your lip and he is in awe of you. “Thank you.” He kisses your cheek and guides you over to the table in his office so you can eat together.

You set out all the food, happy that he is impressed with the simple fare. You had made the sandwiches thick, fresh vegetables and avocado on them along with meat and cheese. “So this morning, I dropped off the treats to the orphanage that is close to our house.” You tell him after taking a sip of your tea. “Dave, their budget is so stretched that can barely make the necessities.” You tut. “The kids thought it was Christmas morning to have the muffins and be told that there would be cookies for dessert tonight.” You look over at him. “I was thinking about either setting up a charity event to raise extra funds or seeing if you would make a donation.”

He can’t help the impressed noise that escapes his mouth. Your charity is unusual. Sure, he donates to charities but that’s mostly for tax credits and for political gains, not for actually caring about the cause. He decides then and there you can give to whatever charity you want. “Whatever you prefer. If you wish to throw an event and plan it, the money is yours. If you want to just donate, the money is yours.” He promises, sitting down and admiring the sandwich you made. He groans and picks it up, taking a bite and moaning at the simple but delicious food.

“Why not both?” You ask with an excited smile. “Set a budget for me to use or donate and whatever doesn’t go into the event, will be the first donation check for them.” You immediately start thinking of ideas that would both draw in some of the wealthy politicians and perhaps allow the kids at the orphanage to come and enjoy themselves. “Would that be okay? And would you allow me to open up our house? I am thinking of a fair, or carnival type of atmosphere? Family friendly and good PR for a lot of politicians.”

Dave ponders it. He’s always been a private man and doesn’t like strangers in his home, especially considering it’s not common knowledge about his less than legal dealings. He considers it and the hope in your eyes has him saying yes. “You can do whatever you want sweetheart. You can have whatever you want.”

You can’t help it, jumping up out of your seat, you press a kiss to his cheek. “I will make sure the event stays to the grounds. The house will be off limits.” You promise, understanding he might be wary for strangers to be milling around his house. “We just have a lot of green space that would be perfect.”

Dave pulls you into his lap, cupping your cheek so he can press his lips to yours. “I will hire an event coordinator to help you. I don’t want you to stress about it.” He murmurs against your lips. It’s far too easy to be intimate with you, you seem to bring it out in him.

You smile and kiss him again, pecking his lips happily. You are the wife of a wealthy and influential man, you want to make changes where you can and his approval means at lot more to you that you had first anticipated. “Thank you.” You whisper softly. “Eat your lunch so you can either go back to work or have dessert.” You tease.

Dave keeps you on his lap, not wanting you to move as you eat your sandwiches and he kisses your neck after you’ve finished eating. “I do believe I was promised dessert.” He coos, sliding his hand along your thigh.

“You want a quickie in your office?” You ask as you twist around in your seat and press your lips to his. “A nooner before you have to go back to boring business? Or do you…” you bite your lip and grin at him. “Do you want to take a call while I’m sitting on your cock?”

Dave groans, "shit. I want both. Next time...next time you can sit on my cock." He reaches for your dress - thank fuck you're wearing a dress. "Want you to ride my cock here."

You are thrilled that he’s already talking about a next time, meaning he enjoyed you coming to bring him lunch. You moan softly when he hooks his fingers under your panties and starts pushing them down. You’re already wet, having anticipated this happening, your slick is already coating your lips and his fingers slide through your folds easily.

He groans at how slick you already are, quickly finding your clit to rub the bundle of nerves while he fumbles with his belt, wanting you to cum on his cock. He is so happy you want him, are eager for him. He manages to unzip his pants, "take my cock out." He orders with a pant, his fingers pushing into you.

Moaning quietly, you reach into his pants, and pull his thick cock out. “Fuck, someone is eager to get inside me.” You tease, rolling your hips on his fingers while you spit in your hand and reach down to start stroking his cock. “You want me to ride this cock?” You purr softly in his ear before you nip his lobe.

Dave hisses when you bite his ear and he groans when you twist your wrist. "Please baby. Need - need you to fuck me. Please ride my cock." He doesn't beg but right now, he feels like he's gonna die if he doesn't get inside of you.

The begging catches you off guard and there is nothing you wouldn’t do for him when he use that tone with you. It’s sexier than his demanding tone and you’ve come to find that you enjoy it. Batting his fingers away from your cunt, you scramble to get into position and you don’t even wait, sinking down on him quickly with a moan loud enough that his secretary hears you.

“Oh fuck.” Dave groans, his head going back as he closes his eyes. Your pussy is so wet and tight around him. He doesn’t know if anyone else would compare. He grabs your hands, securing them behind your back to arch your figure so he can bury his face in your tits, kissing along the flesh. “Want you to ride my cock.” He orders. “Please.” He begs a little more.

