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#how couldn’t she? like have you seen this woman
ellatoone7 · 2 days
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❄︎ Pretty lights ❄︎
(Alexia’s favourite girls series)
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You and Alexia go to see the lights
Christmas time was always your favourite time of year. The pretty lights and decorations and just the wholesome feeling you would get during the holidays always made you feel at peace.
You honestly didn’t think you could love it more but the universe always has ways of surprising people. The warm hand that was placed gently on your thigh was proof of that.
Michael Buble was playing quietly on the radio as you sat in the most comfortable silence, throwing your favourite person and adoring glance every now and then. The gentle hum of her low voice buzzed in your ear as she sang along with the radio.
Taken by the absolute warmth of this scene, your hand grazed tenderly over her tanned arm, slowly making its ways down to where her hand was resting. Your fingers danced with hers for a minute before she opened her palm invitingly, welcoming your hand eagerly.
Alexia lifted your joined hands up to her lips, where she placed a delicate kiss to the back of your hand. You couldn’t help but let the red flush taint your cheeks as you stare at your conjoined hands resting on the console.
It still baffles you after all these years dating that she can still make you flustered. Alexia knows it too as she sends you a cheeky, not-so-discreet smirk. You let the peaceful silence consume you as you occupy yourself by looking out the window.
Barcelona was quite the city to see any day of the year, but something about the city at christmas time had captured your heart. (Or maybe it was the woman sitting beside you.)
Snow had fallen last night leaving the beautiful city covered in a dazzling white. A few snowflakes had started to fall since you had left your home but that didn’t bother you, in fact you encouraged it having not been used to snow from where you grew up.
The heating in the car did remind you that it was below minus degrees outside and you were almost there. You searched for your gloves and hat, preparing yourself for the first bitter shock when you got out of the car.
“Did we bring hats?” Alexia turned down the radio a tad so she could focus on your question. “Sí, I put them in the back seat.” You smiled softly at her memory because you would have completely forgotten them.
The closer you got the more excited you began to get. You and Alexia have had this long lasting tradition (more like competition) to go see which neighbourhood had the best christmas lights.
Alexia was one hundred percent positive that she had found the best lights ever, bragging all day about how she was going to win. You had complained that it was an unfair advantage as she had lived here her whole life and you hadn’t.
It was currently 11 o’clock, the digital lights in Alexia’s cupra wouldn’t let you forget as she drove you further into the heart of barcelona. Alexia pulled into this cute little car park, you bit your lip at the vein protruding from her massive hand that was on the wheel as she reversed into a spot.
You threw her a confused glance as she unbuckled her seatbelt and hopped out of her beloved car. You knew better than to open the door instead letting her do it to prevent the pout that would inevitably invade her face.
Sure enough she appeared at your door with an adorable grin, obviously happy at the thought of doing anything helpful for you. Ever the gentlewoman, Alexia offered her hand which you gladly accepted as she gracefully helped you out of the car.
“Gracias.” You thanked in her mother tongue before planting a kiss to her awaiting lips. The midfielder locked her car as she led you to this cute looking cafe that you had never seen before.
“Is this new?” You asked her as she fixed the hat on her head. “Opened two months ago. Mapi found it and told me it had the ‘greatest hot chocolate she has ever had.”
You laughed contagiously at your wife’s impression of her best friend. “Ahhh, so we are going here just so you can prove Maria wrong.” You teased bumping your shoulder to hers. “You get me.” Alexia sighed wistfully as she wrapped a strong arm around your shoulder, effectively bringing you into her warmth as she kissed the crown of your head.
The cafe wasn’t overly busy but it did have a nice buzz which Alexia had obviously noticed by the way her eyebrows raised in surprise that her best friend might have given her a decent recommendation. She was still scarred from the time Mapi gave her food poisoning after reassuring her that it would be the best thing she would ever taste.
Alexia pushed the door open and it held it for you with her usual charming smirk that always made your knees go weak. “After you hermosa.” Her accent purred as she beckoned you through. Alexia held the door for a few other people with a polite smile before resting her arm back around your shoulder.
You cupped her flushed cheek, pressing a quick kiss to her nose as you lined up for your order. Since Alexia was on her holidays, she could finally treat herself which is why her eyes immediately zoned in on the selection of cookies.
You followed her longing gaze, giggling sweetly at how excited she looked at the thought of finally having some sugar. “Do we want sugar cookies or chocolate chip?” She mumbled as she tried to make up her mind, leg tapping impatiently while she waited for the guy in front of you to finish ordering.
“Bebita which one?” She inquired, eyes not leaving the array of sweets for too long. “We can get both. One of each.” Alexia’s hazel orbs lit up at the genius suggestion and she licked her lips unknowingly, yet another gesture that pulled a giggle from you.
After what felt like years for Alexia, the man in front finished up and it was her turn to order. You let Alecia order, although you were fluent in Spanish you adored hearing how she spoke it, often encouraging her to stop speaking english which she refused, how else was she meant to converse with your dad about his terrible choice in teams.
The barista sent Alexia a shy smile but Alexia’s focus was solely on the cookies that were sitting on the counter. Although she must not have missed it as she placed her left hand right in the poor girl's eyeline. You couldn’t help but smile in amusement as her wedding ring glistened under the bright lights.
Alexia would do just about anything to show you off claiming that she felt selfish keeping you all to herself. The barista's smile dropped a fraction when she caught sight of the piece of jewellery but she managed to throw you a tight smile anyway.
After Alexia had shoved your hand with your card in it away and tapped her card, she took your hand and led you to where the other people were waiting. Alexia pulled one of the stools out from a table and offered it to you. After you politely declined she hopped up instead, needy hands immediately finding your waist.
You now stood in between her long legs, hands coming up to fiddle with the collar of her Barcelona jacket. Her ring clad thumb tapped against your hips as she skated for your order. You didn’t fail to notice how she didn’t once take her caramel eyes off of you, orbs flitting over every feature of your face that she had already memorised more than a million times.
“Pretty.” Your wife whispered, “So pretty.” Her cheeky grin was back as she watched the blush rise on your cheeks. You shook your head in amusement before bringing your hands to interlock behind her neck. You rewarded her with a feathery kiss, twirling her baby hairs in between your fingers as she sighed happily against your lips.
A large hand slid into the back pocket of your jeans as Alexia pulled you closer. Her other hand squeezed your waist encouragingly as she nipped at your bottom lip hoping to be let in.
You pulled back a fraction just to catch your breath but your wife didn’t like that as her hand slid up to cup your jaw, tenderly angling it back towards her awaiting mouth.
“Alexia!”
It was as if you weren’t even there. The minute the barista called her name your wife had nearly thrown you off of her as she raced up to her order. You grumbled as you followed her, annoyed at the interruption.
With a soft ‘gracias’ and nothing else, she was out the door, unwrapping her cookie and scoffing it. You decided to see if she would notice that you weren’t even with her by staying inside the cafe. It took Alexia an embarrassing amount of time to realise that you were in fact not attached to her.
You had to suppress your giggle as your wife frantically began to look around for you, mouth still full. Alexia, much to her relief, finally spotted you, shoulders sagging as she made her way back to you. You met her half way, feeling slightly guilty but much too amused to not laugh.
“Where did you go?” Alexia asked around her mouthful as her hand rested on your lower back. “You left me there.” You pouted playfully. Alexias eyes widened at your pout, quickly kissing it in hopes that it would disappear, “Lo siento cariño. I was just excited to eat my cookie.” You couldn’t hold back your laugh as you thumbed a few crumbs off of her chin, “I’m playing with you baby.”
Alexia huffed amusedly, “That’s your cookie gone.” You slapped her shoulder softly before leaning in to place a languid kiss to her lips. A soft smile dances across her face as she pecks your cheek a few times.
Without a word Alexia handed you your hot drink along with a piece of the half gone chocolate chip cookie. “Come on bebita, we have lights to see.” Your wife checked your hip before racing off towards her car.
You chuckled as she ushered you into her cupra, still holding the door. As she drove you closer to your destination, you took it as your duty to break off a piece of cookie and feed it to your wife.
Alexia laughed loudly as you waved it in front of her face. She took the piece gratefully and playfully bit at your hand which made you giggle. “Mi amor stop eating it all.”
You scoffed loudly before eating even more, “I’ve had one piece Alé.” Alexia whined as you put another piece of ‘her’ cookie. “You are buying a new jar of nutella when we get home.” Alexia grumbled as you licked at your thumb. “I already have two more jars at home babe.” You break the news to her knowing that if she knew that she would have eaten both.
“We agreed! We agreed that you wouldn’t have it in the house during the season.” Alexia argued, absolutely gobsmacked at the thought of you eating nutella in her house without her.
“Just because you have to suffer doesn’t mean I have to.” You sing out as you finish your hot chocolate with an appreciative hum. “I see how it is.” You knew your wife wasn’t mad with how her eyes sparkled when she looked over at you.
Once the car was safely stopped at a red light, Alexia couldn’t stop herself but to lean over and cup you face, pulling you into a searing kiss. “Te amo mucho mi amor.”
You smiled, softly stroking her strong jaw, forehead to forehead. “Even when I eat your cookie.” Alexia hummed affectionalty, placing another tender kiss to your soft lips, “Sí, even when you eat my cookie.”
The rest of the drive was filled with laughter as Alexia told you about her catching Jana and her girlfriend making out in the storage closet just after a tough training session.
“Okay, you ready?” Alexia asked as she slowed down, nearing the neighbourhood. You nodded, giving her a soft smile when she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
You gasped when you first saw the lights. Alexia knew she won, you knew she won, but god was it deserved. The whole neighbourhood was lit up in an array of colourful lights, basking you and Alexia in the prettiest glow.
“Alé, this is so beautiful.” You exhaled as your eyes were glued to a particularly pretty set of lights. “Not as beautiful as you bebita.” You hadn’t even realised Alexia had stopped the car until soft kisses were being pressed against your neck.
Your hand reached back slightly to cup the back of her neck as she left a teasing bite, soothing it with a lick. Her kisses trailed up to your cheek causing you to turn your head but instead of letting her kiss you, you pinched her chin between your fingers.
“I love you more than anything in this world Alexia Putellas.” Alexia’s breath was knocked from her lungs at the sincerity of your voice, “Por favor, let me kiss you.”
And you did.
Over and over again.
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bau-muffin · 2 days
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“Pure Intentions”
Ship: Aaron Hotchner/Reader
Rating: E
Category: Fluff
Word Count: 1,162 Words
Summary: You are an agent who is also spiritual and loves crystals. So, you decide to give your favorite boss man, SSA Aaron Hotchner, black tourmaline.
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Hotch really didn’t know why insomnia had chosen to haunt him on a Sunday night, but he felt the full extent of it when he stepped into the bullpen the next morning. He wasn’t really given to vanity, but he felt like his eyebags were eye-totes now, and even though he had downed a cup of coffee before leaving the house, he felt like if he was still for even a second, he’d fall asleep.
Of course the weekend he had off was when his mind barred him from a good night’s rest- the night before work, no less.
He had not been at his desk for more than ten minutes when you bustled into his office, your smile wide as usual despite being almost eight in the morning.
“Good morning! I was going to wait closer to lunch, but then Penelope told me a case came in, so I decided to give this-“ you stopped to actually look at him, and even though an amused smile was pulling at his lips, he looked so exhausted. “I’m so sorry, I should have asked how you were doing first.”
“I’m not sick, just tired,” Hotch said kindly, “what do you have?”
“Black tourmaline! I know you’re not much of a spiritualist, but the low down on it is that it sponges up negative energy! And I mean… I know you don’t exactly have a choice, you know, to be or not to be around negative energy but…” you shrugged before admitting, “It also reminded me of you too. Also, again I know you don’t put huge stock into it, but I also charged it for you.”
You put the shiny black chunk on his desk, almost shyly. He picked it up, studying it and turning it over in his hands. You half expected him to pull his reading glasses out to look at it, and if he had- well, you couldn’t rightly be held responsible for the noise you might have made.
“This reminds you of me?” Hotch asked skeptically, his brows knitted slightly.
“Mhm! It’s a bodyguard type crystal. And… I guess you have that sort of… vibe? To me anyways,” you added on a little less than tactfully as you were visibly becoming fidgety, your hands smoothing down your skirt.
“You see me as the bodyguard type.”
You put your hands on your hips, an eyebrow raising. “Did you or did you not become overprotective when I said that my car alarm was going off in the parking lot and you insisted on stealthily going towards the car first with your pistol? Or did I hallucinate that?”
“I’ve seen some things in my time, and I know malevolent people would target a woman who’s alone when she’s leaving her workplace,” Hotch said defensively. You only smiled.
“Whatever you say. Regardless, that’s for you. Maybe, one day, I’ll get a keychain for you.”
“Thank you, that was… actually thoughtful and sweet of you. You’re right that I don’t put a whole lot of stock into this… sort of thing,” he admitted as he turned the crystal over in his palm again, “but I think… I think the weight of intentions are real.”
“Maybe those intentions will carry you home safe from this case, then. Judging from the groaning sounds coming from Garcia’s cave, I’m thinking it’s a doozy. By the way…”
“Mm?”
“Do you want me to make you a cup of coffee before you go in to briefing?”
“That would be wonderful of you, thank you. One sugar-“
“-and no cream. I know how you make your coffee, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner,” you teased.
Hotch shook his head. “The full government name.”
You turned to walk out when he called your name, and you turned back to him.
“Can you come to my desk for a second?”
You complied, going to his desk with a nervous giggle. You thought he was going to speak, but instead he simply rose from his seat and kissed your cheek.
You touched your flushing cheek with a slightly shaky hand. “What was that for?”
He shrugged. “Just a thank you for being as thoughtful as you are. Truly… you make working here a bit easier.”
“Aw, you’re going to make me cry, so I’ll laugh instead.” You were going to turn to flee, but boldness filled you and you leaned up to kiss his cheek, except he moved, and you kissed the corner of his stern lip.
“Uh-” you backed away from him.
“Don’t panic,” Hotch ordered calmly- almost too calmly- “it’s not your fault, it was mine for reacting too quickly.”
Your cheeks flushed hot red and despite his command to not panic, you immediately fled the scene, leaving behind a confused but slightly amused Aaron.
A few minutes later, JJ entered his office with his cup of coffee in one hand and sat it on his desk, the other arm full of file folders. She gestured with her head towards the bullpen, “Hey, um, Agent-“
“I know,” Hotch said with a minuscule smirk, sipping the coffee, and almost immediately moaned aloud. True to your word, you knew exactly how he takes his coffee. He kept glancing towards the crystal sitting on his desk, and when Garcia called for him to come to the briefing room, he carefully slid it in his pocket.
On the jet, after all the details of the case had been discussed, Hotch leaned back in the chair, his fourth cup of coffee of the day in his hand. Even though he made his coffee exactly the same as always, it didn’t taste nearly as good as the one you made for him. He took the black tourmaline out of his pocket and held it in his hand. It works on a jet, right? It’s closer to the sun, it has to be like the best charging method.
“What do you have there?” Rossi asked from across him, looking up from a book- a compilation of Garfield comic strips over the years.
“A crystal. I think it’s… black tourmaline?”
Reid, of course, overheard this and had to jump in with, “you know, within pagan and spiritual circles, black tourmaline has protective properties, banishing negative vibrations, and it’s also supposed to be grounding.” He looked at the crystal in Hotch’s hand. “Oh yeah, I’ve seen this crystal on that agent’s desk. She and Anderson talk about them all the time, and apparently she keeps some of them in her desk, as does Anderson.”
“She and Anderson are good friends,” Hotch volunteered. “She’s the one who gave this to me.”
“She’s a sweet girl,” Rossi commented, sounding too innocent for Hotch’s liking.
“She is,” Hotch agreed simply, not taking the bait.
He and “that agent” were going to have to have a conversation when he got back home- he was entirely too intrigued by you. Perhaps he could ask you what crystal was the best for asking someone on a date.
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sansaorgana · 2 days
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👀 Gale showing his wife just how much he missed her overseas?
hello, love! 😌 I've already written a smutty fic like that here so this time I went with a scenario of Buck coming back home and the emotional aspect of this situation since they haven't seen each other in almost two years 😳😭🥺
my inbox is open for blurb/short fic requests for major cleven 🤗
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When Buck was leaving his wife to go to Europe, he was planning to come back to her quickly after finishing his twenty five missions as fast as possible. Or he would die, which was also a possibility. But he certainly wasn’t planning to get shot down and end up in a German camp for the rest of the war.
Every day, week, month he spent there was filled with one thought only – lost time. All the time he was losing on surviving at all costs instead of living his life at home with his wife who was bravely and patiently waiting.
“Do you think they're still waiting for us? Our girls?” DeMarco asked one evening when they were playing cards and killing time.
“You’re asking as if you were so faithful yourself,” Bucky teased him. “Plenty of men back home hunting for the military wives.”
Buck shot him an angry glance for a second. He had been faithful to his wife. And he was sure she had been faithful to him, too. He wanted to be.
“Don’t look at me like that, Buck,” his friend pushed him playfully. “You guys have seen his wife?” He asked the others and they nodded in response. They all had seen a picture of Mrs. Cleven because Buck always kept it with him and occasionally stared at it with soppy puppy eyes. “What I’m saying is that I’m sure there are lots of men ‘round town who chase her,” Bucky explained.
“Thank you for clarifying,” Gale gritted his teeth.
“And she’s only a woman after all, we’re all humans with needs,” DeMarco joined the teasing. 
Buck stood up as the men looked up at him, confused.
“Come on, we are teasing,” Bucky grinned at him.
“I will not participate in this,” his friend sat on his bed instead and opened a book to read.
It was none of his business how his friends treated their wives and relationships but he was serious about his and he respected his wife more than anything. However, their jokes and teasing had planted a seed of insecurity in his mind. 
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When she held him for the first time after his return, it felt surreal. Her hands were so soft when they cupped his face, yet they squeezed him so tight that he felt like she would crush his organs. Gale couldn’t stop looking at her face, her sparkling eyes, her smile, every tiny wrinkle on her face, every little detail that he had forgotten already; that the black-and-white picture failed to capture.
He was back home but he felt like he was put in a glass jar. People’s voices sounded as if they were coming from another room. His wife’s hand squeezed his and it was the only thing grounding him. Even his own house felt odd and strange – he had remembered it differently. Now it was decorated with Welcome Home signs and filled with the neighbours patting his back and asking him millions of questions per minute.
So when they all left and he closed the door behind the last couple living down the street, Buck sighed with relief and turned around to face reality. The house was dark at this hour but there were dim lights turned on in every room on the ground floor. His wife was taking care of the dishes in the kitchen and he looked at his face in the mirror by the front door.
There were scars scattered all over his cheeks and he looked exhausted. But other than that, he was a lucky bastard who had gotten home safe and sound. Even if it had taken him much longer than expected.
Gale fixed his hair in the mirror and entered the kitchen, awkwardly leaning on the doorframe. It was his home but it didn’t feel like his space anymore. It was hers now – his wife’s. She was humming a song and washing the plates and cups with an apron put loosely over her cocktail dress.
“Where did you get a dress like that?” He asked softly and she turned around with a smile.
“Oh! You startled me for a second,” she gasped. “I’m not used to having someone creeping up on me like that,” she admitted and Buck approached her to start drying the freshly washed dishes with a cloth. He wanted to help in any way. “I bought it last week. Been saving money for something special for your return and since it took you so long to come back to me…” she chuckled nervously, “I saved quite a lot.”
“I’m sorry,” Buck blushed at her joke.
“No, baby, don’t be sorry. It was them Krauts who didn’t want to let you go, am I right?” She pushed his shoulder with hers and went back to washing the remaining cups. “If I was them, I wouldn’t want to let you go either,” she added.
She always tried to joke about almost anything, to turn everything into a situation worth laughing or at least smiling about. It was one of the things Buck adored her for.
They finished washing and drying the dishes and she took her apron off with a sigh.
“I’ll finish cleaning tomorrow,” she told him.
“I will do it. Tomorrow,” Buck told her and she smiled faintly at him.
“Come, sit on the porch with me,” she held his hand as if he was made of glass and led him outside. There was a wooden bench on the porch and a small light turned on, flowers in the pots and an ashtray.
“You smoke now?” Buck raised an eyebrow at his wife as he sat down.
“No, only sometimes. You see, I had women coming here in the evenings,” she explained and sat down next to him, “and we would sit here for hours just like that. And talk,” she added and laid her head on his shoulder.
He nearly flinched at that gesture. It was such a long time that he wasn’t used to affection anymore. Yet he craved more of it.
“I’m glad you weren’t lonely,” he whispered and put his arm around her.
“Oh, but I was… So awfully lonely,” she looked up at him and he looked down to meet her gaze. Her eyes filled with tears.
“My friends were teasing me that…” Buck swallowed thickly, “...that a woman like you… Well, that she’d be chased ‘round town by all the men here.”
He felt stupid admitting that and he knew that this sort of accusation would hurt her. But she didn’t look angry nor sad. She only chuckled.
“No men left, no,” she shook her head. “All the best ones were away or dead,” she hugged his chest and he sighed with relief. “And what about you, Major Cleven? Am I supposed to believe you’ve been faithful?”
“Not many women in a camp for the captive pilots, you know?” Buck rubbed her back.
“But I mean before that,” her finger played with one of the buttons of his shirt.
“You can ask Bucky if you don’t believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you,” she laughed. “You know, my friends teased me, too. They were saying there ain’t no way my man’s no cheater. But I knew you would never do that. I said, my Buck would rather die than look at another woman. And they all thought I was crazy,” she told him.
“You aren’t crazy,” Buck shook his head and leaned in to kiss the top of her head. “And you smell so nice. Is that a new perfume?”
“I didn’t use perfume,” she answered.
“Then it’s just you. You smell so nice,” he hummed to himself and buried his face in her hair.
She curled herself up in his arms and bit on her lip before asking in a shaky voice:
“Do you still love me?”
Gale’s heart skipped a beat as he looked down and raised her chin to make her look up.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you still love me?” She repeated the question and he took a deep breath in but she didn’t let him answer. “I know you think you do. And you had my picture but I am not that picture, Buck. I know you loved the picture and your little scenarios you were creating inside your head to keep yourself alive and I am not angry at you, not at all. But now when you’re back and when you see me, do you still love me or are you disappointed? Perhaps some part of you wishes I was that picture instead?” Her lower lip trembled as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I don’t know what to say, darling,” he admitted and wiped her cheeks with his thumbs. “But I can show you. Come,” he stood up gently and raised her up with him to lead her back inside and pick her up bridal style to carry her upstairs to their bedroom. Her bedroom. He hadn’t slept there for almost two years.
Buck switched the light on and laid his wife on the bed gently as she kicked her shoes off of her feet. He hovered over her on bed and joined their lips together in a sweet and gentle kiss as his fingertips caressed her jaw and neck.
“I missed you,” he whispered after breaking the kiss and looking deep into her eyes. “I missed the real you. That picture was never enough,” he assured her and she smiled at him before throwing her hands around his neck to pull him down for another kiss. Hers was more eager, though; it was hungry and sloppy and it encouraged him to roam his hands more freely all around her body.
“I’m scared,” she breathed out. “I’m scared that I’ve grown too used to being alone.”
“You’ll grow used to having me around again the same way. I’m not letting you go, sweetheart,” he bopped on her nose and she rolled her eyes with a chuckle.
“Buck Cleven, my hero,” her delicate hands cupped his cheeks and caressed the scars with her fingertips.
“I’m no hero,” he protested.
“To me you are,” she insisted and furrowed her brows. “You had to be in so much pain and I wish I could take at least some of it.”
“I would never want you to,” Buck kissed her wrist softly. “It would spoil all your sweetness.”
“Oh, it’s already spoiled. You haven’t seen me at my worst,” she confessed and he looked at her face, worryingly. “When I was going crazy without you here all alone. You’d send me to asylum if you saw.”
“I would not,” he assured her, seriously. “You haven’t seen me at my worst either. I don’t think you would like me like that,” he swallowed thickly as the horrific memories flashed in front of his eyes. “The things I did to come back to you…”
“Shh, I don’t have to know,” she pulled his face down and placed soft kisses upon his cheeks, nose and chin. “Unless you want to share it with me one day. But you don’t have to tell me anything, Buck.”
“I’m just so happy to be home,” he whispered almost inaudibly, their faces so close that their lips were touching.
“And I’m happy to have you back, baby,” she smiled and fixed his hair.
“Every breath was for you, every step, every bomb I dropped, every bullet I avoided, every day and every night. Just to come back to you,” he kept looking deep into her eyes. “I’m sorry it took so long.”
“Major Cleven,” she shook her head and rubbed her nose with his, “your wife would wait a million years for you, don’t you know…?”
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newtonsheffield · 2 days
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while I know all the Bridgersibs are ultimately happy for Anthony (esp now that he’s less of a hardass because he’s distracted by his beautiful wife LOL) I can’t wait to see the look of exasperation on their faces the 1000th time they’ve seen Kanthony giggle and kiss like lovesick teens on a random Tuesday afternoon. I know Eloise is the snarkiest about it at least 😆
Oh they’re super happy for Anthony. There’s such a difference in him after he tried to burn down the entire ton to be with Kate. He’s calmer, he’s more relaxed and they all love Kate. They loved her before it was certain that they’d be married. They love how she rolls her eyes and ignores Anthony. They love how she has no shame in taking a sly little dig at someone who expresses their concern and delight to find her still in England.
“Well, Lord Bridgerton and I have decided that our marriage might work best if I were to stay in England. A distant marriage isn’t suited for us I fear.”
Eloise and Francesca found themselves hiding their laughter behind their hands very poorly as the other woman gaped at Kate who seemed entirely unbothered as she sighed.
“Girls, your mother is expecting us for tea, we’d better be getting along.”
“I think you’re who I’d like to be when I grow up.” Eloise said still laughing as they made their way down the street. “You always seem to be able to get things exactly the way you want them. Anthony told me many times I couldn’t have a dog as he wouldn’t allow one in the house. I found Newton on the sofa the other day.”
Kate scoffed. “I find the trick to dealing with your brother is ignoring him and doing exactly as you mean to any way.”
They love Kate. They love that she gets so involved in their family games, they love her.
But the thing about Kate and Anthony is… they’re also Kate and Anthony.
They’re always tossing one another smiles and looks across the room and they sit after dinner with their heads bowed together giggling at something or other. Some private joke between the two of them.
It gets to be a bit much some time.
“Oh please!” Benedict groaned one night at the dinner table as Anthony grinned at his wife beside him. “No more I beg of you!”
“Yes!” Eloise hissed, “Some of us, are eating.”
“Some of us,” Anthony said easing his eyebrows, “Should be thankful that their brother hasn’t mentioned the articles I found tucked into a book calling for revolution.”
Eloise fell silent but Benedict only tutted, appealing to Kate. “Kate, I love you. You know I do. I would… fight a duel over you with Anthony if I thought you’d have me.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “I doubt that.”
Anthony looked affronted, “Don��t tempt me.”
“If you’ve ever cared for me,” Benedict carried on, “Please, please go and sit at the opposite end of the table.”
Anthony scoffed, “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Who are you?!” Benedict hissed, “You used to care about propriety!”
Kate gave Benedict a slow smile, winking at Anthony. “No, darling. Benedict’s right, this isn’t proper.” She turned down the table still smirking. “Violet would you swap with me?”
Violet looked a little wary but stood and took Kate’s seat so Kate was sat at the opposite end of the table from her husband, the entire family between them. She cleared her throat, talking loudly enough that they all had to hear.
“As I was saying, Darling: You look very handsome tonight.”
Anthony grinned as his siblings groaned, “You’re right Benedict. I do prefer this.”
“Yes!” Kate called out, “This is much more proper!”
“Thank you, Benedict.” Eloise sighed, “Thank you for this.”
“This isn’t exactly what I meant, obviously.”
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daydreaming-nerd · 2 days
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Young Love and Old Money (Cassian x Female! Reader) Part 5
Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4
AN: This definitely should've been two parts...
Summary: She was the most beautiful woman in Prythian, sister to the High Lord of Night, and now she is the soon-to-be wife of Eris Vanserra. Despite her many titles and her aura of unattainability, Cassian can't help but fall deeply in love with the princess of the Night Court. But will it be enough to stop her impending wedding to a man who is sure to destroy her from the inside out?
Warnings: Sexisim, trauma from under the mountain, alcohol, SA, blood, Rhys is sweet but oblivious, autumn court men are pigs, SMUT (mwhahaha),
Word Count: 9,218 (I don't wanna talk about it)
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For about the hundredth time that evening I had given myself the once over. The afternoon had been spent with handmaidens all over me, styling my hair, lining my eyes in kohl, polishing my nails in Autumn Court red, shining the diamond necklace given to me by Eris, and making sure I lived up to my name. 
I was surprised by how simple the dress was that was chosen for me. The handmaidens said they wanted to let my natural beauty show, as well as my new collar, I mean necklace. I ran my hands over the large, freshly polished gems. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get used to the weight of it. 
I made my way to the foyer where I knew my brother and his Inner Circle would be waiting. Anxiety filled my chest. Tonight I would be dancing and mingling with hundreds of people, but I only cared about one. The man Azriel was currently nudging with his elbow to get him to turn around. 
Cassian was lethal in fighting leathers and he was deadly in his most casual clothes, but the jacket and pants he wore tonight? It was a miracle I was still standing upright. 
His eyes shot to me and his mouth parted slightly, sucking in a breath. Those eyes, those hazel eyes, how they burned a hole right through my soul. Right through the gown and the jewels and straight into the heart of me. Cassian looked at me the way every female dreamed of being looked at. 
“You look amazing sister,” Rhysand said, pulling my attention from Cassian. 
I turned to where my brother stood with Mor, who was clad in her usual jaw dropping red. I hadn’t seen my brother in so long. With the war getting closer and things with Eris getting more intense I hadn’t seen him since that initial day at the Autumn Court four weeks ago. While I missed his face, it reminded me of the sacrifices he made for me, and reminded me why marrying Eris was so important. 
“You clean up pretty good too, Rhys,” I smiled, pulling him into a tight hug. 
“I have something for you,” Rhys grinned, waving a hand in the air to pull a dazzling tiara seemingly from mid air. “I went into the vaults and grabbed this. It was mother’s, and I thought you might like to wear it.” 
The tiara was beautiful and the moment it appeared in his hand I recognized it. It was one of our mothers favorites, made to look like a crown of shooting stars flying across her head like a halo. I had forgotten how magnificently she used to dress everyday. 
“Oh Rhys,”  I cried, throwing my arms around him while tears welled up in my eyes. 
“I know, I miss her too,” he murmured into my shoulder. 
“Help me put it on?” I ask him, pulling away and wiping my tears. 
“Of course,” he smiled with his own eyes glassed over. He bent down slightly to place the tiara on my head before standing back to admire it. “She would’ve been so proud of you.” 
“I think she would’ve been proud of both of us,” I beam at him, rubbing circles over the tops of his hands. “Now enough with the nostalgia, I’m going to cry off all my makeup. Let’s go party.” I laugh off my tears. 
“Yeah c’mon Rhys you’re going to make us all sad drunks,” Mor said, clasping her hand in Cassian’s and winnowing them out. 
Rhys held my fingers tight as he winnowed us along with her and Azriel was moments behind us. The second that the smell of damp leaves and woodsmoke filled my senses I felt a shudder run down my spine. I told myself that tonight with Eris would be different, but if the last time he had too much wine was any indication of how this evening would go…
The ballroom was filled with members of every court as my brother led me into the large space,  Cassian’s looming presence flanking my right side. It was impressive to see all the different types, colors and textures of clothing. It would make a lovely and chaotic painting if anyone ever had the will to commission it. Of course, Night Court black stood out like a sore thumb, but I certainly didn’t mind. It’s not like my brother and I weren’t the center of attention everywhere we went anyways. I looked to Rhys to find his eyes rapidly scanning the sea of people and I couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle.   
“She isn’t here brother,” I said quietly into his ear. 
“Who isn’t here?” he asked, trying to play the fool. 
“The cursebreaker you’ve been searching the crowd for,” I laugh. “I asked Eris if she would be in attendance and he said that Tamlin and her had not replied to his invitation.” 
“You asked Eris for me?” Rhys said, finally turning his head to me in surprise. 
“Well I didn’t tell him why I wanted to know whether or not they were attending. I just asked casually. I secretly hoped you’d get to see her,” I smiled. 
“You’re a wonderful little sister, you know that?” Rhys smiled, pressing a kiss to my cheek. 
“Yeah yeah you big softie,” I laughed, nudging his shoulder. From the corner of my eye I could see Eris making his way through the crowd with two glasses of wine in hand. 
“Rhysand, princess, we’re overjoyed that you could make it.” Eris smiled that conniving smile. “For you my little flame,” he said, handing me a goblet of wine and pressing a quick kiss to my lips.  
“We’re happy to have been invited,” Rhysand smiles and I swear I hear two females faint somewhere in the room. 
“Walk with me darling?” Eris says, extending an arm to me. I take it but not before glancing to my right once to see the worry in Cassian’s eyes.
As we pace around the border of the room I see why Eris chose to promenade first and dance later. It felt like every single eye in the room followed the same pattern. First they widened at the sight of me, then they flicked over to Eris, down to our linked arms and finally back to me once again. Their stares were stifling, I hadn’t been around this many people since under the mountain. 
Eris didn’t want to promenade first to finish our drinks, oh no. He wanted everyone in this godsforsaken room to see that the Jewel belonged to him. The smirk on his face was a dead give away. 
“You look ravishing tonight little flame,” Eris whispered into my ear, his breath hot in my neck. “That's why they’re all staring.”
“Don’t worry I’m used to the staring,” I replied truthfully trying to avoid all the eyes on me. 
“I’m sure you are,” he chuckled. “Stay used to it pet, I have every intention of parading you around all night. Let them stare all they want. It’s only a problem if they touch.” 
His words sent ice through my veins. It didn’t matter how many cruel or shocking things Eris said to me. Each and every time they cut like knives, taking a little piece of me with them that I would never get back. 
“Is that the Jewel?” crooned a too familiar voice. I turned my head to find Helion standing in all his glory, a friendly smile plastered on his face. 
“Helion!” I smiled, embracing him warmly. It had been too long since I felt the warmth of my friend's gaze. 
“My dear you look exquisite as always,” he smiled, twirling me around so he could see all of me. “Your brother keeps you on too short a leash, I haven’t seen you since, well, since we were under the mountain.” 
Eris’ body tightened next to me as he slid a hand possessively around the small of my waist, pulling me into his side, “Indeed, Helion, but rest assured, she's in good hands now. And her leash is exactly where it needs to be.” His words carried a veiled threat. 
“That’s right,” Helion smiled, ever the charmer.  “I heard that Rhysand had finally given her away. Congratulations to the both of you.” 
