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youcancallmeelle · 8 months

Text

She’s got a boyfriend anyway…

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI)

Word count: 7K

Warnings: Semi public sex, Missionary, Cowgirl, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Teasing, Sneaking around, Secret relationship, Brief David mention, Ellie being a menance, Tommy trying to play matchmaker.

Summary: Tommy has been trying to set Joel up for AGES, he’s got other interests.

You and Joel have secretly been seeing each other.

A03

Read below…

Life in Jackson is promising, nearly a year and half here and Joel feels comfortable, no longer itching for a way out of civilisation because he’s just not used to that no more. Ellie is settled too - finally. She’s attending school three days a week, enjoying the new responsibilities that come with being sixteen and the tad bit of freedom it brings. She helps out at the stables, in the kitchen too but she’s not a fan. She likes being in the library most, checking in and out books, tidying shelves, using her art to create eye catching displays aimed at the younger generation of Jackson.

Joel is proud, his heart feels like it could burst out of his chest all the time. Ellie is still full of wit and charisma that comes out in curses and daft puns that make Joel roll his eyes and get her in a headlock until she’s laughing so hard she’s pink in the face.

There’s times when she skips school completely if a male teacher has subbed in, she flinches away if someone comes too close and sometimes if it’s stew night at dinner, she’ll stare blankly into her bowl at the chunks of meat and see a severed ear, she’ll try to swallow but gag instead. These are nights Joel gives her his bread and Tommy will too, then he’ll make her a fruit salad when they get home with a little double cream poured over it.

The nightmares are persistent on these bad days where triggers occur, he finds Ellie in bed screaming and thrashing multiple times a week. She’ll sob and cry hoarsely as he holds her, hushing her gently and resting his cheek on her head. Most of the time she’ll fall back asleep with him beside her, curled into him like she did back at Silver Lake when death was close.

But mostly, everything’s okay.

Joel had been with Tommy every single day this week so far and it was Thursday evening, they’d been focusing on fixing up the bathroom in a house way further down from his, they were getting it ready for a family that had expanded to move in. The floor was rotten and the pipes wrecked, neither of them were particularly fond of plumbing but they sorted it between them. There was still the kitchen to do but that was a job for tomorrow and probably Saturday too but not Sunday, that was his day with Ellie.

Sunday’s were for late breakfasts of bacon and pancakes - before and after the world ended. The only thing that changed was the kid for Joel, he used to serve Sarah indulgent breakfasts on a Sunday and they’d do something together and the tradition was carried on with Ellie and Sarah remained tucked in his heart.

Tired and stiff from working hunched over all day, Joel was enjoying a quiet drink with Tommy. They were tucked away on a small table with two stools, Joel would have preferred something with a back but beggars can’t be choosers; he was grateful for the cold glass of bourbon nearly empty in front of him and the sound of Dire Straits playing over the old speakers.

As always, Tommy is picking and prying into his lack of a love life. Since he’s noticed his older brother being more settled within the community, he’d been trying his hardest to set him up with various women and Tommy Miller was nothing if not persistent.

At this point in the day, Tommy’s voice is almost just white noise.

“Cath is nice.” Tommy pointed out, Joel snorts.

“She’s also gay, Tommy.”

“Oh shit, really? I didn’t know.”

“Clearly. Can we please stop talking about this? It’s the same thing every fuckin’ time I come drinking with you.” Joel begs, Tommy sighs heavily but drops it for now.

Joel takes in the scenery as he sits there, grateful for the moments silence from Tommy. His eyes stray to the left of the table and he listens as you speak to Denton, an older gentleman in his late sixties with a love of horses. He’s quizzing you about the new mare in the stables, he hears you mention checking on her again after your shift because she’s been particularly temperamental since she was brought in from outside but you’ve developed a nice bond with her, she’s slowly becoming more trusting.

It occurs to Joel that everyone likes you - literally everyone, even Ellie and she was a tough nut to crack. You’re sweet, soft spoken yet confident. You’re always helping out where you can; on patrols, stable duty, in the communal garden, sometimes at the school and also here at the bar when Darius needs his shift covered.

You find good things on patrol and give them to Joel or Ellie before taking the rest for the community, so they get first pick of everything.

You’re just the sweetest thing.

Tommy sees you and beckons you with a friendly wave, you mutter a goodbye to Denton and pat his hand.

“Hey.” You hear your name called over the music and you turn as Tommy Miller grabs your attention as you scoop up two glasses and an empty bowl that once held nuts and dried berries from the table two away from his and Joel’s.

“Yes, Miller?” You patter over with your hands occupied, you sneak a look at his older sibling, sparing him a wink as a greeting, he smirks softly back.

“Has Darius got an other fuckin’ music or are we strictly limited to the sounds of 1985 tonight?” He questions and you laugh, shaking your head.

“You don’t like Dire Straits?”

“He doesn’t appreciate good music.” Joel interjects, shaking his head at Tommy.

“I do - but other music. Eminem or even fuckin’ Britney! Anything but this shit.” Tommy groans, tossing his head back.

“Keep talking smack about Dire Straits, Miller - and I’ll snitch to your wife about the fact you’ve switched patrols with Mark twice this week because you were too hungover to go.” You smile sweetly at Tommy, tilting your head.

“Snitches get stitches.” Tommy remarks playfully, not an ounce of malice in his dark brown eyes and your eyebrows rise, you beam back.

“That right? Well, troublesome men get barred for life.”

“Oooooh.” Joel chimes in, looking amusedly between you and his younger brother.

“Touché.” Tommy quips, folding his arms.

“Tell you what, next time I’m in, I’ll have a rummage out back and see if I can find you some Britney. Bless you.” You pinch his cheek as you walk past and he swats your hand, rubbing the spot while Joel laughs.

“You’re pushing your luck giving her lip, I’m not sure if you’re aware but this is the only operational bar in Wyoming.”

“Tell me about it.” He grumbles back, Joel shakes his head once more as the door behind Tommy on the back wall opens.

“Joeeeeeel?!” He hears yelled from close by, he looks up and sees Ellie dragging her sneakers across the floor, scouring the bar for him with her honey coloured eyes eagerly. She spots him within seconds, beaming and practically skipping over to him and Tommy in the corner. “There you are, I looked fucking everywhere for you.” She groans dramatically, throwing her head back. “I wanna go out, I’m bored shitless at home. There’s nothing for me to do and yes - I’ve done my school work.” She quickly adds.

“You done those quadratic equation questions we were going over last night?” He raises his eyebrow.

“Yep. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, though I did ask my teacher because I’m pretty sure you were figuring them out wrong. You were, by the way.” Joel puffs indignantly, rolling his eyes. Ellie spins to Tommy, the soles of her shoes squeaking. “Can I try that?” She’s laser focused on the bourbon swimming between globes of ice in Tommy’s glass.

“What have I said the last twenty times you’ve asked, El?” Tommy’s dark brows are high on his forehead, his mouth is twisted with hidden laughter. Ellie rolls her eyes with annoyance, sloping over to Joel now.

“No.” She huffs, swinging her lanky arms around Joel. She hums and rubs her face into his shoulder bone, resting there for a second before her attentions shifts comically fast. There’s a warmth that spreads through Joel every single time she does this, she’s so casual about it and he’s drawn the conclusion that it’s a teenage thing because Sarah was the same. There’s a sadness that blossoms too, a darkness that twists and anchors in his chest as he thinks of her and who she’d be now. He can’t dwell for too long, not now - he did that for too long.

At one dark point in time, human connection was not key to survival, hence why he always kept Tess at arms length and then referred to Ellie as cargo until one snowy day it became apparent she was no longer cargo when she was frenzied and panting in his arms, splattered with the blood of a predator and gasping like she was taking her last breath. The sound haunted him for a long time, all memories of Sarah hitting him like a freight train. He had to protect Ellie, the minute he drew her in - oh baby girl - and held her tightly, wrapped in his coat and clinging to him just as hard.

Ellie’s his kid now. She’s his. He’s hers. They’re a family. Ellie Williams Miller - that’s how she’s known now. It’s scrawled on her school books. The love he feels for this human tornado in sneakers is unmatched, the one thing he’s ever been truly good at has been restored and it’s a role he knows well; being a father.

Sure, this teenager that he’s raising is the furthest from bubblegum pink and Avril Lavigne she could be, she’s particularly jagged around the edges and does have the temperament of an unsocialised cat that will bite if you get too close.

He looks down at her, rubbing into him like she’s trying to get his smell on her because it’s comforting and she feels safe and feels his heart ready to burst.

Of course the sweet moment of affection is shattered when Ellie yawns directly into his fucking ear because why wouldn’t she?

He grunts when she bears most of her weight on his aching shoulders, leaning easily into him and twisting her small fingers into his flannel.

“So? Can I go or not?” She presses.

“Go where?” He prompts, raising his eyebrow.

“Toni’s from school. Her cat had kittens a few weeks ago and they’re starting to play. Five of them, Joel! That’s a lotta kittens!” Ellie enunciates, brown eyes wide and Joel can’t help the smile that graces his otherwise tired face.

“You mean a litter?” He corrects and Ellie pauses, frowning.

“Huh?”

“A bunch of kittens is a litter, Ellie.” He informs her and she somehow manages to frown even more, she makes a noise like she’s computing the new information.

“Yeah, whatever.” She mumbles, Tommy snorts in amusement. “So I can go see them?” She presses, shifting her weight again and Joel groans louder now, unhooking her arms from his shoulders with a quiet ‘don’t do that, baby’ that’s full of affection.

“Yes but you’re back at nine latest, okay? Nine. I’ll be waiting for you, the minute those street lamps turn on, you’re home.” Joel says, Ellie’s mouthing along to his instructions that he’s been laying out since Summer began and the evenings stretched longer. “Be good.” He speaks more softly now and she nods, he presses a kiss to the side of her head, her eyelashes flutter happily as the warmth blossoms in her too with the security that’s Joel Miller.

“Peesh. I’m always good. Bye Tommy!” She says excitedly, fist bumping him when it’s offered.

“See ya, squirt.” Tommy replies but before he’s even voiced his reply, Ellie’s hurrying away and knocking into a patron while waving to you on the way out of the door so hard it slams. Joel sighs, thinking she’s a literal hurricane.

The door hinge has barely stopped shaking before Tommy starts with the suggestions of suitors once more.

“What about Myleene?” Tommy proposes, Joel shakes his head quickly, downing the remainder of his drink.

“Too young.” He replies.

“She’s twenty five.”

“Too young.” He repeats firmer this time.

“Okay, fine. What about Michelle? She’s what forty? I was talking to her in the cobblers the other day, she’s definitely interested - mentioned something about making you a pie?”

“I’m good.” He grumbles looking down into his empty glass but quickly shifting his gaze to the bar, you’re leaning on your elbows, laughing heartily with a patron.