Planting your feet on the floor, you push up off his cock almost completely before you sink back down. Moaning and leaning back to give him more access to your breasts while you start to ride him. It makes your thighs burn, but you love the sounds that he makes, that your cunt makes as you take him again and again. Starting to become addicted to the way that Dave feels inside you. You know that you will want to do this again and again.

Dave watches you, enraptured by your very being, and he grabs your dress, shoving it up so he can watch his cock disappear inside of you over and over again. Fuck you look gorgeous. "That's it baby. Shit, look at you riding my cock. My sweet little wife is actually a dirty little whore." He teases, looking into your beautiful eyes.

“Your dirty little w-whore.” You pant out breathlessly, trying to keep the pace steady. You know he will like that. “O-only yours.” It’s true, and you know it makes his cock even harder to know that he’s the only one that has seen you this way. “Oh fuck, Dave.”

"Jesus." Dave lets go of your dress, reaching to grab your ass and he spreads your cheeks, pressing his finger to your puckered hole, loving how it flutters under his touch. "So good. All mine." He groans, cock twitching inside of you and he kisses along your neck.

“Only- only cock to be inside me.” You moan when his cock twitches. “When- when I’m pregnant,” you pant. “I - I want you to fuck my ass.” You admit, cheeks burning with excitement and embarrassment. He wanted to know what you want, so you don’t feel bad about telling him that.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck.” The very thought sends Dave over the edge and his cock throbs while he paints your walls with his hot seed. He buries his face in your chest as he slowly thrusts up into you until he relaxes beneath you. You are a little disappointed, realizing that it’s gonna be a repeat of your wedding night. That is until Dave shifts his hand to rub your clit. “Want you to cum on my cock.” He orders, kissing along your chest.

“Dave.” You whimper and your walls clench around his spent cock, making him hiss. You had expected him to be done and this has you eagerly rolling your hips, careful to keep him inside you, “fuck, I’m gonna cum all over you.” You pant, leaning in push his face into your breasts harder. “Fuck baby, rub it faster.”

He bites down on your nipple through the thin material of your dress and your lace bra. He groans when your walls squeeze him and he rubs your clit a little harder. “Cum for me.” He pleads, wanting to hear and feel it.

You throw your head back, following his order and soaking his softening cock with your juices as you cry out his name. Gasping and trembling in his arms as he’s the only thing keeping you upright.

He loves it. Wrapping his arms around you after working you through your orgasm to pull you close. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, it’s too dangerous, but you seem to make him want it all with you. It’s both scary and exhilarating. “So good.” He murmurs, kissing you softly.

You hum against his lips, smiling in pleasure and kissing him back multiple times before you pull away. “We should clean up, and then I need to let you get back to work.” You murmur softly, aware that he would want space after this. Cupping his cheeks, you kiss him one last time before you start to stand, groaning softly as he falls out of you.

He grabs the napkins you’d brought with you to clean himself up, tucking himself away and he reaches for you, gently wiping you clean. “I hope you’re pregnant. I can’t wait to see it. See you full of my baby.” He caresses your stomach after pulling your dress down and replacing your panties.

You smile again and lean in to kiss him. “We’ll keep trying until I am.” You promise, knowing that is his greatest wish. Quickly packing up the remnants of lunch, you shoulder the bag. “I’ll see you when you get home, honey.” You tell him. “Have a good afternoon, okay?”

Dave nods, kissing your cheek, and thanks you for lunch. It’s weirdly domestic but he doesn’t hate it. In fact, he can’t wait to get home and see you. Shit, what is happening to him? He wants to be inside of you again, and he realizes it’s not just to get you pregnant.

****

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, reminding yourself that the timer hasn’t gone off yet. You need to wait until the full three minutes is up and not get your hopes up too much. Only a day late for your period, you are already freaking out about the possibility of being pregnant. Not that it would be a bad thing. You’ve been trying. The once a day edict that Dave had set down after your last period had quickly turned into several times a day. You going to his office for lunch more often than not, sex when he gets home and sometimes, even before he goes into the office. The timer scares you, making you jump and you brace yourself, turning the test over and gasping when you see the word ‘pregnant’ clearly on the digital readout. Laughing happily, you race out of your private bathroom to get ready to tell Dave when he gets home.

Dave walks into the house, setting his briefcase down and he shrugs off his jacket, placing it over the chair in the hallway. “Honey, I’m home.” He calls out. It had originally been to annoy you but now he loves saying it and you love hearing it. The marriage he had forced for an heir is slowly becoming real and it terrifies him but he can’t seem to stop. He walks into the kitchen to find you icing a cake. “Baking again?” He teases, loving how you love to cook.