“Oh we aren’t engaged yet, just courting.” I smile nervously, placing my hand on Eris' chest in an attempt to keep him from blowing his top off. 
“Yes just courting, for now,” he smirked, nuzzling my neck. 
My body might’ve been wrapped around Eris like a lovesick fool, but I let my eyes convey the truth to my friend. Helion looked at me with a sad remorse and I knew then and there that he had put the pieces together. 
“I’ll leave you two love birds be,” he said trying to hide his disdain. “I think I hear Thessan calling me.”
We bid our goodbyes and I slammed what was left of my wine and placed it on the side table of the chaise next to us. 
“I didn’t think I’d have to share tonight,” Eris rolled his eyes, continuing our walk around the perimeter. 
“You can’t court the Jewel and get upset that everyone else wants to as well,” I scoff at his insolence. 
“I am going to be High Lord, I can do whatever I want,” Eris seethes, stopping our stride and pulling my arm towards him so that I slam into his chest. 
“Eris stop you’re making a scene,” I say tightly trying to pull my wrist from his grasp. 
“Good, that's exactly what I want – to cause a scene. Let them look,” he growls, hurling his lips towards mine. His kiss is anything but polite and High Lord-ly and from the strong taste of wine and whiskey on his lips I underestimated how drunk he already was. Behind me I could faintly hear gasps of the people around us, no doubt bearing witness to the very public display of power he was putting on.  
He pulls his lips from mine and stares at me with a predatory gaze and as both our chests heave, “Now that’s better,” he smirks. 
I resist the urge to wipe my mouth off as I pluck another glass of wine from a silver tray and down it. Gods this night was just getting started and it already couldn’t get any worse. 
“I want to dance,” I say abruptly to Eris. If we dance there’s a chance that someone might cut in and save me for at least a minute or two. 
“Fine, let’s go.” Eris grumbles downing his wine as well. 
He leads me out onto the dance floor and the crowd of dancers parts for us.  For what specific reason? I can’t name why. Maybe it’s to get a good look at me, or maybe it’s because Eris is truly that terrifying. Either way I can’t help but feel like I’ve been placed in a glass box and suspended where the crystal chandelier is in the middle of the room. 
Eris leads me into a dance and I don’t miss how tight his grip is on my waist, practically warning off anyone who might try and whisk me away from him. There goes that wonderful plan. 
“You’re a wonderful dancer,” Eris complimented me and I noticed him trying to seem more sober. 
“Thank you, my father taught me when I was a little girl,” I replied looking around the room. 
From the second I had stepped onto the floor I could feel that searing gaze that took me apart bit by bit following me throughout my waltz. Finally I saw Cassian at the edge of the room with Azriel. Both of them leaning against the edge of the wall, wings tight on their bodies to keep people from brushing into them. Azriel whispered something into Cassian’s ear that had him downing his drink. 
“I wish you could see the looks of envy around the room,” Eris said low into my ear, his voice carrying an undertone of possessiveness. “Envy of what I have. Envy of what they'll never possess. You've been this mythical thing for so long, and now you're utterly tangible, and more importantly, you're mine.”
“I’m not yours yet, Eris. You would do well to remember that.” I utter to him trying my best to keep my voice even. 
Before he can even have a chance to lash out at me, a throat clears next to us halting our movements. I turn my gaze from Eris' fiery gaze and find Cassian standing before us and I curse my heart from nearly leaping out of my chest at the way he’s staring Eris down, like he heard every word he said. 
“Princess, would you honor me with a dance?” Cassian said, his usual tone of confidence laced with uncertainty. 
“I would love to Cassian,” I smile, feeling my cheeks blush.
“Over my dead body would she dance with the likes of you,” Eris simmers, pulling me closer to him. His grip on my arm was like a brand. 
“No, you don’t get to speak for her,” Cassian growls, grasping the hand Eris has on me.
“Eris this isn’t very High Lord-ish behavior,” I grumbled under my breath feeling even more eyes find our little disagreement. 
“He’s a bastard pet, he would soil you.” Eris replies, trying his best to show his restraint as he and Cassian engage in the biggest staredown this court has ever seen. 
“Yes, a bastard with nothing to lose and a dance with the Jewel to gain. Remember what I said about that arm Prince Eris? It would be a pity if you couldn’t hunt next season,” Cassain said back, his words a not so veiled threat. 
“One dance,” Eris chides. “Then I want her returned to me.” He dips a hand under my chin to place a kiss on  my lips, no doubt trying to antagonize Cassian further. 
If Cassian is provoked by the gesture he doesn’t show it. He simply sweeps me up into a dance the second the next song starts. His arms around me contrast the feeling of Eris so well. They’re warm and strong compared to Eris, who has a touch so cold it could freeze over hell. I take a deep breath to ground myself, Cassian’s scent of cedar and leather fills my senses and puts me at ease. 
“I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble,” he said and I could tell he meant it. He probably assumed that Eris would behave more accordingly in such a public setting. 
“No you actually saved me,” I laughed, falling easily into step with him. 
“You look beautiful tonight, I don’t think I got a chance to tell you that earlier,” Cassian said tightly, like the words might hurt him. The tension in the air following what happened with Eris still thick.  
“No I don’t think you did,” I replied and mentally cursed myself at how dumb it sounded. I get compliments all the time, and I always respond with grace and poise like I was taught. But something about Cassian takes away every piece of training away from me, for a moment I’m just a regular person. 
“Then I’m a fool and I should’ve said it sooner,” he replied, spinning me out and pulling me back in. I was surprised by how well he moved on the dance floor. 
“I didn’t know you could dance,” I smile and his eyes that were previously on his feet now meet mine. 
“I can’t. I had Mor teach me this one so I could dance with you at least once tonight. That’s why I’ve been so short with you, I’m counting my steps,” Cassian laughs, blush tinting his cheeks. “Once this song is over Az is going to cut in so I don’t have to face the embarrassment of trying to dance to whatever they play next.”
It takes me a minute to process all that he’s said, and as I’m trying to read his face to see if he’s telling the truth or not I can see his lips twitching as he counts his steps in his head. A smile breaks across my lips and I can’t help but laugh. 
“Oh Cassian,” I giggle, pressing my forehead into his shoulder. His arms immediately pull me close and I relish the feeling. “No one’s ever done anything like that for me before. Thank you.” 
“Of course, anything for you princess,” he smiles and for a moment I’m transported back into that dark hallway. I suddenly become all too aware of our joined hands, his hand on my waist flexing like he’s scared to have it there. 
“You’re actually a really wonderful dancer,” I laugh trying to keep myself from throwing myself at him. 
Cassian’s mouth turns up to the side as his eyes burn into mine, “one, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.” he counts. I let out another laugh as we continue to spin around the room, he even throws in a lift every now and then when he forgets the steps. 
The song is over all too soon and within seconds of the last note being played Azriel steps in with a gracious bow. 
“Princess,” the shadowsinger greets me.
“Azriel,” I curtsey. 
“Thanks brother,” Cassian smiles, clapping Azriel on the back before heading out.
“Don’t mention it,” Az nods, taking me in his arms and beginning to waltz me around. “Did he tell you?” 
“Yes he did,” I laugh remembering the blush that covered his cheeks when he did. Never in my life did I think I would see my general, The Lord of Bloodshed, blush. “Have you been practicing with Mor too?” I raise an eyebrow. 
“No actually,” Azriel says, spinning me around in a circle. “Dancing has always come quite naturally to me.”
“Well I’d even dare to say that you’re a better dance partner than Eris,” I smile as Azriel dips me with the grace that only a warrior could possess. 
“Speaking of Eris, I saw what happened. Are you okay?” Azriel asks quietly, pulling me closer so that no one can hear us. 
“As okay as I can be. Gods everything about this room is stifling.” I roll my eyes. 
“Would you like to get some air outside?” he asks me and I nod. 
Azriel leads me out to the terrace at the back of the ballroom. When we get there I expect to see at least one couple sticking their tongues down each other's throats. But when the chill night air hits my bare skin it’s easy to see why we’re the only ones out here. I lean my back against the railing as Azriel closes the wooden doors behind us, the sound of the symphony and chattering people becoming muffled. 
Az pulls a corked bottle of wine out from behind his back with a cheeky grin, “You looked like you might need this.” he says pulling out the cork with a pop.  
“You’re a literal savior Az,” I smile, taking the bottle from him and putting it to my lips. It was the same wine I complimented Beron on and it slid down all too easy.  
Azriel leans against the banister with me as we look out over the Autumn Court. Darkness envelops the land  so that the only thing to be seen are a few fae lights and of course, the stars. I smile at the sky for a moment. No matter where I go or whom I marry, night will always follow me, and there’s a comfort there. 
“So you’re really going through with this?” Azriel croons, his voice laced only with curiosity. 
“I am,” I nod, swigging from the bottle again. “Eris is a viper, but he has something we need. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my people and my family safe.” 
“You deserve to marry for love y/n. You deserve to be happy too. You think that Rhys is the only one who made sacrifices for you and our court but you went under that mountain too.” he points out using that big brother tone he loves to use so much. 
“Saving my court will make me happy.” 
“But is marrying Eris what you truly want?” he asks honestly, trying to get to the root of things. So I let him have it.
“Gods no Az. Look at me. Eris has already made me his little pet with this ridiculous necklace. I  don’t think I could ever love Eris or be truly happy with him. But he’s been very clear about me bearing him many children, maybe I’ll find my happiness in them,” I rant, chugging more wine trying to drown out the sound of the voices in my head. 
“What about Cassian?” Azriel asks and my heart nearly stops. I don’t even let myself breathe for a moment. 
“What about him, Azriel?” I sigh, turning around and pressing my back to the bannister so that I could see the wooden doors that lead back to the viper den of aristocrats.   
“You obviously have feelings for him,” Azriel scoffs like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 
“What makes you say that?” I laugh. Azriel is dangerously close to covering the truth, one I haven’t had the guts to admit to myself. Because saying the words out loud? They would crumble the very foundations I stand upon, and then what would be left? 
“Because I’ve seen the way you look at him.”
“And how do I look at him? Huh?” I try to keep the fierce facade. 
“You look at him the same way every man, woman, and child looks at you.” Azriel blurts out, his voice laced with frustration. “Hell even I used to look at you that way till I realized I couldn’t hold a candle to the way you look at Cassian.” 
I crumble. Every thought I have falls apart at Azriel making such a statement because I know it’s true. But to acknowledge it, or even worse, to act on it? How selfish of a person would that make me? To turn my back on my brother who saved me under the mountain. To possibly deny him the chance to be with his mate, the cursebreaker, because he dies in battle. To risk Azriel’s life because he has to be on the front lines. To risk the lives of every man, woman and child in my court. 
I had thought about it, gods I had. Especially at night, when I woke from my nightmares of being under the mountain. Or when I dreamt of that small female puppy in Eris’ kennels. It would’ve been so easy for me to walk into Cassian’s room just one door down and ask him to hold me. Oh gods I wanted him to hold me. But it couldn’t be and that killed me. 
“You’re bold shadowsinger,” I gritted my teeth, sipping the last of the wine. “I’ll give you that. But if you’ll excuse me, Eris is probably looking for me.”  
I shove the empty bottle of wine into his chest and thrust open the doors. I hear him call out for me clearly feeling bad about what he had said, but I don’t turn back. Tears prick my cheeks and I know that if I face Azriel once more and show him the truth I’ll fall apart completely. 
My eyes scan the crowd for Eris, and admittedly Cassain. The latter is nowhere to be seen, but eventually I find Eris lounging on a chaise with a few of his friends, all of them clad in Autumn Court attire laughing boisterously. I walk over to him dodging everyone in front of me, wine clouding my mind. 
“There she is,” Eris slurs, the wine from 4his glass nearly spilling out as he sits it on an end table. “Come here my pet,” he smirks, pulling me down to sit on his lap. 
I grab the wine he set down and sip from it as I take in the men around us. At first glance I can tell they are all pompous assholes by the way they rake their gaze down my body. One even has the nerve to cock his eyebrow at me and my head turns to Eris to avoid his gaze.  
“Isn’t she exquisite gentlemen?” Eris asks, nuzzling my neck. 
A collective murmur of agreement falls upon the small group.
 “The Jewel of Prythian,” Eris says, kissing my neck and I try to squirm out of his grasp but he only pulls me closer to him. 
“I’ll say!” one of the men cheer causing the whole group to chuckle. 
Eris’ mouth falls from my neck to my collar bone, “Have I told you yet tonight that this corset is doing wonders for your perfect tits pet?” he murmurs licking a long stripe up the side of my neck earning a round of tantalizing ‘ohhhs’ from his friends. At this rate I’m surprised they all haven’t whipped their cocks to enjoy the show Eris was so happily putting on. 
“He’s not wrong,” says another man and I feel Eris smirk against the tops of my breasts. He’s enjoying the game of dangling me in front of his friends. A forbidden fruit only he can indulge in. 
“I wonder how many males have fucked those tits,” crooned another bringing laughter to the forefront once more. 
Eris laughs, “She’s completely untouched,” he smirks into my skin. “I’ll be the first.”
The men utter how impressed they are. Some mention how jealous they are. My heart rate quickens knowing that I couldn’t have walked into a worse situation.
“Eris,” I hiss quietly, my eyes scanning the room for Cassian but he’s nowhere to be seen still. I even look for Azriel or my brother, but the room is so packed full of people I can’t make anyone out. 
“You know I was thinking about what you said earlier,” Eris croons and I know that tone, the one that means something terrible is about to happen. “When you said I don’t own you yet?” 
“Eris stop you’re drunk,” I say low as I try to wiggle out of his grasp but it only instigates him more. 
“Well the idea that you weren’t truly mine yet based on a technicality didn’t sit right with me little flame,” he started, blatantly ignoring my protests. “So while I let you dance with your filthy dog I ran downstairs to the vault.” 
No, no, no, no. This isn’t happening. 
“And I grabbed this,” he says, pulling out a ring so large I was surprised he was able to keep it hidden. Eris grabbed my left hand with unnecessary force and slid the thing on my ring finger. The weight of it nearly made me hurl. “Now you are mine. I’ve lived up to my end of the bargain, it’s been a month of courting and I’ve decided you will make a very obedient and agreeable wife.” 
“And don’t forget fuckable!” the first man who spoke cheered. 
“Yes, I’ll enjoy ruining you, my pet,” Eris smirks, kissing me softly. 
“Hell yeah we need an heir!” 
These men know no morals, no shame, no compassion. If my brother heard a fraction of what they were saying…Yes, my brother. Gods he probably heard so much worse with Amarantha.
“I can promise you all that an heir will be in her belly within a month,” Eris announced to his cadre, earning cheers from them all as they drank from their cups.  
I knew it was coming. I think in my heart I always did. From the moment I met Eris he had never once given me any indication that he wouldn’t marry me. Hell even if he hated me it was evident that he had every intention of marrying me just so he could say he deflowered and owned the Jewel of Prythian. I knew all of this and yet I still felt blindsided. 
“What do you say pet? Shall we start trying now?” Eris croons, earning another rally from his companions. 
“Eris that’s enough,” I grunt, pushing him off for good this time. The men around us laugh at my reluctance as I stand to my feet. 
“You little!” Eris seethe standing up right after me and gripping my arm.
“Bend her over your knee and spank her Eris!” drunkenly laughed a man. 
“You touch me right now and our marriage will be void by the laws of your court!” I growl, reminding him. 
“I am the High Lord, I'll change them myself!” he growls at me. 
“Not yet you aren’t,” I scorn him, nothing short of murder in my eyes. “I will see you in three days time to begin planning the wedding. I expect you to be sober and act with the morals befitting of a future High Lord.”
I free my arm from his grasp, leaving him to contend with the embarrassment of failing to control his future wife in front of his companions. I rip off the engagement ring and pocket it, unable to stand the weight of it. My eyes dart around for Cassian and when I don’t find him I grab a bottle of wine from one of the unattended tables. I make my way to the front door, choosing to walk all the way back to the Night Court if necessary. As I reach for the door it’s pulled back by the other side revealing a very disheveled Cassian.
“There you are, I was looking for you,” I grumble, still agitated from Eris’ antics.
“You look upset, what happened?” he slurs slightly. 
“Are you drunk?” I ask tapping my foot in the still half open doorway. 
“Yes, but you didn’t answer my question, what the hell happened?” Cassian grumbled straightening up and pushing the fog from his brain. 
“Eris happened,” I complained, gesturing to where he sat laughing with his companions again. “He was just showing me off and talking about making an heir and all that shit. It doesn’t matter. I stole some wine, let's go.” I huff starting to move past him. 
“No that’s it, I’m going to fucking kill him.” Cassian seethes and begins to move past me, but I place a hand on him stopping him.
“No stop,” I protest standing in front of him, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Eris. “I’ve had enough drama for one night. Please just take me home.” 
Cassian doesn’t take his gaze off the future High Lord, his breathing picking up, the siphons he had on his hands glowing. 
“Cassian,” I whisper, his name for only him to hear. His gaze falls to mine and softens. “Take me home.” I plead. 
 His eyes go soft at my pleas and I see him come back to earth, “Let’s go,” he says leading me out the door. 
We step out into the night air and waltz down the steps. Each and every step that we take pulls me further away from that cursed room, and as the sound of music and chatter get even further away I start to feel myself relax more. Cassian’s presence is like an anchor that keeps my feet on the ground. I am  comfortable. I am safe.
 We reach the bottom of the long stairway, and Cassian stops in his tracks. I turn to find him looking a little shocked, like he just remembered something. 
“What is it?” I ask taking a step towards him. 
“I uh,” he stumbles over his words. “I got you something.”
 He turns around to a large potted plant at the base of the long steps leading up to the ballroom. His large form bends down to pick up something that’s behind it and when he emerges once more he holds a puppy in his arms. I can’t help but gasp as the puppy wiggles to life, looking comically small in the Illyrians arms. I set down the stolen bottle of wine so that I can see her.
“I might’ve gotten a little drunk and broken into Eris’ kennels to get her,” he laughs passing her into my arms. “You just loved her so much and you kept talking about her and… I just couldn’t leave her.” 
The puppy wiggled in my arms licking my face like she had remembered me from our first meeting. I know I would know her face and markings anywhere. 
“Oh Cassian you have no idea how much this means to me,” I beam tears gracing my eyes. 
“I figured we could find her a better home, somewhere she will be loved,” Cassain smiled.
It that moment I don’t think I could’ve ever loved him more. I looked up to see him watching the puppy wiggling in my arms. Everything about him was so beautiful, from his sharp jawline to the tendrils of hair that had fallen out of his low bun. I couldn’t help myself. I stood on my tip toes and pressed a loving kiss to his cheek. 
“Thank you Cassain,” I smile at him as I watch that blush return to his cheeks.
“Anything for you princess,” he reminds me. “Now we really have to get going before someone figures out I stole that thing.” Cassian laughs picking up the bottle of wine and then me. 
We take off into the air and I can’t help but let out a laugh at how ridiculous this all looks. A general, his princess, a stolen puppy and a stolen bottle of wine making a beeline for the Night Court. 
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Cassian and I land on the terrace of the House of Wind in a fit of laughter recalling stories of his and my brother's adolescent lives.  
“I couldn’t help myself, he was some prick in his new training clothes and I was a kid with nothing. He deserved to get a little beat up!” Cassian laughed, the most real one I had ever heard from him. 
“He probably deserved it. Rhys is terrible at first impressions,” I giggle thinking of how haughty my young brother used to be. 
Cassian opens the door to the kitchen and living room letting us both in. The house is dark save for a few fae lights over the kitchen island. I wasn’t sure where the shadowsinger was, but whatever lady he was entertaining was certainly a lucky one. The puppy had fallen asleep in my arms on the flight home, so I set her adorable self down on one of the many plush couches. The entire time I felt Cassian’s eyes watching me intensely. 
“My buzz is starting to wear off,” I smile, turning from the pup and walking past Cassian and into the kitchen. “Let’s have a nightcap before we go to bed.”
I pull out my brothers expensive whiskey and a couple of glasses. I wait for Cassian to say something, anything, but he stays silent. The only indication that he’s still there are the raised hairs on my neck indicating that he’s watching the back of my head as I start to pour myself a glass. 
“Single or double?” I ask him, my hands holding his glass and the decanter of whiskey. 
I wait for a response, but the silence that seeps from him fills the room with an unexplainable tension. I’m suddenly all too aware of the lack of heat in the room as the hair on my arms rises and oh gods I can feel him. His presence behind me.
The sound of cool, calculated and slow footsteps echo off the walls of the room and suddenly he’s there behind me. His heat radiates towards me and I don’t dare turn around. His fingertips graze the backs of my elbows, letting me know he’s there. 
“Y/n,” his voice is like a prayer as his hands dance around the backs of my arms. My breath hitches at the utterance of my name, he never calls me by my name and the sound of it on his lips makes my toes curl.
I  slowly turn from the kitchen island and I’m met with a wall of pure muscle. I crane my head up to meet his intense gaze, and his eyes say everything. They pierce right through me. I rest my hands on his forearms letting the feel of the fabric over them ground me but it doesn’t help. He’s too close, and he’s too warm and he’s everything. 
“Cassian,” I whisper for only him to hear. 
I press a hand to his chest feeling his heartbeat beneath his shirt finding that it’s beating just as wildly as mine. My eyes meet his again and there’s a pleading there, like he might be suffering and I’m the only one who can end it. 
“Kiss me,” I breathe. 
His hand sweeps under my chin pulling his lips on mine and I suddenly realize why the romance novels I’ve read describe it as earth shattering. Cassian’s hands fall to my waist and I feel like I’m on fire everywhere his body meets mine. His lips feel like heaven against my own, nothing like the way  Eris kisses me. No, Cassian kisses me like he might love me. My hands grip his shirt and pull him closer. 
I feel his fingers slide down my waist and beneath my thighs. He hoists me up, dress skirts and all, onto the counter and I suddenly have much better access to him. His mouth wanders down my neck leaving wet kisses all over me. I place a hand behind me to get more support and the empty whiskey glass shatters on the tile floor. 
The large necklace Eris gave me gets in the way of his kisses and I feel my blood boil for a moment. How could I belong to Eris when Cassian kisses me like this?  When he holds me like I’m his everything? 
I capture my lips in Cassian’s once more pulling him away from my neck. His mouth is warm and soft on mine. My fingers find the front of the ridiculous necklace and I tear it off, the sound of the clasp breaking reverberating through the house. Cassian growls and presses his hips further between my legs, my hand slaps on the granite counter for support, the gems of the necklace clattering with it. I release it so that my hands can fly to the buttons on his shirt. The growl that had come from his lips had changed something in me. I needed him now, and I needed all of him. 
“Cassian,” I pleaded. The name rolls off my tongue with such ease. His hands roam my body and all I can think about is how I need more. More, more, more, more.
I get the top half of his shirt unbuttoned and I let my fingers roam the bare skin that lies there. He’s warm against my chilled hands, and as my fingertips brush over a long scar I can’t help but want to feel all of him. Know all of him. 
“Stop, stop,” Cassian mutters, taking my hands in his and pulling them away from his chest. 
My mind immediately starts to panic as he backs away from me. What have I done? I’ve ruined everything. I try to meet Cassian’s eyes from a few feet away but he won’t look at me. Instead he looks at his hands, like they’re covered in blood. 
“I can’t. I can’t do this,” he mutters still out of breath. 
My heart shatters. I had dreamed of kissing Cassian, of having him hold me like he was just seconds ago. Never did any of those dreams end the way this one is now. 
“Cassian I-” 
“I’m not worthy,” he breathes, never taking his eyes off his hands. “I’m not worthy of you.” 
My already shattered heart shatters again. 
I slide off the counter taking slow steps towards him waiting for him to flinch or move away but he doesn’t. I reach him placing a hand on the cheek feeling the stubble there, and despite his words I swore he leaned into my touch ever so slightly. My thumb caresses  his face, begging his eyes to meet  mine and they do. In that beautiful shade of hazel there’s a sorrow by likes of which I’ve never seen. 
“Then show me every part of you that feels unworthy of my love and let me kiss it until it knows nothing but it,” I say to him, praying he hears every single word. His eyes soften. 
“Y/n,” he breathes pulling my lips to his once more and I swear right then and there that I’d do anything that man asked me if he just said my name like that again.  
My arms wrap around his neck pulling him down towards where I stand on my tiptoes to reach him. Somehow this kiss is more passionate, on both ends as I try to live up to what I’ve told him. His hands hoisted me up again, even though the skirt of my dress was debilitating. 
I feel myself being carried down the hall into a room I realize is his from this scent enveloping me from every angle. He sets me down gently, like I might break and kicks the door behind him closed. My hands find the last buttons on his skirt and I get them off with ease, my next course of action has me reaching around my back to tug at the strings of the corseted dress. I get the tie undone, but the rest is tricky. 
“Wait, stop,” Cassian orders, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. “Are you sure you want this? Because once I start I won’t be able to stop.”
“I want this, I want all of you Cassian.” I nod still breathless and his eyes search mine for any hint of a lie. “Please,” I beg and I watch all resolve fall from his face. 
“Fuck y/n,” he moans before pressing his lips to mine.  
My hands find the bare muscles of his chest, and try to commit every line and scar to memory. I run my hands all over him, the warmth and feel of him addicting. My fingers fall lower over his abs and I swear I melt at the years of building muscle there. 
“Fuck,” he hisses. “You can’t touch me like that.” he growls using his hands on my hips to spin me around so my back is flush to him. 
His lips find my neck and I swear I could fall apart just by the way his mouth feels on my skin. I feel the laces on my dress get looser and looser as his fingers work them apart behind me. The second the top one is loose enough the weight of the skirt pulls the top down leaving me completely bare. My breath hitches as I feel his calloused fingers gently coaxing me to turn around and face him. The second I do my cheeks flush and I fight the urge to cover myself. 
“You’re so beautiful. I wish I knew a better way to say it than that. You are-” he loses his words, pulling me closer so my breasts are pressed to the bare skin of his chest. The feeling is euphoric. “You are everything.” he says, and it feels more like a confession. 
He leans in to kiss me once more but I press my hand to his cheek to stop him, “Cassian,” I breathe and I feel his breath hitch at the way I say his name. “I love you.” the phrase echoes through the room. 
I feel his body tense pulling me impossibly close. “Now I’m never letting you go,” he mutters, pressing his lips to mine in a fiery need.
His hands hoist me up and I wrap my arms around his shoulders for support. My aching core brushes against his abs and it takes all my self control not to shift my hips to get more friction there. He lays me gently on his bed, and I feel my back sink into his mountains of pillows. His clothed hips settle between mine and he pulls his head back to look at me. 
“I’ve loved you ever since I met you. We had just barely become adults and I walked into the townhouse for the first time and saw you reading a book by the fire and I knew,” he confessed. “I knew I loved you before I even knew your name.” 
I couldn’t stop the rogue tear that slipped from my eye at his confession. Cassian’s lips kissed the drop away before pressing his lips to mine once more. My hands threaded to his hair as he made his way down my neck leaving a trail of fire everywhere his lips brushed. 
“Can I touch you?” Cassian breathed against the valley between my breasts. 
“Yes,” I hiss needing him everywhere. 
His lips attach themselves to the aching bud of my breast, pulling it taut. I gasp, arching my back off the bed watching him roll my nipple in his mouth. His other hand reaches to twist my other breast and I swear I’ve never felt so good in my life. My hands find his long hair and tug on it, earning a groan from him that sends vibrations through me. He switches to the other side giving it the same treatment and oh gods, this man would certainly be the death of me. His lips come off my breast with a pop as he takes in the sight of me. 
“You’re perfect,” he says, pressing a kiss between my breasts once more. 
“I want you inside me,” I groan, pressing my hips into him. 
“No I’ll hurt you,” he grits, feeling my arousal press against him as he leaves kisses on my stomach. 
“Cassian please,” I cry, tears threatening to fall from the sheer need I have for him. His eyes meet mine and I know I have him right where I want him. 
“It’s going to hurt y/n,” he tells me. 
“I don’t care,” I say, leaning up a bit to cup his face bringing his lips to mine in a quick kiss. “When I said I want all of you Cassian I meant it. You said you’d do anything for me.” 
“Fuck y/n, okay but I’m going to get you ready first,” he groans and before he can pull away I press a kiss to his forehead. 
His lips trail down my stomach once more until he gets to where I need him most. He skips over my core to leave kisses on the inside of my thighs. My body goes limp and I fall into the pillows again craning my neck to see him. A hand slides up my thigh and runs through my folds causing me to arch my back. 
“You’re so wet,” he grits out feeling the pool of arousal between my legs. 
“Cass please,” I whine, arching my hips to his mouth. 
I watch his eyes flair at the nickname and within moments his mouth is on me licking a stripe up my core that has me letting out an unnatural sound of pleasure. His tongue swirls around my entrance before licking another long stripe through my folds once more, flicking his tongue at the top. He attacks an area between my legs that has me arching off the bed and seeing stars. Surely there could be no better pleasure in the world than this. I let out a guttural moan that has Cassian smirking from where he feasts on me, his eyes lighting up in male pride. 
“Oh gods Cassian! How are you-ah!” I cry out feeling tears prick my eyes from the waves of euphoria gliding through my body, like every nerve was being caressed by his hands all at once.  
“It’s your clit y/n,” Cassian smirks. “Surely all those naughty romance books taught you about your own anatomy?”  he teases rubbing circles on the bud with his fingers. 
“No I think they- Ah! They might’ve glazed over that part.” I cry out trying to keep my  back from arching off the bed. 
“Then allow me to enlighten you,” he grinned before feasting on me once more. 
The feeling of his mouth on me had me reaching for something to grasp onto, something to ground me. Cassian must’ve noticed as seconds later I felt his rough hand grasp mine holding it tightly. His other drifted from my hip and I felt him sink a long finger into me slowly but surely. The new sensation had my heartrate picking  up even more. It skyrocketed as he started pumping it in and out of me until he added another. The knot in my stomach started to build and I could feel my body pulling closer to the edge. 
“Cassian I’m going to- OH GODS!” 
I didn’t even have time to finish the sentence before I was falling over the edge, all over him. He rode me through my orgasm before pressing a kiss to my clit. 
“You taste fucking amazing,” he says, voice deep and husky. If he had spoken to me like that in a setting where my clothes weren’t already on his bedroom floor I would’ve ripped them off just the same.
“I do?” I laugh, cocking an eyebrow at him. 
“Yeah you do,” he smiles moving up towards me. “Come here,” he says, pressing his lips to mine. 
I savor the taste of him and well, me. It’s new, and I can tell by the way his hand is ripping down his pants that he finds it just as arousing as I do. I glance down to where his aching cock springs free and it takes everything in me not to gasp at the size of it. His hand tilts my chin up to press another quick kiss to my lips. 
“Forget what I said earlier. The second you want to stop, just say the word.” he tells me. 
“No, I want this. I want you to be my first,” I assure him and I swear I feel his cock twitch against my thigh at my words. 
“Okay I’m gonna put it in, if it hurts just tell me okay princess?” he says, pressing a kiss to my brow. I nearly shudder at him calling me princess again, but this time it’s different, it doesn’t feel like a title, it feels like a loving name. 
“I will,” I nod to him. 
I watch as he guides his cock to my entrance, getting it slick with the aftermath of the orgasm he just pulled from me. I feel him sink in a bit and I start to feel the stretch. I focus my eyes on Cassain’s face. His brow is furrowed as he watches himself start to sink into me.  He pushes in further and the stretch starts to burn causing me to take in a sharp breath. 
“Shhh baby,” he coos, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You’re doing so good.”
“Keep going Cass,” I breathe out as tears prick my eyes. 
He pushes in further and somehow even the pain feels good, because it’s him. Every single inch of him is flush to me and it still isn’t enough. It takes a moment but eventually his hips are brushing up to mine and he’s fully seated inside me, and gods, the feeling of being so full is the best feeling I’ve ever known. 
CASSIAN’S POV: 
As my cock finally sinks into her it takes everything in me not to pull out and slam back in. I curse myself for even thinking such a thought knowing how badly I would hurt her. 
All the while I give her time to adjust her pussy flexes and clenches around my cock and godsshe’s so fucking tight. Sweat coats my brow and my muscles quake with the need to start moving but I won’t do it until she asks me. 
“Okay move Cass, I’m ready,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to my lips. 
Cass
Gods hearing her speak to me so informally shouldn’t make my heart beat so fast but it does.
 I pull out a little before slowly pushing back in, relishing the feeling of how warm she is around me. I look down at her to look for any signs of discomfort on her face. Her eyes are closed, mouth slightly open, and the little pants falling from those perfect lips are enough to send me into a coma. I begin to build a steady pace once I feel she can take it and as I do those little pants turn into cries and I swear I could cum right there. 
“Fuck you’re so tight,” I groan into her neck.
She lets out another moan and I can’t help but smirk knowing what my words do to her. My eyes glance at her face as I fuck into her. Her hair sprawled out all over the pillows, her eyes closed, the look of pure pleasure on her face. I press my lips to hers unable to stop myself, not when I’ve dreamt of doing so for so long. 
Fuck how many times have I dreamt of her writhing in pleasure beneath me? The feel of her delicate hands wandering my skin? My name falling from those perfect lips? I couldn’t stop the words from falling from my mouth.
“Gods I love you so much y/n,” I say pressing my forehead to hers. 
“I love you too Cassian,” she breathes and I watch as another tear falls from her face. I bring my lips down to kiss it away, and in that moment I vow that I’ll kiss her tears away till they bury me in the ground. 
Her pussy clenches around me again as I thrust into her and I can tell by the way her finger nails are digging into my shoulders that she’s close. 
“Let go for me princess,” I murmur through ragged breaths pressing a kiss to her forehead. 
“CASSIAN!” she screams cumming all over my cock. 
It’s enough to drive me over the edge with her, “Fuck y/n,” I moan as I thrust into her one last time watching her beautiful face come undone for me before I cum inside her. 
Snap. 
My eyes go wide and I’m thankful that she’s still too blissed out to notice as I feel that thread inside me that connects me to her. 
Mate.
All this time, she was my mate. The reason I fell in love with her the moment I saw her, the reason I couldn’t stay away from her. The princess was my mate. Her words from earlier continued to echo through my head…
Show me every part of you that feels unworthy of my love and let me kiss it until it knows nothing but it…
I searched her face for any sign that she felt the bond snap too, but all I saw was her beaming up at me. Gods she was so beautiful. My mate was so beautiful. 
I reached for the other end of that shining golden thread and found nothing there. 
She didn’t know.
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The Other Side Of The Apocalypse
What would you trade the pain for?
Summary: One last grand adventure. Rhysand had promised his father that after this final journey, he would take a wife and resign himself to inheriting his title. As it turned out, Rhysand had other plans, and so did the huntress he'd encountered in the village.
Note: If you've missed Rhys being dumb and horny, then @separatist-apologist and I have a treat for you!