You look beautiful tonight - just like every other night. Your shoulders are sunkissed, your cheeks a little flushed and skin glowing from the summer humidity. He absorbs the way your hair tumbles down your shoulders and the way the thin straps of your tiered sundress slip down occasionally, only to be tugged back into place with dexterous fingers.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” Tommy jibes, Joel looks over with a firm scowl.

“What?” He asks, Tommy shakes his head.

“You can dream, brother.” Joel rolls his eyes, trying to act nonchalant. “She’s got a boyfriend anyway.” Tommy adds, Joel eyes him with full attention.

“A boyfriend?” He asks, trying to be sure he heard right.

“Yeah, overheard her talking to one of the girls in the garden a few days ago. Didn’t mention no names but she definitely said she was seein’ someone.” Tommy shrugged, Joel hummed with interest. “Anyway, it don’t matter because she’s way out of your league.”

“Thanks.” Joel retorts, sneaking one last look before focusing on the door behind Tommy, the one Ellie had not long barrelled in and out of just moments ago.

He wonders about the kittens she mentioned and gulps as he imagines her taking to one with its big eyes and soft paws, his mind is pulled back to a time in April when he’d come downstairs one morning to a sink full of tad poles she’d ‘rescued’ from birds out of the neighbours pond.

Basically, his girl can’t resist animals she deems too vulnerable to leave.

“Scared Ellie’s gonna come home with one of them kittens?” Tommy wonders, reading Joel’s mind.

“Terrified.”

********************************************

The sun is setting in bursts of burnt orange and marigold by the time he leaves Tommy to his own devices at the bar, he hazards a look around as he makes his way in the complete opposite direction to his and Ellie’s house.

He slinks around the back of the school house, slithering through the gap and walking up the winding path that leads to the stables. He climbs the short fence and hops to the other side, his boots kick up the dust from the dirt path and the crickets chirp beneath the skyline.

With one more look around, he opens to rear door to the stables and slips inside, shutting it softly behind him.

Immediately he hears the horses further down huff and puff, he can make out the swish of their tails hitting the walls as they munch on hay, there’s a neigh that is absolutely Shimmer kicking up a fuss about something.

He slopes around the riding gear and sees you leaning against the wall, hands behing your back. You grin.

“Took your time, cowboy. Was beginning to think you couldn’t take the hint and stood me up.”

“Never, honey.” Joel prowls towards you, ready to grab you. “Missed you.”

“You just saw me.”

“Not the same.” He yanks you close like a man starved, you’d shared company less than 24 hours ago but you greet and leave each other like it’s the last time you’ll ever be together. It’s the apocalypse affect, you know that, he does too

This arrangement had been going on for almost two months now, all started by a late night patrol together where you’d shared more about yourselves in an eight hour shift than both of your time in Jackson combined. There was an instant attraction, it was so easy to talk to one another and that’s what you did every single time you were partnered together and it became the highlight of your day. It started innocently and friendship had bloomed, then before you knew it you were sharing a rum laced thermos of tea with him in the bed of a truck and kissing him with reddened cheeks shortly thereafter. You’d first slept together in the same truck, just as dawn began to break. It was clumsy and quick but you couldn’t get enough of one another. You hadn’t cum but Joel promised next time would be better which lead to the question of next time? You’d been seeing each other most nights since.

Any chance you got, you were together. Nobody knew about you both, hence why Tommy was incessantly trying to hook Joel up with other women around town and jealousy burned as you listened in on their one sided conversations in the bar whenever you were covering for Darius.

You’d left the bar shortly before Joel had, waving farewell to him and Tommy, coming straight up here to check on the mare just as you’d told Denton. This was a usual spot to meet Joel, it wasn’t your first rodeo in the stables with him. It was the one place you could be alone after a certain time.

“Were you hiding from me, honey? Hmm?” He growls playfully, pulling you to him even though you were barely a millimetre away in the first place. You hum in response, so utterly lost in him. You’re nuzzling his throat, fisting his shirt, desperate for his attention. “God, you look so good today.” He murmurs, mouth finding yours. You moan softly, standing on your tip toes and kissing him in a way that makes his lungs and loins burn alike. His grey tinged moustache prickles your upper lip beautifully, his beard feels familiar beneath your soft hands.

He’s crowding you and guiding you backwards, kissing you hotly in a sense that makes your cunt throb eagerly. You moan into his mouth when he nips your bottom lip, squeezing the left cheek of your ass.

You love when he’s like this - playful and easy. He feels lightyears younger around you, it’s like the heaviness dissipates the moment he’s in your company. He loses himself in the way you smell, the way your hair feels when his fingers are entwined between the sun kissed strands, the way in which your eyes sparkle with mischief.

It’s easy to pull him towards the back of the stable, where the bales of hay were stacked created a nice wall of privacy. You’d been in here a couple of times with him, having gone as far to stash a flannel blanket in one of the cupboards to lay down as to protect you both from the cold floor and the prickle of loose hay.

Once behind the hay and seated on a bale with you in his lap, strong hands are moving the thin straps of your sundress down your shoulders, you momentarily break away from his mouth to aid the removal of your dress to your waist where Joel roughly bunches it up so that your underwear is now on show and so are your tits.

His eyes light up at your bare chest, like he hasn’t seen your breasts countless times before. One thing among many that you first noticed was that Joel Miller is a tit man through and through. His rough and work toughened hands cup them both gently before his tongue swirls around your left nipple.

“Joel.” You murmur, arching into him, rolling your hips into his. He’s hard already, age not affecting him like that in the slightest. He’s a hot blooded male, every single inch a man and that warms you to your core. You grab his hand, bringing it to the top of your panties and he slides it in without hesitation.

“Christ.” He curses, exploring your lips with his fingertips, gliding through the dewy wetness gathered there and coming back up for a split second to drag it over your clit roughly. You whimper, bucking into his hand. “Mmm, babydoll.” Joel huffs against your cheek in a hot pant, repeating the action.

“Need you so badly, Joel. Almost got started without you.” You confess.

“Fuck. You can’t- don’t say shit like that, honey.” He growls lowly, unbelievably hard beneath you. His fingers explore again, you aid his explorations by canting your hips just so.

Joel is eager to get things moving, he’s hard and frustrated, he has a beautiful woman in his lap and the perfect setting. He pulls his hand from your underwear, looking down to see the shine of you on him. He loses his mind when you take his hand and lead it to your mouth, sucking the tips of his index and middle finger as he watches with eyes blown wide; they look black instead of the earthy brown that sometimes melts into caramel or runny honey.

The minute you hum like a content cat, he has you lifted off his lap and braced against him. You squeal at the sudden shift, the ceiling looking closer than the floor but then he gently lays you back on the blanket and settles between your legs.

“Hey, who was Tommy trying to set you up with?” You blurt, Joel pauses.

“Cath.”

“She’s gay.” You frown.

“Michelle too.” He adds before diving down into your chest, pressing your breasts together, mouthing at the swell.

“I’m not sure you’re Michelle’s type, she’s a cougar apparently.” You remark, Joel ignores you in favour of sucking your nipples until they feel raw. “Why Michelle? I don’t understand why Tommy thinks she’s a good match for you.” You don’t know why this is coming up now, your mouth seems to have a mind of its own, the jealousy settling like lead in your stomach.

“He said she wants to make me a pie.” Joel pipes up, the confession half muffled.

“What kind of pie?” You ask, pulling his face from your tits. Joel groans frustratedly, looking up at you with eyes dark and deadly.

“I don’t know. Why does that even matter?”

“A cream pie probably.” You snarl under your breath, the jealousy swirling in the pit of your stomach like a rattled viper.

Joel laughs, shaking his head and coaxing your mouth back to his. “Gross.” He murmurs, kissing you softly and squeezing your hips as if to guide you back. “You know I only like your cream pies.” He jokes, this time you break into a smile.

“Now whose gross?” You snort, tugging his plain grey undershirt over his head and to the side. You run your palms over his chest and down to his softer stomach, digging your nails in as they drag a long his skin. Goosebumps erupt all over him.

Joel is softer in his older age but strong too, years of walking different terrain, heavy lifting and fighting have made him lean also.

You hum contentedly, tracing over those familiar scars that have been made in the 20 years since the world imploded.

“He said you were out of my league.” Joel suddenly admits, resting his hands on your spread knees. You frown up at him. “Tommy said you were out of my league.”

“Tell Tommy he doesn’t know shit.” You retort with an eye roll, grabbing Joel by his belt and yanking him forward. “I like you, Joel. Fuck what anyone else thinks, it’s not anyone’s business who we choose to be with.” You say softly now, kissing your way up his chin to his lips. “I like you.” You affirm again, Joel kisses you tenderly, weaving his hand into your hair as you moan quietly.

“Well, I like you too.” He says, kissing you with so much passion yet so much tenderness all at the same time as you fumble to unbuckle his belt. You yank it apart, tugging open the button and prying the worn denim apart with the hiss of his zipper.

He barely lets you wrap a hand around him over his boxers before he has both your wrists pinned above your head, you make a sad whine but all disappointment quickly dissipates when he shuffles down the length of your torso and yanks your underwear down so fast you feel the material leave a friction burn. He grabs your thighs and then manoeuvres your legs by the backs of your knees, you like where this seems to be going.

Your spine curves against the hard floor when his mouth makes that first contact, he starts slow with a lick up the length of you, then he lightly suckles your lips and gently licks over the hood of your clitoris.

“Joel.” You murmur, twisting the blanket beneath your fingertips, scrunching it and bitting down on your lower lip as he continues his gentle assault on your clit, the rubber toes of your hi tops dig into his ribs almost painfully.

His thumb comes up to gently push the hood of your clit back, the sensation of his tongue directly stimulating the nerve causes you to gasp and wind one hand down into his hair, you tug and he groans against you.

You’re transported back to one of the first times you’d been intimate together after sleeping together in the truck.

For some reason, it had shocked you that Joel Miller ate pussy like a champ. The first time he’d gone down on you - behind the bar just after you’d blown him - you’d prepared yourself for dissatisfaction and disappointment, only it never came. Joel had licked into you with such ferocity and precision that you’d almost keened over.

He’d made you cum so quickly that you’d barely had time to process the first swipe of his tongue on your clitoris and the climax that followed minutes later.

He’d looked up at you, moustache and beard slick with his eyes wide; ‘I forgot how much I enjoyed doing that’ he’d panted while you squeaked back in shock.

Now, as you live in the moment, you feel that tingle of pleasure building but you don’t want to cum without him inside of you. As much as it pains you, you tug on his hair, urging him back up.

“Wanna cum with you.” You pant when he looks up with dazed brown eyes, frowning a little. He seems to accept that and sits up, shucking his jeans and boxers down over his ass with the help of your clumsy hands. “Lay back.” You demand, he does so and you move to take his place.

You throw your legs over his and settle above his lap, he’s got one arm behind his head and watches as you take him in your first and tease yourself with the flushed tip of him. He breathes in sharply through his nose as you do it again before notching him at the site of your heat, you steady yourself and begin to sink down.