“Your home!” Your smile is brilliant and you rush over to hug him, piping bag still in your hand. Your lips easily land on his happily, loving how he immediately wraps his arms around you and kisses you back. “I sent everyone home tonight.”

He smirks, his hands sliding down to squeeze your ass. “Why? You want me to eat you out on the kitchen counter again?” He coos, kissing your neck. You fluster, unable to believe that the poor housekeeper walked in on you both before she was due to clean up the kitchen.

“No.” You huff, burying your face against his neck and inhaling the muted scent of his cologne. He always smells good and you wish that at least one night you could sleep in his arms, but that isn’t the deal. “I- I have a surprise for you.” You admit softly, pulling away and walking over to a beautifully wrapped gift. “I was going to wait for dessert tonight, but I can’t.”

Dave frowns, “you didn’t have to get me anything sweetheart. I don’t - have I missed a half anniversary or something?” He tries to figure out what he has missed. When you hand him the gift without an explanation, he frowns even more. He carefully opens it, eyes on you until he looks down.

You had gone out and bought a cute little onesie, proudly proclaiming ‘Daddy’s My Favorite’. You had placed the positive pregnancy test on top of the onesie right below the words. Your grin is wide as his brow furrows for a second, obviously not understanding right away.

“You- you’re - you’re pregnant?” He chokes out and you nod, still grinning. Dave stares at the test again, caressing it and there’s a lump in his throat which he chokes on. For the first time since his parents died, Dave cries. He sets the gift down and reaches for you, pulling you into his arms as he cries with joy because you’re pregnant with his child. It’s his dream come true.

Surprised that your husband is crying, you wrap your arms around him and stroke his back and neck. You don’t doubt that he is happy, you know they are tears of joy but it still takes you off guard. Your own tears spill over and you cling to him. “I’m pregnant. It’s happening. We’re having a baby.”

Dave pulls back, grinning at you and he cups your cheeks, leaning in to kiss you. “You’re incredible. I- I am so happy.” He murmurs, looking at you in awe. His lips pressing against yours again.

You lean into the kiss, happy that you can give him what he wanted. He’s wanted this from the beginning, it’s why he married you. “I made a doctor’s appointment for tomorrow. Just to get the ball rolling.” You tell him after you pull back. “I know you can’t take off to come, but I will let you know what they say.”

“You can FaceTime me so I can be there even if I can’t physically be there. You’re going to relax. I don’t want you stressing or doing too much. Feet up all day. You’re gonna be a queen during this pregnancy.” He orders, wanting you to be looked after and cared for beyond anything else. “God.” He reaches for the test again, tears stinging his eyes again. “I can’t believe it.”

You want to roll your eyes at how bossy he’s already being, but you understand him enough that you know it out of concern for the pregnancy. “You can’t believe it?” You ask playfully. “So you weren’t trying to knock me up multiple times a day?”

Dave chuckles, kissing your forehead. "Thought we were just having fun." He teases, stepping back to place his hand on your lower stomach. "I want you to have everything you want." He tells you and your eyes meet his, showing him what you truly want, and he doesn't want to ruin the moment. "Almost everything." He murmurs, avoiding your eyes, no doubt full of pain. "What have you been baking?" He asks, changing the subject.

You sigh and move back over to the cake. “I was making a double white chocolate cream cake.” You explain. You had noticed that he did love your chocolate cakes and you wanted it to be good. “One layer is pink, one layer blue since we don’t know the sex.”

"I don't care if it's a boy or a girl. As long as it's healthy." He promises, watching you continue working on the cake. "What do you want?" He asks you, knowing you must think he wants a boy. He honestly doesn't mind.

“A healthy baby.” You don’t care if you have a boy or girl either. You are sure that you will be having another, Dave won’t want there to be just one child and you want your child to have playmates and siblings.

The words would be too easy to say, they'd slip off of the tongue like honey, and it would be right for the moment, but Dave cant' say them. Love is...it's not what he's feeling. Or is it? He doesn't really know how love feels. He's never been in love before. He can't love you though. Love destroys, love causes mistakes. He can't handle mistakes. Therefore, he clears his throat and steps away from you. "I'll, uh, leave you to your baking. I gotta - I have work to do. Let me know when dinner is ready." He rushes out, making his way to his office.

Your heart drops, although you know it’s Dave pulling back. He had promised you that he wouldn’t love you. He was intent on keeping that promise, for whatever reasons were his own. Instead of crying and feeling heartbroken, you go back to decorating your cake. You figured out that you would have to love enough for both of you, because you had fallen in love with your husband over the past month.