Read on AO3 ・Previous Chapter・Masterlist
Chapter 6/10: Hurricane Heat In My Head
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The chains returned to Rhysand in his sleep.
He knew, even as he thrashed against them, that they were not real. Suspended in darkness with no beginning and no end, there was only Rhysand and the icy slither of those chains, constricting around him like serpents of black, heavy stone.
They bit into his skin, drawing lacerations across his biceps, his thighs, his chest, and as he screamed into the oblivion that held him, there was no response. Not even the echo of his own pain.
Blood welled and dripped from his wounds. It was the only color he could see—a dark, foreboding red. The same that rippled in wine and glinted jewels. The color of sharp nails and long, draping hair. Where had he seen something like that before? He swore he could hear sinister laughter on the cusp of his memory, a phantom of a woman with a cruel smile.
She was not real. This place, these chains. None of it was real.
Except for the fear. He could feel it pulsing through him—a second, rampant heartbeat, as if he’d swallowed a war drum that rallied every dormant instinct inside him. Their singular cry pumped through his blood until it leaked out through his wounds, whimpering: Run. Run.
RUN.
Rhysand sat up in bed, gasping. Red light leaked over the horizon, spilling onto the sky and snow in both directions, warmer and altogether gentler than the scarlet that invaded his dreams, but… He placed a hand on his thundering chest, calling for it to still the way he might soothe a spooked stallion.
He was reminded of the stories he’d heard in childhood of men who wandered into Prythian only to be driven to madness. Was this how the minds of those men began to deteriorate? It was dreadful to think that a sunset could unnerve his unconscious mind so greatly. But he couldn’t deny he was apprehensive. A new court awaited him, and he could only assume its dangers were more perilous than the last.
This could be my last sunrise, he thought. He rubbed at his naked chest, absently tracing the whorls of ink and the dread he felt roiling beneath them. He wished, not for the first time, that Feyre hadn’t slept in a different room.
At least then, Rhys could have faced death knowing he’d had the chance to wake up beside her without the fear that one of them was dying. He resolved he would survive this next Court just to have that pleasure. He wouldn’t die without kissing her.
If nothing else, the Mother owed him that much.
He bathed and dressed, rueful that Feyre wasn’t there to taunt him all the while. Privacy was all he’d craved at the start of their journey—was one night apart really all it took? It was absurd and yet he was so agitated that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Where she was, how she slept, if she was awake… if she had company.
The thought struck him violently, causing Rhys to shut his door with too much force as he slipped out of his room. A servant at the end of the hall gasped and dropped their tray of neatly folded bedding.
“Shit, I’m s—“
Their snow-white hair disappeared around the corner, fleeing the hall before he could finish his apology. That was another strange thing. Faeries wary of a human. Rhys supposed he had killed two of their High Lords, the most powerful fae in their lands. He had the marks to prove it, though they were hidden beneath his layers of fur-trimmed clothing.
He was reminded of his sister’s shrill cry whenever a spider had the misfortune of crossing her path.
Rhys! Kill it! Kill it!
They were such small, feeble creatures compared to the size and might of a human. He used to tease her for it.
What are you afraid it’s going to do? Eat you?
But he would always kill them anyway. Because she was scared, and he loved her, and he knew no matter how meager the threat, he’d quell it to soothe her fear.
Tarquin, Kallias, even Eris. They seemed to love their people.
He might survive Dawn, Day, and Night. He might very well liberate all seven Courts. But he knew, as he kicked the servant’s fallen silver tray aside and watched light streak off its surface, that he would not be returning to the mortal lands. Either a monster would kill him, or…
Feyre. He needed to see Feyre and talk to her about all of this. The need gripped him like a fist around his chest. He couldn’t breathe as it pulled him, some vestige of that infernal chain, begging him to find her, to see her, to ensure she was safe.
From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d felt an inexplicable urge to protect her. But it was worse now, after almost losing her. He knew the glaze of her eyes slipping from the world, and he would do anything to never witness that horror again. He also knew that if he revealed any of this to her, she’d gut him for assuming she needed anyone’s protection.
Rhys stopped outside the front hall, taking a moment to compose himself. The corridor was empty, and apart from the faint torrent of wind clawing at the palace’s bastioned exterior, his beating heart was the only sound.
Then, voices. Distant at first. But in the great, open hall, they carried to him easily.
“I just think we should give him more time before the Solar Courts.”
His heart rate quickened. That was Feyre’s voice, tense and limned in such rare candor that he couldn’t resist ducking through one of the many doors lining the hallway.
A deep, rumbling voice drifted through the thin gap Rhys left in the door. “More time for what, exactly?”
Cassian.
“To rest. We almost died in Winter—I almost died. He’s… we’ve both been through a lot. He needs time to restore his strength.”
Cassian’s voice was gentle if a little prying. “Or maybe you need time. What’s troubling you, Fey?”
“Nothing.”
Liar. Rhys could perfectly imagine the stubborn set to her jaw, the way she squared her shoulders and raised her chin in defiance. But there was no hiding the strain in her voice.
“He’s gotten this far,” Cassian reasoned. “I talked to him last night, and I swore I could feel the spirit of Enalius standing over his shoulder. He’s going to make it through all seven Courts. I can feel it.”
Silence hung in the air.
“Unless…” The word rumbled through the corridor. “That’s exactly what you’re afraid of.”
Feyre’s voice was hoarse. “Cass—“
“We need him, Feyre. He’s our only shot at freeing Nes—“Cassian’s voice cracked. He took a moment to clear his throat. “He’s the only one who can free them, Feyre.”
“I know.” She sounded miserable. “And that’s why I just think we should just give him time—“
“I don’t need time.”
They both turned as Rhys pushed through the door. Cassian raised a brow towards the study Rhys departed, looking uncertain whether to be angry or amused that he’d been eavesdropping.
Feyre was staring at him, looking exactly as stubborn and defiant as he’d imagined. He thought the thing lashing in his chest would settle at the sight of her, but it only pulled harder, twining so tightly that he thought he couldn’t breathe as those starry eyes dressed him down and narrowed to crescents. Her pretty, bow-shaped lips were pursed just enough that he thought he could kiss her scowl away if she let him close enough to try.
He mirrored her crossed arms in an attempt to reign himself in, and said with a cocky grin, “That was the best sleep I’ve had in weeks. I’m ready to take on anything those High Lord bastards throw at us.”
It’s okay, he wanted to tell her. I already know they won’t let me live by the end of this. At least let me save your sisters.
Feyre pressed her lips flat together. Sadness flickered in her eyes, so brief he would have thought he imagined it had his heart not plummeted in tandem. He knew that grief. He still choked on it whenever he passed the ribbons shop in the village, confronted with the unbidden memory of crouching on a lowered stool, braiding satin through his sister’s hair until his back was stiff. The years could muddy the details—the colors of the ribbons and the words they exchanged in those long hours—but never the pain.
Rhysand dropped his arms, intending to comfort her, but whatever sadness had been in her eyes vanished. Only cold, glittering calm remained.
“If you’re ready, then there’s no sense wasting time.”
In reality, he would have very much liked that time with Feyre. Even just a day to know her without the threat of dying. But he would not be the one responsible for losing her sisters. He would do anything in his power if she could escape that grief.
“Let’s go,” he agreed.
Cassian punched a hand into his palm. “I hope it’s another beast,” he said, with an excitement neither of the humans in his company shared. “I’ve been itching to get back in action.”
-
They stayed long enough to have breakfast, a bountiful spread of hot and cold dishes presented to them in the High Lord’s personal dining room. Cassian helped himself to a sizable portion of each dish: smoked fish, pickled vegetables, fresh bread, and a collection of cheeses, each more potent than the last.
Rhysand ate a bit of the fish and bread in the interest of keeping up his strength, though he didn’t have much of an appetite. The gods knew what horrors he would face in Dawn and whether he’d even be able to hang on to his breakfast by the end of it. Feyre seemed in an equally sullen mood, pushing her food around her plate without saying much of anything to anyone.
Kallias seemed relieved to see them go and consequently was more than happy to winnow them to the door to Winter. The blizzarding snow had carried away any evidence of the creature they’d disemboweled. But Rhys could still hear Feyre’s scream against the wind, and he remembered the way her body crumpled against the pine tree, how the beast’s blood warmed his clothes.
She was fine now, squinting against the winter onslaught, her cheeks a bright, healthy color thanks to the benefit of warm clothes and fae healers. Even so, Rhys prompted her to enter the tunnel first, prepared to withstand the blow of any winter beast that wandered by.
There was only Kallias, his fair skin and lighter hair nearly blending into the Winter landscape at his back.
“Thank you for helping my Court,” he said, fisting a hand over his heart. He bowed low enough to make Rhys feel unsettled.
“Thanks for hosting us.”
It didn’t feel like an equivalent debt, but Rhys was unsure what else to say.
Kallias raised to his full height. “Good luck in the Solar Courts.”
You will need it was an unspoken addition, though expressed nonetheless in his grim smile. He nodded farewell to each of them, then vanished in a flurry of ice crystals.
“Shut the door,” Cassian complained. “It’s fucking freezing.”
Rhysand didn’t need to be told twice. He was happy to say goodbye to this Hell-sent Court and never look back.
“What were you doing in Winter, anyway?” He asked with a grunt as he hauled the stone door shut.
The howling wind immediately seized. Rhys blinked against the sudden darkness, taking in the vague, hulking shape of Cassian and Feyre’s much slighter shadow just a step away. It was a ridiculous impulse, but he found himself reaching out to press his palm to the small of her back. He considered it a victory that she didn’t immediately flinch away.
It was cold enough that Cassian’s sigh expelled a cloud of air in front of him. “Azriel and I were on reconnaissance, searching for… a cure. We got trapped in Winter when the borders closed.”
Rhysand frowned. “A cure for what?”
Against his palm, he could feel Feyre tense.
Cassian stared hard down the tunnel. At his side, his hands turned into fists so tight that the brown skin over his knuckles turned pale. “These seals you’re destroying, it’s true that their magic impacts the wellbeing of each of the Courts, but their true purpose was precautionary; to prevent us from lifting the curse placed on the Night Court.”
“And the curse—”
“Enough.” Feyre’s voice sliced through the tunnel. Cold and authoritarian in a way that sent a perverse thrill down Rhysand’s spine.
He didn’t have time to linger in the fantasy of how Feyre might use that voice in the bedroom before she was striding down the hall, each step reverberating against the stone walls.
Cassian winced before pitching his voice in a whisper, “Tread carefully bringing the curse up around her. Tamlin’s the bastard who betrayed all of us, but Feyre… She feels responsible for what happened to the Night Court. To her sisters.”
“I wish she told me,” Rhys said, watching her retreating figure with open dismay. Cassian offered a wry smile, clapping a sympathetic hand on Rhysand’s shoulder before he turned to catch up with Feyre.
Every time Rhys was starting to feel like he knew her, he uncovered a new layer of secrecy. He felt as if he were perpetually wiping the fog away from a mirror and it was beginning to feel doubtful that he would ever see a clear image of who Feyre Archeron was.
He only gave himself a moment to dwell on it. Then he was jogging to catch up with Feyre and Cassian, determined to be the first to step through the Cauldron-damned door this time.
In an effort to return to some sort of normalcy, he asked, “No Eris to wave us off before the next Court?”
Cassian snickered. “I doubt Eris will be leaving his quarters for at least a week.”
“A week?” Feyre snorted. “If Az has any say, it will be months before we see Eris again.”
“Doesn’t he have a court to run?”
Cassian and Feyre shared a look. It was the sort of mutual understanding that could only be found through years of knowing another person. Rhys resisted the urge to ask, but the question burned his tongue. How long has Feyre’s life been intertwined with Prythian?
“You have no idea what it’s like,” Cassian said, finally. A shadow passed over his features. “To be separated from your mate for that long… it’s enough to drive even someone like Eris Vanserra to extremes.”
“Mate?”
Rhysand could guess what that meant. The way that animals found mates. But there was a reverence to the way Cassian said the word that gave him pause.
“A mating bond is the deepest connection you can have with another living soul. They’re your perfect match, your equal in every way. A bond more significant than any vow, even marriage.”
“I see.”
“I doubt it,” Cassian said, not unkindly. “You think you understand it, but…” He shook his head, a far-off look in his eyes. “It’s not until you feel it snap. Until one look at them brings you to your knees. Your entire world, reoriented to their gravity.”
Rhysand was putting everything together too slowly. “Nesta’s your mate.”
There was a strange mixture of grief and pride on his face as Cassian nodded. Rhysand didn’t have the courage to ask if that meant Feyre had a mate, too. Had it been Tamlin? He knew his glance towards her was anything but subtle.
Feyre was glaring ahead, the door to the Dawn Court now in view. It was carved from bright red stone, light spilling from its gaps as though it were single-handedly holding back the might of the sun.
“Are you ready?” Feyre asked, to no one in particular.
Rhys stepped forward, placing his palms against the smooth stone. It was surprisingly warm to the touch. He heaved the stone forward, exposing the tunnel to the torrent of red light waiting impatiently on the other side.
Squinting against the brightness, Rhysand’s hand fell to his sword, readying for another beast. There weren’t any tell-tale signs. No distant roaring or eerie quiet. He expected they would find themselves in another isolated area separate from the rest of the Court. But in fact, as Rhysand’s eyes adjusted, he found himself staring at the deck of a lowered drawbridge. Two guards stood on either side of the gatehouse, wearing royal red and gold livery.
The doors were open on the other side of the iron gate, revealing the fae milling about their day through the gaps in the latticework. The first thing he noticed was the flood of warm, humid air. Not quite as smothering as it had been in the Summer Court, but oppressive enough that he was already sweating in his fur-lined clothes.
After enduring the extreme weather in each of the seasonal courts, Rhysand had nearly forgotten that the Mortal Lands were in the peak of summer when he and Feyre left. Was Dawn also in summer eternal, or was it aligned with the changing seasons of the human realm?
Rhys angled his head toward the sky, marveling at the scarlet clouds that domed over the land in every direction, betraying not a single sliver of blue. Rhys was certain it had been midday when they left Winter, but he couldn’t discern if the sun was somewhere behind the glowing red haze or if it was still nestled beyond the horizon. He supposed that if seasons were eternal in the previous courts, then in the Dawn Court, it must always be sunrise.
Feyre was frowning at the sky, too. He might have studied the oddity longer had his interest not fixed on the way the red light painted her skin the most alluring shade of pink. Like him, she must have been overheating in the Winter clothes. He could see sweat shining at her temple, giving the impression she was glowing. And with her neck arched upwards, practically in invitation, he thought it would be all too easy to lean forward and trace the column of her throat with his tongue.
The only thing stopping him was the pair of guards quickly moving towards them. The blade strapped to her hip might have also been a deterrent, but he found he minded the idea of Feyre pulling a knife on him less and less.
She cast him a quick glance as the guards approached, one that read, Step away and keep your mouth shut.
As the guards stumbled to a halt midway across the bridge, Rhysand noticed they seemed a bit… frazzled. With the borders newly opened, he imagined they were among the first visitors that Dawn had received in years. Humans, no less.
“Feyre Archeron,” one of them said, with what Rhys thought might have been awe.
They ought to be awed at the sight of her. A firestorm of a human woman swallowed in white furs and staring down two armed faeries as though she had nothing to fear.
She tipped her chin. “Tell Thesan that the Cursebreaker is here.”
“The High Lord is expecting you already,” the guard answered. He shouted over his shoulder at the guards in the gatehouse.
A small commotion flitted through the slit windows of the barbican above the gateway, followed by the clink and drag of chains. The metal grating lurched, and Rhysand flinched at the screeching sound of stone scraping together as the golden gate ascended into the tower above. How the guardsmen could stand the noise with their fae hearing was a mystery.
The guard gestured them forward with a jerk of his chin. “The captain will escort you to the palace.”
Great, Rhysand thought upon seeing the male in golden armor, already waiting for them on the other side of the gatehouse. Another handsome faerie staring at Feyre like she was his next meal. Rhys found himself drifting closer to her as they walked through the gates, prepared to draw his sword if the faerie’s smile proved deceitful. In the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Cassian hide a smirk.
“Oryn,” Feyre said with a smile that erred closer to politeness than familiarity. This wasn’t someone she knew well, at least. “Thank you for coming to meet us.”
The male’s wings shifted, tucking closer to his body. Unlike the wings Cassian and Azriel bore, Oryn’s were more avian in nature, feathered and shaped like a white dove’s. “I wish we were meeting under better terms, Cursebreaker.”
Feyre’s eyes drifted back toward the red clouds above. “The sky—”
“We’ll discuss it once we’re in the palace.”
Rhysand wanted to snap at the male for interrupting her, but Feyre chose to simply nod her head and press her lips together. She kept her eyes on the red mist above, cautious. As if she suspected a rift would open at any moment and present some horrible creature for them to slay. Rhys flexed his fingers above his sword. He trusted Feyre’s instincts. If she sensed something was wrong, he knew better than to question it.
The captain led them through a series of narrow pink-stoned streets. They were built on a steep incline and boarded on either side by red-roofed buildings. Some billowed smoke into the sky from their chimneys, and Rhys watched as the white clouds rose into the sky above, only to turn a foreboding scarlet color the moment it breached the layer of mist.
He stepped closer to Feyre and murmured to her, “I take it the sky isn’t usually red.”
“The Solar Courts adhere to the laws of nature,” Feyre said back, a certain tightness to her voice that sent warning bells blaring in his head. “The High Lords can’t control the sun’s path or strength. The Courts observe day and night the same as the human realm.”
Rhys exhaled a deep breath. “Please don’t tell me we have to fight something in the sky.”
Cassian, who had clearly been listening in, cut them a wolfish grin and flexed the batlike wings towering over his shoulder. “It’s a good thing you brought me along. Illyrians specialize in aerial combat.”
It was difficult to feel soothed by that fact when all Rhys could picture was needing to be cradled by one of the winged fae while he battled some beast on wings. Hardly the dashing heroics he’d want to recount to an audience once this was all over.
Feyre pursed her lips. She was scanning the city as they passed, tracking each of the fae that quickly moved aside, giving their retinue a wide berth. He noticed some High Fae, like Eris and Tarquin, but the far majority of them were lesser fae, sporting the same feathered wings as Oryn. Feyre didn’t say anything, but he practically heard the observation she was making—for a city filled with winged people, it was strange that there was not a single person in the sky.
Especially when the route to the palace proved to be rather… intensive.
“You’re kidding me.”
They stopped at the entryway to the palace: a double set of doors with stairs that spiraled up, up, up into the towering mountainside. Rhys craned his head to trace the towers and spires that rose high into the mountain, so tall that their peaks disappeared into the red mist.
Cassian let out a low whistle. “And I thought the steps to the House of Wind were brutal.”
“The great Illyrian warrior, felled by a few thousand stairs?” Feyre teased.
A few thousand was putting it lightly. Suddenly, Rhys missed Eris’s abrasive winnowing tactics.
Oryn grimaced. “We are a flying people, and as such, we have built a great deal of architecture above the clouds.”
Cassian eyed the captain’s wings, “And we can’t fly them up because…?”
The captain made no effort to hide his grief as he answered, “Because flying is forbidden.”
The red stones on Cassian’s gloves sparked and flickered, a mirror to the outrage blazing in his eyes. His chest puffed, and he took a deep breath as though he were about to demand an explanation when Feyre pressed a palm to his shoulder. It was remarkable to watch—how that small, simple touch from a human girl somehow managed to reign in the fury of an ancient fae warrior. Again, Cassian looked at her, a million things exchanged between them in that short glance.
He huffed, tucking in his wings as he strode towards the staircase. “Good thing I had a big breakfast.”
Rhysand supposed now was as good a time as any to begin disrobing. Perhaps it made him incivil as a visitor to this court, but if he was going to climb up an entire damned mountain, there was no way he was doing it covered in heavy fur. He was coated in sweat from just the walk.
“Really?” Feyre placed her hands on her hips as he pulled the parka over his head and discarded it on the ground. “You’re doing that here?”
“Were you hoping I would wait until I was in your bedroom?”
Over her shoulder, Cassian placed a hand over his mouth from where he’d turned to wait for them.
The blue in Feyre’s eyes was muted under the red light, turning them more gray than usual, but just as piercing. Rhysand held his breath as her gaze raked over his exposed skin, from the planes of his muscular chest, down his corded abdomen, to the slant of his hips, where he noticed her eyes track the path of hair that disappeared under his waistband. And lingered.
Rhys wanted to make a joke, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He was still overwarm from the Winter clothes, and it wasn’t helping that Feyre was staring at him that way—as if she were debating dragging him into the nearest dark alcove to put her lips where her eyes were. It wasn’t a bad idea. He wouldn’t mind pushing Feyre against the stone wall and tangling her hair around his fist. Heat itched up his skin at the fantasy. It felt keenly as though he were back in the Autumn Court, confronting the firebreath of a dragon. Except then, his trousers hadn’t been so tight.
Finally, Feyre composed herself enough to twist her face into a scowl. He knew it was all for show. Her irritation didn’t pass any deeper than the surface of her features, and beneath it… beneath it, he thought she might have felt a kernel of the desperate, burning wanting that was flooding through him.
She said cooly, “I think I’ll save my bedroom invitations for men who know how to conduct themselves appropriately.”
“And you’re determined to climb all those stairs dressed like that?”
He eyed the fur trim of her parka, the excessive padding insulating her thighs and hips. It was impossible. She would overheat and leave one of them dragging her the rest of the way. Feyre crossed her arms, determined to make this as difficult as possible.
“Don’t be stubborn,” he snapped. “I’m not in the mood to spend another day hauling you over my shoulder.”
“And here I thought you came to my gallant rescue,” she mocked. “No wonder you’re chasing after a bedroom invitation. It seems you can only undress women when clothing is an obstacle to survival.”
Rhysand cocked his head. “Do you want to wager on that, Feyre?”
He would bet there were a decent number of women in this Court who would be interested in the novelty of bedding a human male. And if catching their attention could make Feyre jealous, even better.
“Are you two done bickering?” Cassian was leaning against the archway to the great stairwell, a slit brow raised. “Or should I do this savior of Prythian thing on my own?”
A few steps away, Oryn muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, my thoughts exactly.
With a glare in Rhsand’s direction, Feyre stripped to her underlayers. He was used to the chemises and stays of the mortal realm—tight, restrictive underclothing that anticipated women wouldn’t be completing feats much more exciting than having children and keeping a nice household. Clearly, things were different in Prythian. Feyre wore a panel of fabric that wound around her chest, encapsulating and binding her breasts. The fabric knotted at the back of her neck, tight enough to keep her breasts slightly suspended. It was an effort not to stare, particularly as he noticed the sweat gleaming on her collarbone.
“Satisfied?” She demanded.
Not nearly. Not until he had the chance to run his mouth over every inch of her bare skin.
The hunger must have been plain on Rhysand’s face because Cassian warned him, “I wouldn’t answer that truthfully.”
Feyre only scowled and brushed past both of them, the first to take the stairs behind Oryn. Rhysand’s intention for darting in front of Cassian was hardly subtle; he wanted to be the one directly behind Feyre. Partly in case something happened and she truly did need his help, but also because it meant her ass was directly in his field of vision and he had a penchant for torturing himself.
The novelty only lasted until his muscles started groaning. Up and up, around and around. The stairway spiraled on and on, its monotony broken only by the colorful medley of arched windows through which he could see the city they’d emerged from, growing smaller and smaller as they ascended. The constant circles were beginning to make his head spin. Never mind the sweat he could feel collecting in every crevice of his body.
Through it all, Feyre carried herself as composed and seemingly unbothered as ever. Except Rhys could see the way her braid clung to her neck, and if he held his panting back long enough, he could hear her sharp little breaths that said she was winded, too. He was fascinated, and he passed the time thinking how much he would enjoy the sound of that breathing while she lay under him. What other sounds could he draw out of her?
They climbed on like that, no one wasting breath on talking, for what felt like hours. The scarlet mist obscured the sun and any chance of telling the time, but soon, the sounds and sights of the city disappeared entirely. They were high enough, now, that Rhys could see the adjacent wilted countryside and the long, winding river coaxing through it. Should one of them grow clumsy and tumble out one of the rose-tinted windows, at least they’d have quite the sight to behold while they fell to their death.
Above them, the dark red sky drew larger and nearer.
Finally, they reached an open-air chamber full of fat, silk pillows and plush carpets. A large fountain gurgled at its center, pushing out clear water that arched and fell into the pool below, sending ripples across the red sky reflected on its surface. At that moment, all Rhys wanted was to cup the precious liquid into his hands and douse it over his head.
A High Fae male stepped through the large door on the other side of the chamber. The wisteria draping the doorway swayed as the male glided past on soft embroidered shoes. His tunic was tight-fitting around his slender chest, but his pants were loose and flowing. He bore a smile that crinkled the brown skin around his upswept eyes.
Warm, Rhys thought as he looked at the male. He had the warmest eyes he thought he’d ever seen, the kind that begged him to trust the stranger, though he hadn’t spoken a single word.
“Welcome,” he said, his voice as rich and deep as his brown eyes. “I am Thesan, High Lord of the Dawn Court. Though most of you are already familiar.”
Oryn immediately detached from their group to join Thesan at his side. If the male was winded from their ascent, he hardly showed it. Thesan’s gaze slanted towards the captain for only a moment, but Rhys caught the open affection in the High Lord’s eyes. Thesan reached out his hand, the tension in his body loosening the slightest bit when Oryn threaded their fingers together.
Not just the captain of the guard, then, but also the High Lord’s consort. Mate, perhaps, though Rhys wasn’t certain how to identify such things.
“Thank you for receiving us,” Feyre said. Behind them, Cassian bowed his head respectfully at the High Lord, though Rhys noted that Feyre did not. So in turn, neither did he.
Thesan raised his brows at the impertinence. Rhysand saw no reason why he and Feyre should bow and scrape to adhere to their customs. If they were going to be made to climb up a whole damn mountain to free Thesan’s Court, they at least deserved equal respect. Equal footing.
Even if their current state of dress was admittedly pitiful.
“Thanks,” Rhysand echoed. His breath was still ragged from the climb, and he resisted the urge to wipe away a bead of sweat as he felt it trail down his chest. “Your home is lovely. It’s a shame so few can behold its grandeur, what with the deterrent of those stairs. Or is their ascent a pleasure you save uniquely for your most favored guests?”
He expected Feyre might have thrown an elbow in his side for being uncouth, but she merely turned her head to look at him, something unreadable in her eyes. Her braid was damp from sweat, and the short cropping of hair she wore across her forehead was mussed, the pieces clumped and sticking in places that he knew must be driving her mad, though he thought she’d never looked more beautiful. The observation struck him so acutely that he quickly glanced away, before he was tempted to do something foolish.
Thesan, on the other hand, looked distinctly amused. “This is my private residence,” he said, his voice betraying none of the usual guardedness of the fae. He seemed earnest, this High Lord. A bit like Tarquin but… wiser, Rhys sensed. Someone who had walked on this earth far, far longer than Rhysand’s twenty-odd years and saw no reason to rise to a human’s barbed words. “The deterrent of those stairs is intentional, as it were. I find it limits the risk of surprise visitors.”
There was a story behind that knowing smile, of the times when surprise visitors might have attempted to enter the palace without explicit invitation. Maybe there were a thousand stories, some humorous and some grim. The High Lord of Dawn looked as though he were reflecting on them all as he turned his brown eyes towards the sight of the sprawling Court below, peaking between the marble arches of the open chamber.
And above it all, the red sky loomed like the most peculiar storm cloud. Thesan assessed that, too, and then released an aggrieved sigh. “I do apologize for the exertion. My invited guests do not usually need to climb so many stairs—most can winnow or fly, and my palace boasts the most remarkable moving platform for those who can do neither. However, it’s operated in one of my highest towers, which has become… inaccessible, of late.”
Rhysand narrowed his eyes. “How so?”
“I’m certain the red sky hasn’t escaped your notice,” Thesan said with a frown. “It originates from this palace. From an enchanted lotus, gifted to me by a friend. Or who I once regarded as one. It sits in our highest tower and is responsible for this fog that has plagued our sky.”
“And this… fog,” Feyre ventured. Rhys was trying very hard not to look at her. “Is it dangerous?”
“Yes,” Oryn answered. He was standing at Thesan’s shoulder, still holding his lover’s hand. His expression darkened with a grief that Rhys felt he had no right to be witnessing. “Peregryns have been dropping from the sky since the day it arrived.” He tucked his wings in tighter. “Skilled flyers, suddenly plummeting to their deaths. We’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it poison?” Cassian asked. “If they were incapacitated—”
Oryn shook his head. “We have not ruled out poison. But we know they were conscious as they fell. We could hear them—” his throat bobbed.” We could hear them screaming.”
“There were some we were able to save,” Thesan said. “Our best healers could find no damage to their wings, nor any trace of known poisons. It was their minds that seemed altered—agitated by sights and sounds that no one else could witness. We’ve yet to find a cure.”
Not many people in the mortal realm lived to old age, but some did. Some, like Rhysand’s grandfather, who had reached such a state of mental frailty that he could be in the same room and occupy a completely different reality. Often, it was one of a past life, from a time before the plague had taken Rhysand’s mother and sister. His grandfather would relive the grief of that discovery almost every day, before Rhysand and his father decided it was better to play along, to claim that his mother and sister were simply out in the village and would be returning soon.
Rhysand had long thought he’d prefer to die young on one of his beast-slaying adventures than to live to an age when his mind deteriorated so much that he could no longer remember the people he loved.
He was thinking of his grandfather and the ever-distant glaze in his eyes, as he asked, “It turns you mad?”
Thesan nodded, expression grim. “We believe it’s inhalation that causes the illness. Contact of the skin does not appear to trigger the same symptoms, or at least not immediately.”
And there was no cure.
Rhysand’s head spun, trying to think of a way to reach the seal without compromising his mind to do it.
It was Feyre who cut in, voice surprisingly rigid, “Thesan, I would appreciate if you allowed us some rest before we ponder this subject any further. Rhysand and I could do with a bath and a change of clothes.”
It was as though Thesan had only just noticed that they were both half-naked and coated in sweat. He tore his eyes away from the skyline and blinked, before scraping them over Feyre from head to toe. Rhysand tried not to twitch at the scrutiny.
“Of course,” Thesan said. He lifted a hand in the air and a small bell appeared, pinched between his fingers. He needed to only flick his wrist and ring it twice before a flock of attendants flooded in, each dressed in similar loose clothing of blushing pink and orange and gold. “Please show our guests to their rooms.”
Even Cassian breathed out a sigh of relief at the promise of a bath.
They were led through the lavish, winding halls of the palace, all of it carved from golden stone and boasting open views of the valleys and villages below. It was a beautiful, well-decorated maze. Rhysand did his best to track every turn they made past urns filled with flowers, pillow-bedecked alcoves, and elevated courtyards with roaming peacocks, but he wasn’t confident he’d be able to navigate through them on his own.
Eventually they came to a suite built around a lavish sitting area and private dining room. All of it was carved from the same golden stone, identical in color to the first rays of the sun bursting across the horizon. He surveyed the jewel-toned fabrics and cushions, the thick carpets, and the golden cages filled with birds of all shapes and sizes. He was begrudged to admit that this was the nicest Court he’d seen so far.
The attendants directed each of them to their allotted rooms. When Cassian eagerly pushed through the door to his, muttering something under his breath about polishing his swords, Rhys suspected Feyre would do the same. But she stayed, hand mired to the doorknob so she might escape at any moment.
But she stayed.
He hadn’t had a moment alone with her since she’d kissed his cheek. A million things ran through his head of what he wanted to—and wished—he could say to her, starting with how badly he wanted to invite her into his room so they could bathe together. With the way she was drinking in his bare chest, her cheeks the most maddening shade of pink, he thought there was a chance she wouldn’t say no.
Rhys opened his mouth to ask, but she interrupted him.
“You don’t need to break the seal today.”
He needed more than a moment to reel in the fantasy of lathering soap over her freckled shoulders. “I… What?”
“It doesn’t need to be today, or tomorrow. You can take your time. Enjoy the luxuries of this court and your freedom before…” She swallowed, unable to finish her thought. But he knew what she was going to say.
Before you go mad.
It was the first time he thought she’d ever truly acted concerned about him. He asked gently, “What about your sisters?”
Feyre angled her head, staring hard at one of the faelights over his shoulder, blinking like she was holding back tears. “My sisters are frozen in time,” she said. “Literally frozen. They can wait. It makes no difference to them.”
Another time, when she didn’t look like she was about to cry, he’d ask her what that meant. Frozen where? How?
“But it does to you,” he said. “And to Cassian.”
She shrugged. “Cassian’s immortal. He has nothing but time.”
Rhysand strode toward her and was grateful to see her hand slip from the doorknob. She pressed it to his chest before he could get too close, keeping him at a distance, but that was perfectly fine by him.
She didn’t act the demure lady about touching his bare chest, and he wouldn’t expect her to. Though he was pleasantly surprised to see the flush climbing up her throat, and to feel the subtle flex of her fingers as though marveling at the firmness of the muscle beneath her palms. He wanted to feel those calluses scrape the entire length of his chest. Fuck. He wanted to feel them against his cock.
But now wasn’t the time. And he tried to shake those thoughts away, even as Feyre’s breath hitched and he watched her next inhale expand the swell of her breasts, that entrancing flush growing a deeper shade.
Her lips parted, their offer so tempting that he reached to grip either side of the doorframe, holding himself back just as much as she was trying to do with that maddening hand on his chest.
Maybe now was the time for honesty.
“I’m not worried about losing my mind,” he said to her, his voice rough and low like he’d never heard it before. “I’ve already been losing my mind for every damn day I’ve spent on this journey. Feyre, I am losing it rapidly by the second.”
Her next breath shuddered out of her.
“It’s happening too fast,” she whispered. “I just want—”
All of his focus, his entire being, narrowed in on those perfect lips and the words she held back.
“You just want what?” He was practically begging now. “What is it that you want, Feyre?”
He knew what he wanted. He wanted it so badly he would give up his mind for it.
Feyre stayed silent. What he would give to be able to see into her mind, to just know one thing that she truly thought about him.
“How about a thought for a thought?” He tried. “You tell me one thing on your mind, and in exchange I’ll tell you something on mine.”
She considered this for a moment before nodding. “You go first.”
A chuckle rasped out of him. How predictable. “I’m thinking,” he said, leaning in as much as her Cauldron-damned hand would allow. For once he had her full attention, and he wondered how any man was meant to endure the force of her gaze without wanting to fall to his knees. “That I have endured utter Hell since the moment I met you. And all of the beasts and riddles and even the fucking stairs weren’t nearly as agonizing as how I feel right now, trying not to kiss you.”
Her eyes fell on his mouth. Rhysand could feel his heart hammering against her fingertips.
Feyre flicked her tongue across her lower lip and he thought that might die right there.