“Fuck me.” Joel sighs, closing his eyes briefly because he’s so sure he’s in heaven. The sensation of your wet heat surrounding him never gets old, he’d forgotten how much he loved sex before meeting you.

“You’re so big, Joel.” You whimper, stroking his ego deliciously and he hates to be such a guy but the compliment goes straight to his dick.

“Fuck, honey. Take what you want, I’m yours - just fuck me.” He begs as you slowly begin to move, your nails scrape across his torso as you fall into an easy rhythm of rolling your hips into his. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby.” He babbles, looking up and admiring the curve of your back and the way your tits bounce as you ride him.

“Mmm.” You whine, picking up the pace and throwing your head back which exposes your jugular and Joel just wants to sink his teeth into you because you truly look good enough to eat.

“Come here, babydoll.” He urges, pulling you down so you’re chest to chest. Your peer at him with pretty doe eyes, your lashes flutter as they shut to kiss him deeply, your tongue swipes his and you taste the tang of yourself on him. You moan louder when he manages to plant his boots on the floor and thrust up into you roughly, tangling his hand in your hair to keep you pressed against him.

It’s so hot in the stables, you’re both sticky and warm. But with your pretty moans and keens filling the air, Joel manages to easily forget the irritation from the heat.

You push against his chest to sit up and Joel grabs your hips, guiding you easily and you feel yourself getting close but you can’t achieve orgasm through penetration alone.

You brace one hand on his thigh behind you, tipping your head back as the pleasure becomes almost too much to handle. Your hips roll in an easy rhythm, his cock head hitting your G spot perfectly and you whine when the hand on your left hip moves ever so slightly until Joel was able to thumb your clit. He knows you so well.

“Oh f - fuck. You feel so good, you’re so good - fuck.” You babble, your hips moving faster.

“Jesus christ.” Joel huffs, throwing his head back against the hard floor, biting his bottom lip hard to stave off his orgasm. You feel so good wrapped around him; wet and snug, like crushed velvet.

He knows he can’t stay like this, he’s too close to finishing and he can sense you’re not quite there yet despite being edged so he makes the conscious decision to hold you and flip you both over with a nimbleness he didn’t know he possessed in his older age.

You stutter out a choked moan, arching into his strong hands. You drag your nails down his toned back, leaving a little spatter of blood in the red tracks.

Joel hisses when your nails puncture the skin on the globes of his ass, somehow trying to pull him closer and push him away at the same time.

“Where?” He asks, nodding downwards as he fights off his climax.

“Inside.” You reply without hesitation. You’d counted your cycle days, marking in a blank notebook the day number and your symptoms, pretty accurately guessing your fertile window and probable ovulation day by cervical mucus alone. You were four days from your period being due, it was safe.

“You sure?” He hesitates, brow furrowed hard with concentration, he’s a stroke away from finishing. He knows better than most people to not trust the pull out method and he knows the importance of contraception but he still ended up a Dad before he hit his mid twenties. Pushing sixty he’s still playing a dangerous game but so far, neither of you had gotten burnt.

“Yeah.” You gasp, fingers on your clit rubbing faster. You groan suddenly and twist into him, making pretty little whimpers and purring. He groans too, thrusting in hard once, twice and then three times. You feel his cock stiffen and twitch, then the pulse of subtle warmth of his cum spreading inside and aiming for your cervix. He works himself through it, you push in return as the aftershocks slow to a flat line.

Joel heaves a breath, resting on his forearms as you lazily kiss his neck in satisfaction and rapture. You sit there for a minute, basking in the afterglow until Joel grows too stiff and has to withdraw from you slowly, kneeling up between your legs to pull his boxers and jeans back up but he leaves them unbuttoned and his belt loose.

You don’t miss the primal look in his eyes when they drift to between your legs, he can see his cum leaking and the pearlescent finish it leaves on your lips. His cock twitches, perhaps if he was younger he could go for another round but alas, he settles next to you on the blanket, pulling you to his chest and cushioning your head with a strong bicep.

“I think that might have been the best time yet.” You pant breathlessly, looking up at the ceiling and seeing the evening sky through the cracks of wood.

“Maybe one day we can do it in an actual bed, I’m not sure how much more of these places my back can take.” Joel jokes, you giggle and turn into him, listening to the rapid pace of his heartbeat as it settles, a perfect mirror of your own.

“Not bad for an old timer.” You tease, giggling when he growls and squeezes your hip.

“Was patrol okay today?” Joel questions you, you nod lazily against him. “You come across anything?” Now you speak, leaning up to peer down at him.

“A couple of runners. We shot them in that abandoned gas station near the entrance to the offices off the trail. I think they were probably people passing through, one was infected on the journey and turned, then bit the other.” Joel hums, rubbing your lower back and hip. “I have some things for Ellie I found, by the way. I’ll drop them over tomorrow. Nothing crazy, just some things I thought she needed.” You say between kisses down Joel’s chest and sternum, your delicate fingers tracing out old battle scars.

“What like?” He asks, catching your hand as it reaches his happy trail, bringing it to his lips instead where he presses tender kisses to your fingertips.

“Pyjamas, underwear and some toiletries. Oh! And get this, a new casette tape for her walkman.”

“What tape?”

“Teardrops.” You grin.

“Womack and Womack? She’s gonna love that.” Joel says, laying back and smiling at the ceiling of the stables, humming the song in his head. “Fuck, I haven’t heard that song in - jesus - years.” He’s frowning, contemplating lost time, the whole concept of time evades him, it never used to at the start but now? It’s one big jumble, his time is defined by events and not a calendar.

“She still playing that one you got her on repeat?” You wonder.

“Yeah.”

“What was it again?”

“Bowie. Heroes.” Joel replies.

“Nice.” You nod.

As you lie there together in an easy silence, content to be together in the quiet solace of the stables, Joel’s mind wanders back to his earlier conversation with his younger brother:

“Hey, er - Tommy actually said something else earlier.” Joel winces at how awkward he sounds and you huff loudly, ready to hear what other dumbass thing he’s said. “He said he heard you say you have a boyfriend or that you were seein’ someone.”

You sit up, frowning down at Joel.

“Okay…” You reply hesitantly, uneasy now. “Am I not seeing you?” You frown.

“No - no! It’s… that came out wrong. I just meant - “ Joel grumbles, covering his face momentarily while you try to will your stomach from not sinking. “I don’t know, I just wanted to know if you meant me.”

“Seriously, Joel? This conversation is going so well.” You say dryly, utterly unimpressed.

“No! Oh my god! I can’t do this.” He groans, realising his mistake. “I’m sorry, that came out so wrong.” Joel apologises, you snort.

“Look Joel, I was talking to Mrs Patterson in the garden and she was telling me about her late husband, saying how lovely he was and how men just aren’t like that anymore. She asked if I’d found anyone and I let it slip that I was seeing someone, I didn’t mention any names and I can totally understand why you’re freaked when we haven’t even had that conversation ourselves. I shouldn’t have assumed this was anything more than sex, I’m sorry.” You annunciate, warm in the cheeks.

“You want to just have sex?” Joel is sat up now, matching your frazzled expression.

“If that’s what you want.” You shrug, taking an interest in your cuticles. A large hand lays over yours, squeezing. You shift your focus to his knuckles instead, tracing out the scars.

“Honey, look at me.” He urges softly, you hesitantly meet his eyes. “I think somewhere we’ve miscommunicated.”

“How so?” You press.

“Look… it’s been a long time since I’ve done this, I’m a little rusty. I’m sorry if I haven’t been clear about what we are or what I want us to be, I kinda just assumed you knew and yeah, that’s real shitty of me.” He says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I wanna be exclusive with you, honey. I mean, I have Ellie to think about so we’ll need to go slow just so I can ease her into the change. Is that okay?” He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

“That’s more than okay, Joel. I completely understand, I don’t want to spook Ellie either.” You confirm, Joel let’s out a relieved sigh.

“Good - good, okay. We’ll figure it out, baby.” He assures you, nuzzling his nose against yours and kissing you softly.

It’s easy to lose yourself in Joel Miller, you’re swept up in the gruff voice and strong arms, the softness beneath his outer shell reserved for those closest to him.

You’re kissing him back in earnest, he’s reclining to lay back down with you on top of him and you’re sure this could lead to round two or at least head from either one of you, maybe even both.

However, the moment is spoiled when you hear voices creeping closer to the stables. You both stiffen and wait, looking at each other with eyes opened wide.

The voices are getting closer and you decipher it’s two sets, it’s not made clear who it is until they’re walking behind the stables and you can see their shadows slink between the thin gaps in the planks.

It’s Ellie and Tommy.

You and Joel scramble, you yank your dress back over your breasts and pull the hem of it over your ass. Your panties are on the floor and you narrowly dodge Joel’s elbow as he hastily buckles his jeans back up just in time for the door around the corner to open with a shriek of the hinges.

“What if he’s gone out on patrol without telling me? Or maybe he’s swapped with someone and gone hunting? I know I’m back way earlier than he said but he said he’d be home! Do you think he’s left the gate? What if he’s hurt? What if - “ Ellie begins to ramble and Tommy sighs.

“Kiddo, stop worrying. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere, let’s look at the whiteboard and see if his name’s on there. I highly doubt he’s swapped shifts and he wouldn’t leave without telling you, he’s gotta be around here some…” Tommy’s reassurance comes to a stop when he round the corner of the hay bale wall and abruptly stops, staring at you and Joel with as much shock as you return.

Ellie slams into his back and he wobbles but his gaze never falters.

“What the fuck, man!” Ellie exclaims, shoving Tommy and stepping around his statue like form but also freezing too.

You look between them both, trying to formulate an excuse but Joel shoving his t-shirt on, the fact your clothes are crumpled and there’s absolutely hay in your tousled hair says it all.

Your panties are shoved behind your back out of view.

“Well I’ll be damned, you’re the guy she’s seein’!.” Tommy snorts, looking between you both. Joel growls, yanking on his flannel while Ellie manually retrieves her jaw from the floor.

“What the fuck is this?” She asks, looking between you and Joel. “You have a girlfriend? What the fuck, dude? You didn’t say anything!” She fumes, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Look, it’s complicated and new.” He says, which placates her slightly. She stares at you again and you see the betrayal hidden behind a scowl, she looks at Joel again.

“Fine. I guess this isn’t that bad, it could be worse - we could of caught you with Esther.”

“That’s true.” Tommy nods, pointing at Ellie, she nods back.

“Esther?” You question, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Tommy’s neighbour, she totally fancies Joel.” Ellie tells you. “You should fight her.”

“No, she doesn’t and stop shit stirring.” Joel warns Ellie, she hides a smirk which tells you she’s winding Joel up.

“I could take Esther.” You say, playing along, Ellie’s eyes brighten with mischief.