****

Dave holds your hand, watching the doctor move the wand around your stomach, and he’s nervous. You’re finding out the gender today and he is anxious. He isn’t one for reveal parties and he wanted to find out with just you, looking at the screen. “Congratulations. It’s a boy.” The doctor announces and Dave swears his entire life has been leading up to this moment.

“Oh my god.” Your eyes water instantly and you can’t wait for the doctor to clean the jelly off your stomach to be able to caress it again. Looking over at Dave, you love the look of awe on his face as he watches the monitor. Squeezing his hand gently, your heart swells - falling deeper in love with Dave. “We’re having a boy.” You whisper, smiling at him when he looks at you.

Dave leans down to kiss you softly.“Thank you. Thank you.” He murmurs, wanting to tell you what he can’t say but how can he? He promised himself he wouldn’t. “You’re incredible.” He whispers, kissing your lips again. “A boy. Our baby.”

“Our baby.” No matter what, you had created a life with Dave. Your child would be a new life in the world. To love unconditionally. The doctor cleans up the gel and prints off picture while you look down at your belly. “I love you baby boy.” You murmur softly. “Your daddy and I love you so much.”

Dave swallows the lump in his throat, his eyes stinging with unshed tears and he covers your belly with his free hand. He kisses your forehead, wanting to silently tell you how he feels without actually saying anything. Dave won’t even admit it to himself, he can’t. He won’t.

****

You can do this. You take a deep breath and push the door open to his office, knowing that he might tell you no. Dave looks up and gives you a smile, his eyes immediately drifting down to your swollen belly with pride. “I - I was wondering if I could ask you something. I request of sorts?”

Dave tilts his head and sets his pen down. “What do you want sweetheart? You want that ice cream again? I can send out for it.” He says and frowns when you shake your head, moving closer to his desk.

“I want…I want you to sleep in the bed with me. At night…I get cold and I want - I want you to hold me.” You bite your lip and Dave sighs, standing up.

“Sweetheart. I can’t do that. I’m sorry. I’ll get you some blankets but - but I can’t do it.” He wishes you could understand.

You shake your head, tears filling your eyes, once again wishing that you didn’t have these feelings for Dave. “I’m just asking you to sleep with me.” You protest. “You- you told me I could have anything I wanted when I was pregnant and you- you barely touch me now.”

“You can have anything. I can buy you an entire fucking McDonalds if you want a burger and fries. I can buy you a spa if you want a massage. You can have anything you want.” He counters, annoyed that you’re upset with him when you know the deal. It’s true he hasn’t touched you since you got pregnant but honestly, it’s because he is terrified of hurting you. He doesn’t want to harm the baby and he definitely doesn’t want to delve into ‘making love.’

“I don’t want a fucking burger.” You growl, tears streaming down your face. “I want my husband! I want you to touch me, to make me believe that you didn’t lie to me.” You choke back a sob. “You- you’re going to the hotel aren’t you? You decided that I’m not what you want and you’ve started sleeping with those women again.”

Dave shakes his head, placing his hands on his desk. “Goddamnit woman. What I do, who I do, is none of your fucking concern. You don’t own me. I own you. You’re mine. I don’t belong to you so if I decide to go fuck some whore in a hotel room, that’s my choice. You need to calm down for the baby.” He reminds you with a hiss. Hating himself for what he said but he can’t tell you what he really feels, how he wants to grab you and worship you, make you feel every fucking emotion he feels for you.

Your heart shatters, making your shoulders drop and your sob springs from your throat. “I- I was wrong.” You choke out. “I- I thought me loving you was enough. That- that- that I could love you enough for both of us.” You shake your head. “I was wrong.” You turn and rush out of the room as fast as you can manage with your pregnant waddle. The confirmation of him sleeping with other women has crushed you and you need to get away from him.

Dave slumps down into his plush chair, his heart aching for you. All he wants to do is run after you, pull you into his arms and tell you how he feels. He knows that most people would think he's being crazy but it's better this way. If something happens, he can protect you. You hating him is better than you loving him, it will protect you both. His mind runs over the words "I thought me loving you was enough." You love him. His heart aches even more he's certain it's shattering to pieces in his chest.

Rushing out of the house with your purse, you brush off the driver’s offer to take you somewhere. You can drive yourself and you need to get away, clear your mind. Driving through the streets of D.C., you find yourself in front of the orphanage. The charity event had been a great success and you were proud of the improvements that had been made. Making your way to the door after making sure you don’t look too upset, you knock, knowing that you can check up on some of your favorite children to take your mind off the fact your husband doesn’t love you.

“Mrs. York. What a pleasure to see you. Please, come in.” The orphanage manager greets you, ushering you inside. “Gosh, look at you. When are you due?” She asks, a soft smile on her face as she guides you towards the staff room so you can sit down for a moment.