Then she said, “I’m thinking we could both use a bath.”
He practically purred, “Is that an invitation?”
“No.”
It was like slamming face-first into a stone wall. Feyre dropped her hand like he’d scalded her, and before he could scramble for something to say, she yanked on her doorknob and shut the door in his face.
Rhysand blinked, still gripping the doorframe as he reeled from the rejection. Cassian’s door was still shut, but he swore he could hear cackling laughter behind it.
-
Thesan summoned them all to breakfast the next morning.
With the mist blocking any and all sunlight, it was impossible to tell if it was early or late in the morning, but by Rhysand’s account, it was much too soon. He’d stayed up late pacing his lavish bedroom, debating whether to knock on Feyre’s door to apologize for his brazenness or demand that she apologize for being so Gods-damned guarded. Was it really so hard to tell him one thing—just one—about how she truly felt?
Evidently so, if the way she was spearing fruit onto her fork was any indication of her mood. She’d taken supper in her room last night, leaving Cassian and Rhys to eat together in their private dining room. It was another night bonding over their shared exasperation of the stubborn, elusive Archeron women.
It hadn’t made him feel any better, though. Sitting across from Feyre, watching her javelin her fork at a piece of sliced melon, he still felt as though she’d slammed the door in his face moments ago. A night wouldn’t be sufficient time to get over Feyre Archeron. Nor would a year and, he suspected, even a lifetime.
The prospect of losing his mind to the red mist was sounding more and more appealing by the second.
“If the affliction is only caused by inhaling,” Cassian said. “Does that mean Rhys could just hold his breath long enough to destroy it?”
“Theoretically,” Thesan agreed. “Though it’s possible that a human would be more susceptible to contact.”
Feyre dropped her fork. “And there’s no cure?” When Thesan shook his head, her voice raised an octave. “The Dawn Court is best known for its healing abilities, and you haven’t been able to develop any sort of antidote?”
“My magic has not been able to remedy the afflicted. It’s possible that once the seal is destroyed, their condition will stabilize.”
“So,” Rhys said slowly, “I just need to keep a grip on my sanity long enough to destroy a flower?”
Thesan frowned. “Theoretically, yes.”
His voice implied it wouldn’t be so simple. Rhysand wasn’t fool enough to think it would be. None of the trials had been easy thus far, and he knew the lotus flower would be no exception.
Still, he rolled his shoulder and said, “I’ll take a flower over a dragon any day.”
“The lotus sits in the reflection pool at the center of the room,” Thesan said. “It should be easy to locate, provided your mind doesn’t lead you astray.”
Rhysand’s gaze nearly trailed over to Feyre as he mused, “It wouldn’t be the first time.” The pause in the aftermath was uncomfortably heavy. Enough for Rhysand to push his chair away and announce, “Well, no sense in delaying the inevitable. Show me where to get to this tower.”
Cassian nearly choked around his next mouthful of food. “Now?” He gestured with his fork towards Rhysand’s empty plate. “You’re not even going to eat breakfast first?”
It was easy to summon the boastful, unearned confidence to say, “You can all carry on without me. I should be back before the food so much as cools.”
The mask of arrogance was familiar to default back to, though it didn’t fit as comfortably as it once did. The lordling he’d been when he’d entered Prythian believed he had the tenacity to vanquish the fae and reclaim these lands for humankind. And yet with two High Lords slain, he couldn’t summon pride for his triumphs. Not while knowing that Feyre still mourned for one or both of those High Lords—that she might have withdrawn from him last night for that very reason.
Feyre stood from her chair, sending the wooden legs scraping against the marble floor. “I’m coming with you.”
“Why risk the both of you?” Thesan asked, his brows pressed together.
For once, Rhysand didn’t mind the implication that he was the more expendable of the two of them. He agreed. If he failed, there was no point in them both losing their sanity.
Her expression hardened into uncompromising will. “Because,” she said, meeting Rhysand’s eyes. They were the same blue as a churning storm-swept sea. “We can look out for each other.”
“Okay.” Rhys held out his hand. “We’ll go together.”
She wrapped her hand around his, so much softer and smaller than his own. Holding it felt right in a way he couldn’t quite explain. And she didn’t drop it, not once, as Thesan led them up the winding spiral staircase on the other end of the palace, where they climbed up the bare face of a tower. Every step had Rhys bracing himself, but Feyre’s grip on his fingers remained unwavering. She did not falter one single step.
The scarlet mist became a deeper, more saturated color the higher they climbed, until they came to the final flight, where Thesan stopped.
“This is where I’ll leave you. The lotus is just through that doorway,” he said, nodding up to the large open doorway at the top of the stairs, where red mist poured out and plateaued in line with the highest step. He assessed them both, lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you trust each other?”
Rhysand didn’t need to look at Feyre to answer. “Yes.”
She squeezed his hand in what he interpreted as agreement.
“Don’t.” Thesan’s expression darkened. “Don’t trust anything while you’re in there, not even yourselves. The seal will try to protect itself, and it will use every trick in its arsenal to do so.”
With that inspiring speech, the High Lord nodded his farewell and turned to begin his descent back down the tower. Leaving Feyre and Rhys before the final steps to the open doorway.
“Feyre,” he started. “Just in case I don’t get another chance to say it—”
“Don’t.”
“Feyre—”
“No goodbyes.” She turned those stormy eyes on him, and all at once he was nothing but a helpless sailor succumbing to their pull. “Whatever you want to say to me can wait until after we destroy the seal.”
He didn’t know for certain he’d still remember. But he nodded.
“Don’t let go of my hand. No matter what.”
She raised her chin, staring down the immortal gloom like she might part the mist through sheer force of will. “Take a deep breath,” she said.
It wouldn’t be his last. Rhys knew that with confidence. Even if the fog carried away his conscious mind, his lungs would carry on breathing and his heart would continue pumping. So it wasn’t the gulp of precious air that he savored in that final moment. It was the smattering of freckles across Feyre’s cheekbones. She had more than he could count, but some stood out more than others—the one by the corner of her left eye, sitting in the crease of those rare moments she smiled, was slightly darker and bigger than the others. So was the one on the bridge of her pert little nose. Another, following the perfect arch of her lips.
One day, if she had the patience for it, he would map out every constellation hidden on her body.
He kept hold of that thought as they summited the final steps to the open doorway and plunged into the thicket of the mist. Feyre disappeared entirely from his periphery, shrouded in fog so thick that he could hardly distinguish his own fingers when held in front of his face. The only sign that Feyre was still beside him was the steady pull of her hand, guiding him forward over a long bridge connecting to the other half of the tower, where the lotus flower waited.
They felt their way forward slowly, fingers skimming the cool railing, twined in plants long wilted from the lack of sunlight. His lungs were on fire by the time they emerged into the open chamber, marked by a curved archway—its stone smooth beneath his searching palm.
Straight ahead, he thought. Just get to the pool in the center, crush the flower, and this can all be over.
There was nothing to feel to guide their path. Only empty, open air and Feyre’s hand intertwined firmly in his. Her steps wavered. They were entrenched in a void of red, stretching in every direction. It wasn’t clear which way, exactly, was straight ahead, but they couldn’t afford to waste any time.
His lungs were already seizing, desperate for air. He couldn’t imagine that she was in any better state.
Rhysand chose a direction and strode forward, pulling her deeper into the fog. She tugged back, digging her heels in. They couldn’t speak without wasting air, but he imagined she was telling him, not that way.
He paused, waiting for her to correct his course.
One beat. Two. He was beginning to feel dizzy.
Rhysand squeezed her hand. Which way?
Another beat. And then she began pulling him sideways. He stumbled after her, his vision spotting as his lungs rioted in his chest. He needed to breathe. Needed to soothe the burning before his lungs gave out. He was going to collapse on the floor if he didn’t.
His body betrayed him. He opened his mouth, polluted air flooding in. Feyre paused at the sound of his gasp. His vision swam, whirling from the sudden intake, his head pounding—
And then he blinked. The fog cleared, revealing a pretty chamber of polished marble and golden stone. Outside the open archways, the sky had cleared as well, revealing an expanse of blue sky stretching towards the horizon.
It was like seeing the sun for the very first time. Not because of the light streaming into the chamber. But because Feyre was standing before him, hand in his. Smiling.
The breath whooshed out of him anew. “Do that again,” he whispered.
She did, smiling just for him. It was the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen.
“We did it,” she said.
Rhysand shook his head. “We didn’t do anything.”
“Look.” She nodded towards the puffy white clouds drifting just outside the tower. “The mist is gone. It was another test.”
“We still need to destroy the seal,” he said, turning to look for the reflection pool.
Feyre stopped him with another insistent tug on his hand. He turned to face her and lost track of all thought when he saw the way she was beaming at him.
“We did,” she said, raising her freehand to his cheek. Her skin was impossibly soft, and he couldn’t resist leaning further into her touch. “You absorbed the seal when you inhaled it. That was all it needed.”
“That sounds too easy.”
Those smooth hands glided up his jaw. “The fae underestimated you. They thought a human would be too wary of the risk. Their pride is their greatest weakness.”
Her fingers were in his hair now, winding through the strands. She tugged against them, pulling him closer, and suddenly he couldn’t think straight.
“What now?”
Feyre leaned onto the tips of her toes to close the remaining distance between them. When she whispered, he could feel each syllable ghost across his lips. “What were you going to say to me outside the chamber?”
Something warm and golden unfurled in his chest as he looked at her. His arm slid under her back, holding their chests flush. “Tell me one thing, before I reveal it to you.”
Her smile was more intoxicating than his father’s finest wines. “Anything,” she promised.
“Tell me—” he pressed his forehead to hers. “Tell me, truly, if you might want this one day. Want me.”
“I do,” she said without any hesitation. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Rhysand. I want you. Desperately. I need—”
He should have let her finish speaking, especially now that she was saying everything he wanted to hear. But it was impossible. He was just a man and her lips were so close to his they were sharing breath and she finally admitted she wanted him, too.
How could he stop himself from kissing her?
The most delicate noise slipped out of her when their lips met. Like the sigh of a door being opened for the first time in years. Like relief. Finally, finally, relief. After so much pent-up longing, he was kissing her, and her hands were twisting in his hair, and his tongue was skimming her lower lip, and all he could think was:
Maybe salvation was real.
The golden warmth kindling inside him was growing stronger. He felt the first of its tug when they tore their lips apart, both of them gasping.
Feyre’s pupils were wide and wild. She was smiling again, which made it impossible not to keep kissing her. But first, he said, “I was going to tell you that I am yours, Feyre. I’m yours until my dying breath.”
A blush was rising to her cheeks, spreading beneath her freckles. He leaned to kiss her again, but she broke away with a giggle, tugging playfully at the collar of his shirt. “I’ll be yours, too,” she said, eyes shining. “But I won’t make it easy for you. You’re going to have to catch me first.”
The little vixen. She launched into a sprint, fleeing to the other side of the chamber, and he laughed as he raced after her.
“Rhysand!” She called, weaving between the wisteria-twined pillars. Sheer panels of blushing peach fabric drifted behind each of her shoulders, attached to the elegant golden pauldrons she wore on each shoulder. With the light of the skyline beyond haloing her lithe frame, he felt more as though he were chasing a celestial goddess than a human woman.
She called his name again, the second syllable tapering on the most beautiful laughter he’d ever heard. He vaulted through one of the open archways, desperate to get to her, to taste that laughter beneath his tongue. He landed and slid across the smooth stone, nearly carrying him off the ledge were it not for his sharp reflexes. At the last second, he grabbed at one of the marble pillars and hauled himself back into the chamber.
The sight of the jagged cliff face and the sprawling countryside far, far below was enough to sober him.
He felt another tug. This one more insistent. As if the chain connecting him to Feyre had rematerialized. She was still dancing between the pillars, completely undaunted by the risk of falling if it meant taunting him.
But the tug didn’t pull him towards her.
Rhysand!
And that voice… it was hers, but it sounded so far away.
Another tug. Another Feyre calling his name.
Was it a trick?
“Come here, Rhys,” Feyre purred, turning to face him. Light bounced off the glittering panels of her dress, as if Thesan had seen it right to thread her in gold.
He stepped towards her, despite the taut thread pulling him in the opposite direction. “Tell me again,” he said.
“I’m yours.” Her eyes were like stars. Ceding the game, she prowled back to him, teeth gleaming so white in the full vibrancy of the sun. “I’m yours and you’re mine.”
Rhysand shut his eyes. He pictured Feyre in his mind. The stormy eyes and the withering glare and her beautiful, devastating face. It was an almost identical likeness. But as Rhysand opened his eyes, he searched for that freckle beside her eye, the one which was darker and bigger than the others around it. And it wasn’t there.
He released a heavy sigh. “You’re not real.”
Her soft palm pressed into his chest, void of Feyre’s hard-earned calluses. “I could be,” she said to him. “We could stay up here forever.”
Forever wasn’t tempting to him. Not without Feyre.
The moment he decided, the Feyre in front of him vanished. The scarlet mist returned, as thick and unnavigable as before. He could hear Feyre calling his name, voice raw and panicked. Likewise he could feel a golden tug in his chest, leading him in another direction.
He didn’t know which was real. He supposed they might all be tricks.
Not for the first time, and he suspected not for the last, he thought how much he missed that Cauldron-cursed leash.
Dropping to his knees, Rhysand elected to crawl across the chamber rather than risk taking a wrong step and plummeting to the bottom of the valley. He only hoped that Feyre hadn’t made that mistake, either. Was she also trapped in some blissful vision? A pathetic part of himself hoped he was in it.
Soon, his searching hands found a tiled pool filled with tepid water. He crawled into it, not caring that it would ruin the bright, loose-fitting tunic and trousers that Thesan had lended him. The thin fabric clung to his skin as he waded through the pool and skimmed his arms over the surface in wide, sweeping gestures.
He felt something bob against his elbow and quickly seized it. His fingers met the soft suede of flower petals and a thin, bumpy stem that resisted his initial tug. He yanked until the infernal thing came away with a snap.
Then the lotus flower, as fragile as the minds it twisted, crumpled in his fist.
Rhys had never imagined what it would be like to sit at the center of a stormcloud, but he imagined the experience would not be so different from the violent release of energy that swept through the chamber with a deafening thunder clap, Rhys at its epicenter. The water rippled through the pool and spread beyond it, dissipating the fog in a great sweep of wind that he imagined would carry through the whole of Prythian.
The skin on his chest and shoulder itched terribly. If he looked down, he would likely be able to see through the translucent fabric of his tunic that the tattoo was spreading. But Rhysand didn’t care about his tattoo, nor his wet shirt, nor the entire gods-forsaken Court he’d just liberated.
He only cared about Feyre. He could see she was curled up just a small distance away, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her lips were moving, over and over, shaping words he couldn’t make out.
“Feyre?” He leapt out of the pool with an urgency that sent a wave of water spilling over the sides of the reflection pool. Water dripped from his clothes, splattering haphazardly in his wake as he slid across the stone floor to reach her.
It occurred to him, as he delicately placed his hands on her shoulders, that this could be another mind trick. He had no way of knowing that he’d truly destroyed the fifth seal or that this was truly his Feyre in front of him, besides the inclination in his gut and the warm, inexplicable pull he felt to her.
Her entire body was trembling.
“Feyre?” He said again, softer.
“No,” she whispered. Her eyes were wide and brimming with tears. “No, no, no, no. Not again. Not again, please.”
Her voice was scraped raw, as if she’d been screaming. This was the same woman he’d witnessed slay beasts and stare down High Lords twice her size. For whatever she’s seen to have terrified so greatly…
“It’s okay,” he soothed. “You’re safe now, Feyre. It’s over.”
Those blue eyes focused just enough to register that he was crouched before her. And then her lower lip started trembling, and she shook her head violently, scrambling back as she whimpered, “No, Rhys. Not again. Please.”
He floundered at the fear in her eyes. Whatever she’d been shown in the lotus mist, clearly, he had been part of the vision. And his heart shattered to think he’d been the one hurting her.
“It’s just me, Feyre.” He held up his open palms. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you. I destroyed the lotus. It’s done.”
Her gaze drifted from his open palms to the markings visible through his translucent tunic. A sob hitched her throat. “It’s over?”
Rhys nodded, extending his hand so that he might help her up. She stared at it a moment, perhaps sharing his earlier doubt that this was another trick. Then she looked at him, studying his dripping clothes and wet hair and what he hoped to be an earnest expression.
Then she launched herself at him.
The momentum barrelled into him was such force that he was sent sprawling onto his back, a surprise grunt pushing out his chest. He didn’t have time to reorient himself, or make sense of what was happening, before Feyre gripped his face between both of her callused hands and kissed him so hard he forgot there was a reason why people needed important things like breath.
He could taste the salt of her tears and the melon juice that was still on her lips from breakfast. Every ounce of rationality dissipated at that revelation, and all he could think was that he’d never had a favorite fruit until that moment.
With a groan, Rhys slid his hand into her hair, cupping the back of her head while also angling her closer, so he could lick into her mouth and commit the taste to memory. He no longer cared if it was real or only a vision. He would gladly surrender to the madness if this was his eternity.
He might very well have flipped her over and made love to her right there. She would have looked beautiful flushed in the low light of the morning as dawn finally greeted its namesake. But towards the far entrance, someone cleared their throat.
That was how Rhysand knew this was real. If this had been a vision from the lotus, he would have continued kissing Feyre for eternity, and they certainly wouldn’t have been interrupted by Thesan standing beside an apprehensive-looking Oryn. Over their shoulders, Cassian was grinning like a fiend.
“Celebrating your victory?” He said with a suggestive quirk of his brows.
Rhysand never hated the fae as much as he did in that moment, when Feyre hastily scrambled to her feet. He already missed the weight of her body and her sweet lilac and pear scent. He took his time rising to his feet, and when he reached his full height, he offered her a heated look that said, This isn’t over.
She looked away, heat blooming on her cheeks.
That made it the first trial that actually did feel like a victory. He couldn’t help the pride swelling in his chest, and no amount of his cocky grin was forced as he looked to Thesan and asked, “Is breakfast still warm?”
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blooming-violets · 1 day
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Saints and Sinners || Under the Banner of Heaven
[Jeb Pyre x fem!Reader]
Summary: Jeb falls prey to his darkest temptations while working a case.
Warnings: adult graphic smut, a cheating fic, heavy LDS religious themes and traumas, brief mentions of the murder of sex workers, light fem!dom/male!sub roles but nothing too crazy, brining it back to the religious trauma stuff - a lot of strong feelings of being trapped in a family/religion you don't feel like you belong in, if you are someone who feels offended with merging religion and sexual themes then this is not the fic for you
Note: "Reader" is nicknamed Daisy as her stage name as a stripper/sex worker. She has no physical descriptions apart from having female anatomy/a human body and wearing a sun dress. She can look however you'd want her to which is what makes her a reader character. Apart from that, she is her own character.
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Jeb Pyre considered himself to be a decently good man. 
He was well groomed. He was respectful. He loved his family. He gave his job 100% and loved his neighbors. 
He was a devout son of the Heavenly Father. 
Or, at least, he used to be. 
He had been hiding his true self for his family's sake. He was trying, but failing, to keep up his appearance of perfection. Every day was a new struggle to keep up his flawless Latter-day smile. Docile and submissive. Never making waves. Never voicing questions. Day after day, trapped in his own mind, slowly being eaten alive by his ever growing doubt. It was only a matter of time before he cracked. 
She was his forbidden fruit. The temptress sent straight from the devil to corrupt his soul. The snake in his garden. 
His latest case had led him straight to her doorstep. There were sex workers in the city being murdered. A killer who vowed to cleanse his city from their filth. Jeb hadn’t even known there were sex workers living in his area. He’d never even seen a strip club before he was forced to step inside one to investigate. It was a terrifying world he wasn’t sure how to navigate. 
She had taken his hand and led him through the darkness. 
Daisy. That’s what she called herself. Her stage name. She had told him it was after Daisy Buchanan. The paragon of perfection for men to lust after but hiding a sardonic, amoral soul. It seemed to fit. She was the kind of woman he’d leave a green light on for but never be able to obtain. He knew her real name for his investigation but she refused to have him call her by such. She claimed only the people who truly loved her were allowed to utter her true name. To everyone else, she was just Daisy. 
He used to believe that all sex workers were women who needed saving. They had lost their way from God. They were impure. Drug addicts. Abused. Lost souls desperate to be saved. 
But she fit none of those roles. 
She was strong and sure. A business woman. A homeowner. She didn’t need a man to provide for her. Everything she owned was achieved through her own tenacity. When he looked at her, he saw someone who truly enjoyed their job. He struggled to wrap his head around that fact. A woman shouldn’t enjoy having sex for a living. She shouldn’t enjoy selling her body to perverted men. She should remain pure and devout until marriage. He often wondered what her future husband would think of her lewd, depraved acts. 
And then he remembered that she never wanted to marry. 
What an absurd thought. A woman with no desire for a husband? Utterly bizarre. 
She was unlike any woman he had ever met and he was tempted by the wickedness of her world. He knew he shouldn’t be. He knew better than to dance with the devil. Yet, here he was. Allowing her to occupy every existing thought in his brain. She was the one he thought about late at night. She was the name he moaned into his pillow in the early hours of the morning while his wife slept beside him. She was the one he dreamed of being able to touch. 
The one thing he couldn’t have, was the one thing he truly coveted. For Jeb Pyre was a sinner. He wasn't a devout man. He didn’t believe in the Heavenly Father. 
And he hated the life he was forced to be living. 
Everything was an act and he was tired of playing his part. 
So, when a killer murdered two of her work acquaintances, and put her in his targets, Jeb decided to personally oversee her protection. After all, she had been such a help to the investigation thus far. He needed to keep his best informant alive. 
Even if that meant risking everything he had to spend the night in her arms.
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Jeb parked his car on the street directly outside of her house. From out here, one would never know what kind of person she was. It looked no different than any other house on the block. He wondered if her neighbors had any idea. He couldn’t imagine if they knew, they would let her stay in the neighborhood without a fight. They’d blame it on the guise of protecting their innocent children from the evil whore but the truth was that they hated anyone who dared to step outside their carefully crafted circle. They hated those different from them. 
But who were her clients then, if not the men who claimed to hate everything about her? 
Everything was a facade. He was so used to hearing people say one thing but act the opposite. The men who would run her from their neighborhood if they knew the truth, were the same men who would cash out their family’s credit card to spend a night with her. Publically, they would denounce her. Privately, they would take whatever they desired from her.
He was no different from them. The perverse thoughts inside his head were just as bad, if not worse. He had seen too much in this job. It had twisted his core. His mind was polluted. He was lusting down paths he could never travel. 
Jeb rapped three, strong knocks on her door. It was later in the evening. He knew she wasn't at the strip club because he had a copy of her schedule in his car glove box. There were other women he had to keep an eye on, too, but she was the one he chose to personally protect. She was the one he feared to lose the most. It was irrational, he knew that. She had no notion of his fantasies keeping him up at night. To her, he was just the lead detective on a case. 
He caught her peeking out the top window of her front door, standing on her tiptoes to reach, and he gave a friendly wave. At least she was smart. She wasn’t opening her door to just anyone. 
He listened to the clicks of two different locks and smiled as she opened to him, “Good evening, ma’am. Detective Jeb Pyre, remember me?” 
She forced a tight smile in return, “Of course I remember you. Do you think I have the memory of a goldfish?” 
He let out a half hearted laugh. She was beautiful but she was scared. Women she had worked with were dying. It was supposed to be his job to keep them safe.
He tried to take a subtle glance down her body. She was wearing a sundress and nothing else. Warm yellow with tiny white flowers dotting the sleek fabric. One of the thin straps was sliding down her shoulder. The dress clung tightly around her torso to highlight her stunning cleavage and flared out over her hips whenever she moved. Women around here never wore clothes like that unless they also donned a buttoned up cardigan and tights. To see her display her body so openly caught his breath in his throat. He had to shift on his feet to readjust himself. He refused to allow her to see how excited his body was reacting to hers.
It was unprofessional. Wrong. 
“Not at all. Do you have a moment to chat?” He asked, doing his best to keep his voice level. 
She gave a sharp inhale, “Is everything okay? Did someone else get hurt?” 
Jeb shook his head, “No, no. Nothing like that. I just wanted…”
What did he want? He wanted to commit a sin. He wanted to see her naked. He wanted to kiss her entire body. He wanted to slide his cock between her beautifully plump lips. He-
He was going to hell. 
“I just wanted to stop in and let you know that I’ll be stationed outside your house for the rest of the night. With everything going on, I thought it would be best to station some people at various hot spots around town to keep an eye on things.” 
Her eyes narrowed, “My house is a hot spot?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m sorry, Detective Pyre, but I don’t do business out of my own home. No one knows where I live. I use a stage name at work. No one there knows my real name. I’m not a street walker, I’m a stripper who occasionally takes up extra clients in the vip rooms when the money is good enough. My house isn’t a revolving door for men to come and go whenever they please like some brothel. I’ve taken some time off work for the next week to lay low, anyway. A lot of the other girls are doing the same. I think I’ll be alright.” 
Jeb chewed awkwardly on his bottom lip, feeling like he had offended her, “I didn’t mean to imply…anything…” 
This was not going how he intended. He wasn’t used to women talking back to him. He wasn’t sure how to respond. 
“You being stationed out in your car all night, in front of my house, is only going to cause more eyes to look at me. My neighbors already think I’m some crazy heretic for not attending their church. I don’t need them looking further into my life. Thank you for stopping by and offering your support but I don’t need it.” 
As she started to close the door, Jeb stuck his foot between the crack, wincing as it slammed into his shoe. He felt immediate guilt for doing such a strong handed act with her. He just couldn’t bear the thought of being turned away. He couldn’t spend another night laying in a bed next to a wife he no longer loved. 
“I’m sorry,” he quickly added when he saw her look of outrage. “I don’t think you understand how dangerous the man we are hunting is. He could have already followed you home. He probably already knows where you live. I wouldn’t put it past him to break in. I’ve seen it before.” He gave a quiet sigh, nearly begging for her approval. “Please. Let me watch over you tonight. I won’t be able to live with myself if something happened while I was supposed to be here.”
Her shoulders dropped in defeat. He watched her peer side to side down the street, taking in her surroundings for anything unusual. 
“Fine,” she huffed. “But do you have to be parked in the street? Can’t you pull your car into my garage so no nosy neighbors will see and spend the night inside? I have a perfectly adequate couch for you to hang out on.” 
Jeb smiled, relieved, “I can do that. Thank you.” 
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He shouldn’t be this excited about being inside her home. 
As he slowly walked through her place, he took note of the items she owned. Her house looked like any others he might enter. There were pictures of her with friends hanging on her refrigerator, a television in the corner of the living room, a brick fireplace with a little ceramic frog on top of the mantle. A cozy, hand knit blanket was draped over the back of the couch. Everything looked normal. He felt stupid for imagining her living inside of sex dungeon. Whatever that might look like. He still had a lot of biases he had to work on.  
She walked into the living room after him with a glass of ice water, offering it to him, “The bathroom is the first door on the left down the hall. My bedroom is the last door. There’s a spare room to the right where I do my step aerobics. I have a basement with some empty rooms down there but I don’t really use them. Then there’s the kitchen and, obviously, living room. The front door and the basement door are the only doors into the house besides the garage. It’s a pretty small house with thin walls so you should be able to hear anything if there’s a break in.” 
Jeb smiled politely in thanks. He knew what he was doing would be considered nefarious in his community. A married man spending the night in a single woman’s home, a stripper, no less, would be the gossip of the town. It wouldn’t matter if he was a detective keeping watch on someone who could be in danger. He was still a man alone with a woman. The first night he was ever alone with his wife was their wedding night. It was no wonder Daisy wanted him to park in the garage so people wouldn’t talk. She probably had a hard enough time as it was. 
“I won’t take up much room,” he said. “I don’t want to be a burden. Only trying to help to keep everyone safe.”
“Isn’t this usually the type of job you give to the rookies?” She asked, taking a seat in an armchair across from the couch. She crossed her legs at the ankles like a respectable lady should and, somehow, she still looked like a seductress doing so. “Does the lead detective usually make overnight house calls?” 
The skirt of her dress was short. It bunched up around her thighs as she sat. He willed himself to only look at her face and keep his eyes from wandering. 
Jeb blushed and perched on the edge of the couch cushion, “We don’t have too many men at the station. I volunteered to lend an extra hand.” 
She leaned back, eyeing him up with a type of bold, observant intelligence he wasn’t used to seeing, “What does your wife think of you spending the night with a whore?” 
He anxiously twirled his wedding band around his finger. She spoke with such brashness it caught him off guard.
“I told her I was spending the night at the office,” he wasn’t sure why he willingly answered so honestly and without hesitation. 
She had that kind of spell over him. He wanted to protect her. Wanted to give her things. Wanted to tell her all his secrets. She was a siren luring him to his destruction and he was willing to sail his ship straight into the rocks if it made her happy.  
A smirk tugged up the corner of her lips, “Ah, I see. So you’re a liar. What else are you lying to her about?”
Jeb choked on the water he was sipping. His eyes widened. 
“I’m not-what-I’m not-” he sputtered out.
She laughed quietly to herself, “Calm down, detective. I was only joking. An LDS man telling his wife a lie? That’s never been heard of before.” Sarcasm dripped from her words. 
He ran the back of his hand over his lips to hide his smile. He liked her. He liked her sass. She didn't care what he thought of her. She wasn’t playing a game like everyone else he knew. It made him want to tell her the truth. Every truth. Everything he had been holding in for the past year. 
He hated his wife. He didn’t just not love her anymore, he despised her. 
Her words had been echoing in his ears for over a year now, “I love you but I can’t struggle through this with you.”
She had left him when he needed her the most. She chose her faith over him. He should have known. He had married her because of how devout she was. Her love for Heavenly Father was what drew him towards her in the first place. Now, it’s what cast him away. 
If he didn’t pretend, Rebecca would take everything from him. She would leave him for nothing if he didn’t keep on impersonating a saintly man. As if they hadn’t spent an entire lifetime together. As if he hadn’t devoted everything to his family. She would rather jump ship than dare to stand by his side when he needed her most. He would have never left her if she had been in his place. He would have held her hand and walked her through her doubts but she couldn’t do the same. Her love was conditional. 
He hated her for that. 
He hated himself for hating her. 
Rebecca’s faith was what kept her moving forward. It was all she ever knew. She lives in the LDS belief that Jeb, with his priesthood, is the one who must usher her through the veil when she passes so she can enter the highest form of heaven. Without him, without his beliefs, she was fucked. 
Jeb smiled to himself. He liked that word. 
Fucked. 
Fuck, fuck, fuck. 
That was his life.
A big fucking lie. A pile of steaming bullshit. 
He had just met Daisy five days ago and she had already pegged him for exactly the kind of man he was. A liar. A stripper knew more about him than his own wife. She could see straight through the fabricated, bullshit act he put on and he had only been inside her home for five minutes. Five fucking minutes and she could already see the depravity leaking out of him. 
God, he was pathetic. 
“I don’t believe in a God,” he blurted out, shocking even himself with the outburst. 
She gave him a few, stunned blinks in response, “...Okay.” 
Jeb cleared his throat, his face heating with embarrassment, “I don’t know where that came from. I deeply apologize.” 
If he was with anyone else, his confession would have been met with gasps of horror. With her, it was nothing more than a passing sentence. 
She was perfect. He wanted her. Badly. That sundress was only working to fuel his indiscretion. 
She leaned her head into the palm of her hand as she rested it on the arm of the chair, “Is this…something you’d like to discuss further, detective? Men seem to enjoy emptying their traumas onto me. I’ve consoled many men over the years. I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.” 
“I-” he stammered, his ear heating up in shame for his actions. “No. I’m sorry. Again.”
She wasn’t his therapist. He didn’t have a therapist. Only crazy people had therapists. And he wasn’t crazy. 
Or maybe he was. 
Life might be easier if he was crazy. 
“I love my wife,” he stated. He only said that to try and convince his brain to stop lusting after the woman he was meant to be protecting. He was here to make sure no one broke in. He was working a case. He was not here to turn to sin. 
She nodded her head, pretending to follow along with whatever obvious breakdown was going on inside his mind, “That’s good. A lot of men love their wives. A lot of men don’t. That’s a part of life.” 
“I love…no…” Jeb sighed. Fuck it. The rant was coming out. He couldn’t stop it. He was already too far gone to keep it repressed any longer. “I don’t love my wife. I hate her. Every time I look at her, all I feel is animosity. I think she’s the dumbest woman I’ve ever met and I know that’s wrong to think. I know that makes me a terrible man. I’m an awful husband. It’s just that she blindly follows whatever the profit says. Whatever a bishop tells her to do, she’d do it without a second thought. They could tell her to get on her knees and suck them off because Heavenly Father commanded it so and she would do it. She doesn’t see anything further than her own nose. She follows and never questions. And, I understand, because I used to be the same. I used to believe because that’s what I was taught to do. Blindly believe. That’s all there ever was. 
“She’s never seen true evil. Not like I have. Because she refuses to look even though it’s all around her. I see it everywhere. She puts on her little Mormon blinders and never dares to take them off. So, she follows. And she makes my girls follow. And she makes me follow or else she will take the girls away from me. I am raising my daughters in a world that hates women. My wife is letting them be preyed upon. She’s happy to let them be squashed into submission. Keep sweet. Pray and obey. Learn to worship your future husband. Never think for yourself.” He closed his eyes and took a deep, shaking breath, feeling himself losing it. His voice cracked. “If I give up, is there no hope for my daughters? Who will protect them if not me? My wife would marry again, quickly, so she can still get into the celestial kingdom when she dies. She’ll marry someone who won’t waver in their beliefs. Another man would raise my girls. He won’t care about them. Not like I do. They’ll be sold off to the first Mormon boy they fancy. They’ll be married at 18. Never attend college. Never think for themselves. Never get a job. Because I won’t be there to inspire them to reach for more. I’ve seen what kind of men are out there. My daughters won’t be safe unless I play the part my wife created for me.”
He opened his eyes to look over at the woman across from him. Her face was neutral but her eyes were burning with an eagerness to know more. His sudden outburst of lament had stricken something deep inside of her. He had captured her interest like he was a strange bug forced under a microscope that she wanted to dissect. His spiel may have exploded out of nowhere but she was already on board to follow along. She seemed like someone who enjoyed a feisty debate. He needed someone who wouldn’t hold back. 
“You claim your wife is the dumb one, yet, here you are, spewing a load of shit all over my living room,” she mused, giving him a snarky grin. 
Jeb’s jaw dropped. He forced himself to quickly regain his composure and took another swig of cold water. The fire behind her eyes was enticing. He desperately wished his wife could show that kind of passion once in her fucking life. He hated the docile, sweet act. He craved raging forest fires not babbling brooks. He licked his lips, ready to swallow anything she threw back at him. This is what he wanted. Someone to argue with. Someone he could express himself with without fear of rejection. He wanted this fierce lioness to eat him alive. 