“Nobody’s fighting no one.” Joel settles, you’re all silent for a millisecond and then Tommy throws in his two cence.

“You could take Esther.” He agrees.

“Enough about Esther, please!” Joel begs, beside himself.

“This is fucking embarrassing, Joel. What the fuck do you expect us to do? It’s awkward!” Ellie complains, Tommy nods in agreement, you do too.

“Yeah? Try being where we’re stood, kid.” He retorts.

Ellie kinda has to resist the urge to throw up in her mouth because Joel has sex which is so horrifying that she almost can’t bare to look at him but she’s equally happy for him and utterly disgusted, she swallows back a retch.

“Fine, whatever. I’m very happy for you and my da - Joel.” Ellie bursts and corrects herself at the last minute, you don’t miss the hitch in Joel’s breathing but this is not the time for that discussion. “I’m willing to negotiate a price for the emotional damage you’ve both caused me by lying to me, sneaking around and also having sex in front of my horse.” She lists.

“My horse too!” Tommy adds.

“And Tommy’s horse too, Crash and Shimmer didn’t want to see your bare ass.” Ellie continues and for some reason Joel knows exactly where this is going, so he braces himself.

“Name your price.” He bites, Ellie looks at him with a levelling glare, it’s getting hard not to laugh when you see Tommy observing like he’s watching a mafia deal go down.

“A kitten.” Ellie reveals.

He fucking knew it.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal fanfiction

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pinkiceee-prose · 10 months

Text

Summertime Service

Summary: Reader throws the BAU team a summer barbeque feast. Spencer is so moved by her hard work that he feels there's only one way to truly show her his gratitude.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut (18+, minors DNI)

Content Warnings: coworker relationship, descriptions of food, mutual pining, heavy kissing, praise, worship, begging, leg and feet massages, use of a gendered nickname ("pretty girl"), fingering, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, reader wears a sundress. please let me know if I missed any!

Author's Notes: This is the first fic I've written and published in a very long time, so please let me know if you enjoyed it and would like more! Huge thank you to the lovely @fortheloveofwonderland for reading over this for me 💗 Also, this was written as a part of @imagining-in-the-margins's Summer Sunshine Challenge!☀️

Word Count: 6.1k

As you stepped out onto Rossi’s patio, the summer sun beat down on the skin of your exposed shoulders. The different, yet still prevalent heat radiating from the large serving dish of meat you carried also played a role in the ever-present sweat gathering on your upper body, but you trekked through the grass with a smile, attempting to appear unaffected.

Tara and Luke rushed to help relieve you of the burden in your arms, but you insisted they refrain.

“Ah, nope! This barbeque is all about you guys, okay—no helping!” You said to their many protests. Lightheartedly dejected they sat back down, offering their thanks as they helped themselves to the food.

You set down the tray amongst a swarm of arms crossing, reaching for utensils in bowls of potato salad and plates of freshly grilled vegetables. You took a moment to admire the feast occurring before you, then turned on your heel to fetch more.

You and Penelope had made this plan weeks ago, just as summer was beginning to heat up and just around the time you’d joined the BAU team as Emily’s personal assistant. After a series of difficult and depressing cases, Penelope suggested that a family get-together was in order, and she enlisted your help to plan it. She, with Rossi’s help, secured the tables and canopies for the event, while you handled the menu and the serving.

You weren’t much of a gourmet chef, but you had a few tried-and-true summer recipes in your back pocket for times like these. From years of family barbeques of your own, you’d honed techniques for preparing brisket and grilling chicken, and you’d also learned a thing or two about making macaroni and cheese and fruit salad.

Under the shade of your sundress, nerves wracked your steps. Despite the bubbly facade and easy-going assurances to the team that you didn’t need any assistance, tremors radiated through your body with each dish that was carried to the outdoor tables. The shaking wasn’t due to their weight or your lack of strength; it could all be attributed to anxiety and stress and upcoming exhaustion.

This was the first time you were attending a BAU “family” event — let alone orchestrating one — so you had put a lot of pressure on yourself to impress the team.

They saved lives and solved crimes across the country while you did mostly clerical work — filed papers and answered phone calls. The division of labor was definitely lopsided, and you felt a certain level of gratitude was in order for the team. For those who did impactful work.

Just as you’d returned to Rossi’s kitchen to retrieve another dish for the table, Spencer appeared behind you. His subtle cologne filled the air; despite summer raging on outside, he smelled of autumn with his cinnamon and coffee scent. The heat of his arm rose goosebumps up your body, but he shifted to stand next to you before anyone could notice the proximity.

“Let me help, please,” He whispered, prolonging the physical contact that was typically out of character for him. As if all the heat of summer wasn’t enough, the pool of warmth he summoned inside you lit aflame with his pleas. When you finally met his eye, that fire reached your cheeks before you could do much to hide it.

Something that you’d once brushed off as a workplace crush blossomed between you and Spencer. Although you weren’t together, there was no denying the tension felt between you two when your hands brushed at the coffee counter in the office, or when you lingered over his shoulder for just a second more than necessary when passing out case files.

Lately, it had been a lot more difficult to will the thoughts away with how the heat of the season forced Spencer to shed his typical layers of clothing. Even now, he stood beside you in a simple polo shirt that clung to his chest. You could almost feel the buttons between your fingers, sliding through the fabric as your eyes grazed over him — but the oven alarm began to blare, dragging you away from the fantasy.

“Spencer,” You took a few steps away from him, pulling a few dishes from the oven and placing them on the counter. You failed to hide the smirk his presence pulled out of you. “You know this is supposed to be about appreciating the team’s hard work. You should be relaxing!”

He rolled his eyes at your insistence, then glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one had yet to notice his absence. Luckily, they were still all consumed by the fruits of your labor — literally and metaphorically.

“Your hard work should be recognized too. You’re going to overexert yourself,” His pleas felt like music and dissonance in your ears. On one hand, the attention he paid you made your knees weak, and it was obvious by the heavy breath in your chest that you enjoyed his company. But on the other hand, you felt resolute in the objective to purely serve the team tonight. The desire to praise them for their work — the desire to feel accepted by them — triumphed over the crush you’d developed on Spencer, at least for now.

“I’ll be fine. Now go back and enjoy before someone else thinks I’m accepting helpers,” You responded, flashing a tender smile as Spencer stayed in hesitation. A flash of something crossed over his eyes — irritation, desire, annoyance, or pity, you couldn’t quite tell. All you could recognize was the way his feet dragged in defeat, leaving you to your serving duties quite slowly.

Although not a profiler, you could’ve sworn he seemed spurred on, like he had to hold himself back from acting on an urge to advance on you. You brushed the thoughts away as best you could for now, returning your focus to the task at hand.

♡ ♡ ♡

The next few hours were a flash of food and drinks and summer heat. Jack, Henry, Michael, Hank, and all of Matt’s kids ran around the tables with their popsicles, definitely giving the ants in Rossi’s yard a feast of their own. Everything from cucumber salad to watermelon slices, to vegetable kebabs made their rounds down each table, visiting each BAU member.

The scent of lavender, peppermint, and citrus candles mingled in the air in an attempt to keep bugs at bay. But a symphony of crickets and cicadas still played as a soundtrack to the feast, and you watched as Emily and JJ were vigilant against flies that threatened to join the party, swatting around the food every few minutes.

You spent most of the event rushing around, finding places for each dish to reside while the rest of the team balanced between repose and indulgence. Tara, Emily, JJ, and Penelope raved about the veggies, while Morgan and Rossi praised the beefier selections you’d prepared. The team showered you with compliments, but you continued to deny their requests to help.

Food acted as an avenue for both nourishment and gratitude that you felt was desperately underserved to your new family, and accepting their help seemed to cheapen that sentiment.

Maybe it was all the incredible ways in which they brought peace to people or all the times that they helped you feel at peace with their work; regardless, you felt they were owed some home cooking and summer relaxation, and you wanted to be the one to give it to them.

“If I had known you could cook like this, I would’ve suggested this barbeque months ago,” Rossi quipped over his clean plate. It must’ve been nice for him to not be the head chef for the team for a change.

“Yeah, I haven’t eaten this good in years,” Emily chimed in, with agreements made by Matt and Morgan. Their wives nodded with them in earnest agreement.

As the sun began to set, a wash of pinks and purples created the perfect backdrop to the barbeque. Penelope had the idea to set up tiki torches, which you lit with Hotch’s help. Their gentle glow kept the brightness at a dim level while still ensuring sight to guide you as you continued your service.

Although the energy level had died down quite a bit thanks to the heat of the day and the abundance of food everyone had, the team was still rapt in lively discussions as you served dessert.

Blueberry pie with a lattice-style crust, chocolate cake with matching frosting, and homemade vanilla bean ice cream graced the tables. You weren't usually one to brag, but even you had to admit the delicious sweets were a perfect final touch to the event.

Even at dusk, the ice cream sweat and started melting almost as soon as it found its place on their plates. The sickly-sweet aroma from the pie carried on long after its trip in the oven, mingling with the already present floral aromas that seemed elevated due to the heat. You were surprised the barbeque hadn’t summoned neighbors, or at least more bugs.

Residual summer heat could be so damning yet comforting all at the same time.

With dessert served, you finally allowed yourself to sit and join the team. The aches in your feet and back that had gone unnoticed during the hours of cooking and service finally surfaced as your weight shifted, encouraging a painful rest to overtake your limbs. Without realizing it, you’d slumped over in your chair for quite a while, staring out into space as the party continued around you.

That was until Spencer detected your quietness and waved a hand in front of your eyes, commanding attention.

“Are you okay, y/n?” His voice was barely audible over the discussions happening around you. But, you still nodded, straightened your back, and reached for a slice of pie.

“Yep, just got distracted,” You gave him a small smile, but you could see that he didn’t quite believe your performance. The fatigue in your body was incredibly apparent, and the look behind your eyes was one of exhaustion. However, Spencer hesitated to react to his observations.

You weren’t sure what you expected him to say or do about it, but you watched as he pursed his lips together in contemplation — planning something.

Whatever he was scheming, it was set in motion as Matt and his family departed. Following him were JJ and her loved ones, plus Emily and Tara. They all offered repeated praises to you, Penelope, and Rossi as they crossed the threshold into the blackness of summer night.

Before you could completely gather your things, suddenly Spencer pulled you aside and insisted on coming over to his apartment tonight. His usual dismissive, demur demeanor had changed, and he loomed over you with a sort of persuasive aura that radiated from his request. It was as if he was protecting you from something, or rather, preparing you for something. Either way, anticipation dripped from his words as you stared back, silent, in response.

“I-If that makes you uncomfortable, by all means, ignore me,” he spoke in hushed tones. “But I really think you’ll enjoy it if you come.”

If you hadn’t been so exhausted, the absolute shock from his blatant flirtation would have caused your breath to catch in your throat before you could ever eloquently reply. However, with the fatigue wracking you, all you could do was scan his face for any sign of sarcasm.