“It seems like any day, but I have another month.” You tell her with a small laugh. You already feel better, the atmosphere had become very homey with the upgrades. The sounds of feet pounding upstairs makes you smile and you look around. “Things seem to be going well. How is everyone?”

“Oh wonderful, Mrs. York. We- we cannot thank you and Mr. York for your generous donations. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your kindness. Would you like a cup of tea? We have pastries too. Strawberry danish.” The older woman offers, grabbing the teapot she was drinking from and a new cup to pour you some then she gets the tray of baked goods. “Please, help yourself. I’m sure you’re starving.”

You give a small laugh, selecting a delicious looking danish and setting it on a napkin. The tea is a very welcome thing, taking a sip of it before you speak again. “It’s fate that this all started with me bringing you baked goods.” You offer, smiling as you reach for the danish and take a bite.

“Yes. You are an excellent baker. Our pastries simply don’t compare.” She replies with a soft smile, watching you chew on the danish until you choke. “Mrs. York? Is everything okay?” She asks and your eyes widen, dropping the danish onto the table. “Mrs. York?”

The tingle in the back of your throat had instantly turned into your throat starting to close. Gasping for air, you manage to croak out, “all-er-gic. Rasp-ber-ies.” Your reaction is terrifying you, not sure what would happen with the baby. Your purse is in the car and you feel like your drowning, unable to pull in a breath. “D-D-Daaave.”

“Oh my God. Do you- do you have any epipen? I think - I think we do. Oh God. I’m so sorry. I thought- I need to call an ambulance.” She fusses, unsure of what to do first so she calls out, telling another woman who immediately rushes to get the epipen and demands the manager calls an ambulance. She pushes the epipen into your thigh, “it’s okay dear. We are gonna get you help.”

You feel the roaring in your ears getting louder, your vision starting to narrow and get fuzzy around the edges. A clear indicator you’re going to loose consciousness. You grip the table and feel your body become even heavier, praying that no matter what happens, the baby will be okay. Dave can lose you, but he wants his son. Maybe it will be better if it works out that way. That is your last thought before your eyes roll back and you slump back in the chair, unconscious.

****

Dave is typing an email when his cell rings. It’s an unknown number which usually he ignores but something tells him to answer it. “Mr. York?” The voice says. “Yes.” Dave answers hesitantly. “This is Sibley Memorial. I’m calling because your wife was brought in with an allergic reaction-” Dave doesn’t even listen to the rest of what she says. He hangs up and sprints to his car, speeding out of his estate like a madman and not giving a fuck about any speed limits as he drives to the hospital. He leaves his car outside and rushes in, slamming his hands on the desk and demanding to know where you are.

You can’t open your eyes. They’re too heavy, but you feel people moving around you. The wild beeps on a monitor makes your lashes flutter. Your chest feels heavy, aching even, but you still can’t seem to force yourself to respond to anything.

Dave listens to the doctor, wondering what the hell happened, and when the doctor says "emergency c section due to lack of oxygen" and he chokes on his own breath when the doctor says "I need you to give me permission and...decide which one to save if the situation calls for it." Dave frowns, not quite understanding since his heart is hammering a mile a minute. "Do you want us to save the child or the mother?" The doctor asks, "if needed."

Dave feels sick. He knows that if he was asked this before you got married, he would've picked the baby without question. Now, he can't imagine his life without you. "Both. I want you to save both." He demands, starting to panic.

"Mr. York...if we can't save both..." The doctor trails off and Dave pinches his nose, trying to stop himself from crying.

"My wife. I want you to save my wife." He whispers, knowing that he couldn't live without you, he wants you more than he wants a baby. Something he never imagined he'd say. The doctor nods and calls for a nurse to prep for the emergency c-section, telling Dave to wait in the family room until they come to get him.

Your lashes flutter, hearing doctors and nurses moving around you. Talking and yet not able to make out what they are saying. You try to reach out, lift a hand but all you can do is move a finger. Your head lulls and you feel a mask come down over your mouth. More time, more mumbled talking until suddenly you hear a loud voice.

You hear Dave’s voice, making your brow furrow. What is he doing here? Where are you? Your blood pressure spikes, panicked and upset. You don’t know what is going on and all you can do is try to move but you can't. Breathing fast and your heart rate climbs.

"Sir. We need you to wait outside." The nurse pushes on Dave's chest. "Code blue! Code blue!" The doctor shouts and everyone starts to rush around you.