He just wanted something that felt real for once. 
She stood up to pace around the room in front of him while she spoke, “Do you realize your wife is like that because she knows nothing else? That is her way of survival. She chooses to believe instead of question because questioning is terrifying. Questioning means losing everything and everyone you’ve ever loved. Your entire world crumbles under your feet if you dare to question. Want to ask me how I know?” She stopped her aggravated pacing to shoot him a look of annoyance. “You’re a man. You have so many options still available should you fumble. If she were to question her faith, she would lose her family. Her mother, father, sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends. She loses them all. And then she is left with what, exactly? I doubt your wife works? Does she have her own career? Skill sets? Does she have her own income? Does she have her own car? Bank account? She dares to question, she is left with nothing. But you know that already. Obviously. Because you are just as scared to speak your truths out loud. You’re no better than her.”
She stopped momentarily to catch her breath, flipping a strand of hair from off her forehead. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the way her hips swayed when she walked. He adored her temper. It felt so natural. Real. She wasn’t holding herself back to placate him. She acted on her own accord without worrying about how others perceived her. 
He wanted to toss her onto this couch and take her right here. He could only half listen to her rant through his ever growing desires. 
“How do you know your wife doesn’t think the same thoughts as you? How do you know she doesn’t hide her truths locked up deep inside her mind and never dares to speak them? It’s fine to voice your opinions when you’re in the safety of my house. To you, I am nothing, I’m just a stripper. A prostitute. Hooker. Harlot. Whore. Whatever you want to call me. I pose no threat to you because, to you, I am so far below you that my voice does not matter. You feel safe to speak freely inside these walls because you face no real consequences here. You’ve seen evil? Well I’ve lived evil. You’re here because of the evil that wants to be inflicted upon me. Because I think differently from you. Because I use my body as a tool. Because I don’t subscribe to your values. Someone out there thinks I deserve death simply because I exist in a way he doesn’t approve of. You want to blame your wife for your problems. Blame yourself because you’re no better than her. You’re all a part of the same system.” 
Jeb sat there in silence. The condensation from the glass of ice water clutched in his hand dripped down his wrist. His heart thumped wildly in his chest as he took it all in. He was torn between fully digesting her words and imagining her naked, writhing body under him as he dragged the ice cube from his glass down her stomach. 
“I don’t,” he whispered. “I don’t think you’re a whore.” 
He didn’t even like saying that word out loud. He felt a dark cloud of shame rain down around him. But was she wrong?  
He had never imagined his wife in the scenario currently playing in his head. He saw Daisy as a sex object willing to be exploited to his darkest temptations.  
She stopped in front of him. She placed her finger under his chin and lifted his head up to look at her. His wide, pleading, brown eyes took her in, silently begging for some kind of clarity to fix his entire life.
“Tell me what you think of me, detective. Tell me the truth. When you look at me, what is it you truly see?” She murmured down at him. “Why are you really here? It’s not to discuss your lapse of faith, or your wife, and it’s not to keep me safe. I can see it in your eyes. Tell me what it is you truly want? Don’t you lie to me.”
The way his world saw it, Rebecca was pure, because she had remained a virgin until marriage. She lived and breathed by the Book of Mormon. Daisy was a condemned sinner, because she sold her body for sex. She was beyond saving. Even the outfit she wore was considered taboo. Modest clothing was the foundation stone to sustaining abstinence. She was the sinner. 
But so was he. 
Jeb was no saint despite the role he was trying to play. 
He took a deep breath and recited the scripture, “He that looketh on a woman to lust after her, or if any shall commit adultery in their hearts, they shall not have the Spirit, but shall deny the faith and shall fear.”
Her eyes flicked with curiosity and a smile tugged at her lips. She caressed her thumb over his cheek, “You lust, Jeb Pyre? For me?”
He licked his drying lips, gently pushing her hand away from his face, “Yes.” 
She nodded, knowingly, “You don’t know what you want. Your mind is in one place but your actions keep you in another. I am not the answer to your problems. Many men have tried but all have failed. The answer is never found between the legs of a whore. Unless, that is, what you say is true and you don’t think of me that way. Something tells me, though, that you’re lying to us both.” She gave him a wink, turning on her heels with her dress spinning out around her, and swayed down the hallway towards her bedroom. “Have a good night on the couch, detective. I’ll be retiring to my bedroom should you decide you need me.” 
She let those last few words linger in the air, the weight of them settling down around him, as the door closed behind her.
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The cuckoo clock hanging on her wall let him know that midnight was here. The sudden sound breaking the peaceful silence had caused him to jump up from his spot on the couch and reach for the gun at his hip. Jeb rolled his eyes in the clock's direction and lowered his hands back to his side. He might still have some residual PTSD from his former cases…  
Her house was dark and quiet. 
He liked it that way. Sometimes he missed the quiet. She hadn’t left her bedroom since she entered. Without her in his sights, he could better attempt to control his impulses. He was too weak to be trusted around her. If she hadn’t left when she did, he would have given in. It had taken everything in him to not follow her blindly into that bedroom like a dog on a leash. 
Jeb ran a ragged hand over his face. He wasn’t tired. Late nights were where he thrived best. He hadn’t felt this alive in a long time. She’d awoken his mind in a way he thirsted for. Even just being in her house, prowling silently down her hallway, gave him a thrill. He felt like a naughty school boy getting into mischief after class. He longed to feel something more. His life was full of boredom and she offered him the keys to adventure. He longed to find solace in the arms of a stripper. 
A soft light illuminated from under her door to let him know that she was still awake down there. He wondered what she was doing hidden away out of his sight. She had invited him to join her. She had invited him to relish in his sins. It would be a line that, once he crossed, he would never be able to erase. The second he gave in to her, he wouldn't be able to stop. He was already past the point of saving. One little push was all it would take for him to delve into the madness. That glowing light under her door beckoned him to her like the light of God calling him home.  
He slipped into her bathroom instead. 
He ran cold water out of her orchid pink sink to splash over his heated face. His eyes sought his reflection in the mirror to stare deeply into his own battered soul. This was his crossroads. Whichever path he took would alter the rest of his life. He had already committed adultery in his mind. It was now the act to see if his body would follow or not. 
The sight of a black and golden lipstick sitting on the edge of her sink caught his eye. Jeb reached for it, popping off the cap, and twisting it up. A deep, berry red. A color housewives wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. He brushed his thumb over the top to coat his skin with the color of her lips. The bottom of the stick was engraved with the name of the shade. Walk of Shame. He smiled a wicked smile to himself. 
He knew what road he was going to take. He would take that walk of shame. 
Jeb placed the stick back where he found it. He twisted his wedding ring around his finger, mulling over his decision, then carefully plucked it off his body. He placed the ring around the lipstick, listening to it rattle against the ceramic sink, and gave a long, soft sigh. A weight had been lifted from him. He quickly exited the bathroom and allowed his feet to lead him straight to her door. He stood outside, silent, listening. 
Soft moans floated under the door. Little whines. Whimpers. 
His eyes slipped closed and his lips parted. He knew those sounds. She was putting on a show for him. All he had to do was raise the curtain and let her perform. His hand hovered over her door knob. 
It was okay. She had invited him in. 
“-should you need me.”
He needed her. He hadn’t engaged in sex with his wife in over eight months. He needed her now more than ever. 
He slowly and silently turned the knob. Inch by inch. Until he was able to push open the door. Just a crack. Just enough to peek through. He had to make sure she was safe behind those walls. After all, that was his job. 
She laid across the bottom of her mattress. Her sundress was gathered around her hips. Her legs were parted wide, aimed straight at the door, as if she knew he would show up. He was that predictable. Through her half closed, dreamy lids, her long, elegant fingers drew delicate circles through her glistening flower. His breath caught in his throat when he watched her dip a finger deep inside of her. His cock sprang to life, begging to be touched, pushing at the loose fabric of his dark gray suit pants. 
He should close the door. He should leave. 
This was wrong. He needed to repent. 
“I see you watching me, detective,” she whispered to him as he hid away in the dark hallway, lurking in the shadows like a predator. She let out a soft whine, dragging her soaked finger in circles around her clit. “I know you’re there.” 
Jeb swallowed. She was the devil. A demon. He had no power over her. Heat flushed through his veins. His breath was already coming out in heavy pants. He was chained to the doorway, captivated by her seduction. He couldn’t move away even if he wanted to. 
“Have you ever seen a woman masturbate, Brother Pyre?” She moaned. “Have you ever seen a woman touch herself like this?” 
His fingers wrapped around the edge of the door, gripping tightly onto the wood for support. No. He hadn’t. It would shock him if he found out his wife secretly masturbated in private. She was so well behaved. Masturbation was a sin. She would never dare allow anyone else besides him to touch her, not even herself. 
“Do you like to watch me?” She whimpered, sinking her finger back inside of her. “I was hoping you would come. I know you, detective. I see through you. Your mind is just as perverted as the rest of us. You want to give in. You want to taste what is forbidden to you. It’s okay. I won’t tell.” 
She looked hotly up into his eyes, staring straight into his corrupted soul. He was too weak. He had no resolve. The devil looked too appetizing. The sins of the flesh were tempting him forward as he let the door push open to reveal himself in all his shame. 
She gave him a warm smile, taking in the sight of the bulge below his belt. Her fingers swept through her folds, slippery with her arousal. With the expertise of someone with diligent practice, she used two fingers to part the outer petals of her womanhood to reveal to him the hot, sinking abyss he craved to explore. 
Enraptured, he could not tear his eyes from the slender digit plunging into her soaking depths. His mouth opened and closed, silently, begging to seek a taste of such a treasure. He watched in a starving trance as she anointed her needy pearl, bathing it in her honey, tending to it like a precious garden. Her eyes locked with his, burning, tempting him to join her in her display of debauchery. 
Oh, lord, he was tempted. 
Through heavy, ragged breaths she spoke, “Watch me, detective. Gaze upon the kind of life you were kept from. Look at what you could have been given. See what you missed out on.” 
He was watching. His eyes were padlocked to her dancing fingers. She was beautiful. His heart sought to hold her in his arms while he touched her with a wild abandon. 
“Do you like what you see, Jeb?” She moaned out his name extra low and tantalizing. 
He almost came in his pants at the sound of his name in her mouth. A shudder ran through his tightly wound body. 
“Answer me!” She demanded from him.
He gasped, “Yes.” 
A smile spread across her lips, “Good boy. Men like you work so hard, don’t they? You give and give and give but who ever takes care of you? Let yourself relax, detective. Let yourself give in. Let me care for you. Let someone else take control for once.”
Her eyes closed, lost in the rhythmic tones of her own words, casting her enchantment over them both. She had known he would come seek her out. She had known he would watch. She wanted him here. All he craved was to feel wanted again. 
He took a tentative step into her bedroom, closing the door behind him, and sealing his fate with the click of the lock. 
“That’s it, baby,” she cooed. “Come a little closer. Take a look at your new toy. All for you.”
Jeb held his breath, shuffling slowly forward a few more paces. His heart was racing. His skin was on fire. His mind was made up. 
“Why don’t you let Daisy see what her Gatsby is working with, hmm? Take your belt off. Unzip your pants. Show me.” It wasn’t a request but a demand. 
He swallowed, his nerves sending him into a frenzy, as he undid his belt, lost in her trance. His eyes stayed glued to her hypnotic fingers casting circles of magic around her clit. Subconsciously, his tongue dated out to lick his lips, desperate for a taste. 
His hot, heavy cock fell out into the palm of his hand. He listened to her sharp inhale at the sight. It was followed by a purr of approval. 
“I want you to touch yourself but keep your eyes on my pussy, detective. Watch what I’m doing. Watch how wet you’re making me. Listen.” Two fingers sunk into her, squelching and sloppy, as she pumped them in and out. 
His eyes rolled into the back of his head at the sound and a growl rumbled in the back of his throat. With the tip of his thumb, still stained with her lipstick, he smeared around his own wetness leaking from his tip. He worked it down his shaft, slowly pumping himself through his fist. 
“I’ve been dreaming of this moment since the day I met you,” she breathed, keeping him in her watchful sights, each of them working to build their own pleasure. “I saw you then like I see you now. A lost man in need of guidance. I dreamed of you touching me. That first day, when you called me into your office. I imagined spreading my legs for you as I sat on top of your desk, throwing papers to the floor, while you ate me out in front of the large window. I dreamed of you finding me at my work, paying extra to take me to the back rooms, making me suck your cock while you grabbed my hair and prayed to your pathetic God.” He wanted to eat that arrogant smirk straight off her face. “You like watching me, don’t you, pretty boy? You like hiding here, away from the world, where only you and I can bear witness to the blasphemy of your true self. Show me who you really are.” 
He whimpered, tugging on his cock a little harder. He was a sinner. An adulterer. A pervert. A heretic. A liar. 
“Tell me what you want to do to me, detective? Tell me all the ways you’ve dreamed of fucking me while you slept next to your frigid wife.” 
Jeb stuttered over his words, trying to force them out his tightening throat, “I’ve-I’ve…dreamt of dragging you to temple, b-bending you over the sacrament table, and fucking you in front of the congregation so they could all see what kind of dirty whore you are.” 
Tears pricked in his eyes as the shame battled it out with the unbridled lust. He had never spoken like that in his life. A sense of vitality flowed through him. It made his cock twitch in his hand and he stroked it more fervently. 
She licked her lips, letting out a light, amused laugh, “Such a naughty boy, detective. I know there’s more darkness in you. I want to hear it all. What else do you dream of?” 
“Taking you into my home. F-fucking you-” he stumbled over the word “fucking” as it still felt so forgein on his lips to openly talk this dirty. “In my bed. On my wife’s side. Forcing her to watch while I make you unravel on my tongue. Showing her exactly what she is missing out on. Showing her what kind of man I could be if she’d only open herself up to experiment more.”
He couldn’t believe the filth he was allowing himself to admit. These were his private thoughts. They were never meant to be exposed to anyone. She had that effect on him. His skull was cracked open and his most shameless self was laid bare. 
“You’re poor, poor wife,” she mewled. “She deserves to have someone tend to her needs, too. I know she wants it. All women do. You’ve just never pushed her far enough because you’re weak, Jeb Pyre.” She removed her fingers from her pussy and sat up, letting her dress fall back over her hips. She stared him down with her possessive gaze. “Get on your knees,” she ordered. 
He didn’t even hesitate. He released his hand from his cock and knelt down before her. She slowly got to her feet to take a stand directly in front of him. She was so close he could smell her sex clinging to her skin. 
“Men like you are always searching for something to worship.You told me you don’t believe in God. You told me you’ve lost your way. You have nothing to hold onto.” She trailed her finger, still glistening with her slick, over his bottom lip. “If you’ve lost your God then worship me instead. I’m your new God now, detective. Open your mouth and worship me. Cleanse my fingers with your tongue.” 
His lips parted and she slipped two fingers over his tongue. He closed around her, bathing her clean, tasting the remnants of her devine pussy. She slid her fingers down his throat causing him to gag. 
“Good boy,” she murmured her praises to him. “Sing me your devotions. Relax your throat. Soften your tongue. Take it like a man.” 
Jeb reached up to gently take hold of her wrist. He showered her hand in soft kisses, trailing up her arm and back down again, lapping at the tips of her fingers with his tongue, sucking them into his mouth, moaning as she glided down his throat. 
“Look at how hard you are. Desperate to be touched. Desperate to follow directions. Desperate to pray to anything that will have you.” 
She jerked her hand away from him, leaving him feeling empty and cold. She grabbed his chin in her grasp. Her nails dug into his cheeks. 
“Who’s your God, Jeb Pyre?” She asked. 
“You,” he replied. 
“Prove it. Pray at your altar.”
She lifted the skirt of her dress to expose herself to him. Her foot rested on the edge of the mattress so he could get an eye to eye look with his new lifeline. Jeb let out a shaky breath. His hands extended to wrap around her waist, drawing himself closer to her. He tilted his head to bring his quivering breaths to her heated core. She draped the hem of her dress over his head to curtain him the darkness where he belonged. In the dark, he could worship in secrecy.
His head pushed between her thighs to force her legs to widen for him. Her salty musk filled his senses, hooking him in like a drug. His eyes slipped closed at the first taste of the almighty. She was the bread of life. Honey flowed from the darkness and he relished in every drop. His tongue probed at her entrance, burying between her warmth, reaching deeper depths with lapping rolls. Teasing. Tantalizing. Tasting. He suckled at her clitoris, nibbling softly at the sensitive flesh, swirling her with his tongue. The sounds of her coos were all the praises he craved. He didn’t need practice to know how to please her. Surrendering to her was as natural to him as breathing. 
“A virtuous woman is the crown to her husband,” she moaned, quoting the scripture. “And, yet, your sinning whore is the one who sits upon your head like a crown.”
He shivered at the debauchery of her words. He smiled against her pussy and took his time to savor his meal. She was a blessing bestowed upon him. A crown upon his head. His tongue thrust up inside of her, fucking her slowly and tenderly. He tightened his grip around her waist to hold her closer, a desperate man clinging to his lifesaver, moaning against her heated skin. The way she ground herself against him, thrusting herself deeper against his tongue, was enough to trigger his own needs. He humped his hips into the air, thrusting into nothing. 
“Oh, sweet thing,” she hummed. “Is my favorite detective in need of some more attention? When was the last time you’ve had that gorgeously thick cock buried inside someone’s cunt?” 
He whimpered, not letting up on his assault of her pussy, and clung tightly onto her waist. Eight months. Eight torturous months. 
“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” she murmured, her voice thick with lust from trying to control her building orgasm. “I’ll take good care of you. I don’t want you getting too drunk off my pussy. Can’t have you completely let go before I’ve had my fun. Come here.” 
She slid out from his grasp by pulling herself up onto the mattress. Her eyes were glazed over with a needy passion. Glassy and wet. 
“Take your pants off,” she ordered. “I want to see you fully.” 
They were already half way down his thighs. With a little push, they pooled around his ankles, pulled down quickly by the weight of his gun belt. He kicked off his nice dress shoes and stepped out of his pants to leave only his temple garments. 
She smirked at the sight and hopped off the bed to take a step closer. Her hand wrapped around his tie to pull him down to her level. Her lips trailed over his as his eyes fluttered close. She glided her tongue across his lips, cleaning herself from them, with a gentle hum of approval. 
“Who tastes better? Me or your wife?” She asked. 
Jeb flustered in her question, “I-I wouldn’t know. She won’t let me. She believes it’s a form of sexual transgression.”
“Did you think about her?” She questioned. “When your tongue was buried inside of me, did she ever cross your mind?”
Guilt filled him, “Not once.”
She smiled, releasing his tie from her grasp, and began to work on extracting him from his perfectly crisp, white button up until he was left in nothing but his sacred garments. 
She slowly eyed him up and down, “Keep the top on. I want you to remember exactly what your betraying as you fuck me.” 
She sank to her knees, pulling down his underwear with her. His cock sat against his left thigh, hard and in need of attention. Her nails dragged along his sensitive, delicate skin. When she reached the tip of his cock, she carefully pushed a nail into the soft flesh while he hissed in pain. She left a crescent moon imprint behind which she quickly leaned down to kiss better. It was her harsh reminder that even if she was on her knees for him, she was still the one calling the shots.
He quite liked how the pain made him feel but he was too nervous to ask for more.
Her throat relaxed as she slipped him between her lips. He skimmed over her warm tongue with little jerking movements from his hips to push himself deeper into her. He wanted to reach out and grab her hair but was afraid to touch her. Instead, he balled his hands up at his side, digging his nails into his palm to try and elicit a bit more pain. It wasn’t the same as when she inflicted it. 
Her head bobbed with an expertise that could only be brought from years of practice. It made his own oral skills seem novice and weak in comparison. His head leaned back as he stared at the ceiling, looking straight through it, and up into the heavens. There was no celestial kingdom up there. There was no God looking down on him. His heaven was right here in this room. His God was on her knees with her lips wrapped around his cock. This was the true meaning of life.
Jeb moaned out her name. Not Daisy. Not her stage name. Her real name. The one he kept locked up in a file in his desk. The name he would slowly stroke his finger over as he spent his late nights searching through his notes. The name only people who loved her were allowed to use. 
She froze. 
His cock fell from her lips and she stared up at him with a playful vengeance. 
“What was that, detective?” She asked, her voice low and dangerous, but hiding an impish undertone. “I know I didn’t hear what I think I just did.”
He ran a hand over his face, too overwhelmed to be thinking straight, “Daisy. I meant Daisy.”
“You think you know me?” She got to her feet, wiping her bottom lip with her thumb. “You think you know the real me? Because I know the real you, Jeb, but do you know me?”
A heated red tint blushed across his cheeks, “I…don’t know…” 
“Of course you don’t. Are you ever sure about anything in your life?” She raised a curious eyebrow at him. “I’m sure of most things that I do and say and believe. Can you say the same?”
He shook his head, “No. I can’t.”
She flashed him a poignant smile, “Name one thing you are 100% sure of right this very second.” 
Jeb licked his lips. He knew.
“I am certain that I want to kiss you. Certain that I want to tear that dress from your body. And I’m certain that I want to throw you over this bed and fuck you like you deserve.” 
“Then let go, detective. Give in. Become the animal you’ve always repressed. What are you waiting for?”
It was all the release he needed. 
His fingers wrapped around her wrist to drag her against his body. His lips crashed down onto hers as he held her in his arms with a steellike grip. She didn’t kiss him back, so much as, surrendered her mouth to him. Her body went nearly limp and he kept her on her feet with his own strength. Her surrender brought forth a rush of devoted emotions and blind, sexual desire turning him into the beast he longed to become. He seized at her hair, tugging, pulling, wildly gripping, and attacked her mouth like it was the holy spirit he sought to believe in. She shuddered before his onslaught and melted into him. The more he reached for, the more he stole, the more she wanted it. She was driving him insane with an unrestrained passion of pure lust. He pitied any man who didn’t fall to his knees to worship her like the goddess she was. Her mouth was a sin that he wanted to violate. 
Jeb violently grabbed at the straps of her sundress, nearly ripping them off, as he tore them down her body. The dress thumped to the floor to leave her completely naked and exposed. She didn’t flinch away. She didn’t try to hide and play with her coy modesty. She stood proudly before him exactly how a goddess should hold herself before a mortal man. 
He slid his hands up her sides, grazing over the swell of her breasts, feasting on them with his eyes. He ran his thumbs over her nipples, pinching and flicking, while he attacked her mouth once more. She parted her lips to submit his tongue into her depths, sucking on it and twirling it around her mouth. Whenever he pinched her gorgeous nipples between his fingers, she would let out the most delicious moan and thrust her chest against his palms. His heart was racing with a pace that might kill him if he didn’t force himself to breath. His head was spinning in a dizzying whirlwind of thrill. 
Jeb sank down and lowered his head to capture her nipple between his teeth, lashing at it with his tongue, listening to the gospel choir of whimpering moans coming out of her. She had shoved her nail into the head of his cock so he took a mouthful of her flesh, just under her beautifully darkened areola, and bit down hard. He had never bitten his wife in his life. He liked the way it felt as he tumbled deeper into his own carnal depravity. He wanted to defile her body and join her in their mutual corruption. 
She arched her back, letting out a gasping shriek and letting it tumble down into a slurry of cooing whimpers, “Oh, Jeb. Yes. Yes.” 
A circle of intended teeth marks, glistening with his saliva, shone proudly back at him. He liked marking her skin, claiming her as his own. It felt animalistic. Primal. A growl ripped from his throat, he was sick with lust, feverish and sweaty, panting with need. He grabbed at her hips and spun her around, pushing his hand between her shoulder blades to shove her face first into the mattress. Her ankles spread wide to allow him to have easy access. 
He took a stumbling step back to admire the sight. Her pussy was glistening and spread open in wait for him. Beads of sweat dotted along her back down her spine. Her ass was sticking upwards, parted, so he could see her tight, little hole. She looked more ready to be fucked than anyone he’d ever seen. His wife had never presented herself to him like this. He imagined her splayed out in this same position and gave a breathless laugh. He could hardly even create a mental picture in his mind, it was so improbable. 
“Something funny back there, asshole?” 
Jeb gave a dark laugh in response, “Just the neverending joke that is my life.” 
He lined the head of his cock up to her pussy, coating the tip in her slick, and bumping it back and forth over her clit. 
Murder. Denying the Holy Spirit. Adultery. 
Three of the worst things a good Mormon man could ever commit.
He’d already knocked denying the holy spirit off his list…might as well add another. 
He sunk his cock into her. Steady and true. She let out an exhale and he watched her head tilt back to enjoy the sensation. So hot. So tight. Perfection. She was here to be fucked. Here to take his cock.
“That’s it,” he breathed. 
He felt no shame. It was unusual for a Mormon not to feel shame but, tonight, buried balls deep in this woman, he felt nothing but relief. This was everything his body needed. He wanted fast and rough. He wanted to take her from behind with a feral abandon. He wanted to do all the things he wasn’t allowed to do until he was gripped with satisfaction. 
Jeb grabbed her hips for leverage and began his awakening. Tonight, he was becoming a new man. He fucked her with quick, short thrusts that slammed into her. Her ass slapped against his stomach with each pound. She filled the room with the sounds of her gasps and erotic moans. Depending on how hard he rammed into her, she’d even let out little shrieks. He liked those sounds best. They made him fuck her harder, dragging out his full length, then smacking back into her. Possessing her body. Over and over and over.
He didn’t even care that he wasn’t wearing a condom. Those were problems for later Jeb. Present Jeb had everything he could ever need. 
Sweat dripped down his forehead. Ragged, heavy, heaving breaths tumbled from his lips. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her upwards, so he could feel her body against his. She arched her back with her head rolling against his. He inhaled the scent of her hair fusing with the musk of their sex. He fumbled his hands around to capture her breasts, feeling the weight of them in his hands, her rock hard nipples dragging across his palm. She reached an arm around the side of his head to hold her steady from the onslaught of vigor his hips were causing her. 
“Oh, fuck, Jeb!” She cried. “You needed this, baby. You needed this to happen. Let go. Let it all out. Give me everything you’ve got. Don’t hold back.”
Jeb whimpered out a sob in response, sounding pathetic even to his own ears. All he wanted was someone to listen, someone to take care of him, someone to understand. 
He tumbled them both against the side of the mattress, falling on top of her. Her head turned, leaning against the covers, so he could shower the side of her face with wet, tear stained kisses. He nibbled on her earlobe, lapped his tongue at the corner of her lips, and dragged his teeth along the edge of her jaw. She was made to be devoured. His hips hammered with an agonizing precision into her heat. They were trapped in a hurricane, holding onto each other for dear life, as the maelstrom of building emotions swept them away. 
He could feel her clenching down around him. He knew she was close. He was, too, but he wanted her to cum first. His goddess deserved to reach euphoria before he did. His hand slipped down her side and wedged itself between her hips and the mattress to find a home between the slick fire of her lips. She whined, bucking her hips, the moment he found her clit, tormenting it with his fingers. 
“Cum for me,” his raspy, lust drunk voice growled in her ear. “Let me feel you unravel on my cock.”
Her body shook. Waves rippled over her skin with each hard pound of his cock into her. He could feel her tightening. Clenching. Gripping. A mangled yelp tore from her throat. When she orgasmed, she gave him everything. Her entire body surrendered to him. It burst from her with everything she could give. Her eyes widened, her mouth parted in a silent shriek, her spine arched. Like a demon possessing her body, she writhed under him with jerking, frantic thrusts. He wrapped his arms around her, collecting her tightly against him, to try and hold her together so she didn’t combust into the flames of Hell. 
He let out a whimper as he desperately tried to hold off his own orgasm. He wanted to let her ride out her ecstasy on cock without him cumming inside of her. 
Her legs gave out and she sunk onto her knees, letting him slip out of her, “I got you, baby. I’wan’taste you. Use me.” 
Without missing a beat, she ushered him straight out of her pussy and into her wet, waiting mouth. His eyes closed as his head fell back. He let out a long, drawn out moan. His hand found her hair, no longer feeling nervous to touch her or manipulate her how he pleased. He helped push her forward to take more and more of him. He wasn’t going to last much longer. 
She let him slide down her throat, relishing his cock with her tongue, tasting herself on his tender flesh. He balled a fistful of her hair into his grasp. 
“I’m-I’m-I” he stuttered out, not able to finish the sentence, but she got to the hint. 
Her pace quickened. Her suction around him tightened. He felt himself tense up before an explosion of dopamine flooded his brain with a loud cry of pleasure. 
She straightened her back, moaning softly, as she swallowed down the hot spurts of his semen. Her fisted hand continued to massage his shaft while her mouth tended diligently to his crown. 
Jeb’s mouth hung open, tears flowed freely down his face, and he eventually managed to stumble backwards away from her. He crashed into the back wall and slid down to his ass, shaking. 
She crawled across the floor to drape herself into his lap. His arms snaked around her, thankful for having something to hold onto. His mind felt like he was floating away. His body felt amazing but his emotions were in turmoil. She stroked her fingers through his hair and left soft kisses along his neck. 
He had done it. There was no going back now. 
“It’s okay, baby,” she murmured against his sweat stained skin, as if reading his mind. “You did what you had to do. Sometimes your body knows better than your brain. It was telling you what it needed. It’s just like taking a spoonful of medicine to fight off a cold. There are times when you need to give in and give your body what it craves.” 
He craved her. Daisy. And everything that she represented. Even at this moment, after he had already had her, after he had given in, he should be feeling horror, disgust, shame, but he only wanted more of her. That’s why the tears were freely flowing. Not because he was humiliated by his sins but because he wanted more. 
This was the life he wanted to live. He had gotten a taste, a spoonful, of the other side. A side he could never have. A side he would always be reaching for but never able to obtain due to the religion he was trapped in. His priorities had to remain elsewhere. He had family to care for. Children to raise. He was their only hope for a different future. He would never allow Rebecca to take his kids from him. He would do whatever he needed to keep her docile and oblivious. He could save his children from the inside, even if that meant selling his soul to a God he didn’t believe in. 
Everything was so clear to him now. There was no more confusion. No more doubt. 
Daisy and his green light. 
The inability to ever reach what he truly desired. 
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A/N: If you dare to ask me to write a part two and you don't reblog detailing in great detail everything you liked and enjoyed about this story, then I will curse your entire family and block you. No one gets to ask for a part two without doing their damn part and reblogging first xoxo
Tagging some people who seemed like they might be interested in this smutty lil fic: @moonyslove78 @raindropsandteaandtears @withahappyrefrain @lxinesux @liz-allyn (i dont care if youre hardly on tumblr anymore liz i will tag you in everything i do until the end of time deal with it)
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i-am-a-l0st-gh0st · 16 hours
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Hear me out... The reader is lyneys friend in Fontaine who secretly has a massive crush on lyney, thinking those feelings are one-sided hence not telling him. They went to lyneys show, but then lyney took an audience member - a beautiful woman - for a trick which involved a little dance motion. That made the readers heart crush, as they sat in the dark audience seat with tears falling down from their eyes - their mind telling them they'll never ever be in place of that woman.Gn reader please!!!
Secrets I have held in my heart- Lyney x Gn!reader
Are harder to hide than I thought t/w- Angst no comfort, unrequited love Summary- As shown above A/n- I maybe wanted to start doing Honkai Star rail Oneshots too! Would you guys enjoy that??
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Lyney danced across the stage, dragging the audience's attention with him. No one could take their eyes off the magical magician. You however were the most captivated. You were the only one who noticed the small details about him. The way he played with his hand between each trick or the way he would quickly throw a nod towards you. You had liked Lyney for almost a year and had known each other since you were little. The crush wouldn’t stop growing. His hand brushing against yours ever so slightly was enough to send you into a full-blown panic, and his flirting personality didn't help you either.
But there was just something special about him being up on that stage and only you knowing the true him. You were the one who had seen his tears, you were the one who had made him laugh. Who knows if he felt the same to you, he was flirty with everyone around him. Pushing down the feelings didn’t help it only made them grow.
“I will now invite seat number 26 up to the stage.” You couldn’t hear a stutter in his voice at all.
Usually, he told you he was very nervous up on stage but now he seemed completely comfortable. His smile was so wide it made you smile a little too. The lady in seat number 26 stood up quickly, making her way up to Lyney. She was a very beautiful women, a beautiful figure, her face perfect. Everything about her screamed elegant and rich. A tinge of jealousy clouded your mind
“Ah, a beautiful lady has shown herself on stage.”
The jealousy was more than just a tinge now.
“Now mademoiselle, I have a trick I would like to show you.” Lyney grabbed her hand gently and kissed it.
You could only imagine how soft his hands and his kiss were. You felt the tears prick in your eyes. Why was it she was called up on stage? Why couldn’t it have been you? You suddenly felt claustrophobic. You felt like everyone around you was staring. You had to get out of there.
Trying not to disturb anyone in the rowdy crowd you walked out of the theatre. Tears were rolling down your face now. You were unable to stop. Lyney probably didn’t even notice you leaving, he was too busy wrapped up with that beautiful woman.
He probably didn’t love you back and never would.
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@pandragonsoul, @atsukawolfcat
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cheemscakecat · 3 days
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About Omniman and Debbie dating…
Spoilers
I headcanon that the reason why Debbie gave him a second date is because she had no idea he was an alien on the first.
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“Our first date was 20 years ago, Nolan.”
“Oh. Mostly I remember you dumping me right after.”
”Oh yeah, because you were a ****.”
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“Come on, I flew you to Rome!”
“Yeah, and you expected me to worship you because of it.”
So we hear the Viltrumite cover story when Nolan is explaining where he’s from to Mark. We can assume that Cecil and maybe the Guardians knew about Omniman being an alien, but we can’t say the same for the human public.
I’m sure the cover story was eventually spread around for the in-universe comics or whatever superhero interviews he had, but we don’t know exactly when that happened.
She said he only got another date when she saw him save kids on the news, but that could be an exaggeration. People that have been married for a long time tend to tease each other and say odd things, and I think that’s what she was doing.
Here’s what I think actually happened:
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Nolan saved Debbie from getting crushed, and they struck up a long enough conversation to set up a date. At this point, she had no reason to think that he wasn’t a human superhero, because those and human supervillains are the majority on Earth. And Viltrumites look human.
But our guy here is from fascist Viltrum, and their culture and language centers around war, conquest, and power; they also had a mere 50 people left in their population from the plague, so repopulating was [and still is] top priority.
Nolan was way too impatient and trying to woo her using his instincts. … Which are to talk using the authoritarian soldier tone of his people, and prove himself a worthy mate by exhibiting his powers.
Debbie got the vibe that he was some narcissistic human superhero with red flags, so she decided one date was more than enough.