He seemed to be genuine, and your body instinctually gravitated toward him with the offer. It went without saying that this invitation felt incredibly forward, but the sleep that threatened to overtake you also kept you from worrying too much about the obvious blush that spread across your face at the thought of what leaving with Spencer would look like to the rest of the team.

Objectively, though, Spencer’s apartment was closer than yours, and you weren't sure if you could handle the lull of a drive this late at night. You justified to yourself that accepting his offer was out of a precautionary notion — but in all honesty, the seductive implications of Spencer’s plan were what really captivated you, and pulled an ‘okay’ from your lips.

You’d spent all night denying requests, and you didn’t want to forgo this one.

In the passenger seat of Spencer’s rarely-driven car, your body pulsed with fatigue at every stop. You wondered if he could sense it radiating through you or if he was just burnt out on masking his flirtation towards you all day, as you caught him glancing at your body at every red light. Each push and pull brought on by inertia briefly relieved the pain, then rushed it back in, but his gaze did give you another sense of relief.

Thankfully, the drive was short, and the walk up to Spencer’s door was aided by his hand on your lower back. With drowsiness prevalent in every step, you took a moment to check your surroundings and ask yourself if this was truly happening. The flirtation, the lingering physicality between you two, and the blushes that damned every innocent conversation you’d had together seemed to rise to the top of your brain at that moment as you recognized the reality you’d found yourself in.

Aided by his unabashed touch on your back, your awareness of reality fed your deep desire that he truly led you here for scandalous reasons, but the rational side of your brain that was just barely awake triggered anxiety to flare. Fear of unknowns, of rejection, or maybe both floated up your spine and burned in the impression of his fingers upon you.

But, then his door swung open. Almost instantly after you walked inside and he shut the door, Spencer knelt on his knees before you. The swift change in position made you stumble backward, and confusion spread across your face.

“What are you doing?” The question bubbled out of you fast, but you hadn’t meant to sound disinterested. It was alarming, for sure, to abruptly feel the heat of his body so close to your aching legs, but that didn’t mean the view wasn’t incredibly alluring.

“I’m taking care of you,” Spencer responded, his voice was quiet but poignant as if this was standard procedure.

You stood frozen as he slid the strap of your sandal down the back of your heel, and his fingers brushed against the veins of your feet.

“You took care of us all day. Now it’s your turn to relax.”

Taken aback by his sudden servitude, no verbal response came from your mouth. Instead, you melted under his fingertips as he slowly removed the other shoe, then traveled up your calves to pull down your sheer stockings. The gesture was so intimate, so quiet, so tender. Paired with the exhaustion and excitement and bewilderment, the elegance of his touch brought tears to your eyes.

Spencer stood back up slowly, his lips ghosting over your arm on his ascent. Your eyes met in the dim light of his apartment for the first time, both sets deepened with a near primal sense of surprised attraction. Your body felt as if on fire, vibrating, or possibly both with how electric your nerves were with your closeness and the threat of his impending adoration.

Just as the summer sun had earlier shone on your exposed shoulders, the richness of Spencer’s deep brown eyes was now affixed to them. His index finger wrapped around the thin strap of your sundress, pulling it over the curve of your shoulder at an agonizingly slow pace. It was so soft yet so tense — neither one of you had made a sound in what felt like minutes — a whimper threatened to fall from your lips just as Spencer’s eyes flickered back to meet yours.

“You overexerted yourself,” Spencer echoed what he’d warned you against earlier in the evening, breaking the silence. You couldn’t help but wearily smile at the re-use of his own words.

“I think I’ll accept a helper now,” You replied hushed, voice wavering so much you thought it might shatter if any more than a heavy breath was expelled from your throat. The twitch of a smile spread across Spencer’s face just as you had the thought — as if he’d read your mind.

But the silence resumed, and Spencer’s hand sent the top of your sundress cascading down your forearm. The fabric halted at your wrist, and as Spencer coaxed the other strap down the opposite side, he slowly exposed your chest to the cold air of his apartment.

After a day in the sun, his air conditioning felt arctic, and despite the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach thanks to his mannerisms, the tips of Spencer’s fingers iced over the skin of your décolletage.

Whether he noticed your shivering, or if this was all a part of his grander plan, you did not know. But just as the weight of the sundress carried itself passed your hips to pool at your ankles, Spencer clasped your hands together and led you toward his bedroom.

Again, anxiety pulled you from your lustful daze. Was this really happening? Had you been ignorant all along to Spencer’s advances, or was this just as spontaneous for him? It’s not like you didn’t want this — more so, you were just in a state of disbelief at the way the day’s events had transpired.

Disregarding the chorus of cicadas permeating his bedroom window, Spencer guided you to sit on the edge of his bed in otherwise complete silence. He knelt in front of you, mimicking your positions from the foyer. The arousal that sprung from you at his sudden movement made your cheeks blush a shade of red deeper than any summertime sunburn could create.

At the same time, you couldn’t help but become aware of the obvious disparity in modesty between the two of you now, but he caught your wrists before you could shift to cover your body.

“Are you sure this is okay?” He spoke up with a sobering tone. The wistfulness and tension were briefly broken, and you smiled at the notion that he still checked for consent despite all that you’d done so far.

“Not just okay. I want it, Spence. I want you,” Your voice, a little bolder now, seemed to boom in his most private room. Without another word, he guided your hands to the buttons on his shirt, before releasing your wrists in favor of splaying his hands across your thighs.

You inhaled sharply, shuddering at the contact. But it did make your hands move faster, pulling his buttons apart in a quite similar fashion to the eager way you’d daydreamed about doing so earlier.

Just as you’d completed the task and pulled the fabric of his shirt over his head, you felt the pads of his fingers reconnect with your legs and dig into the supple flesh of your thighs. A deep sigh left your lips almost instantly as he worked the worn muscles, firmly pressing into them. You felt the stress shift and dissipate, and your body reacted automatically to his ministrations.

It wasn’t until his massage traveled to your calves that more salacious noises fell from your lips. You knew that this kind of attention wasn’t strictly sexual, but the relief Spencer brought to you, to the tenderness in your legs and feet, demanded a vocal response.

At first, mewls and faint sighs responded to his help, but they deepened in tandem with his strength. The kneading of his fingers across the width of your legs, the pressure he placed upon your Achilles' tendons, and the force he pushed into the worn arches of your feet all played roles in the escalation of your noises into pure, wanton moans.

“You are so beautiful,” Spencer spoke into the landscape of sounds you were creating for him. “Not just like this, but all the time. The way you laugh, the work you do, in all the things you did for us tonight — you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”

His impromptu speech stunned you for a moment, and you did your best to keep your interjections to heavy sighs to truly listen to him. But his praise wasn’t something you were used to, and although you’d been complimented all night at the barbeque, something about Spencer’s tone inspired a unique bashfulness.

“Stop,” You half-heartedly chuckled, unsure of how to respond to such an admission other than to dismiss it.

“I’m serious, y/n,” He continued, unfazed. “Ever since you walked through the doors at the office I felt…saved. I’m not religious but — I mean, you’ve literally got me on my knees here.”

Your face burned with the worship, and his joke inspired a smile, but you also did your best to relax your reactions and just take his confession.

“You’re smart, you’re sweet, you’re compassionate and caring, and I just feel like you deserve the world…I don’t know if you—if you’ve ever thought of me like this, but, I really do adore you. And I want to serve you like you did me tonight.”

With his previous, dominant stance seemingly shaken, you took the opportunity to run your hands up his arms and into his hair. He closed his eyes at the feeling, leaning into the touch and basking in it. Leaning in close, your lips met in a soft, slow kiss.

As you gently pushed against one another, your more primal drives slowly regenerated, and you pulled his hair tenderly to just barely create a separation. His eyes shot open, struggling to focus on anything else but your lips. With another gentle tug, you wound him back up to the previous tension you two had.

“Show me how much you adore me,” The command rumbled in your chest before you even truly processed it.

But that was enough for Spencer. With the ending of the last syllable, his eyes fell half-lidded, and he quickly pushed your lips back together.

The steady and slow pace you’d honed since arriving at his apartment was suddenly nowhere to be found. Desperation laced your every move as you traveled up his bed; Spencer towering over you, never disconnecting in your endeavor. You felt the weight of his body settle between your legs. Not only was his skin sweltering with heat, but you could feel how achingly hard he was through his slacks.

You kissed with the desperation of a couple saying goodbye. It was as if both of you were grasping at each other, fearful of any distance that may find its way into your embrace. As your eager hands traversed down his bare chest and stomach, Spencer rushed to match your near nakedness through a rather clumsy removal of his pants.

While the sweet and savory scents of summer seemed distant now, everpresent was the smell of Spencer. Coffee and cinnamon filled your nose once again as his hair cascaded over your face, sweeping behind his trail of kisses down your chest.

He paused on the journey, motioning for you to lean upwards where his lips found yours in another fit of passionate kissing. He reached around you, unclasping your bra and gently guiding the fabric down your arms. Another shiver wracked through you as your breasts were finally exposed, but it was quickly remedied by the warmth of Spencer’s palms.

He cupped them softly at first, dragging mewls from your mouth that he used to slide his tongue between your lips. It wasn’t until he felt the shake of your muscles that he realized how uncomfortable the position must’ve been, leading him to push you back onto the mattress, palms still full of your tits.

With your mouths freshly separated, Spencer let a string of saliva fall from his mouth, coating the valley on your chest in a way that caught every moonbeam in the room. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to the plush swell of your breast, setting your skin aflame. You moaned shamelessly at the delicious pressure, earning a satisfied smile from the man between your legs.

You hopelessly clawed at his shoulders in an attempt to feel the press of his whole body against you once more, but he continued his descent toward your center.

Painstakingly slow, he dragged your underwear down your legs, watching your face for any sign of disapproval. When he couldn’t find any, he discarded them before guiding your legs up off the bed and resting them over his shoulders. You watched, enraptured, as he lay prone in front of you and met your eyes one more time before pressing a sloppy kiss on your inner thigh.

Shivers rolled down your spine, and you shook in response to what would be the most innocent of touches from this point on. Spencer seemed encouraged by the heavy heave of your chest, and he taunted you with breathy sighs hitting your folds.

His breath was hot, but it still inspired your body to shake as if freezing. He studied you in an almost delirious state of bliss as he controlled you with just his breath, before slowly licking a devilish stripe up your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue like the sweetest summer dessert.

A pained moan escaped your throat, wholly miserable with how much he seemed to be holding back. You did your best to avoid clamping down on his head too harshly, but you couldn’t help the instinct you felt to pull him closer.

Then, he finally dove in. His tongue worked expertly — dragging and pressing and pulling around your bundle of nerves, and even circling your entrance. The lewd sounds coming from his mouth sparked your own in response, and soon you had your own debaucherous melody echoing in his bedroom.