"What is going on? What the fuck is going on?" Dave shouts, trying to remain in the room but he is pushed by a few nurses outside of the room. "What's going on? What the fuck is happening with my wife?" He shouts, slumping when the doors shut behind the nurses as they go back into the room. He tries to get back in until he finds the door is secure and he chokes, tears in his eyes and he is scared. Terrified for the first time in his life. He's going to lose you. He's going to lose you before he ever truly had you.

Alarms beep, loud and intrusive. You hear shouted orders before the black consumes you again. The last thing that you manage to think of before you slip under is that Dave won’t have to worry about you. Your needing him to love you will be over and he can keep himself closed off.

Dave paces, his heart pounding in his ears, and he wants to demand the very best doctors for you, demand that they do something. Anything. When the nurse comes to find Dave, she says that you are stable but they are monitoring you and he can't see you yet. Dave wants to stomp but he doesn't. The nurse asks if he wants to see the baby and he nods, nearly crying. He follows her to the nursery and the nurse shows him how to hold the newborn baby that is placed in his arms. "He's healthy?" He asks and the nurse nods.

"Perfect. He's absolutely fine."

Dave chokes, tears streaming down his cheeks as he looks down at his child. The very thing he has wanted for so long but it's not enough. He wants this moment with you. "Hey buddy. I'm your daddy. Mama is - Mama will be here soon to see you. She is gonna be such a good mom. You're gonna be so spoiled and loved. I already love you so much." He murmurs, kissing the baby's forehead.

It’s hours later that Dave is allowed in your room. You’ve been cleaned up and moved to a private room, wires and IVs running all around you. The nurse brings the baby down from the nursery to stay in the room, telling him that the baby being here will be good for you. Perhaps wake you up sooner when you hear him cry. Your breathing is steady and the beep of your heart monitor is the only sound in the room when she closes the door behind her.

Dave just watches your chest rise and fall. He can't believe he nearly lost you. You're here and he grips your hand while his eyes flick over to the baby who is asleep. He wishes you were awake to hold the baby, he wants to see it. "Sweetheart." His voice is raspy from his tears. "I need you to wake up. Please. Our son needs you to wake up. You are- I love you. I love you so much." He finally admits, resting his head on your joined hands. "Please wake up."

You’re dreaming. You have to be. You are in a place where Dave is murmuring for you to wake up, that he loves you. Wrapped around you in bed, his hands caressing your swollen stomach and promising that he loves you. Tears leak out of your eyes because you know that it’s not true, he won’t love you. Not because he’s not capable, you know he is. He won’t just because he doesn’t want to.

Dave squeezes your hand, looking up and gasping when he sees tears rolling down your cheeks. "Hey hey sweetheart. It's okay. It' s okay. Please, open those beautiful eyes. Show me those pretty eyes and wake up." He pleads, kissing your forehead and cheeks, tasting the salt of your tears.

It takes you a long time to open your eyes, fighting not to leave the dream where Dave loves you and wants you like you want him. You groan quietly, your entire body sore and blink against the light that overwhelms your eyes before your vision starts to clear. “D-Dave.” You whimper, wishing that he was with you.

“I’m here baby. I’m here.” Dave cups your cheeks as your eyelashes flutter until he can see your beautiful eyes. “Oh thank God.” He exhales deeply, kissing your forehead. He knows he should call for the nurse but he can’t believe you’re awake. “I’m here.” He repeats, his thumbs caressing your cheekbones.

“Wh-what happened?” Your groggy and unable to remember much. “I- I had a- it was raspberry.” You remember the danish and the worry on the director’s face when she injected you with the epi pen. Looking over, you see Dave, relief and worry mixed on his face and it confuses you. “I- the baby?” Your eyes widen and you look down, your stomach flatter than it had been.

"He's fine. You - they had to do an emergency c-section and - and he is healthy but they asked - they asked me who to save." He chokes, unable to imagine a world without you or his son. Especially you. "He's healthy. You - fuck - you were into code blue and they - just - you're okay." He chokes, kissing your forehead again, just breathing you in.

Your heart aches, hating that you didn’t know that you had given birth. That you didn’t get to hold your son the moment he came into the world. “It’s okay.” You assure him, knowing that he would choose his son. You were replaceable. “You don’t have to explain. I know how you feel. Of course you would choose him.”

Dave frowns, looking at you with pain in his eyes. He could’ve lost you and it would’ve killed him. “I didn’t choose him. I chose you. I wanted them to save you. I’m - he’s here and he’s healthy thank God but losing you? I wouldn’t have survived it because - because I love you.” He admits, knowing that he can’t stop it anymore. Love is weakness, love destroys, but love also makes him stronger and he has created a son with you so how can he possibly believe it’s wrong? “I love you.” He declares, looking at you, begging you to believe him.