Our fella spent a few weeks trying to puzzle out why this tiny human female rejected him [the equivalent of a few days of deep thought]. At first, he was offended that something so weak was unimpressed by Viltrumite speed and strength. Eventually, he couldn’t stop feeling how attractive it was for something so helpless to be so feisty and courageous like a Viltrumite female. And also to be sweet and disarming when in a good mood, unlike the females of his race who were always seen with the same unapproachable and serious body language and speech no matter how happy they were.
[Not that he understood these feelings. He just understood the need to win this woman over.]
So one day Debbie opens her front door to Omniman in civilian clothes, standing like this:
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And the first thing bro says is
“I’m here to request a rematch.”
And so she’s like:
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“…You’re what?”
”A rematch… of that dinner. From before.”
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“You mean a second chance?”
She practically hears the dial up noises in this man’s head as he tries to puzzle out a response to that.
“I believe so. Yes.”
And that’s when something clicks in her head and she remembers that aliens exist, and that Omniman kind of showed up out of no where. That’s how she got the idea to ask him if he was human or not, and got a hushed admission that he’s from off-planet.
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At the baseball game she was frustrated but not that surprised that she needed to explain why the kid’s baseball game matters. I get the feeling that this isn’t the first time she had to explain a seemingly mundane Earth concept to Nolan.
But yeah, not knowing how messed up Viltrum actually is, Debbie gave Omniman a second date because she figured out he was an alien. And that meant there would be weird cultural differences, including how they try to date.
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Nobody's Girl - Chapter Three.
Check your girl out over here like Oprah. YOU get another chapter, and YOU get another chapter, and so on! I am seriously so flattered by everyone loving the story so far, and watching you all so rabidly consuming it makes me so very happy :)
With the time off work I have had recently, it's meant the story has virtually written itself, I'm up to chapter eleven in the writing, so what I thought would originally be a shorter series has turned into a longer one, meaning I can update more regularly. Well, I can only hope you like this chapter just as much as the previous two, and if you do, remember to leave me a little comment, or a reblog. You would have my eternal gratitude for doing so!
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Previous chapters - One Two
Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed
Words - 4,300
Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!
Conversation. With a woman he wasn’t involved with. Truly, Luca couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever enjoyed such, but there he was on an otherwise quiet Thursday night experiencing just that. A soft flurry of snow gently drifted down outside, his apartment the warm cocoon he and Emily sequestered themselves within, sitting on the couch, mostly her sharing stories of her life before she’d literally fallen into his.  
“I remember there was this one time, back when I first got caught up with them, I was taken for a game at this house in Queens. Joey had loaned me to his brother, Giacinto, but of course there was the issue of how he could get me in at the table. So, he made a bet on a bet, I guess you’d call it. Strode in there and announced that he bet each player two hundred bucks they couldn’t beat me in a game of seven card stud.  
“Of course, part of the point of poker is counting cards, but I can do it faster and better, and I did. I won Giacinto five grand in one night, and most of the guys were pissed as hell that I’d beaten them, except for one. He was an older guy, thick glasses, big birthmark on his cheek. He told me I was every man’s worst nightmare, a pretty blonde with a brain, and he respected that.”  
“That’s Jimmy Phelan, Irish mob from Philly,” Luca nodded, quite impressed that she’d grabbed his attention.  
She clicked her fingers in remembrance. “Yeah, Jimmy. That was his name. I’ve met so many wiseguys that it’s hard to keep up with all of the names. I remember the ones who have curious nicknames, like Carmine the Boots, and Duck Foot Silv. I never asked how they got them, though.” 
Luca knew, of course. “Carmine is the boots ‘cuz that’s what he does to those who earn it, fits ‘em with a nice set of concrete boots and sends ‘em off for a swim in the Hudson River. Silvio, they call him duck foot ‘cuz the guy was born with webbed toes.” 
Her eyes widened, leaning forward in her seat. “Have you seen the toes?” 
“I have,” he smirked, scratching his jaw,. “He does this trick, sticks a quarter on his big toe and flicks it about ten feet in the air.” 
She snorted with giggles, sipping her drink and catching an ice cube to chew upon. The sound of her cracking it between her teeth did something to his insides that he couldn’t explain, but was very, very pleasant. “I bet he’s a good swimmer too, huh?” 
“Guy don’t need no flippers, that’s for fuckin’ sure.” 
He looked at her for a long moment, enchanted as usual by her loveliness. It was so easy with her. She knew exactly who and what he was, and she just accepted it without fuss, acting unguarded with him, rather than either trying to work him out or shrink in intimidation. It made a nice change, to simply experience a slice of normality like that, and especially with a woman. Most only wanted him for his money or the association of who he was.  
Or his cock. He was famed for having one hell of a nice cock, after a woman he’d bedded had been very loud in her praise of it one time.  
“So yeah, back to Jimmy being nice to me. He gave me a hundred dollars, said I’d earned it, being such a good card player. I was amazed, and I thought the cash was mine to keep, but not according to Giacinto. Copped a huge beating for that assumption, ended up with this.”  
Hooking her finger into her mouth, she pulled her cheek back to reveal the empty gum space where her back teeth should have sat, Luca feeling caustic within. How hard must he have punched her to knock a both a double and fucking wisdom tooth out, he had to wonder, remembering how tough his own had been to have extracted by a dentist.  
“Bastardo,” he hissed, picking up his drink and knocking it back, refilling it. “Ain’t no big man’s game, sluggin’ a broad. You wanna prove you have cojones? Fuckin’ walk up to the biggest fella in the room and crack him in the mouth. S’what I used to do whenever I got thrown in Sing Sing as a kid, not long after I arrived here from England.”  
“Have you ever done serious time for your endeavours?” she asked, lifting the wool shawl where it had slipped from her shoulders, Luca wishing she’d left it. Any chance he got to view more of her beautiful, lily skin, and he shamelessly took it. It had been gnawing at him for the past fourteen days since she’d been there, chewing away at his resolve like a starving wolf.  
Usually, he’d have made his move by now on somebody he coveted. Hell, his record was ten seconds upon seeing a woman he desired, walking up to her and brashly asking a simple, three worded question. “Wanna fuck me?” No woman ever refused him. With Emily, though, because of her sheer loveliness, as tempting as it would be to corrupt, he held himself back.  
It was a fierce internal conflict he waged war with, his rampant libido dictating he simply take her to bed and bounce her on his cock until she screamed his name, the very little morality left within him castigating such, because of how innocent and sweet the girl was. He couldn’t tarnish something that lovely and pure with the infection of his darkness. Until he could come to some resolve, he supposed he’d have to simply deal with the juxtaposition of wanting to cherish her like a princess and fuck her like a whore.  
She was a billion miles away from the latter, though. Hence the conflict. 
Also, he got the distinct impression that she was still too scared of him. For the most part, she was settled around him, a little shy still, but definitely comfortable enough to open up to him and talk, just like she was doing on that particular evening. If he showed the weight of his desire for her, though, she’d surely bolt. The last thing he wanted was for her to flee.  
“I did a few years for theft, when I was eighteen,” he eventually replied, once he’d managed to finally pull himself back out of his thoughts. “Few times being locked up here and there in the time between, too.”  
“Don’t you mafia guys have the police on payroll, or something?” 
That was another reason why he held himself back. Would she truly want to remain in the world she’d been held prisoner in, should he instigate anything with her? Then again, at least this time she would have a choice. “We do now, yeah. Hence why I ain’t seen a cell in a while.”  
“I think I’d cry if I was ever arrested. Jail sounds scary,” she spoke, sipping her drink, her sweetness making his chest hurt. Why did she have to be the loveliest little thing he’d ever met? It was making him crazy, the want to protect her, the need to fuck her dirty, both colliding with the resolve that he’d solely keep here there until he knew all he wanted about the Calabrese family.  
It was a resolve that seemed to fracture away with every second that passed in her company.
She’d given him very useful information so far, too. Safe house locations his guys had duly gone in and looted, details of deals that she’d been made privy to that he’d been able to scupper before they’d had a chance to come to fruition. Because of Emily, he had the upper hand in the war against the family who – in his mind, at least – needed to show respect and fall back into line.  
What would happen when the well that was her information dried up, though? What, he was simply meant to let this beautiful little creature, this utter mythical princess of a woman unlike any others he’d encountered simply be on her way, and leave his life with a little less pure, iridescent sparkle in her wake? 
He was glad of the distraction when a heavy fist pounding the door below interrupted their evening, Emily nearly jumping out of her skin.  
“S’okay,” he assured her as he stood, resting a hand to her shoulder. “That’s Angelo, he has a habit of knocking like he’s the fuckin’ police.” He headed to the stairs, descending, opening the door but remaining out of her sight as he and Angelo exchanged hushed whispers. Luca appeared again after a few minutes, looking lamentable, but also angry as he pulled himself into his thick, black coat. 
“I have to go out, something I gotta attend to,” he spoke, Emily rising to her feet. 
“Oh, alright. When will you be back?” 
He shrugged, not looking pleased at all. “Hopefully not too long, but don’t wait on me, alright?” 
She nodded, and then completely on blind impulse, reached for his face, pulling him down to her tiny level and kissing his cheek. “Be careful.” 
His heart all but broke the ribs covering it with the force of its rapid thuds. He winked, thumb stroking the apple of her cheek. “I will, doll.”  
As he walked back down the stairs, he could still feel the soft press of her lips against his cheek, his pulse amped up from even the tiniest display of affection from his houseguest. He truly hadn’t expected it, and when he should have left the building with nothing but business on his mind, instead, it was only getting back to Emily again that occupied his thoughts.  
Meanwhile, the girl herself flopped back onto the couch, sighing as she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, god help me. I want that man so badly!” she grimaced, groaning with discomfort. Truly, she didn’t know how the hell to play it, either, feeling so conflicted.
Sometimes, he’d flirt with her, but she was too shy to reciprocate it, meaning he’d pull back and cool down with how he acted around her. Other times, she knew only too well he was trying to wheedle information regarding the Calabrese’s from her, information she found herself giving, getting herself furtherly wrapped up in a world she knew truly wasn’t any good for her.  
How much danger was she in, though, from her place beneath the albatross-like wings of Luca Changretta? Nobody would be fool enough to touch her. However, that was only if she became more to him than whatever she was, she supposed. Then again, he had told her several times already she was safe with him. 
Falling into a silly daydream, she imagined him taking her in his arms, kissing her, those big, tattooed hands laying worship upon her, that sultry voice of his speaking his wants and desires. She let her mind wander for so long that she was still partially in a daze when she heard a rapid knock at the door, followed by the creak of it opening, the music no longer playing.  
“Luca? It’s only me,” a female voice called, her heeled feet alighting the stairs. Before she could speak, a buxom looking redhead appeared, her face surprised as she took Emily in. “Oh, hi! I’m Maggie, and you are?”  
“Hi, Maggie. I’m Emily, and Luca is out,” she spoke, picking up her drink and finishing it. 
“Oh, oh alright. I must’a missed him leaving,” she muttered, holding two large jute bags in her hands. “I was just bringin’ up the takings to him, but I guess I can leave ‘em with you. You’re his new gal, right?” 
She shook her head. “No, just his, uh, his friend.”  
Maggie snorted, placing the takings down on the coffee table. “Luca don’t have gals who are just friends, sweetie pie.” She viewed her carefully, watching the way the young blonde blushed furiously, reaching for the vodka bottle. Only a tiny drizzle remained within.  
“Damn,” Emily pouted, “I drank it all.”  
“Hey, I gotta load of premixed cocktails I’d otherwise throw out. Fancy coming and helping me drink ‘em while I clean up for the night?” Maggie offered, suddenly feeling like she would be being rude to go and pour it all away, and leave the girl upstairs alone, waiting on a man who would likely be gone for hours. Especially too after she’d blatantly embarrassed the hell out of her by her assertion over her boss and his lack of female friends.  
Who was she to judge? Stranger things had happened, she guessed, although she had to admit, she was very curious. If Luca wasn’t giving her a good fucking on the regular, then just what was she doing there? She had noticed her boss not present down in the joint for the last two weeks, with none of his usual rotation of females making their way up to the apartment. Curiosity demanded an answer. 
Smiling, Emily rose to her feet, stuffing them into her shoes. “Sure, that’d be nice.”  Following Maggie back down, she was ushered over to the bar, taking a seat on one of the high stools, the clean up in full effect as people swept, tidied and mopped, the band disassembling their instruments and returning them to their respective cases.  
“Here, I hope you like Manhattan’s,” Maggie spoke, pouring a large measure into a copper mug and passing it over, topping off her own and holding it out. “Cheers, Emily.” 
“Cheers.” She took a swig, the alcohol hitting her throat so hard, she almost coughed, the redhead throwing her head back. 
“Sorry, sugar. I make ‘em potent!” she smirked, taking a soapy cloth and beginning to clean down the bar. “So, you and Luca. What’s the story, darl?”  
Emily didn’t really feel comfortable with revealing the whole truth to a perfect stranger, even though obviously she was a trusted person by the man himself. She wouldn’t have been working in his speakeasy if she wasn’t. “I’m staying with him for a little while.” 
“And you ain’t knockin’ boots with him?” she was then asked. 
“No, definitely not,” she replied, taking another sip of the rocket fuel in her grasp.  
Maggie raised an eyebrow, beginning to pick up liquor bottles from behind the bar and clean the runs and drips away with her cloth. “But you wanna, amirite? Everyone wants to fuck Luca, ‘cept me. I like ‘em a little prettier.”  
Watching her wink as a cute, almost angelic looking blonde saxophone player walked past and waved goodnight, Emily caught her drift immediately. Turning back to Maggie, she shrugged lightly. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think I’m his type.” By that point, she’d seen a picture of Filomena, his ex-wife when he’d shown her some photographs of his children. She was dark haired, buxom, Italian and glamorous. Everything she wasn’t.  
“True,” Maggie spoke, pausing to light a cigarette, her cleaning endeavours finished. “But men like somethin’ a lil’ different, they’ll find themselves urging for a taste of the unfamiliar when it’s presented to ‘em. You should give him a go, darl. I hear he’s good with his cock.”  
It was an unfortunate time to take a sip of the lethal Manhattan, Emily half spraying it back into the mug at her brazenness. Maggie couldn’t resist in teasing further. “One of the dancers here was fucking him a while back. Said he was hung like a bull and had the stamina of a guy half his age.”  
Emily felt herself shrinking with every word, Maggie throwing her head back and laughing hoarsely. “Oh, ain’t you a cutie! Gettin’ all shy. Sorry, I know I’m brash. I’ll behave.”  
Perhaps having a female perspective into her predicament might be helpful, she then pondered. Maggie seemed nice, friendly, too. It wasn’t like Emily had a whole lot in the way of friends, either, no gal pals to run her thoughts by. “Okay, so the truth is, I do want to,” she began, Maggie’s face lighting up as she leaned over the bar, huddling close. 
“Tell me more, sugar!” 
Pausing, she took another sip of her drink for courage. “I want to, but I never have before. With any man.”  
The barmaid’s eyes all but fell out of her skull. “Really?” 
She nodded.  
“But... why? Sex is amazing with the right guy!” 
Just then, a door flew open down at the other end of the room, one of the dancers striding out, mid-tirade. “It’s the fuckin’ same with all you fuckin’ Italian jerks!” she screamed, the guy following her looking nonchalant. “All of youse expect us to fuckin’ suck dick, but when it comes to returning it, nadda, nothin’, no sale! Would it fuckin’ kill you to eat me out just once, Luciano?” 
He shrugged, lighting a cigarette. “I ain’t about that.” 
“Yeah, me and my thirsty kitty cat know only too well, you two-bit fuck! We’re done!” She was out of the joint in a blur of sequins and fury, Emily and Maggie sharing a wide-eyed look at having front row seats to such a show. 
“Yeah, he ain’t the right guy,” the latter snorted, jerking her thumb in the direction where Luciano, one of Luca’s street guys had just walked in, softly cussing to himself in Italian.  
“To answer your question, I don’t know, really,” Emily confessed, thinning her lips momentarily. “I’ve never found anyone I like enough to do it with, I guess. It’s like I’m a beacon for shitty guys with bad intentions.”  
Her confidant didn’t truly know how to answer that, since Luca did seem to go through women like they were entering and exiting in a revolving door. However, there was a plus point. “Well, if you decided to, at least it wouldn’t be a lousy first experience for ya. He’s forty-three, the man has heaps of experience, so it wouldn’t be like my first. Two pumps and a squirt, baby. I was so disappointed,” 
The women both snorting laughing, Emily throwing her head back as she truly began to cackle loudly. Oh, she was funny, this brazen woman who had taken her under her wing and plied her with lethally potent cocktails. While she was beginning to relax and find herself making a new friend, the topic of their conversation was walking into a speakeasy in Bushwick, his crew around him.  
“Luca, glad you could join me,” Giacinto Calabrese spoke, leaning back in his seat. “Drink?”  
“No thanks,” he drawled through the chew on his toothpick, “won’t be stayin’ all that long. So, Angelo here tells me you gotta deal for me, huh?” 
His adversary gestured to a chair, Luca taking a seat, his eyes never leaving the man as he felt his mood darkening, looking at his hands. Those were the knuckles that had smashed the teeth out of her mouth. “I do, because you have somethin’ of ours we want returned to us, but I’m a fair man. I’m happy to exchange.” Lifting his chin, he pulled his cigarettes out, lighting one up. “Give me the girl, and I’ll walk away from the warehouses in Yonkers. You have my word.” 
He rolled his tongue against his cheek, chuckling a deadly hiss. “Your word is worth shit, and Emily ain’t for sale, pal.” 
“Oh!” The wise assed man laughed, entertained. “On first name terms with the little puttana now, huh? Wait, I can’t call her that, though. Bitch is more frigid than a fuckin’ nun!”  
Luca remained still, but his eyes moved with all the intent of a predator locking onto its target, slowly pulling the toothpick from between his lips. “The fuck you just call her, stronzo? A bitch?” 
“Yeah,” Giacinto laughed, “I called her a bitch, and...”  
That was as far as he got before the lion that was the head of the Changretta mob pounced, grabbing his collar and pounding his head down onto the table, their respective guys all drawing their weapons. 
“You’re outnumbered, fellas,” Angelo rumbled, tutting. “Put ‘em down.” The men fell back, all watching the scene unfold before them.  
Luca loomed like a shadow of death, his hand holding Giacinto fast against the smooth, dark wood. “Did you call her a bitch when you knocked her fuckin’ teeth out? Did ya? Tell me, how hard does a guy like you have to slug a tiny little thing like her to crack the goddamned teeth from her jaw? This hard?” His fist met his face in a sickeningly strong blow, the piece of shit beneath his grasp grunting in pain. “This hard?” He punched him again, this time loosening one of the teeth he was aiming for, Luca hauling him up and beginning to lay repetitive punches to his face, Giacinto flying back to the floor.  
With his rage pumping like water through a broken dam, Luca loomed over him, pulling a flick knife from his pocket and releasing the blade, holding it so hard against his cheek, his blood began to seep from beneath the press. “You ever speak her name again and I will cut your fuckin’ tongue from your head. The Yonkers warehouses are mine now, too, just for the fuckin’ gall of you. Give your fuckin’ father my goddamned regards, Giacinto.”  
“Fuck you, Luca!” he spat, shame and rage coiling through him.  
“Fuck me, huh?” he laughed, low and deadly. “Nah, kid. Tell me, you right-handed? You are, aren’t ya? It was your right hand you used to beat her, wasn’t it?” Wrenching his arm up, he grasped his wrist, bringing the knife down between his third and fourth fingers, beginning to slice through skin, sinew and tendons. Giacinto screamed, Luca holding the knife towards Angelo, needing both hands to grab the second and third, then fourth and fifth fingers, grasping hard before literally ripping his hand apart.  
“Can’t go punching little girls no longer now, can you?” Standing, he left him screaming on the floor, looking to his guys. “Step down from the warehouses as of tonight, or I do worse to all six of youse.” With that, Luca and his eight cohorts left the speakeasy, heading back to their cars, Brooklyn bound. Entering his apartment just under a half hour later, he made sure he was quiet, not wanting to wake the beauty in his bed.  
Hanging his coat and jacket, he unlaced his shoes, removing his tie as he walked over to the bed, just about able to see her outline there curled up, sleeping soundly. Reaching toward her face, he gently swept the platinum strands of hair that had fallen loose back behind her ear, tenderly stroking the apple of her cheek with the back of his fingers.  
He realised right there that she could never again utter anything about the Calabrese’s, and he wouldn’t care at all. He didn’t need her for information. He just needed her to be safe.  
The twisted irony wasn’t lost on him, though, that the very person she wasn’t safe from was the one whose bed she slept soundly in, but for very different reasons than what the Calabrese’s represented. He lingered there only a moment longer before going to the bathroom and undressing, pulling on his grey and white striped pyjama bottoms, heading for the couch.  
“Luca?”  
He actually jumped a little, hearing her soft voice suddenly sound through the dark. “Yeah, doll?” Turning, he watched her sit up, peeling the bed clothes back as she shuffled over, patting the mattress. “It’s freezing. You can’t keep sleeping on the couch. I don’t mind sharing.”  
He hesitated only a second before walking over, climbing in next to her, his heart beginning to race. Her warmth was the most alluring intoxication he’d ever felt near to him, wanting nothing but to wrap himself around her, meld his body to hers, tell her in no uncertain terms that Giacinto Calabrese would never dare touch her again.  
Lying there, Emily could feel the tension radiating from him, not knowing why he was in such a state, but sensing it all the same. Had something happened, while he was out, something to spark his temper, amp his ire? She felt him turn away from her, turning over herself and hesitating a moment before putting the advice she’d had from Maggie to good use. ‘Just move on him. You’re beautiful, sugar. He won’t turn you down.’  
It wasn’t necessarily a sexual advance, as Maggie had been specifically advocating, but it was a step in the right direction. Wrapping her arm around him, she pressed herself against his back, resting her hand to his chest. Her heart almost leapt into her throat when she felt him grasp her hand, thumb stroking, placing a kiss upon her fingers.  
He clutched her hand tight, feeling her breath flutter against his shoulder blades, his heart still hammering. If he turned to her, that would be it. He wouldn’t be able to hang onto the bull within him, goring against the very last of his soft flesh in a bid for freedom. Flesh that had softened for her. 
He remembered how he’d felt, punching Giacinto repeatedly in the face, until he had expelled blood with every groaned breath, all for her, because of her, because no man would ever make the sweet little darling curled against him feel less than all she was ever again.  
But still, he didn’t dare turn over. It’d be like Satan himself defiling the purest of angels. If only Luca knew, though, as he wrestled with the beast within, that the only thing the angel pressed against his back wanted was to feel the burn of his lust against her skin.  
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unlikelysaintdelele · 20 hours
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some interesting things i've noted during my ACOTAR reread Pt. 2
*SPOILER WARNING for those who haven’t completed the series*
I finished ACOTAR a few weeks ago but I haven't gotten the chance to transfer my notes until now. Once again, names have been color-coded!
Feyre couldn’t keep her mouth shut only around Rhys. It’s almost like her true self comes out around him.
Anytime Feyre calls on some strength, the image of Nesta comes to mind. She sees Nesta as strong and admires her for that.
A queen without a throne
Are tattooed bargains a night court specialty? I was listening through the graphic audio, as a reminder, so some things slip through.
Pearls in Nesta’s hair. It makes me think of the pearl jewelry Elain later receives from Lucien. I think pearl is meant to represent luxury, and it seems to complement their features.
Elain is the only one with their father’s eyes and I always found it interesting. How similar is Elain to her father? Her father favored her, but I think that’s only because Nesta was cold and Feyre was busy.
Warrior beast vs half-wild beast, Tamlin and Feyre bonding for being unrefined (Disney Beauty and the Beast reference?)
“Don’t ever disobey me again” is honestly not the vibe, Tictac.
I don’t like knowing Tamlin’s anger is on a tight leash with Feyre. He’s angry at her. It feels overprotective in such a suffocating way.
“There you are, I’ve been looking for you.” SOB
The most beautiful man she’s ever seen
Blue eyes so deep they were violet
They just stared at each other! As if in a daze! 
Night pressed in closer around him, smiling
Molded from the night itself, star-kissed night
I have a random “until dawn” note… idk
Cauldron boil me (double, double, toil and trouble… sorry, random silly thought)
Elain began learning to grow veggies! Reminder, the soil at the cottage was crap, it couldn't sustain the veggies. Elain could barely grow flowers. People keep forgetting that Feyre was their only access to nourishment because there was no other choice. Sweet Elain gets so much hate for not using her gardening skills to help, but it was set up so that she couldn't.
Nesta’s iron-will allowed her to resist glamour! I want more on Nesta’s strength. This is one of many reasons why I’ve been a Nesta stan since day one. I know she was cruel but we’re told why in book one. She wanted her father to do something, anything: be a father and care for them. I’m not saying it was any excuse to be cruel, but they were in a shitty situation and she showed her love for her family in other ways. Being willing to lay down her life for Elain? Going after Feyre even knowing it was risky? Asking to be taught to paint? She loves her sisters, she just shows it differently.
Heart of Stone was mentioned for a second time! hehe
Wyyyyyyyyrrrrmmmmmm. I’m a fan of giant worms (Dune, Star Wars). Fun fact about me: I went through a short phase where I just kept writing about worms.
Feyre deems Elain as stronger for being hopeful. She sees so much strength in her sisters and admires them for their differences.
Love Nesta! More Nesta love. She wondered what a woman might do with a fortune and a name. She wanted to travel! She wanted that independence! Pre-war Nesta hurts to experience. She’s opening up now that she’s safe socioeconomically and physically. It makes me wonder what else would have begun to heal if she got more of that peace and security.
Rhys: because I’m tired and lonely. The things he does and willingly puts himself through to protect his court and anyone else he can spare. Love his complexity.
(apparently there's a character limit for each block of text so here's a lil divider)
Honestly? I was vibing with the Tamlin romance, it was chill. The bite was nice. UNTIL Rhys appeared. Timtam just seems so stale in comparison. The chemistry is immediate between Rhys and Feyre, the tension is palpable. I’m still not over how Feyre chose Tampon over Lucien. why would I pick someone so clumsy with affection and who isn’t around nearly as much as the sassy redhead who bickers with me like an old friend? Rhys > Lucien > Tamlin is the order at the moment, and the order will stay until I have to consider the other boys (wait for me batboys).
Tamlin’s dad was Amarantha’s friend! They fought together in the war. Rhys’ father killed Tamlin’s, so Amarantha took Rhys in as a lover as punishment. Amarantha is so greedy honestly, and it's so gross. She wants Tamlin and Rhys but the only reason Tamlin hasn’t been forced like Rhys is that she wants to be chosen, she wants him to come to her willingly
Even in their last moments together, Rhys and Feyre are honest with each other. Honest in a way I've never seen her with Tamlin.
Very excited to begin ACOMAF, my fave book of the series.
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caribbean-ace · 2 years
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Today is Dani’s day😍
Credits: (c)
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yueebby · 5 months
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12:03 pm  — gojo satoru
synopsis. gojo tries to convince his first years that he was able to pull you.
contents. fluff, crack??, whipped!gojo, mentions of having a kid, he is SO in love with his wife it's disgusting, the first years are sick of their teacher
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“[name] sensei is a good looking woman, isn’t she?” yuji remarked, nonchalantly propping his feet up on the desk. “you think so too, right gojo sensei?”
a sly smile played on the corners of gojo's lips, eventually blossoming into a wide, dreamy grin. “good eye yuji! she's undeniably the most beautiful woman on this planet.”
megumi, seated at the desk beside yuji, couldn't hide his grimace.
nobara's expression mirrored that of a disgruntled sea urchin. “dream big, you two. she’s way outta both of your leagues.”
“she is, isn’t she?” gojo sighs dreamily, his gaze far away. a dopey grin settles over his face; like a man walking on air. it was deeply unsettling to the first years to see a grown man behave this way.
megumi rolled his eyes and muttered his disapproval, choosing to ignore his sensei, who had casually seated himself backwards on a chair.
gojo propped his chin with both of his palms, leaning closer into the first years students. “do you think i’d stand a chance with a woman like her?”
megumi buried his face in his hands, audibly groaning in response.
“a sensible woman like that and you? fat chance.” nobara deadpanned, squinting disapprovingly at her teacher. her negative comments elicit a grunt from the snow-haired man.
yuji’s eyes flit nervously from kugisaki to gojo. 
“sensei! i think you have a chance with [name] sensei!” yuji tried to reassure his white haired teacher, offering a thumbs-up. gojo responded by affectionately ruffling yuji’s hair.
megumi couldn’t help but speak up. “she’s a married woman, you know,” he mutters to his friend.
yuji’s eyes widened,  “you’re kidding! who do you think got the honor?” 
“but she’s so young!” kugisaki exclaimed, slamming her hand on the table. 
their discussion is cut short when the shoji doors of the classroom slide open abruptly.
with hands on your hips, you stood sternly before your first year students and their teacher, an air of authority about you.
satoru couldn't help but gulp; you were indeed captivating when you were upset. it’s not his fault that you look so cute when your eyebrows furrow and you puff up in anger.
“i waited for half an hour in the courtyard to start today’s lesson and yet here i find my students, along with their sensei who should be in kyoto for a meeting.” a wry smile graced your lips, sending a chill down everyone’s spine. the three first years bowed their heads in shame.
yuji thinks this is the first time he’s seen his teacher nervous. a bead of sweat appears on the side of gojo’s face.
“honey!” he quickly stands up and walks towards you. with every step he takes, nobara’s face scrunches up at his disgusting conduct. 
“don’t.” you warned, raising a finger up to keep satoru at an arm’s length. he respected your wishes to some extent, grasping your hand and placing it within the hold of his own. the diamond on your ring finger glistened as satoru toyed with it.
gasps filled the room as yuji and nobara observed the display of affection. just how inappropriate could their sensei get, and why were you allowing it? what would your husband think?
satoru tenderly caressed your hand in his, cradling it as he leaned in closer. “please forgive me; it was an honest mistake.”
“honest mistake my ass. yaga told me that this is the second meeting you’ve skipped out this month,” you stated, peering fiercely into his blindfolded eyes. satoru’s cocky demeanor wavered, replaced by a nervous chuckle.
“the first time was when i took you to naha, remember?” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “and if i remember correctly, you enjoyed our night out,” your eyes widened, recalling the romantic trip satoru had organized. 
feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you attempted to pull away, but his grip on your hand tightened.
“forgive me?” his voice softened, lips curving downward, giving him the appearance of a dejected kitten.
a sigh escapes your lips. he was going to be the death of you.
“fine. but this is the last time,” you warned, “and you owe me for covering for you.”
satoru straightened up, nodding fervently. “have i mentioned how much i love you?” wrapping an arm around you, he placed a kiss on the top of your head, despite your futile attempts to stop him.
“this is…” yuji’s jaw dropped.
“so inappropriate! shame on you!” nobara’s chair makes a harsh screech with how fast she leaves it to come to your aid. 
“kugisaki–” you attempted to calm her down, but she clung to your elbow, desperately trying to pry you from satoru’s embrace.
satoru’s hold on you tightened as he wrapped his other arm around your frame, pulling you close. he plops his chin on top of your head and resists nobara’s attempts to free you. like hell he’s letting anybody take his girl, not even his own student.
“crushing on a married woman is one thing, but to openly flirt with her– ” kugisaki struggled. you tilt your head in confusion. 
satoru’s strong arms flexed as he fought to maintain his hold on you. he nuzzled your neck. “’m fine right here,” he inhaled deeply, as if trying to take in as much of you as possible.
“[name] sensei! how can you stand there and let this man disrespect your marriage?!” nobara implored, wide-eyed, disregarding all respect she had for her teacher.  “how will your husband react when he finds how gojo sensei behaves around you?” she looks desperate, and you want to laugh at the sincerity behind her actions. you get it now.
only your idiot husband would pull a stunt like this.
“i hope your husband can fight because i’m willing to fight him to the death for your hand,” satoru mutters from your neck. you take your hand from nobara’s shoulders to shove the six-foot-three giant away.
“you seriously didn’t tell them, satoru?” you ignored his whiney protests as you created distance between the two of you. 
“tell us what?” kugisaki demanded. yuji was on the edge of his seat, nervously watching the unfolding scene, while megumi put his head down in embarrassment.
satoru looks at you with a deep frown on his face. uncertainty clouds your mind as his silence forebodes something. wetting his lips with his tongue, he quickly closed the gap between you, too fast for you to escape. a secure hand rested on your lower waist as your husband dipped you down to deepen the kiss. 
had you not been so absorbed into the kiss, you would have heard the scandalized gasps from your students.
you managed to place a hand on his chest to separate yourselves, “satoru, stop.” his eyes remained fixed on your lips, but he complied.
“yuji, nobara.. satoru and i are–” you hold up your ring finger for display.
“happily married!” your husband finished for you, a triumphant smile on his face. he squeezed you close, throwing up a peace sign. “been madly in love since i met her!” 
“what– no way! you pulled her?!” nobara spluttered, head whipping from satoru to you, unable to wrap her mind around the revelation.
yuji’s jaw is still on the floor, “megumi, you knew about this?!”
the sea urchin looks the other direction, avoiding his friends’ judgemental gazes.
“they… raised me.. sorta..” he mumbles under his breath. your heart melts at his confession. unlike you, the other first years don't take too kindly to his comment, as they start shaking him by the shoulder and starting their own interrogation.
“and we did a good job too! don’t you think we’re ready for our own?” satoru smiles down at you jokingly, his hands snaking around your waist and his hands sneaking onto your stomach. he leaves a couple of soft pats. 
“you’re cuter when you’re quiet, y’know?” you whispered. taking advantage of your students' attention on megumi, you place a single finger on his lips, hoping your husband does not notice the way your face feels like it is on fire. 
he does.
“no need to be shy now,” satoru said, grinning wolfishly, “we’ll continue this at home.”
your face flushes even deeper.
unbeknownst to you, the first years had fallen silent, observing how gojo whispered in your ear, successfully turning you into a flustered mess. perhaps they should give more credit to their sensei.
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notes. not proof read (oh no). this was just a random scenario that has been plaguing my mind during halloweekend so i typed it on my phone at a party LOL this is me desperately trying to get out of my writing slump
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wife-of-all-dilfs · 5 months
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bad idea, right? | f. odair
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summary: after receiving a late-night call from your ex-boyfriend, finnick odair, you can’t help but agree to meet with him. what happens when you mix a sound-proof train car and an ex you haven’t seen in months?
pairing: finnick odair x reader
warnings: rough-ish smut, a teensy bit of angry sex, swearing, unprotected sex (zon’t zo that), kinda ooc finnick, choking,
notes: based on 'bad idea, right?' by olivia rodrigo. i lost the person who sent the request so sorry this took so long to come out!! i don’t know if i like how this is written, but smut is smut so… enjoy :)
word count: 4.6k
Neon beams of light pulsed in time with the heavy bass blasting throughout your unnecessarily large home in the Victor’s Village. District Two. Masonry. Big houses.