He flattened his tongue, pressed it against your clit, and wrapped his arms around your thighs, giving himself leverage to apply the pressure to your most sensitive spot that he could tell you were desperate for.

You felt his tongue flip and twirl around you, drinking in your essence as if he hadn’t already gorged himself on a feast of yours tonight. Dipping a little lower, his muscle plunged inside of you, inspiring an entirely different kind of pressure that tightened your core and commanded your body off the bed.

Moving his tongue back up to your clit, he lapped at it as he began edging a finger into you, causing you to grip his duvet in a misguided attempt to relieve the incredible tension building in your stomach.

“S-spencer,” You choked out, doing your best to keep your eyes open as the sight in front of you was one of angelic beauty — Spencer’s hair was completely disheveled, and although the room was only lit by moonlight, you could see the wild gaze his eyes held as he worked so hard to please you. You let out a feather-light moan.

But all you got in response was his dark eyes, filled with a fervor that you’d never seen from Spencer before. You laced your fingers in his hair just as he pushed his finger inside you, eliciting a new, loud groan from your chest.

Latching onto your nub, Spencer rolled his tongue over it with gentle suction in tandem with fast, shallow thrusts of his finger. He moaned against you, sending ripples of stimulation through your body, radiating from his mouth. He watched you the entire time, eyes trained on your face as it scrunched up in pleasure.

He feasted on you, and for the second time tonight, you relished in the fact that you had nourished Spencer so graciously.

With a tug of his hair, you finally felt the tension in your stomach snap. A string of moans bounced off the walls of his bedroom, but Spencer didn’t give in to distraction. He pulled off of you only slightly with a deep inhale but kept his finger moving to fuck you through your orgasm.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” He cooed, bringing his other hand up to splay against your stomach, feeling the muscles spasming beneath his palm in time with the waves of pleasure washing over you.

He slowed his finger as your pleasure faded; the tension leaving your abdomen and a look of bliss covering your face, signaling your comedown. He withdrew his finger slowly before resuming his towering position over you, peppering your cheeks and neck with kisses.

Once some sense had returned to your endorphin-flooded brain, your hands roamed over the span of Spencer’s back. You resumed the choreography that neither of you had practiced, even though it felt so natural to you. Your lips found his once more, and eagerness leaked from his saliva as it mixed with the taste of you on his tongue. A low, rumbling moan echoed into your mouth as he gripped your waist and the nape of your neck roughly.

Your hearts were back up to racing, and you tugged at the tight waistband of Spencer’s boxers.

“Please,” Spencer spoke into your mouth, barely disconnecting your lips as he begged. “Please, let me fuck you.”

If the praise wasn’t enough to win you over, the absolutely distraught look on his face would’ve done the job. One part of you couldn’t believe that Spencer could be so commanding and servile at the same time, while another part of you knew this must be the purest form of Spencer that anyone had ever seen before. Apart from his previous partners, you felt as if you were the only observer of him in such a state of subservience. He felt totally and uniquely seen by you, and that’s all he ever wanted.

You nodded and mewled at his request, harshly removing his last remaining barrier before wrapping your legs around his waist. Your movements brought his dick closer to your heat, and you couldn’t hold back the tremors that overwhelmed your senses at the sensation. Kissing you once more, Spencer aligned himself at your entrance, mimicking the shivering of your body on such a hot summer night.

He pushed into you at a listless pace, wanting to give you all the time and space to get comfortable around him despite the instincts that begged him to act faster. His finger had done little to prepare you for his true size, and although you gasped sharply at the intrusion, your body was quick to relax and pull him further inside you.

You shared moans and whimpers on the slow endeavor, kissing each other wherever available — cheek, arm, neck, chest — until he was fully flush with your body.

“Thank you,” Spencer breathed out, so softly that you almost missed it. “Thank you, thank you,” He kept worshiping as you felt his hips stutter and his cock twitch inside you. The size of him, his breath on your neck, and the everpresent smell of sex all tethered together in your mind at once, sparking an almost insatiable desire to demand that he move. You knew the worship was all a part of his plan to repay you for the barbeque, but you echoed the sentiment back nonetheless in favor of a less sweet command.

But Spencer was no stranger to that desire. With gratitude filling the room, he couldn’t hold back any longer, and he began rocking into you just enough to pull moans from your lips. He caged his arms around your head, wrapping one palm around the back of your neck to hold you in place, while the other found itself upon your cheek once again. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, watching as you moved against and around him with a delicious tightness.

He quickened his pace and relished in the way the pleasure presented upon your face. Your eyes screwed shut, mouth hung open in a string of moans. He mirrored your expressions, his bottom lip jutted out from his face, brushing yours with each harsh thrust forward. The pressure of him inside you was already swelling the knot in your stomach, and the stimulation melted all fatigue from the day away from your muscles.

Clawing at his back and arms, you opened your eyes to find him once more. The hand on your neck kept your gaze steady despite his rough movements that threatened your composure. There was a charm, a tenderness that you’d felt lingering between you two all night—hell, ever since your first day. From the moment you introduced yourself in the dawn of summer, to the moment he dropped to his knees and begged for you, an intensity magnetized the two of you together.

Before you could get too lost in the beautiful thoughts of your attraction, Spencer adjusted the angle of your hips, reaching even deeper into you. You couldn’t hold back the scream that left your body, and you felt yourself tighten around him as he drove into you at an incredible rate.

Spencer was already close — you could tell by the way whimpers fell over your neck with his every thrust, and he blinked rapidly as if it would stave off his impending release. He called your name as a warning, implicitly asking for your guidance.

Now, it was your turn to beg.

“Please,” You pled, eyes half-lidded yet glued to Spencers. “Please, come inside me.”

He could barely hold back after your words, his hips even faltering for a moment. But he kept his pace, and you wrapped your arms around him tightly as your release teetered on the edge of his relentless pace.

“Fuck,” You felt Spencer groan into your hair as his hips slammed flush with yours. Warmth flooded inside you, and the sensation triggered your release soon after. Both of you clung to each other, panting and brainless with bliss, as Spencer slowly continued to fuck you through your climaxes.

As the tension and heat dissipated over your body, you and Spencer reluctantly pulled away from each other. It was the first time since you’d arrived at his apartment that either one of you had given into distance. He was gentle with the motions, watching the way your body shook with each rogue wave of pleasure as he pulled out of you.

When he was fully removed, though, you found yourself alone, laid out across his bed. As the heaving in your chest subsided, Spencer returned with a towel, cleaning you up with the utmost tenderness.

“Here, I can help,” You peeled your upper body from his duvet despite all the resistance in your overexerted muscles, reaching for the cloth only for Spencer to catch your hand before you could make it.

“I’m still serving you, okay? Lay down,” He chuckled at your attempt, finishing up with the towel and discarding it back in his bathroom. When he returned, he continued to refuse your help, pulling the duvet out from under you to tuck you in.

He joined you on the other side of the bed, brushing hair from your face as he settled under the comforter too. You laid facing each other, eyes grazing over each other's bodies in a much more romantic sense than you two had a few moments prior.

“Why did you do all that?” You posed the question quietly, watching his face intently for a reaction. Although anxiety may not be the best word for it, you did feel a bit unsure about what this night meant for your relationship. Was this a summer fling, a coworker crush, or something more real? Something that would permeate the seasons or something that you’d recall late at night in future solitude?

“Well, for one, because I like you,” Spencer said, laughing slightly through the ends of a few words. “But also because of all you did for us tonight. You worked so hard and you deserved to be spoiled too.”

The praise again brought a flush to your cheeks, and you looked away as you tried not to discount the way Spencer was feeling. Even if you were unsure of your deserving of praise, you had to admit it felt nice to be adored by Spencer, and it felt good to know that this meant more to him than something casual.

Despite the summer heat, you found yourself fully engulfed in his embrace. The cicadas’ chorus began to lull sleep into your heavy eyes, even though you weren’t quite ready to let go and close your eyes, which would mean missing out on Spencer’s reverent gaze.

“I like you too,” You finally spoke up, finding his hand in the darkness of his bedroom, and lacing your fingers together. “Thank you for spoiling me.”

“Hey—no more ‘thank yous.’ You deserved it,” Spencer replied, placing a kiss on your knuckles before shuffling further into the bed. You turned over, relaxing into Spencer’s warm body as his arm wound around your stomach, still holding your hand.

Summer heat can be more comforting than once thought, after all.

♡ ♡ ♡

thank you for reading! 💗

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #fem!reader #bau team

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 4 months

Text

a/n: live from the meadowlands! i’m freezing my tits off in new jersey and getting ready to head into the stadium to scream my head off for the boys! so i figured it would be a perfect time to provide some best man mat smut - this is so unedited it’s not even funny, but i hope you guys enjoy and i’ll catch up with you all on monday once i’ve thawed out! 🧡💙🤍

word count: 3.3k

tw: dirty dancing, dirty talk, unprotected sex, fingering (f receiving), nipple play, creampie, let me know if there’s anything i missed

summary: it’s ethan and lenasia’s wedding day and mat’s the best man. it’s not your fault that he looks so damn good in a suit

“And if there’s anything you take away from this speech tonight, it’s yes, I can actually read! Let’s raise a toast to the bride and groom,” Mat smiles, laughs a little, and lifts his drink in the air to toast Ethan and Lenasia. You swallow a giggle and then a sip of champagne, setting the flute down on the table so you can call and cheer wildly as Ethan cups Lenasia’s face and kisses her deeply.

By the time the clapping tapers off, Mat is back in his seat next to you, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. He lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it, causing a blush to heat your cheeks. “How was it?” He asks, sounding slightly nervous, lips tilted in a self-conscious smile.

“Perfect,” you grin, leaning slightly into his personal space. “Who knew you were so good with words?” Your silk-covered knee knocks against his tuxedoed one.

Mat scoffs and takes a drink of water, his hand dwarfing the glass. “You know I’m very good with words, babe,” he winks at you. He sits back in his seat, watching as Lenasia’s maid of honor steps up to the front of the room to give her speech. The pad of his thumb rubs against the underside of your ring finger, catching on the pavé band of your engagement ring. You let your knee knock against Mat’s again and the corner of his mouth curves up in a smile, his attention focused on the speech.

A few short minutes later, you’re lifting your glasses in another toast to Ethan and Lenasia. Mat’s hand never leaves yours and he squeezes your fingers gently as he sips at his champagne. You can’t help but stare at him, taking in his mussed hair and unbuttoned shirt. The hint of skin and collarbone has you feeling overly warm. He’s always looked sinfully good in formalwear.

“Like what you see, babe?” He laughs, leaning into you when you’re sitting down again, starting to poke at the salads in front of you. His lips brush against your cheek and you shiver.

“Always,” you murmur back, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Just thinking about how good you look. How I didn’t get to see you at all today.”