You shake your head, frowning at him because you don’t want to get your hopes up. “Don’t- don’t say that because I had an allergic reaction.” You beg him, “I can’t - it would kill me if you changed your mind.” You rasp out. “I love you, and I just- please don’t say it unless you mean it.”

Dave shakes his head, "no. No. It's because I love you. I'm sorry I didn't say it - I was terrified because you are - I love you so much it's scary. I have never felt like this before and our son...he's so beautiful and you gave him to me and I nearly lost you." Dave chokes on a sob, tears spilling down his cheeks. "I love you. Please, you gotta believe me. I love you."

You are so very tired and your body aches, but you pull your hand out of his and reach up, cupping Dave’s cheek. Trying to wipe away his tears. “I believe you.” You whisper, crying yourself because you never thought you would hear those words. “I love you so much.”

Dave grins, turning his head to kiss your palm. “Do you want to meet our son?” He asks, lowering his hand from yours. You nod and he walks over to carefully pick the baby up. He places him on your chest, wanting you to be as close as possible.

“Oh my god.” You gasp out, cradling hun close and running your hands over his little body. Checking fingers and toes and stroking his cheek. His eyes are closed, and you look up at Dave in complete wonder. “He’s okay?” You ask, needing to make sure. “My - it didn’t hurt him?”

Dave shakes his head, tears in his eyes as he thinks about how you didn’t get to see your son be born. “He’s absolutely fine. He’s early but healthy. No issues. It didn’t hurt him.” Dave confirms, leaning down to kiss your forehead before kissing the baby. “Thank you. I love him so much. I love you so much.” Dave murmurs in awe.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, both to Dave and to your son. Leaning down, you press a kiss to your son’s forehead. “I- She thought they were strawberry danish and I was upset. I just wanted to feel okay for a few minutes.” You look back over at Dave guiltily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put him in jeopardy.” You had been so cautious about dealing with your allergy so you didn’t accidentally hurt the baby. And now this happens.

“Don’t. It’s not your fault. How were you to know? You’re both okay. That’s all that matters. I - I nearly lost you.” He chokes again, resting his forehead against yours and looking down at the baby. “I was so scared.” He admits in a quiet voice.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” You close your eyes and stroke his hair as you hold the baby close. “I’m not going to leave you. Not when I know you want me here.” You promise softly. “Besides, we have to give our son a sibling.”

Dave smiles, knowing that you need to discuss you having another child after such a traumatic experience. He isn’t fussed about another one if it means keeping you healthy and safe. “I don’t want to just be married in name anymore. I want to be your husband. I want to sleep in bed beside you and kiss you properly and tell you I love you.” He reveals, leaning in to kiss your forehead again.

****

"I want to drag you off and take advantage of you." Dave growls as he presses a kiss to your jaw, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“You always say that.” Leaning into his embrace, you sigh happily as he scatters kisses down your skin. Despite the years, and five kids changing your body, Dave still found you irresistible. The kids are growing up with their parents constantly flirting, kissing and sneaking off for some alone time when you can manage it. “What has captured your attention this time?” You ask playfully, swaying with him as he continues to grope you.

“This dress. I want to just duck under it and suck on your clit.” He slides his hand down to your stomach, “and then I want to put our sixth baby inside of you.” He kisses your bare shoulder. “Kids are busy and there’s enough adults here including their nanny. Let’s sneak into the house so I can touch you sweetheart.” He pleads, pushing his hardening cock against you.

“Dave York.” You sound scandalized as you turn around in his arms and wrap your own around his neck. “Are you proposing we sneak away from your eldest’s birthday party so we can have a quickie?” His grin is unrepentant and even after seven years and five kids, your cunt clenches. Leaning in, you kiss his lips. “Meet me inside in two minutes.” You order him breathlessly. “I’ll go first.”

His grin is wicked and he playfully smacks your ass as you walk off. He searches for the kids and finds their nanny racing after them along with the housekeeper and he is reassured they will be safe. He practically counts the seconds and rushes into the house, finding you in the guest bathroom downstairs. “Fuck, you look so sexy today. Must be some kind of glow from the kids.” He groans, immediately pulling you into his arms so he can slide his tongue into your mouth.

You giggle into the kiss, your own hand sliding down and cupping his already hard cock. “Someone is excited about the quickie.” You tease, already tugging at his belt so you can touch him. “I fucking love you.”

His hands side under your dress, groaning at your lack of panties since it’s a maxi dress, and his fingers immediately find your clit, rubbing soft circles while he kisses you. “I fucking love you too.” He declares against your lips.