Two shots of tequila and some other very unnatural concoctions were soaking deep into your brain. Everything was swaying—the room, the people, even you. Your small group of friends danced by your side, keeping together to avoid the creeps that might have entered your home. Although, to you, entertaining a stranger that night did not sound like such a terrible idea.
You felt lonely. Undeniably and pathetically lonely. The alcohol only enhanced your emotions and libido, leading you to search the room for anyone who interested you enough to take them upstairs. But there was no one, because in reality there was only one person you really wanted, and he was no longer yours. He hadn’t been for months.
Replacements had come and gone, but they never stuck. None of them made you feel the way he did.
“Excuse me!” an exasperated voice yelled. “Would you please get out of my way?!”
To your right, your housekeeper, bless her poor deafened soul, was pushing through a crowd of intoxicated partygoers and heading straight for you.
“Claudia!” you shouted over the music, tugging down your short black slip dress out of respect for her modesty.
The elderly woman stopped in front of you, her disapproval of the vibrant scene clear as day. You always paid her double in exchange for putting up with the chaos whenever you threw a house party, which was almost every weekend.
She hovered close to your ear. “There is someone on the phone for you!”
“Did you get a name?!”
After she shook her head, you escorted her through the thick crowd of dancers, into a quieter room and thanked her before beelining for the landline.
With a heavy sigh, you brought the corded phone to your ear and said, “Whoever this is, you better make it quick. I’m not nearly as intoxicated as I need to be and in dire need of another shot.”
Over the scratchy static, you could hear a quiet chuckle—a sound you had spent months trying to forget, along with the person attached to it. How many drinks did you have again? The alcohol must have messed with your mind because this could not be real.
“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” the caller said, his voice low and amused.
Everything you had longed to forget came rushing to the surface at an overwhelming pace. Wisps of hair the colour of a dying fire. Eyes resembling the sea. Arms that once acted as a life jacket. A dangerous mouth that had explored every inch of your body.
No. It couldn’t be—
“Finnick.”
********
Stupid. This was so fucking stupid. You were attempting to sneak out of your own party. A good old Irish Goodbye in your own house. With luck, you would make it out the front door without being caught by your friends, or worse, Claudia. Now that would be scary.
Water flushed through your system, a weak attempt you made at sobering yourself up because meeting up with your ex while drunk was a recipe for disaster. Then again, so was meeting up with your ex in the first place. Nothing will happen, you thought to yourself, we are just going to talk.
A thought even more unbelievable than thinking you would be able to be able to escape the watchful eyes of your friends.
Your high-heeled foot had just crossed the front door when someone called your name. “Damn,” you muttered, turning back around.
Valeria, your closest yet heavily intoxicated friend strutted over to you, her feet wobbling every few steps. “You sneaky little minx,” she slurred. “Someone said they saw you on the phone. It was him, wasn’t it? He asked you to go see him.”
“Just as friends. No, not even. As acquaintances.”
“Oh, my sweet, sweet silly friend.” She grabbed you by the shoulders. “We both know you aren’t that foolish.”
You looked away because you knew damn well that she was right.
“Look, I get it,” she continued. “Your hot, he’s hot.” You smiled. “You both have a history. I just want to make sure you know all the outcomes of what you're about to do. I’ll be here for you if things do get messy but expect a well-versed speech of me saying ‘I told you so’ afterwards.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Val,” you laughed, prying her hands off your shoulders. “I really do appreciate your concern, but I promise all we’re going to do is talk.”
“Alright, but if things go south, call me. Immediately!” she called a little too loudly as you took subtle steps away from the front door and onto the street. “Have fun with your innocent little ‘talk’!”
“Thanks, mum!”
You waved goodbye as you walked down the street, body buzzing with exhilaration and apprehension. Finnick had told you his train stopped in the district’s station for the night. He and his new victor were travelling throughout Panem for the Victory Tour and were currently in District Two. You didn’t know much about his tribute, only that they were a she. The thought of Finnick spending all his time with another girl had that green-eyed monster inside you writhing.
Enough to make you agree to meet with him after midnight while moderately drunk and slightly horny. What a fantastic plan.
District Two’s train station was a short distance from the Victor’s Village, but it was long enough to cause you to remove your heels. You finally reached the train, barefoot and with the wind softly blowing your hair. Finnick had specified a particular door to knock on so as not to alert the peacekeepers residing within the train. So, you knocked. And then you waited.
Your heart was pounding; your hands were trembling. Not long after, a dark figure appeared behind the door’s tinted window. With a click, the door opened and revealed a shirtless smirking Finnick Odair.
Oh, fuck me.
He was even more gorgeous than the last time you saw him. His crossed arms bulged with thick muscles as he leaned against the doorframe, gaze shamelessly roaming over your scarcely dressed appearance before settling on your face. The amusement in his expression was ever-present and ever-growing.
“Finnick,” you greeted.
“Y/N.”
He extended his hand, inviting you inside the train and hesitantly, you accepted. Sparks of electricity travelled up your arm, starting from where his and your hand connected. Some things never changed.
Empty silence welcomed your presence as you entered the train car. Patterned silver vases of white roses were placed atop every available surface. Meticulously crafted chandeliers lit up the room with a golden haze. To your left was an arrangement of black leather couches surrounding a small silver table; further down the car was a rectangular mahogany dining table decorated with fruit and unlit candles.
Somehow a single train car was more luxurious than your entire house.
“Is every one asleep?” you asked, running your fingertips along the pure gold that lined the couches.
“Yeah,” he said, eyes following your movements. “Every room on this train is sound-proof, so...”
You nodded, unsure of how else to reply. Conversations usually ran smoothly between you and Finnick. They were effortless. But that was when you were together. Four months must have passed now since you last spoke.
“Are you and what’s-his-name still together?” he asked.
“No,” you said bluntly. “I broke up with him last month.”
“My sincerest condolences.” His sympathetic tone was as transparent as glass. Sarcasm always was his favourite pastime. “Guess he just couldn’t satisfy your needs.”
Turning around to face him, you leaned against the couch’s arm, jaw clenched and eyes glowering with agitation. “Is there any specific reason why you called me here?”
He raised a glass of rich amber liquid to his lips. “Can’t two old friends just reconnect?”
“Old friends,” you scoffed. ���That’s what you call it. From what I remember, the last time we saw each other, we were having goodbye sex in your bed. And in the kitchen and the lounge and on the balcony.”
Something sincere overshadowed his teasing nature, revealing itself in the tension in his facial muscles and the glassy haze that clouded his eyes. Reminiscence. “It didn’t have to be goodbye,” he spoke softly whilst holding your gaze.
You blinked. There was a short pause and only the quiet hum of the lights sounded in the room. You were the one to end the relationship, not the other way around much to your friends’ disbelief. Over and over, you had been asked the same question: why on earth would you break up with Finnick Odair?
Well, behind closed doors, he was incredible. He was loving, affectionate, and thoughtful. He would collect seashells for you that he found on the beach whenever he went fishing, leave hand-written poetry and heartfelt love letters whenever he left for the Capitol, and mother of fucking Christ was the sex just downright extraordinary.
But as previously stated, it was all behind closed doors.
Finnick never wanted to be seen together in public and on the off chance you were, he would practically neglect your existence. Only your most trusted friends and Finnick’s family knew about your relationship. No one else. Eventually, the secretiveness created a deep void inside you that not even the sweetest love letters and seashells could fill. You couldn’t remain with someone who seemed ashamed to be with you in public.
So, with a heavy heart, you said goodbye.
In fear of becoming too emotional, you disregarded his weighted words and crossed your arms. “So,” you began, “how’s the Tour been so far? You must be pretty ecstatic one of your tributes actually won.”
He bounced back fairly quickly. “I suppose it’s always nice to watch someone you trained live for a change,” he said, placing his drink on a nearby table. “Plus, she’s got a lot of charisma. A natural with the speeches and interviews, so I don’t need to do too much coaching.”
And there it was again—that green-eyed monster. “Charisma, huh?” You just couldn’t help yourself. “Is she pretty too?”
Finnick tilted his head, visibly surprised by your blatant jealousy. “She just turned sixteen,” he stated with a small smirk tugging at his lips. Well, no one told you that bit of information. Awkward. “Careful, Y/N. You sounded a little jealous there.”
You pushed off the chair, heading back toward the door you entered through. Maybe this was a bad idea. “Alright, I’m leaving now.”
Just as you turned the handle, a set of rushed footsteps thudded behind you. The door opened a mere crack, sending in a cold draft that caused your body to shudder.
“Wait, just—” A swift hand came over your shoulder and pushed the door shut, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips. You could feel Finnick towering over you, the warmth of his skin spreading onto your cold back and his breaths fanning down against the bareness of your shoulder. He was so close. “I just needed to see you before I leave tomorrow morning.”
Slowly, you turned around, coming face-to-face with the man you shouldn’t have loved. His burning gaze was a stark contrast to the icy metal door your back was pressed against. Tension pulsated in the small space between you and him. The intense attraction that had first brought you two together came rushing forth; trying to fight such a magnetic force was impossible. You needed connection—touch.
This night would not end with just a simple innocent chat, you knew that now.
You swallowed hard, your heart racing. “You needed to see me?” you asked. “Finnick, if you want me to stay, don’t beat around the bush. Tell me what you really want.”
Silence. He continued staring at you and you could see a scheme forming behind his mesmerising green eyes. Then the scheme was unfolding. He leaned down to your level, to your lips, his half-lidded eyes never leaving your mouth as he just barely allowed his lips to brush yours. On instinct, you tilted your head upwards.
“I want you,” he whispered.
You didn’t waste a second to respond. “Then take me.”
He was quicker than a bullet train. Finnick’s lips caught your own and were burning with fiery desire, evident in his haste to wrap you up in his arms and practically merge your body with his. Flames licked just beneath your skin, setting your nerves alight with passion and lust. You burned together in an inferno fuelled by each other’s touch.
Logically, this was wrong. Finnick was your ex-boyfriend and for good reason. But as your hands clung to every inch of him that they possibly could, as his tongue and yours danced fluidly with one another, and as your body buzzed with pure adrenaline, you were willing to abandon all your morals in exchange for five more minutes in his embrace.
A moan travelled from your mouth to his own as you felt him bite your lower lip. You could already feel that familiar throbbing sensation between your thighs and the wetness that exposed how much you craved him. You knew he felt the same. His sweatpants left little to the imagination.
Your hand slipped between your connected bodies, travelling down Finnick’s firm stomach, gliding over his small trail of hair and finally into his pants. Your fingers curled around his cock which already leaked with precum. He was just as desperate as you.
“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound sending tingles down your spine.
You left his lips to press a wet kiss to his neck. “I wonder how many times you pretended your hand was my own,” you purred, leaving another kiss on his clavicle. “How many times you tried to recreate the warmth you only feel when you're inside me.”
His mouth hung open, letting out quiet uneven breaths as you stroked his length, your pace so quick that he already felt an overwhelming urge to release into your soft unrelenting hand. The sound of your voice, so sexy and lustful, combined with your swift pressured movements had his stomach tensing and contracting with a devastating build-up of pleasure.
“Too many times,” he admitted in a strained voice.
You sucked on the warm pulsing skin of his neck, this time receiving a groan that buzzed on your lips. His hands grabbed at your hips for support, roughly kneading the softness and satin in his large palms.
“This dress—fuck!” his voice broke as another hand slipped into his pants, cupping his balls as the other twisted with each stroke of his cock. “Sweetheart,” he chuckled breathlessly. “You look like a fucking siren.”
Your soft lips pecked at his toned chest before pulling away and looking up at him through your lashes. Euphoric delirium was prominent in his eyes. “You should’ve seen everyone staring at my party,” you said. “I wish you saw how badly the men wanted to fuck me right there on the dancefloor; how they undressed me with their eyes. Maybe then you would understand the mistake you made by never showing me off.”
Aggravation blazed in his aroused eyes which only made you so much hornier. Before you could pump another stroke, Finnick had ripped your hands from his pants and spun you around, pinning your body against the wall with his own, his hard cock pushing against the plush of your ass.
“I do understand,” he growled into your ear.
He abruptly started sucking hard kisses onto the side of your neck which had you gasping for air and tilting your head to allow him further access. One of his hands cupped your breast, massaging it with rough fingers and pinching your peaked nipples between his fingertips. His other hand travelled around your hip, wandering beneath your revealing dress and slipping into your lace panties.
You cried out when two fingers plunged into your soaking hole without warning.
“Know what I wish?” he asked, fingers curling in and out of you at such a rapid pace that the wet noises could be heard throughout the entire room. Blissful tears threatened to spill down your face. “I wish those guys could see how you looked right now with my fingers fucking you.” The hand on your breast moved to your throat, applying enough pressure on your carotid to make your head pound with dizziness. “I wish they knew you only enjoy being fucked by me.”
Your walls squeezed around his fingers, pulling him even further inside. Your untouched breasts were squashed against the train door and the fabric of your dress rubbed against your sensitive nipples. Finnick’s cock twitched against you and his hand was constricting the blood flow to your head. Yeah. Nobody else could make you feel better than this.
Finnick plunged his fingers inside again with a hard thrust which forced a broken moan from your lips. “Isn’t that right?”
The heel of his palm dug into your clit and your entire body was overcome with pins and needles; your knees buckled and hit the metal door. That would definitely bruise. You hoped it would—you wanted a reminder of this night.
“Yes!” you gasped. “Finnick, only you. Only you.”
“That’s right.”
Your moans started to rise in pitch, signalling the orgasm which was rapidly closing in. But right before you could come, Finnick’s fingers slipped out of you and out of your now-drenched panties. Your orgasm began to fade due to the lack of friction until it disappeared completely, leaving you feeling frustrated and neglected.
Turning back around with a flushed face, you witnessed Finnick sucking your juices off his fingers with a pop. His grin was conniving, self-satisfied with his actions which proved how desperately you wanted him to fuck you. That smug bastard. You would give anything to wipe the amusement off his beautiful fucking face.
And, well, you did.
“Fuck you!” you exclaimed, shoving him backwards.
“Fuck me?” He raised an eyebrow, smirk twitching at his lips. “I already know you want to.”
With a frustrated cry, you shoved him again, but this time he caught you in his arms and fervidly crushed his lips to yours. You squirmed and writhed and resisted but eventually melted into his embrace when you remembered you wanted this. You wanted this so badly.
Your arms wrapped around his neck as both your bodies continuously curved into one another, neither of you being able to remain still for more than a few seconds. The taste of brandy and you were on Finnick’s tongue as it swirled around your mouth; the flavours, which were polar opposites, sweet and savoury, mixed together to create something utterly carnal.
With the knowledge that this was probably a one-time thing, your kisses became bruising and frantic. Finnick alternated between kissing your lips, your neck, your jaw, and any place he could possibly reach. You hung onto every sound he made, every hot breath he took.
The two of you stumbled around the train car, lips never leaving one another, hands grabbing at every inch of flesh they could reach. You bumped into walls and multiple glass ornaments and laughed together when Finnick just barely caught one before it shattered on the floor.
Eventually, you ended up down the opposite end of the train car. Your back hit something hard and you gasped in surprise. The dining table. Finnick gave a quick glance at the table before pressing another kiss to your lips, this time a little more tenderly.
“Turn around,” he said, and you did.
You immediately felt him press himself against your behind. You stared ahead, chest heaving and swollen lips tingling, waiting for any more commands. His hand walked around your thigh, over the mound of your pussy, and then grazed up your stomach. He left a trail of warm tingles between your breasts before continuing upward to move your hair from your shoulder where he placed another warm gentle kiss.
Finally, he splayed his hand flat between your shoulder blades and pushed, bending you over the table until your torso lay flat on the cold wooden surface. Finnick hiked your dress up to your hips and crouched down, caressing your outer thighs before sliding your panties down to your ankles.
The air hit your bare skin and you exhaled a shaky breath as you anticipated his next movements. As he rose to his feet, he trailed kisses up your leg, ending with a soft bite to your ass which earned him a small giggle.
You could hear him tug down his sweatpants which hit the floor with a muffled thud. Your breaths continued to shake with nerves, coming out in soft pants. Finnick held onto your hip with one hand and held himself in the other. No words were spoken. Both of you wanted this—needed this.
Next thing you knew, your panting breaths had stopped altogether. Finnick’s cock had slid between your folds, filling you up in one single movement, and you both released a relieved moan in sync. Your hands pressed against the tabletop as your body began to rock with his thrusts. You weren’t going to make love or whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears. No. This was pure unadulterated fucking.
Finnick started off fast; neither of you had the patience for a slow build-up. You didn’t even bother caring about the fact that he wasn’t wearing a condom. His hand had lowered to your mid back and the other gripped your hip as your warmth swallowed him over and over.
“Oh god,” you gasped.
The sensations that overtook your body were eagerly welcomed. You had tried to replicate the sex Finnick gave with other men after your relationship ended, but none seemed to compare even the slightest. You weren’t sure how a single human being could provide the sensations of nirvana, how one could master the skills of bringing another person to such an incredible high, but Finnick could. He always could.
It was only at this point that you realised how badly your body had been in withdrawal from his touch. The feeling of him inside you was like a drug. Addicting. Definitely not healthy.
You had tried fingering yourself to replicate his cock, but it was a pathetic attempt. Finnick could hit a deep spot inside you that no one else could like it was some secret forbidden location that only he held the key to. He made your body feel full. Stuffed. Complete. In a way that made you feel like you were going to burst into an explosion of white heavenly light.
Your nails scratched at the wood as he continued to pound into you, cock gliding against the ripples of your inner walls. There wasn’t a single inch of space left inside you. He fit like your pussy was where he belonged.
“Always feel so fucking good,” he muttered between thrusts.
His pleasure was always vocal, voiced with heavy breaths, grunts, and groans. Sometimes he even whimpered, especially when you edged him. He didn’t mind you being more dominant at times, but right now was not one of those moments. Being bent over and fucked into a table was not in any way, shape, or form you being dominant. This was Finnick being in control and it felt incredible.
“Finnick,” you said. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop!”
In response he grabbed your other hip and pulled you back into him, burying himself even deeper inside you with each thrust which had you crying out his name again. He hunched over your body, hips still pounding behind you, and sucked harsh kisses on your shoulder. He left behind red and deep purple marks on your shoulder, moving to your neck, and then grazed your earlobe with his teeth.
He returned a hand to your throat, forcing the both of you into a standing position. His fingers squeezed, reducing the blood flow into your brain which enhanced the explosion building up inside you.
“Harder!” you cried.
Both his cock and his hand increased their vigour. Stars were sparkling in your vision. You were almost completely sober now, yet you felt entirely drunk. Drunk on Finnick. He reached his free hand between your legs and your body fell back into his, only remaining upright from his support.
His fingers rubbed side-to-side on your clit, so hard and fast that his hand almost blurred in motion. Your moans rose an octave as your stomach began to tighten. A fire burned within your muscles, so pleasurably excruciating that you thought they would liquefy inside you. Your pussy clenched around Finnick’s cock, walls fluttering with each of his pounding thrusts.
“Come, sweetheart,” he purred into your ear. You could hear how much he struggled to contain his moans as he talked. “Come on, I know you're close. I can feel you.”
You nodded mindlessly and curled your arm backwards around his neck, in need of something to cling to. As the feeling inside your stomach intensified, your eyes squeezed shut and your hold around his neck tightened until you were almost choking him. With every ounce of strength that he had inside him, Finnick increased his pace until he fit multiple mind-destroying thrusts into each second that passed.
He was almost animalistic with his pounding and unrestrained groans of pleasure. And you were so close, so, so close to falling over the edge. His hand was constricted around your throat; the other assaulted your clit, and his cock was mercilessly hitting that swollen spot inside you. Any second and—
“I’m go—I’m gonna come!”
A potent cocktail of pleasure, ecstasy, and release washed through your body, unravelling the tension inside your stomach and exiting through your stuffed hole. Your juices coated Finnick’s cock with warmth as you repeated his name over and over.
You could feel him twitching inside you, spilling himself onto your clenching walls whilst bending you over to senselessly fuck you into the table. His moans were so loud, so fucking attractive, but may God have mercy on both of you if the room wasn’t actually soundproof.
Neither of you could stop. You came an immeasurable number of times; your hands left marks on Finnick’s body as he did on yours, and every surface in the room had been tainted with your sin. You clung onto one another, desperately prolonging your night together that would most likely be the last. Ever.
*********
“Don’t leave again.”
Your fingers stilled as you strapped on your high heels. You glanced up at Finnick—who now had his sweatpants back on—from the gold-lined leather chair you sat in.
“Finnick…” you sighed.
“Please,” he said. Crouching down in front of you, he gently took your hand into his own. His face, which previously reflected nothing but pleasure, now looked at you with pained desperation. “I’ll explain everything to you. Why I was always in the Capitol. Why it was too dangerous for us to be seen together in public. All of it.”
The mention of danger took you aback. You had thought he never wanted to be seen together because he was embarrassed, not because it was… dangerous. Brows furrowed together, your eyes flickered between his, searching for any hint of deception, anything that might reveal malicious intentions. But when had Finnick ever been malicious towards you? Never. All you found in his eyes was sincerity.
“I can’t lose you again,” he whispered, lowering his head.
After a few seconds of contemplation, you realised there wasn’t a chance in hell you were going to walk out on him again. Life would mean nothing without Finnick beside you.
Your fingers sat under his chin, lifting his head to meet your gaze. The two of you exchanged a look of vulnerability, signifying an era of newfound understanding and reconnection.
You whispered in response. “You’ve got me, Finn.” 
tags: @tayrae515
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lukesaprince · 4 months
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Painted On Your Back H.S
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Summary: Where you and Harry never really thought you'd get along until he was painted on your back.
Warning: smut!!, penetration, oral (f recieving), dirty talk, multiple orgasms, light spanking
Word count: 9k+
Author’s note: We ALL know what this is based on... enjoy
- Find my General Masterlist here -
When Harry first met you he wasn’t sure if you’d ever get along. You were a plus one to a party his friend was throwing and his first impression wasn’t exactly memorable. He didn’t mean that in an awful way, but the two of you never really crossed paths except for the first introduction, and that was as simple as ‘y/n, this is Harry. Harry, y/n’ then he was quick to jump back into his conversation with his girlfriend.
He and Melanie had been together for a while, in one of those classic on-again-off-again types of ways that was borderline toxic and annoying for everyone around them. When he first met you they were in that off-again phase where they kind of hated each other and liked to nit-pick about the past mistakes of their relationship before one of them would drag each other to the nearest empty room to fuck it out.
It worked for a while, to the protest of all their friends. It would’ve been easier to cut her out of his life if their entire social lives weren’t connected. Their friends, friends of friends, even their families were friends. That didn’t change the fact that they were wrong for each other. 
When Harry met you for the second and third time, he was in the on-again portion of his relationship. They were as loved up as anything, so annoyingly it was like no one else in the room even existed to them. That included you. 
Unbeknownst to Harry, you had been part of his closest circle of friends for years before he even knew them but had been living abroad the entire time. So to you, Harry and Melanie were this annoying addition with an unhealthy relationship that managed to ruin every social gathering in one way or another. 
They were either PDAing until your eyes burned or muttering snide comments under their breaths and refusing to even look at each other. It was soul-draining. Still, they seemed to have integrated well with the rest of the group and you didn’t want to be the only one who didn’t make some sort of effort. 
You tried to get to know them in one of their lovey-dovey phases, thinking it was better to catch them then rather than when they were biting at each other. Safe to say it failed miserably since they were too busy kissing to notice anyone else in the room. After that, you concluded that you and Harry would never really get along.
That was fine with you. 
The fifth time Harry met you, his relationship was over for good. When they were together their issues were because they had nothing in common and couldn’t agree on anything except sex. When Melanie finally broke it off and told him she met someone else and was bored of the back and forth, Harry was at a bit of a loss on what to do.
A good year was spent on her and then it just ended without a real apology, only a stupid ‘I’m bored’. He thought it would have a bit more of a bang, but he was glad it didn’t. After that, she spent more time with her new boyfriend than their joint group of friends. 
Truthfully, he did feel freedom. He no longer felt tied down to this woman who only really cared about his cock. It went both sides and he wouldn’t deny that, but it did feel nice knowing he didn’t have someone watching him at every turn.
That was the night he truly noticed you for the first time. He had seen you before, how couldn’t he? You were gorgeous and had this energy about you that lit up the room. He had just always been too distracted to properly speak to you and give you any time.
When he observed you and the way you interacted with everyone, he regretted it. He felt like a real dick for letting you be in their group for as long as you were without making any effort at all. And to think that despite his hectic relationship, you still made an effort. He remembered the exact night it happened too, and what was going through his head when you wandered over to him and Melanie in that little skirt of yours and tried to start up a conversation.
Melanie was all over him and he was too busy clutching onto the good moments he had with her to really give you any straight answers. You were irritated, he remembered that part of it but he couldn’t recite any sentences or topics you tried to talk about. Harry wanted to take it back, but he couldn’t exactly ignore the way he acted when he was still with Melanie. 
“So… I heard you guys just came back from France. That sounds like such a romantic trip! What was a highlight?” 
If only you knew they spent that entire weekend fighting. An off-again portion of their relationship that inconveniently took place in a different country.
“Oh it was-Melanie, stop it” Harry tried to scold, laughing when she grabbed his thigh and darted her tongue out to lick his neck. Disgusting. 
“It was really romantic. Like really romantic, if you know what I mean.” Melanie giggled, her voice tainted a drunken slur as she looked at you briefly before attaching herself back onto his neck like a leech. 
“Wow, that's…” you had to swallow the vomit. Disgusting. It just felt so disrespectful and gross. They were far from teenagers, Melanie was a only year or two younger than you, yet they acted like they had never experienced sex before in their lies. “Sounds nice guys. Did you do any-um” You paused when Melanie pulled Harry’s face towards her to kiss him. “Never mind.”
As it turned out, he had severely underestimated your importance to the group too. An even bigger fuck-up than he thought it would be.
“Are you serious? How come none of you ever talked about her?” Harry gaped, taking a swig of his beer at the new information. His eyes darted to you across the room, mesmerised by the way your laugh echoed through the room, just audible over the music from the speakers. They weren’t up too loud, which Harry found a blessing since it meant he could hear your pretty laugh clearer.
“We did. You were just too busy with Melanie to care.” Scott replied, “Y/n grew up with Casey which is how we all met. We just clicked, H. Kinda like when we first met you.” 
“And she’s been living where?”
“Sydney. She was overseeing an expansion of the company she works for, basically CEOing the whole thing without being the CEO. Real impressive shit, if you ask me.”
“Wow.” Harry was beyond impressed. Pretty and talented? He always did like a career-driven woman, which was funny considering Melanie was anything but. 
“She’s really smart too and if she didn’t hate you, I’d even pair you two together.” Scott laughed like it was a joke, slapping Harry on the shoulder. 
“She hates me?” Harry’s head snapped back to Scott. 
“Kind of. You’ve been a bit of an asshole to her y’know.” 
Harry didn’t like being called an asshole, nor did he like the fact that you hated him. He didn’t have high hopes that you two would totally get along, especially given the beginning of your relationship, but he wanted to be civil. He hoped to at least earn your forgiveness and be able to say hello to each other without it being painfully awkward. 
When Harry wandered into the kitchen later that night to try and find you, he didn’t expect to see you alone. It was what he wanted so he could actually try and make some conversation and hopefully clear the air, but he was still surprised to find you sitting on the kitchen bench, legs swinging with your phone in one hand and a can of some pre-mix in the other. 
He was trying to think of something to say before you noticed his presence, but between his heavy footsteps and intoxicating cologne, it wasn’t hard to sense him without even looking up from your screen.
“Your girlfriend not here? Shocker.”
“Excuse me?” He blinked, not expecting the damn attitude from someone everyone in the house had called sweet.
“Your girlfriend.” You looked up at him, “The one who liked to spread shit about you one minute then sit on your lap the next?” 
Harry didn’t even know what to say. Maybe he really did fuck up. “We’ve broken up.”
“Like I haven’t heard that before.” You snorted, taking a swig of your drink as you turned your phone off and slipped the shoulder bag on the crook of your elbow. “You two are too codependent for your own good. I’m sure she’ll be back on your arm in no time.”
Harry was having a hard time keeping his eyes on your face. Your skirt was quite possibly the shortest thing he had ever seen and if you shifted in just the right way he’d see straight to your underwear. He wasn’t sure if it was your teasing nature or just a tipsy accident, but he swore your legs spread a little further apart when he stepped into the room and leaned against the counter opposite you. 
“Not this time. She’s dating someone else.” 
“Huh.” You cocked your head, leaning back on one hand as you let your eyes casually scan over him. Harry was quite an attractive man and even a blind man could figure that out. Tall, built, tight jeans that hugged those delicious thighs of his and long luscious curls you may even admit to being jealous of once you got a little tipsy. He looked good. Too bad he rubbed you up the completely wrong way. “And how do you feel about that?”
Taking another heavy chug of you drink, you stared at him over the rim. “Why do you want to know?” He shifted uncomfortably, both a little turned on and freaked out at how you looked at him. You weren’t what he thought, that’s for sure. 
“I’m just curious.” You shrugged, slipping off the counter and onto the floor. You finished off your drink quickly and took a few steps towards Harry, crossing the short distance between you. “I’ve always wondered whether a breakup like yours gives your balls back or if she still has them in her back pocket.”
His eyes widened and this time he made no effort to hide his irritation. “You-”
“Have a good night Harry.” You smiled, patting his chest before walking away from him. You chucked your empty can on the way out, bidding him an “It was nice having more than a two-word conversation with you” without a second glance. 
Yeah… neither of you had high hopes of getting along. 
The next couple of parties were similar. Harry ignored your first conversation and tried to start a new one each time. He’d hug you hello, which you kind of reciprocated before excusing yourself to speak to anyone else then he’d find you at some other point in the night. But they never really went how he expected they would.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot. Or the wrong planet.” Harry announced himself, joining you at the bar as you waited for your drink. 
“Oh really?” You raised a brow, giving him another once over. 
He still wasn’t used to the way to looked at him, nor was he used to those short skirts of yours. They seemed to be a staple in your wardrobe no matter the weather. You layered them with tights, coats, knee-high boots or nothing at all when the weather was warmer. Hell, he had even seen you wear your skirts as tops if they could be styled that way. 
“Yes, really. I think you need to get to know me. The real me.” 
“And what real you is that?” The bartender slid your drink to you then held out the eftpos machine for you to tap your card. Before you got the chance, Harry tapped his phone to the screen, paying for your drink before ordering his own. 
You were a little shocked at the gesture but didn’t even get a chance to say anything about it before he was talking. 
“The nice, non-asshole who feels like shit for how we met.” 
“Hmm.” You were a little suspicious, but he did just pay for your drink. 
“So” he started, “you’ve been living in Sydney. How long were you there?”
The loud bar wasn’t the best place for a conversation, but you decided to go along with it anyway. Everyone deserved a second chance and truthfully, you were a little impressed that he was still reaching out to you after your first conversation. You did basically say he had no balls and any insecure man would’ve taken that hit right to the ego and never recovered. Clearly, Harry wasn’t like that.  
“Two years.”
“Wow. It must’ve been an adjustment, huh?” He presumed, leaning his face closer so you could hear him better. You could smell alcohol on his breath already, but you were probably the same so you didn’t think much of it. 
“Not really.” You called back, sipping your drink before leaning in so your mouth was close to his ear. “I do well on my own so it was more freeing than anything else. Plus, the job offered great perks and I didn’t have anyone here that was tying me down. Felt like the right decision.”
“You had friends, didn't you? Family?” His brows furrowed and now it was his turn to bring his mouth closer to your ear. “Everyone here seems to love you.” Muttering a ‘thanks’ to the bartender for his drink, he paid for it then the two of you moved out of the way, staying near the bar. Your bodies remained close so you could hear each other well. 
“Of course I do.” You defended. “But I kept in constant contact with everyone. Physically I wasn’t here, but I never let my job or relationships get in the way of my friendships. I made more when I was there of course, but I always stayed connected to home. ”
Harry noticed the stress you put on ‘relationships’ and the way your expression turned a little colder. There was clear attitude and intent behind your comment and he wasn’t about to let it go. He was making an effort, yes, but he wasn’t going to let you insult him. 
“That sounds like a dig at me.” He scoffed, clearly irritated. 
It wasn’t meant to be a dig, but it also wasn’t a lie. The fact that it happened to relate to his relationship was just a coincidence and a connection Harry made, not you. Maybe he wasn’t that blind to the impact his relationship had on everyone around him after all. 
“Maybe you’re just sensitive.” You shot back, rolling your eyes. “Not every conversation is about you, Harry.”
“You’re the one who made it about me.” He snapped back. 
“I didn’t!” You laughed in astonishment, a little shocked at his attitude. “Are you actually being serious right now?”
“Oh come off it, y/n. All I was trying to do was make conversation with you and you had to turn around and ruin it!” 
You were the one to ruin it? God, every time this man opened his mouth it just managed to make you more and more irritated.
It was clear you hit a nerve with your unrelated comment about him and Melanie. And yeah, you understood that things were still fresh but he didn’t react like this when you commented about his balls last time so you didn’t really understand why he was being so rude. 
“Jesus, Harry. All I did was make a comment that wasn’t even about you and now you’re making it this big fucking thing!? Just because you’re used to fucked up mind games, doesn’t mean I want anything to do with them. I’m not Melanie nor do I deserve to be treated like her.”
Harry stayed silent, but something you said seemed to resonate with him because you could see the instant regret in his expression. 
“Casey’s waiting for me.” You didn’t allow him to defend himself or apologise. You were done with him for tonight. “See you around, Harry.” 
It took a few more times of seeing you before Harry gathered the courage to see you again. After that whole ordeal in the bar, he felt seriously embarrassed and ashamed of his actions. He didn’t know what came over him, to be honest. One minute he was determined to make things up to you and the next he felt attacked in some unfair way and he couldn’t keep it to himself.
When you walked away, he seemed to sober up immediately and he realised that he was once again the asshole in the situation. He couldn’t even blame Melanie this time, because it was his fault. Only he was responsible for how he acted and dealt with his feelings, no one else. 
And it was a real wake-up call. Over the months he and Melanie were together, his friends always made fun of him for taking her back again, or for the way they were but it was always in a throwaway comment and never serious. None of them really told him the truth of how his relationship impacted them. In one little comment of yours, that he now saw wasn’t really directed at him, it hit him that he sacrificed his friends for a relationship that was never going to lead anywhere. 
So he found himself at your door one night, a bottle of wine in one hand and a margarita pizza in the offer. It was a peace offering. Everyone loves wine and pizza, right?