Mat shifts in his seat and you grin wickedly, glancing down to see the effect your words are having on him. Since he’s the best man, he’d been up and out of the hotel room early to get ready, so all you’d gotten this morning was a rushed make-out session and an ass squeeze, leaving you unsatisfied.

“Later,” Mat whispers in your ear, a promise and a threat.

“I’m holding you to that,” you grin, turning your head slightly to capture his lips with yours. You bite down gently on his lower lip and Mat groans quietly into your mouth.

He presses a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth when you pull back and mutters, “gonna hold you to something, for sure.”

You snort a laugh and shake your head at him a little, pushing at his thigh where it’s pressed against yours. “You’re so cheesy,” you tease, digging into your salad.

“It’s weddings,” he replies around a mouthful of food. “They bring out my inner Hallmark movie hero.”

The subtle tease at your preferred guilty pleasure entertainment makes you roll your eyes. He joins in on watching the Christmas movies more than he’d ever admit. You smirk at him, “keep this energy up for Christmastime.”

After that, you both fall into conversation with your friends at the table, eating dinner as it’s served and drinking too much. Mat continuously delivers you bay breezes, the vodka flooding your veins and making you pleasantly tipsy by the time you’re on the dance floor.

Mat’s hands are all over your body, holding you close as you sway and scream along to the music, hips bumping together. Your hair is slowly starting to fall out of the updo you’d spent most of the morning working on, little pieces frizzing around your face and sticking to your forehead. Mat’s hands are hot on your skin through the silk of your dress, leaving a phantom impression whenever he moves them.

The music changes, slows down, and Mat pulls you close, hands landing on the curve of your ass. You grin at him, buzzing from the alcohol and skin tingling from his touch. His eyes are a little unfocused from his own drinking but he lands a kiss on your lips with precision accuracy. He tastes like whiskey and beer and Mat. You smile into the kiss, giggling when he grows sloppy, kissing the corners of your mouth. “You look gorgeous,” he says, mouth close to yours. “Like a…a…a gorgeous woman.”

You laugh out loud, clearly Mat’s drunker than you thought he was, and press yourself closer to him as you sway. “I thought you had a way with words?” You tease him, stroking your fingers through his hair and over the nape of his neck. He shudders in your arms at your touch, sensitive against your gentle ministrations.

“I said words, didn’t I?” He laughs, turning his head to kiss the inside of your arm. “You are gorgeous, what else m’I s’posed to say?”

“Hmm,” you hum, head pleasantly fuzzy from the drinks, “I dunno, anything else you think is appropriate.”

Mat’s silent, for once in his life, and Elvis croons about falling in love.

“How about,” he grins, holding you close and lowering his voice so you’re the only one who can hear him, “I wanna fuck you until you forget your own name.”

His breath ghosts against your cheek and your knees wobble, the surge of lust in your blood overwhelming. Your fingers tighten around Mat’s hair, tugging sharply, and you lean even closer to him, soaking up the warmth of his body. “I like that plan,” you giggle, the sound tapering off into a little gasp when the music changes and Mat grinds his hips into yours. The bulge of his cock presses against you, a promise for later.

The reception lasts into the wee hours of the morning, music bumping and drinks flowing. You’ve taken a spin around the dance floor with Ethan, scream-sung along to the Spice Girls with Lenasia and some of the bridesmaids, and given baby Gracie some cuddles before she was ushered off to bed by Lenasia’s mom.

Now it’s just the straggler, party-animals left and you’re once again in Mat’s arms, his chest pressed against your back. His hand is warm against your stomach, fingers splayed out to cover as much of you as he can. You lean your head back against his shoulder, swaying along to the music completely off-tempo. Mat’s lips are against your skin, kissing your temple, your hair, every inch of you he can reach.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “you’re so pretty.” His words are a little slurred, running into each other. “Someone should marry you.”

A drunken laugh startles out of your mouth and you lift your left hand, engagement ring glinting in the low lighting, back to curl in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. “Someone is,” you tease, kissing the point of his chin.

“Who?” He turns his head and plants a sloppy, wet kiss on your cheek. “Cause I’ll fight him. I wanna marry you.”

“You dork,” you laugh, “you’re marrying me.”

Mat’s hand stops its movement over your stomach and chest, fingers frozen where they’re curled around your breast. “Oh fuck yes,” he crows. “How’d I forget that?”

“I don’t know, exactly how drunk are you, my love?” Your hand tangles further into Mat’s hair, hips never stopping their lazy grind against Mat’s groin. Your other hand cover’s Mat’s tracing over his knuckles and the veins underneath his skin. You’re not even remotely close to sober yourself, alcohol blurring the edges of all your thoughts, making your movements slow and loose.

“Not drunk enough that I won’t be able to fuck you in the hotel room,” he promises, biting down on your earlobe and making you shiver.

“Good,” you grind your ass back against his cock, grinning impishly when you feel him twitch against you, “I’ve been looking forward to it all night.”

His hand squeezes your breast tightly and you yelp a little, nipples pebbling under the silky fabric of your dress. Mat’s mouth marks a hot trail over your jaw and down your neck, kissing at the join of your neck and shoulder, burying his nose against your skin. “You smell good,” he mumbles, holding you close. ”Love you so much.”

“Love you,” you reply, squealing when Mat grabs your hand and twirls you out to the side and then back in, your back slamming against his chest when you lose your balance. He wraps his arms around your stomach, hands clasped over your belly button, chin resting on your shoulder, and sways along with the music.

Mat’s lips are hot on your skin, magnetized apparently since he can’t stop kissing your exposed neck and collarbone. You melt against him, leaning heavily into his embrace, butterflies kicking around in your stomach. Every shift of his hips presses his erection against your ass, hard heat searing through the thin silk of your dress. Arousal grows slick between your legs, your panties damp and your thighs gliding against each other.

He tugs gently at the fabric under his hands, bunching it a little so the hem of your dress starts to inch higher. His heart beats against your back, his bare chest hot against your skin. The fabric of Mat’s unbuttoned shirt tickles your sweaty skin and you wonder, deep in the back corner of your mind, where his tie went and if he’ll ever get it back. Then his palm is sliding up your thigh and you have no more thoughts, just the feeling of Mat’s skin on yours.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Mat whispers in your ear, his breath warm on your cheek. “Wanna be inside you.”

You nod and Mat drags you off, hand tight around yours, your heels clipping along the floor as you hurry to keep up with him.

——

“You taste like pineapples,” Mat comments, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth and laving over the pebbled bud with the flat of his tongue.

Your back arches, Mat’s hands at your lower back bracing you. “Oh my - god,” you gasp, “I sp-spilled a drink earlier.”

Mat licks up over the swell of your breast, sucking a mark at the top. He nuzzles his nose against the skin of your sternum and your breath hitches in your chest. Your hips roll over the bulge in his pants, soaking the fabric of his slacks.

Your panties have been tossed to the side and the skirt of your dress is bunched up around your waist, making it easier for you to straddle Mat’s lap. He’d made quick work of pulling the straps of your dress down over your arms, baring your breasts to him and wasting no time marking them up with his mouth.

“Love these tits,” he groans, licking a hot stripe through the valley between your breasts and up to the hollow of your throat. “Bouncing so perfectly while you ride me.”

You whine and dig your nails into his shoulders, “M’not riding you,” you complain, rolling your hips over his clothed lap. “Take your pants off and fuck me.”

His shirt is on the floor, hair mussed from your hands, but his slacks are still on and you’re getting frustrated, whiny and desperate for the burn of his cock in your cunt. Mat’s hands roam your back, one cupping the nape of your neck and the other sliding under the curve of your ass. His fingers tease at your entrance and you clench, a fresh rush of arousal staining his slacks.

“Mat,” you whine his name, pressing closer to his fingers and burying your face in the crook of his neck, “please, please, wanna fuck you. Wanna have you fill me up.”

“Needy,” Mat teases, kissing you solidly as he lifts you off his lap and deposits you on the mattress. “Touch yourself while you wait,” he demands, hand on his belt buckle. You blink up at him and he cocks his head, raising an eyebrow. “Go ahead, babe, give that pretty pussy the attention she deserves.”

With Mat’s gaze focused on your bare cunt, you bring your hand to the swollen, sensitive flesh. Your fingers tremble a little as you circle them around your clit, head falling back against the mattress and a breath stuttering out of your lungs. “Oh god,” you moan, applying more pressure and picking up your speed.

Distracted, you don’t realize Mat’s undoing his belt and pants, shucking them down his muscular legs and kicking them to the side. “There you go, baby,” he rasps, sitting back down on the mattress, watching arousal drip out of your cunt. “Gonna slide right in, you’re so fucking soaked.”

He fists his cock lazily, running the flat of his palm over the reddened tip. Your fingers stutter as you watch him, ready for him to fill you up. “Can I - Mat,” you exhale harshly, rubbing your fingers hard over your clit. He hasn’t told you to stop, so you won’t, but you’re losing patience. “Please,” your voice cracks a little and Mat takes pity on you, reaching his free hand for your thigh.

“Aw, come here, baby,” Mat murmurs, hauling you over his lap again, hand falling away from his cock. Your hands brace on his shoulders and you settle your knees on either side of Mat’s hips. “Gonna sit you right where you belong, stretched out on my cock, okay?”

You nod desperately, chanting his name and then gasping when Mat lines the head of his cock right at your entrance, dragging you down by the hips until your ass is flush against his thighs and his cock is fully sheathed in your cunt.

“Ohhhh god,” you moan, head falling back and hips moving of their own accord, bouncing on Mat’s cock. The drag of his cock against your walls is delicious, the bare heat of him blistering from the inside. “Feels so good, god, fuck, Mat.”

His fingers are tight on your hips and Mat’s eyes are locked on your bouncing tits. “Baby, god, so tight. Been wanting to fuck you all night, fill this pussy with my cum, lick it out of you, make you scream my name.” Filth drops from his lips until he can’t help himself and he leans in to tug one of your nipples with his teeth, grinning around you when you shriek.

His pace never stops, his hips bucking upwards into yours, his cock head hitting your g-spot and making you see stars. Your nails dig into Mat’s shoulders and your thighs burn with the bouncing, but your stomach is tightening with pleasure and you beg Mat not to stop, chanting his name.

“Go ahead,” he mumbles against your chest, slicking your tits with his spit, “come on my cock, baby. Soak my dick.” His hand snakes forward and he pinches at your clit, drawing a scream from your lips. Sweat drips down both of your bodies, mixing with your arousal on Mat’s thighs, the glide of his cock in your cunt so smooth.

With his cock pounding into you, his fingers on your clit, and his mouth on your nipples, Mat drags you over the cliff and your orgasm hits like a freight train. You come with a scream, gushing around his cock and soaking his lap. Mat’s not too far behind you, bucking his hips up into yours while you shake through the aftershocks of your orgasm. His cock thickens inside of you and you babble in his ear, talking to him and coaxing him into coming inside of you.