After DJ’s birth, the two of you had learned that sex could be even better when your true feelings were involved. The sex before had been great, but now it is amazing. “Dave.” You moan quietly, even though the house is empty except for the two of you. Your hips push forward to his hand and you hold onto his shoulders as your knees start to tremble.

“Good girl. My beautiful girl.” He murmurs, kissing your jaw and he slides his hand back to push two fingers inside of you, his thumb pressed against your clit. “So goddamn tight even after five kids.” He whispers in awe.

You chuckle and squeeze your muscles around him. “All those Kegel’s I do.” You tease. “I have to have a strong pelvic floor for all the kids we have.” You don’t regret a single one of them and love teasing about how many more you would give him. “Ready to give me number six?”

“You ready?” Dave asks, knowing you have talked about it and you had the IUD removed last week. You’ve both been so busy you haven’t had a chance to touch each other. “You want me to fill you up with another child? Want me to get you knocked up again so I can worship you?” He asks, pumping his fingers a little faster.

“Fuck.” You and Dave had discovered that once he allowed himself, he had a very large breeding kink. And that transitioned to a pregnancy kink. “Yes baby.” You pant, body racing towards your first orgasm. “I want you to put another baby in me.” Your eyes slip closer and you let out a soft cry when you cum around his fingers when he presses them against that spongy spot.

Hearing you consent to putting another baby in you has Dave ready to fuck you and when you soak his fingers, he fucking loves it. “Jesus.” He growls, working you through it until he removes his fingers, rapidly working to pull his hard cock out of his pants. “Pull your dress up and bend over the bathroom counter. Want to look at you in the mirror while I fuck you.” He orders, pumping his cock a few times.

Whirling around, you stick your ass out enticingly and shake it at Dave. Giggling when he slaps your ass and then grabs your hip with one hand as he shuffles closer. Your eyes meet in the mirror and your mouth opens when he starts to push into you. Moaning loudly. “Daaaaave.”

He loves your face when he pushes inside of you. The way your brow furrows and the little pout you have when you moan his name. It’s gorgeous. He pushes deep, already on the edge at the thought of getting you pregnant, and he loves how you clench around him. “So fucking perfect. Mine. My beautiful wife. All mine.” He declares, kissing your neck as he leans over you. “Watch me fuck you.” He orders, gripping your chin to make you look in the mirror and he starts to move inside of you.

You watch, loving the way that his jaw sets, his eyes darken every time he pushes deep inside you. He still loves that he is the only one that has ever gotten to touch you. That everything you have done has been with him. “Fuck.” You lean back against him and watch your body bounce forward as he thrusts into you.

Your whimpers spur him on and he keeps his eyes on you. “I love you sweetheart.” He pants while his other hand squeezes your hips, sliding up to cup your breast. “Want to see these full of milk again.”

You chuckle, considering you had just weaned your youngest off your breast less than eight months ago. “You just want fresh milk again.” You tease.

Dave grins against your skin, “maybe I do. Love fucking you and tasting it.” He admits like you didn’t already know. “Want to see you round with my baby again. Let everyone know you’re mine.” His hand caresses your stomach and he slides it lower so he can rub your clit.

“Ev- oh shit - everyone knows I’m yours.” You pant, walls clenching around him as he pushes you towards the edge. You feel it building and it’s going to be a rush of pleasure. A few more thrusts of his cock and swipes of his fingers and stars burst behind your eyes. “L-love you!” You cry out, soaking his cock with your juices.

When you cry out, squeezing him tight, he knows he won’t last long. Never does when he’s trying to knock you up. With a groan, he thrusts a half dozen more times until he is burying his cock deep inside of you. “Fucking love you too sweetheart.” He chokes out, biting down on the back of your neck to smother his loud growl.

You whine in pleasure at the feeling of him filling you up, shuddering because you know that it’s possible that he just got you pregnant again. You love the thought of it. When he stops biting your neck, you turn your head and kiss along his jaw while he shallowly thrusts into you. “God, I love when you do that.” You giggle against his skin. “It’s so sexy how much you love getting me pregnant.”

“Love seeing you round with my child. Love seeing you be a mother.” He admits, pulling into of you after softly kissing you. “I thank God every day that I picked you to be my wife. You’re my greatest blessing sweetheart.” He declares, kissing you once more before he reaches for a hand towel to clean you up. “Now we gotta slip in these quickies while the kids are distracted until you’re knocked up.” He grins and you giggle, “you’re insatiable.” He pulls you into his arms after tucking himself away. “For you. My beautiful wife. I love you Mrs. York.” He declares.

“I love you.” You whisper, kissing him softly, unable to believe you adore this man when you hated him so much to begin with. After checking your appearances, Dave smacks your ass and takes you hand to guide you back out to the party. Dave York finally has the family he has always longed for.

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