“Harry?” You greeted, confused as ever when you opened the door to find that annoying man-child at your front door. The pizza and wine caught your attention immediately. “What are you doing here?” 
“Um, hi. I brought a peace offering.” He smiled sheepishly, presenting the wine and pizza to you. “I hope it’s not a bad time.”
He looked cute. A black hoodie and matching shorts with his hair up in a bun. It was a bit warm out, but he didn’t seem deterred by it. 
You should’ve shut the door on him considering how the last conversation between you went and how he had been ignoring you like a child the last couple of weeks. He avoided you at any group catch-ups and even went as far as to completely bail on the poker night you hosted at your place so he wouldn’t have to speak to you. 
Still… you were curious, you hadn’t eaten yet and that pizza smelt divine. 
So you stepped aside and let him in. “Come in.”
“Thank you.” He looked around your house, immediately feeling such a sense of home and peace in there. It was open-planned, a cute townhouse where the front door went straight into the living room, dining and kitchen area. From the door, he could see your stairs going up. Along the way up were a series of arty nature photographs of the Australian coast and landmarks. Did you take them? “Um… would you like shoes off?” 
Now that was unexpected. You really thought he’d jump straight on your couch without an invitation to do so. “Yes, please. I’ll uh, take these.” 
Grabbing the pizza and wine from him, you let him slide his shoes off while you brought them both to your couch. Then, you went back to your kitchen to grab two classes. “So you clearly know my address, any reason you couldn’t come to poker night?”
“I was embarrassed,” Harry admitted, standing near the front door a little awkwardly while you pottered around to grab glasses and plates. Well you didn’t expect that response. “The way I behaved that night… it was unacceptable. I guess I got too nervous coming here when our only two interactions were shitty.”
“Hmm. But you’re here now?” you raised a brow, motioning to the couch to invite him to sit while you settled in your favourite corner on it. “With no buffers or witnesses?” 
He followed your lead and sat beside you, keeping an appropriate distance. “Well… I thought if you didn’t accept my apology and wanted to punch me instead, at least there wouldn’t be anyone to stop you.” 
“How chivalrous.” You snorted, trying to resist the smile trying to play on your lips. Even though he was an ass to you, there was still something about Harry that drew you to him. And it wasn’t the gorgeous hair or those green eyes of his. 
“I try to be.” He shrugged, passing you a plate from the coffee table before opening the pizza box. “One or two?” Looking back at you, he found you keenly observing him. 
He wasn’t sure what you were thinking, but he found your expression both attractive and unnerving. That seemed to be a common experience around you. You both managed to turn him on and scare him at the same time without even trying.
“Two.” 
He used a napkin to grab the slices for you before passing the plate and grabbing his own. Once he settled back into the couch, he took a couple bites of his pizza in one go while looking around the room. It felt like he was avoiding your eye contact a little and the air was turning a little awkward because of it. 
He didn’t seem like a nervous person and it wasn’t what you had observed when he was away from Melanie and meeting new people or flirting with a girl at the bar. Were you making him nervous?
“You’ve got a really nice place.” He complimented, trying to fill the silence. 
“Thanks.” You were getting a little impatient, you couldn’t lie. You were curious why he brought a peace offering and was offering no peace. “So… pizza and wine as a peace offering, huh?” you took a bite from your pizza and adjusted in your cross-legged position to be facing him more. 
Despite everything that happened between you two, it felt kinda… normal to be sitting here together eating pizza. A little awkward, sure, but it wasn’t super uncomfortable like you imagined the next time you saw him would be.
“Yeah…” Harry covered his mouth with his hand as he swallowed his bite before he set the pizza down on the coffee table to grab his wine instead. He took your words as a prompt to start talking, like the push he needed to talk about it all. “Listen, I’m really sorry for what happened at the bar. I don’t know what came over me and I…I never should’ve spoken to you like that.”
You nodded, mirroring his actions to set your pizza down and grab your wine instead. It was clear this was going to be a big conversation. “I wasn’t trying to insult you, Harry. The first time I was, but not the second time.”
“I know.” He cracked a smile at your comment before it fell quickly as he looked down at his lap. “I know… I guess it just hit me harder than I thought. And I know that’s not an excuse but that one… comment was more honest than anything anyone else has said to me.”
“Why?” your brows furrowed, confused by what he meant. Melanie and him had been broken up for weeks at this point. “Hasn’t anyone else spoken to you about Melanie?”
“Not really.” Harry shrugged, looking back at you with a soft expression. He was slowly relaxing further into the conversation, getting comfier against the back of the couch while his finger traced the rim of his wine glass. “I think they all think we’ll get back together again. They’re not convinced we’re actually over.”
“But you are, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” He nodded, voice clear and definitive. “For good this time.”
You weren’t sure what to say, to be honest. In all this time, all these weeks and months of them being together and no one talked to him about Melanie? No one gave him a wake-up call or at the very least asked him if he was okay after this final breakup? Everyone had complained to you about them at some point or another, even if you didn’t really know either of them, yet no one had said something to them directly?
That felt extremely wrong. This entire time you thought Harry was just oblivious to the irritation of his friends. That he let them be annoyed and complain and didn’t care that his relationship ruined basically every social outing the group had. 
But they never said a damn thing. You didn’t get it. How could they sit there and watch him fall back in the same toxic cycle over and over again when it was clear he wasn’t going to get out of it himself?
“You want me to be honest, Harry?”
“Yes. Please.”
“I think your relationship with Melanie was toxic and no one did anything to stop you two from getting back together. It’s not healthy or fair to fall onto the same hurt over and over again. For both of you. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah… I see that now.” He looked down at his glass.
Shuffling closer to him, you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You can talk about it if you want.” You offered. You weren’t even that upset with him anymore, to be honest. You kinda felt bad for him. “Or you don’t have to. Whatever you like. I can put something on instead?” 
“I don’t want to unload on you, y/n. Tonight wasn’t about that.” Looking at you, you could read the hurt in his eyes. Even though he and Melanie were annoying together, you couldn’t imagine what it was like to actually be in that relationship.  
“I’m okay with it. We still have half a pizza and a bottle of wine to get through.” You offered a casual smile, leaning forward to grab the bottle and refill your glasses. He gave you a look, almost asking if you were sure to which you just nodded in return.
Harry took a heavy sip of his wine before starting his story. “When I was with her I knew it wasn’t healthy…” 
Harry wasn’t sure why, but he felt comfortable speaking to you about his relationship. Maybe because you were actually honest, or maybe because you just looked really pretty and he was a sucker for a pretty girl. 
Once he started opening up a bit more about it, it only got easier to keep talking. You gave honest, solid advice and comfort and he appreciated every moment of it. Your eyes were soft, expression the same and while you still gave your little sarcastic remarks here and there, you were never snarky towards him. 
“…yeah I dunno. I guess it was just easy and…” He looked away, stopping himself from saying more. He was tipsy by this point and he was already about to talk about his sex life with you. 
“And what?” 
“And the sex was really fucking good.” He admitted with a little laugh, taking a sip of his wine. You smiled, not expecting that. “I think it was the only thing we had in common.”
“You don’t need to be in a fucked relationship to have good sex, Harry.”
“Yeah… but it makes it more interesting I guess.” He shrugged, half-joking and half-serious. 
“You’re telling me you’ve never had interesting sex before Melanie? I find that hard to believe.”
Seriously? The guy was walking, talking sex. There was no doubt in your mind that he had something raw and dirty in his time. 
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he cocked his head, smirking because he knew exactly what you meant. 
He scanned you head to toe and it was like you could physically feel the heat in a path following his gaze. It made you hot all over, especially when the air seemed to suddenly get denser and heavier, like it was preparing for a knife to try and cut through it to break the tension.
The heat was starting to swirl in your core, building higher and higher like a balloon about to burst. You wanted him to touch you, like an itch you couldn’t scratch yourself. 
“I mean, seriously Harry.” you huffed, looking away for a moment to catch your breath. “I know you look in the mirror every day and tell yourself how good-looking you are. You don’t need to lie. And you don’t need to lie about your luck getting someone in your bed either.”
He laughed, running a hand through his hair before settling his wine glass on the coffee table in front of the couch. “I could say the same about you.” his fingers danced along the back of the couch, finding your bare shoulder and grazing against your skin ever so softly. It sent a shiver up your spine and Harry could see the way your eyes hazed over a little. Arousal. 
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You eyed his fingers before looking back at him. “Now you still haven’t answered my question.” You cleared your throat, finishing off the last sip of your wine so you could set it down next to Harry’s. The brief break from his touch allowed you to catch your breath, but those same nimble fingers returned to your shoulder the moment you settled back into the couch. 
“And what’s that?” He raised a brow, taking his touch up a notch to trail a finger up your shoulder to your neck. 
“Before Melanie… did you…” you couldn’t even finish the sentence, not when his finger moved to your jaw and he cupped it fully, letting his thumb run over your bottom lip. His eye contact was heavy, eyelids drooping slightly in a hooded gaze that had you crumbling on the inside. 
“Did I fuck a pretty little thing?” Harry cocked his head, running his tongue over his teeth while he dragged his eyes over your frame. Every word was low, pronounced and seductive. You were practically squirming in your seat. “Did I have someone underneath me, moaning… writhing… begging as I touched them until they came? Yeah. Found it pretty damn interesting too.”
Oh god. 
“I hate you.” You groaned, letting your hand fall to his thigh. 
“Why?” He mused, lowering his hand so it was properly wrapped around the front of your neck. 
“Because I should still be annoyed at you.”
“And you’re not?” Smirking, Harry relished in the feeling of your pulse growing faster under his touch. He liked making you nervous. 
“Not so much anymore.”
He took that as his sign to swoop in. His hands cupped your face and guided your mouth to his, sealing them together in a searing kiss that quite literally took your breath away. You cupped his face in return and kissed back eagerly, loving how your mouths melted together. They moved in sync, his tongue running over the seam of your mouth and dipping in when you welcomed him in gladly. 
He knew exactly how to kiss and what to do to get you all hot and heavy. It was working pretty damn fast too.
You squeezed his thigh, moving upwards towards the growing bulge in his pants. “This okay?” You breathed, only breaking the kiss to speak before you kissed him again. 
There was something addictive about kissing him. His lips were sweet, soft and moved like he knew exactly what he was doing. All you could think about was how those same lips would feel all over your body… your neck… your chest… between your thighs. 
“Yes. God yes.” He groaned, sliding his hand along your waist and feeling your body. “This okay?”
“Uhuh. You can touch me anywhere.” 
Can? Need. You needed him to touch you anywhere. 
“Yeah?” He smirked, sliding his hand down to hang around your neck again. “Anywhere? That’s a big word.”
“If you think you can handle it, yes. Anywhere.”
It was a challenge, one he wanted to rise to. Literally. 
“Oh, I can handle it.” 
He leaned in to kiss you again and this time things moved a lot faster. His hands were on your ass, your thighs, anywhere he could touch while you were eagerly trying to get his hoodie and t-shirt off. 
“Eager, are we?” He teased, lifting his arms so you could shove the bunch of fabric off him.
“Shut up.” You groaned, fisting the hair at the back of his head and pulling backwards to release it from his hair tie. It fell onto the couch somewhere, but Harry didn’t seem to care when you used his hair to drag him in for another kiss.
He hissed at the sting of his scalp, but it only turned him on further and he fucking loved it. Your attitude was one of your most attractive qualities, among all the other things about you that turned him on.
Before you knew it he was dragging you over his lap, manoeuvring your bodies so you were straddling him with your core right against his cock. It was hard beneath you and you could already feel how big he was just from sitting on top of him.
“This isn’t a thing.” You panted, breaking the kiss so you could pull your tank top off with a little help from Harry’s eager hands. 
“What?” He was too busy staring at your bare chest to even register what you had just said. God, you were perfect. 
His mouth found your neck while one hand palmed at your breast, eliciting a breathy moan that had you distracted from what you wanted to say to him. Between his mouth on your skin and his hard cock pressed right to your core, you were so damn worked up all he had to do was touch your nipple and you were in ecstasy. 
It had been a while since you slept with someone. After coming back from Sydney, you were too busy reconnecting with friends and family, setting up your new home and bouncing back to work to even think about a man. Because of that, every touch was electric. 
“I’m not a rebound.” Sliding a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck, you tugged his head back and forced him to look at you. His eyes were blown with lust, mouth all red and swollen from your desperate kisses. It was obscene. “And I’m not about to enter some psycho-codependent relationship with you. Okay?”
“Okay” He nodded, licking his lips while running his hands over your ass and up your bare back. “Okay.” 
Satisfied with his answer, you leaned back in to kiss him. With firm hands on your ass, he ground you against him with purpose, both of you simultaneously moaning into each other's mouths at that one touch. 
There was something so underrated about grinding like this. Kissing and just touching without anything real happening. It got that fire ignited inside, one that had you breathless and so goddamn wet it was soaking through your shorts. 
“Take me to my room.” You panted, angling your head back so he could kiss your neck again. It was a sweet spot for you. Any touch and you were dizzy and squirming. 
“Yes.” He agreed, tucking his hands under your ass to hoist you up. “Guide the way.”
“Upstairs. Turn left.” 
You held onto him tight, legs wrapped around his hips and hands in his hair while you nipped at his mouth and his neck, anywhere just to touch him. God had you missed touching a man, feeling a man. Harry would’ve had to be one of the better choices out there, a great choice depending on how well he pleased you. 
Something told you he’d have no issue pleasing you though. 
“Let me say sorry.”
He lowered you to the bed and knelt between your legs, looking down at you with blown eyes. His hair was already messy from all your tugging and was covering his eyes a little with the way his head was tilted. 
He was so damn built too. His tattoos fit his body like pieces of a big piece of art, every single one in perfect placement and design. He had silly ones, some even questionable but they all fit him. There wasn’t one there, including that mermaid that you didn’t love. He looked glorious. Like Tarzan or some model on a Calvin Klein shoot. But you’d never tell him that. 
“I’ve always liked a bit of grovelling.” You grinned, propping yourself up on your elbows. 
“I’ve been called an expert in it.” 
He dipped his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and started tugging them down while he dipped his head to kiss along your stomach. It dropped on impact, those wonderful butterflies fluttering around like they knew what was coming. 
“That’s a…” you inhaled a sharp breath when your shorts were thrown behind him, leaving you completely before him. “That’s a big claim to make.”
He looked down at you with a look so feral your insides started to twist and he had barely even touched you yet. Looking back up at you, he smoothed his hands over your thighs, forcing them to spread wider and flatter on the bed. “You’re really pretty, y/n.” Then while maintaining eye contact he dipped down and pressed a single kiss to your mound. “I’m looking forward to apologising.”
Harry watched as your jaw went slack and your head lulled back at his first taste, the first contact his tongue made with your sweet, dripping pussy. He audibly groaned, running his thumbs along your inner thighs while he dipped in to have another taste, licking a wide stripe from your entrance to your clit. 
“Oh fuck.” You cursed, back arching off the bed at the initial feeling of Harry’s mouth against your clit. He dipped his tongue out, using the very tip over your clit in a purposed, heavy pattern that had you squirming within minutes. 
“You taste so fucking good.” He groaned, using his thumb to pull back your clitoral hood so he could suckle on your clit properly. You had an instant knee-jerk reaction and tried to slam your knees around his head, but he was quick to flatten his forearms against your thighs to keep them wide open for him. All with a cheeky smile on that kissable mouth of his. “I’ve thought about this a lot y’know. Every damn time you wear those short skirts.”
“Yeah?” You moaned, reaching out to push his hair from his face, forming a secure grip on the gathered hair. It was incredible and you were having a hard time controlling your body and your noise. “Must’ve thought about it a lot then.”
“Mhmm.” He hummed against you, “wanted to make you scream. Wanted to have you dripping in my mouth like honey. Gonna do that now, actually.”
His words were obscene. The whole fucking thing was obscene, actually. Harry was getting into eating your pussy like no man had ever done before. His eyes were closed in bliss as he lapped and sucked at your clit like it was his job and every single touch seemed to ripple pleasure through your body. 
“Feel good?” Harry mused, observing how squirmy you became when he circled your entrance with a single finger. But he didn’t slide it into you just yet. He wanted you to beg for it. “Tell me you want it, angel. Say it.”
All you could do was nod and tighten your grip in his hair to pull him closer, telling him with your body that you needed it. You needed more. 
“Ah. Words y/n.” he tutted, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your clit. “Beg for it.” 
You wanted to resist, purely to irritate him and not give in so quickly. But you wanted it. Needed it and you couldn’t have cared less how it happened. And you couldn’t lie… having him demand you to beg was so damn hot. His control and dominance weren’t overbearing in any way and you loved it.
“Please.”
A smirk curled on his lips at the plea. He rewarded it by wrapping his lips around your clit and giving it a nice long suck, enough to have you crying out and scratching your nails roughly against his scalp. 
“Again. Say it again. Need to hear it. Need it.” He coaxed.
“Please.”
“Good girl.” Harry rewarded, finally slipping his finger inside of you. He had a smooth silver ring around the base and didn’t bother taking it off beforehand. Its cool temperature made you shiver, wedding to the pleasure once that moment of searching for that spongey spot ended and he found it.
God, it had you seeing stars. He curled his finger perfectly, stimulating that sensitive area while his lips returned to your clit like they belonged there. 
“So sweet y’know that. So goddamn sweet. Could eat you every fucking day, sweetheart.”
The pleasure was building up, tightening your core and making your legs start to vibrate at the beginning of your orgasm. 
“Harry.” It sounded like the sound of a beg, a plea. But you weren’t really sure what you were begging for, just that you needed him to know how good he was making you feel.
“What angel? Tell me. Say it.” 
You couldn’t. You didn’t even know what to say. 
“You gonna cum, is that it?” His words vibrated against your clit, lips brushing against you as he lapped at it between words and hums of his own enjoyment. Every curl of his finger, every vibrate of a moan had you crying louder, fisting his hair harder. “Can feel you squeezing ‘round me, angel. Can only imagine how good you’re gonna feel squeezing ‘round my cock instead. Dripping over it. Making a big mess of me.” 
That did it. Those filthy words mixed in with the thought of his cock replacing his finger and you were a goner. Your legs squeezed around his head, only one being held down by his hand while the other hooked over his shoulder and dug into his back until he was basically trapped between your thighs.
The pleasure rolled in waves and Harry coaxed you all the way through, but when the pleasure subsided and you melted back into the bed he didn’t stop. No. he wanted another.
“Harry…”
“C’mon angel, give me another. You can do it. Let me say sorry.”
His butterfly voice was hypnotic, and you found yourself wanting to do everything he wanted. Not that you were complaining about getting another orgasm.
Harry slid in a second finger and focused on tracing patterns along your clit while he opened you up wider for him. He wanted to prep you, to stretch you so his cock would slide in easier and wouldn’t hurt you. 
“Godddd. You’re so good at that…” You gasped, feeling your second wave roll over you in barely two minutes. You could do that yourself easily, but you were impressed at how Harry managed to do it. He was just so precise in his pleasure, so focused and determined. Harry didn’t rush, he was just good at it. 
“So I’ve been told,” Harry smirked, licking his fingers clean he kissed his way up your body to your mouth. 
“You’re so cocky. And here I thought I made you nervous.” you groaned between kisses, hands in his hair while you hooked your leg around his hip to draw his body closer.
“You do.” He mused, hand on your jaw to press your head to the bed so he could start kissing along it. “In a good way… means I want to impress you.”
“I’m not easy to impress.” You breathed, melting further into the bed as he nipped at your neck. 
“Guess I gotta try harder then.” He smirked, hearing your breath hitch when he reached a particular spot. Got it. He soon made his way back to your mouth, “Now tell me… how do you want it?” His grip was firm on your jaw as his lips ghosted yours, moving against yours with every firm word. 
You already knew how you wanted it. You had thought about this a lot more than you should’ve to be honest. Considering you thought he was an asshole basically the entire time you knew him, you thought about him fucking you a lot.
“Want it from behind.”
He groaned at your response, nipping at your bottom lip and dragging it back with a pop. “I think I’m in love with you” he spoke while sitting back on his haunches. He looked down at you, resting his hands on your hips while you propped yourself onto your elbows again. 
“Fuck off” you laughed, “no psycho-codependency, remember?” 
“Sure…” he smirked, leaning over you to kiss you once more. “Turn over, angel.” 
Neither of you were sure where ‘Angel’ came from but it just worked. God did it work. Every time his smooth, seductive voice uttered that endearment your pussy spasmed. 
You followed his instruction and turned yourself over while he got rid of his shorts. It was only then that he realised he had no condoms on him. Harry wasn’t expecting anything to happen between you two tonight, nor were you. 
“Fuck. I don’t have a condom.” He cursed, running a hand through his hair as he settled behind you. 
“No.” You groaned, turning around to face him. You both just stared at each other for a second. You weren’t on any birth control, nor did you have any condoms either. There wasn’t really a point in having any when no one was coming around. 
But you were both ready. Both naked and turned on and neither of you wanted to stop. Stupid? Yeah, probably. 
“Pull out?” Harry suggested, brow raised. His eyes dropped to your breasts for a moment, unable to help himself when you were right there and so damn pretty. 
“Yeah… fuck it. Pull out.” Your eyes did the same thing, landing on his cock. His long… heavy… big cock. Yeah, it was worth risking the pull-out method. 
“Turn around, y/n. I can’t wait any longer when you look at me like that.” He groaned, giving your ass a quick spank as you turned back around which elicited a yelp and glare in his direction.
“Ass.” 
“I’d apologise, but I’m not sorry.” He chuckled, running his hands over your cheeks. You sighed and dropped your forehead to the duvet beneath you, loving the feeling of his hands on your ass. “God, y/n. You’re so goddamn pretty.”
Smoothing his hand up your back, he gave his cock a few tugs for good measure with the other. He was properly obsessed with you, he couldn’t help it. Just looking down at you, bent over with your pretty holes on display for him had his mouth watering.
“Harry…” you whined a little, propping yourself up on your elbows so you could look over your shoulder. Now he was just drawing it out. He guided the head of his cock to your folds and drew it up and down, purposefully directing it over your clit. 
You pushed back against it, trying to get him to just fuck you for real. If he was as talented with his mouth and fingers as his cock, you knew you’d be in for a treat and you were getting desperate. 
“Ah.” He tutted, spanking you quickly while pulling his hips back completely so he lost all contact with you. “You want it, angel? Tell me how bad you need it.”
“Don’t tease, Harry. Please, just fu-ohh” 
Your words broke when he finally pushed into you. That initial feeling of him stretching you out had both of you sighing loudly. There was nothing like it. No feeling that could quite compare to that fullness you felt. It crept up your spine into your back, making you feel all heavy and lulled like you were under some spell.
“Jesus, y/n.” 
His fingers did little to prep you for his dick. He was big and while he entered slowly, carefully, the stretch was painfully sinful. You couldn’t help but like it, and Harry could tell too by the way you seemed to get wetter when he pushed into you until he couldn’t anymore. 
“God, Angel. You’re so-fuck.” 
“Ugh Harry I-you’re so…” you didn’t want to finish it, but you didn’t really have to because you both knew what each other meant. 
With a little check-in and an enthusiastic ‘go’, he started fucking into you properly. It took a few thrusts for your pussy to open up to him fully, for his cock to be properly surrounded by you. And when it did… God, you were both in ecstasy. 
He got in a steady rhythm, using your hips as leverage. His fingertips dug into you, marking your skin with bruises you hoped you’d have for weeks. 
This might never happen again. It probably would never happen again and any reminder of this night, of this incredible sex with a man who apologised with pizza, wine and orgasms was something you’d gladly have. 
And he filled you so goddamn good, how could you not want a constant reminder of it? Just having him inside you was pleasurable. The stretch and his sheer size hit every sweet spot that existed and your head was spinning in pleasure; dizzy and heavy, all consumed with nothing but him.
“More… Go harder.” Flipping your hair over to one side, you looked back at him, “Harder.”
“More? Fuck ‘s like you’re made for me, angel.” He groaned, fulfilling your plea and delivering harder, faster thrusts. Crying out, your head dipped between your shoulders, arms getting shakier with every punishing thrust. 
It was exactly what you needed. With every thrust, every rough snap of his hips you were moaning louder and louder. You couldn’t even hold yourself up anymore. Your head was a dead weight on your shoulders, heavy and dug into the duvet while you fisted it in your hands. 
You could barely breathe or think. Couldn’t even keep your hips up above the bed. He was rocking into you so hard, so fast your knees kept widening on the bed and you couldn’t do anything about it. If it weren’t for Harry’s concrete grip on your hips and periodic adjustment, they’d have flattened by now in complete jelly. 
“Fill me so good, Harry. Feels so good” you cried, panting and clawing at the duvet. 
“I know. Fucking Jesus I know. You’re taking me so well, y/n. Feel so fucking good wrapped around me.” 
Wrapping a hand around your hair, he roughly pulled your head back, eliciting a gasp and whimper at that sting of your scalp. “Wanna hear you y/n. Wanna hear you scream my name.”
“Harry.”
“I know. I know.” He cooed. 
The sight of your bare back was doing sinful things to Harry. He scanned it from your neck, going all the way down to where you two were connected. It would’ve had to be the most erotic thing he had ever seen. 
You were wet everywhere. Your cream coated his cock and was dripping down his bells and fuck, every time his cock pushed into you more seemed to drip out. It was killing him. 
“If only you could see this…. Fucking hell.” He muttered to himself, letting go of your hair to swipe his finger through your arousal. He wiped it over your ass, feeling a little turned on in a fucked way at seeing it on your skin. His mark on your skin. 
You were getting there again. That swirl of desire and pleasure was building up in your core at an alarming rate and you knew you wouldn’t be able to do anything to hold it off once that wave rolled over.
Harry could feel it too. Not only his own orgasm but yours. You were fluttering around him, tensing just like the rest of your body was. You were getting stiff all over and the noises leaving your lips were something Harry had only heard in his dreams. 
You were just so goddamn pretty. He wasn’t sure this could be a one time thing. 
“You getting close, sweetheart? I am. Just feel too good around me, Angel. Can’t help it.” He murmured, caressing your skin with his thumbs. His thrusts were going sloppy, uncoordinated like he couldn’t control himself anymore. 
“Can you finish yourself off, f’me? Fuck- gotta pull out.”He pulled out before you answered, needing to otherwise he’d finish off inside you and that was the last thing you two needed. 
Whining at the feeling of him pulling out, you agreed nonetheless in a floaty “uhuh,” while reaching between your legs to join your fingers to your clit. 
“Jesus-angel fuck. Where do you want it?” Harry cursed, head dipping low as he jerked himself off to the finish line, squeezing himself at the base to hold himself back until you responded. 
“Anywhere, anywhere. Oh god. Harry” You cried, your orgasm waving over you in a shaky, rush of ecstasy that had you crying into the bed and collapsing in a bit of a heap. 
You felt his cum paint your back a moment later, joined with a whine of your name that fizzled into a sigh once he was finished. You both slumped in your positions, finally letting your hips drop down while Harry sat back on his haunches to calm down. 
Neither of you knew what to say, or how to feel. Your chemistry was unmatched and even if you didn’t voice it, you both could agree that the sex was really fucking good. Some of the best you ever had, even. 
Harry had a secret hope this would happen again. But at the same time, he couldn’t delude himself. You were pretty clear about what you wanted. 
But hey, maybe it didn’t matter. All he wanted was to have you not hate him by the end of the night and he felt like he succeeded. You wouldn’t have fucked him if he didn’t.
Yeah… looking at himself painted on your back, Harry knew you two would get along. 
━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━
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rinhaler · 6 months
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sigh… toji is a good dad…. so i’m holding you at gun point for you to make a oneshot abt toji and his bimbo sugar baby or else
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aaaaa my first request and ofc it's a toji one! i love the idea of bimbo reader going shopping all of the time with daddy's credit card, and she always gets megumi some treats too!
warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, soft dom!toji, age gap (reader 20s toji 30s), pussy eating, ddlg, squirting, established relationship, (reader can be mamaguro or step mother, whatever you prefer!).
words: 1.5k
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He always gets home so late.
It’s 4am, now, and usually your eyes are too weary and heavy to welcome him home. But you’ve been prancing around the penthouse since you got home from a particularly lengthy shopping spree. The damage all contained to daddy’s credit card.
Megumi doesn’t cause too much trouble for you these days. He sleeps through the night so long as you read him a story and leave on the night light. It reminds you of yourself when you see him cuddle up and drift off to sleep with his favourite plush.
Daddy doesn’t mind if you’re sleeping upon his return.
In fact, he prefers it.
It gives him time to shower and clean up the evidence of his misdemeanours before climbing into bed beside you. But he’s surprised when he gets back and sees the lights still on and R&B music softly plays throughout the apartment. You realise he’s home when you hear the door lock sharply behind him.
He saunters through the penthouse, his pace quickens as he ascends the stairs. He’s careful as he opens the door to Megumi’s bedroom, smiling as he sees his son sleeping soundly.
You spritz some perfume when you hear his footsteps approaching. It’s crazy how nervous he makes you, an unrelenting desire to be his perfect girl at all times. Maybe you shouldn’t have been chugging back champagne like it’s water, though.
“Baby?” he speaks, softly, not wanting to scare you if you’d just fallen asleep with the lights on. “I’m home, princess…” he smiles as you come into his view. Sitting so sweet ‘n patient on the end of the bed for him.
“Hi daddy.” you smile, crossing one leg over the other as you take another sip of champagne. “Missed you s’much…” you confess.
His eyes scan the room and takes in the countless shopping bags from high end stores. The aged scar on his lip pulls deliciously as he smirks at the sight, and then seeing you staring up at him so innocently makes his heart and his cock swell.
“Looks like you had some fun today. Gonna give daddy a heart attack if you keep this up.” he laughs, only half joking as he approaches to kiss your forehead. It’s soft, like you’ll shatter if he applies too much force. You’re so precious to him, so delicate.
“Wanted to get somethin’ nice for Shiu’s birthday party… wan’ you to be proud of me.” you explain, batting your lashes like butter wouldn’t melt.
“Daddy’s always proud of you.” he assures you, kissing you again. “This little outfit new?” he asks, eyes raking over your body to examine your new clothes. A short tight skirt and a plunging crop top that leaves little to the imagination. His body sinks so that he’s kneeling in front of you, caressing your thighs and rubbing soft circles into them.
“Mhmm, s’all new.” you nod, your legs uncross so that he can settle between them with ease. His green eyes still staring up at you like you are the first woman he’s ever seen. The only one that has and will ever mean something to him. “The boots are new too…” you tell him, showing off the tan over the knee platforms.
“They’re beautiful baby…” he tells you, head dipping to plant a chaste kiss to your thigh. He moves to pull away, though his movement halts before he can fully raise his head. His right hand smooths up your thigh and under your skirt, a single finger cocking the material to reveal your bare cunt. “What’s this? You couldn’t afford some pretty panties on my card or somethin’?” he grins.
“They’re over there.” you point, your perfectly manicured finger forcing his gaze to follow to see a sky-blue thong rolled up on the ground beside a bag filled with that very same thong in every colour.
“Oh dear, princess, how’d they get over there?” he teases you, widening your legs one at a time to ogle at your glittering flesh.
“I dunno…” you shrug, cheeks warming as he keeps grinning at you. “Think they fell off.” you lie, the little pout on your face hiding a shameful smile desperate to form.
“Awe, sweetheart. Been touchin’ yourself waitin’ for daddy?” he wonders, already knowing the answer. “Of course you have, look at the mess you’ve gotten yourself in.” he takes the champagne flute from your hand and places it out of reach, your hand briefly holds the crown of his head as he continues to kiss between your thighs.
“Maybe,” you giggle, biting your lip. “Need your help, daddy, please…” you beg. You look down at him as he rests his cheek on your thigh like a pillow. He sighs, though it isn’t filled with malice or disappointment. He’s tired, and he knows you should be sleeping.
“Okay, darlin’.” he nods. “It’s late, though, we’ve gotta sleep. Just my fingers, okay?” he suggests, though he means it like an instruction.
“No, daddy… please use your tongue.” you request, the words sound so angelic as they break free from your needy throat. “Promise I’ll sleep right after.”
“My tongue, huh?” he smirks. “Alright, baby. Cum in my mouth like a good girl.” he commands. His arms hook around your thighs as he allows his head to fall between them.
A raucous moan leaves you as you hear him slurping at your slick. You keep your legs open wide as both of your hands hold his head, petite fingers carding through obsidian locks. Your body shudders as lips wrap around your clit, easily sucking and almost forcing you off balance.
You release him from your grip and balance on your hands behind you, neck craned to look up at the ceiling despite your eyes being welded shut. Your mind and body controlled entirely by his mouth. Your thoughts swirling with the feeling and the building pleasure as he licks and laves and sucks and kisses.
He doesn’t say a word, but he can’t take his eyes off you. Watching how you react to everything he does. Seeing how you twitch and shudder when he changes his actions. You gasp as he reaches up to push your little crop top to rest near your clavicle. He encourages you to rest your newly freed leg over his shoulder as he nips and tweaks at your nipple.
“Fuh— daddy!” you cry.
The authoritative label never fails to make his cock leak whenever it spills from your pretty lips. He wants to touch himself while you cry out his name, and while you flood his mouth with your essence.
But he can’t.
He can’t because he knows if he does, he can’t rest there, he won’t.
He knows he’ll have to slip it between your puffy folds and fuck into you until your cunt is gushing and dribbling with your juices and his sticky, potent cum. He’ll fuck you until you’re unconscious and oblivious but so full and happy because he’s taken care of you just like a good daddy should.
He wants it all.
But he wants what’s best for you.
And he knows you should be resting, and so should he.
So, for now, straining against his pants while he devours your flavour is enough. Tears roll down your cheeks as he suckles and slurps again and again with no restraint, watching as you fail to hold back your bliss. His breath fans over your cunt when you look down at him. Crystalline tears clinging to your lashes like diamonds making his heart pound as he grunts into your heat.
“D-Daddy… think I-I’m close.” you tell him, a panicked strain in your words as you warn him. He keeps his pace and changes nothing, determined to bring you to your climax sooner rather than later. “Ah.. ah—! Feels funny, daddy! Ngh—!” you finish.
He pushes your legs apart as wide as they’ll go, he watches your pussy squirt clear liquid as you finish. He drinks it up like it’ll give him eternal youth, still swirling and licking his tongue over your cunt as he attempts to prolong the feeling for you. You stroke his head and play with his hair as he lets up on you, your body overcome with a chill as your tension leaves you.
You smile as he coats your body in gentle kisses, a silent action to note how proud he is. How much he adores you, how beautiful you are. He loves you more than words can begin to say.
He rests his head on your thigh again and stares up at you, his gaze filled with nothing but devotion. You feel him carefully pull down your boots without breaking his stare until he kisses down your legs behind the cold wake the absence of your boots cause.
“’m sleepy now, daddy.”
He smiles, happily. “Good girl.”
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