“Fuck, fuck, baby,” he grunts, biting hard on your shoulder when he comes, filling you with hot, thick ropes of cum. Tears well in your eyes at the sensation, toes curling. He flops backwards onto the mattress, taking you with him with a little yelp.

You’re crushed against Mat’s chest, the bunched up fabric of your dress sliding against your slick skin, his cock softening inside of you. You bury your face against Mat’s neck and giggle lightly, wiggling happily when Mat’s hands caress your asscheeks. He groans into your hair, “Squeaks, I think wedding sex is our thing.”

Your laughter is louder now, vibrating through your body. It’s not like there’s always that many opportunities - besides tonight, you’d been to three of your friends’ weddings this summer and honestly, yeah, you’d had some pretty mindblowing sex after all of those weddings too.

Your fingers card through Mat’s sweaty hair, pushing it off his face and tracing his browbone gently. “Hmm, just imagine how good it’s going to be after our own wedding,” you tease, biting at your lower lip.

Mat lifts his head to capture your lips with his, teasing at your lower lip with his tongue until you release it from your teeth. His fingers trail all over your lower body, dipping between your legs and dragging the mix of your fluids over your skin. “Wedding night sex?” He says when he pulls back, eyes twinkling with mischief, “that’s the night I’m supposed to pretend we’re both virgins who’ve never seen each others’ ankles, right?”

You laugh and shift, the movement dragging your messy cunt over his cock. Mat winces at the graze, soft against your thigh. “Hmm, I don’t think either of us can pretend to be virgins,” you kiss his cheek and reach down between your bodies to stroke your fingers over his lower stomach and then lower, over the hair at the base of his cock and cup his balls, enjoying the groan Mat can’t hold back when you squeeze gently. “Not with our raw animal magnetism.”

Mat snorts a laugh, “raw animal magnetism? Why am I marrying you again, you weirdo?”

“My world class roast chicken and gold medal blow jobs, obviously,” you flip your hair off your shoulder, immediately wincing when your fingers catch in a knot. “Oh fuck that. My hair is a rat’s nest.”

You roll off of Mat’s chest, legs still tangled with his. He rolls to his side and drapes a hand over your hip. You study his face, swollen lips and hazy expression in his eyes. Stubble is sprouting on his jaw and you reach up to scrape your fingers against it, making him smile and press his face into your touch like a cat. “You do make a really good roast chicken,” Mat mumbles, eyelids shutting. His blinks grow lazy and it takes a few seconds longer than usual for his eyelids to open again. You hum happily, still stroking his face.

Mat’s completely asleep a few minutes later, mouth wide open, drunken snores echoing throughout the room. You roll your eyes affectionately - how is this the man you’re going to marry?

Carefully, you wiggle off the bed so you can take off your dress and shower, the hot water soothing your muscles and washing away the sticky feeling between your legs. Your mind wanders as you shower, thinking about how amazing the wedding was and how much planning you’ll be doing in the upcoming year for your own wedding.

Mat’s still asleep when you get back into the room, but now he’s wrapped himself up in the sheets, sprawled out on his stomach. “Blanket thief,” you mutter, crawling up next to him and wiggling under the duvet. A bobby pin digs into your scalp and you run a hand through your hair, trying to dislodge it but too lazy to actually take your hair down. It shifts a bit, not actively lobotomizing you, so you close your eyes and press your face into the pillow, yawning wide enough to crack your jaw.

As sleep takes over, you feel Mat’s hand move around the mattress, finding yours and lacing his fingers with yours.

You fall asleep with a smile on your face.

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal fic #nhl fic

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celestialprincesse · 4 months

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Dinner 💌

Your eyes scan for John in the crowd, stopping on a muscled figure in a corner booth nestled at the quiet edge of the high end restaurant - conveniently a place that you'd wanted to try, but had neither the time nor money to enjoy a ninety pound steak. He only spots you when he registers your heels clicking amongst the chatter of the patrons, the sound of your gait something he'd inadvertently committed to memory upon your first day in his office.

"John." You acknowledge with a polite smile, heat running from your temples to the apples of your cheeks when he indicates for you to sit down beside him, and you do as you're told with a subtle nod, setting your purse at your side and producing a small leather notebook, a pen hooked over the front page for easy access.

"You're early, he notes, trying to hide the way his eyes roam over you and the floaty looking fabric of your dress, which he can't help but wonder what it would feel like between his fingers.

"Your watch is behind." You point at the dial before comparing it to your own, which you have a habit of making sure is correct down to the second, seeing as it is your job to be timely not only for yourself, but also your employer, and the rest of the task force who've unwittingly also become reliant on you to remind them of things they would otherwise forget. He gives a soft chuff before taking your wrist gently, seemingly not even realising the way he breaks the physical - professional barrier between the two of you as he focusses on changing the time on his expensive watch.

Once he's freed your wrist with a grateful smile angled down at you, you pick up the black, leather-bound menu, trying to hide the way your stomach drops and eyes widen at the frankly obscene prices of the plates here. "What makes a salad worth over sixty pounds?" you muse incredulously, trying to fill the silence that occupies the space between you and your boss.

"It's got truffle on it, Love." He notes, leaning into your space to point at the menu, not seeming to notice the way you flush beet red at the nickname.

"Still crazy." Your voice comes out as more of a petulant grumble than you'd like it to, which only makes him laugh affectionately in response. "You're not ordering the cheapest thing on the menu." John instructs with a casual dominance, raising an eyebrow in your direction when you widen your eyes at him like a deer in headlights, blinking slowly as you try and register his perceptiveness. You stutter - no - you flounder like some beached fish, face scarlet with embarrassment "I was not! - I! - What?" You squeak, completely failing at trying to seem indignant, hiding your face in your menu when he just smiles knowingly at you, placing a reassuring hand on the small of your back, which only serves to fluster you more.

"It's all paid for. Order the Wagyu and a magnum of Möet. Go crazy." He croons like trying to reassure a nervous child, never lifting his hand from your back.

His hand remains possessively in the little arch of your spine even as the men he's supposed to meet with arrive, shaking their hands and introducing you to them like you're so much more than just some secretary sent to babysit him by Laswell - which to him, you are. He's become reliant on you, not just to manage his affairs but also to brighten his days and remind him that not everyone in the world is awful, there are still people that are truly kind and good and lovely.

You do your job better than you know, not only taking minutes, but also distracting the men you dine across from with fabulous efficiency, batting your eyelashes at them in that way you don't even realise you're doing until you've practically seduced them into signing a contract they've hardly read - all whilst you enjoy your dinner and the one glass of champagne you've allotted yourself for the night.

John enjoys having you on his arm, not even realising the way you seem to automatically snuggle yourself into his side with every laugh he elicits from you. Occasionally he leans into your side, murmuring low in your ear, giving you goosebumps when his breath fans across your cheek, hand squeezing tighter around your waist. You know that there's two other people across the table from you, yet everything still feels strangely intimate despite the fact that he is very much still your boss, even outside of the workplace, you're technically still working.

As dinner winds down, the men order Bourbon and you flounder, asking the waitress for a herbal tea, totally flustered. You can't have a coffee now because you won't sleep, you can't order another drink because you're driving (and a massive lightweight) so you opt for a chamomile tea which you sip at whilst John and his colleagues finalise their deal over fancy spirits and cigars. Whilst the two men opposite the two of you speak, your boss leans into your ear, murmuring something about how lovely the whiskey is and how you should've ordered some. "M' driving." You mutter lowly to him, batting your eyelashes.

"Try some of mine then." He hums gruffly, lifting his glass to your lips, sending heat shooting down your spine as he tilts it so the bourbon floods your mouth and he floods your senses.

"S' nice."

"That's my girl."

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #captain John price #John price #captain price #price #captain price x f!reader #captain price x y/n #captain price x reader #john price x reader #john price x y/n #john price x f!reader #price x reader #price x y/n #price x f!reader #call of duty #cod #cod modern warfare #tf 141

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tadpolesonalgae · 5 months

Text

The Other Woman

Azriel x Necromancer!reader

Synopsis: Coming from a long line of necromancers, you’re bound by an oath of submission to the High Lord. Dark power that many fear concentrates in your veins, a rare and precious gift. A perfect match for the Shadowsinger whose darkness comes to rival your own. Until one day, he seems to have no need for you anymore. Perhaps he never did.

Warnings: adolescent turbulence, beauty, angst, self-hate, violence (self-inflicted and other), general depression all around.

a/n: I think I went a little insane, writing this

Word Count: 15,042

“Did you see her makeup?” You laugh tipsily over your drink, blessed warmth sweeping away the day’s troubles. In truth you’re far from drunk, but a little playfulness never hurt.

Azriel rolls his eyes, wings tucked in carefully to avoid bumping into things despite being in a large private booth, overlooking the restaurant. “Maybe you should ease up on the alcohol,” he suggests, taking a sip from his own drink. “And waste your coin?” You muse, tilting your head to the side. “Never.”

The edges of his mouth quirk, gaze casting out over the busy scene below, waiters weaving in and out of the packed tables with trays practically piled to the ceiling—how anyone can eat that much food and not be ashamed is something you’ll never understand.

“Besides,” you say idly, glancing at the male. “I thought it looked nice.” But Azriel shakes his head, smiling faintly, your own reflecting their movement. “I’m sure you did,” he replies, still watching the tables far below. Hazel eyes following the waitress that had brought your drinks with slight interest. You subtly cast your attention after her—hair tied back, long legs, slim build but sturdy. Your nose wrinkles, lip twitching in disgust. “She could learn to lose that muscle,” you muse lightly, leaning forward to splay your forearms on the cool wooden surface of the table.

“She’s working a manual job,” he replies, still watching her. “Of course she’s going to have a bit of muscle from carrying those drinks around.” You take a sip of your own, watching as the waitress disappears through a door. “She serves as the pretty face of the restaurant,” you comment, “leave the heavy lifting to the others.”

“What are you going to order?” He asks, switching subjects. “Probably a salad,” you sigh, “I doubt I could manage any more. What about you?”

Azriel hums, the deep vibration warming your skin, and you resist the urge to shift in your seat, cunt aching to have him between your thighs.

“Probably a portion of mind-your-business with a side of roast potatoes,” he drawls, peering at you from over his menu. “Hold the judgement.” Hazel eyes glimmer with amusement, locking with your own, a slight smile softening the edges of your mouth. You raise your hands innocently, back curving to subtly showcase the generous neckline—deep but tasteful. “Just my opinion,” you reply, conceding on this topic.

He hums again, and you both settle back into peering through the menu. Much of the contents you can guess will be cooked in oil, making it greasy and fatty, something that would have made your mother’s lip twitch in disgust.

“Salad it is,” you mutter, pushing the menu away and sighing. “I know you like this place, Az, but this really is the last time we’re coming here. The air is practically dripping with sweat.”

“You know you say that every time,” he muses, hazel eyes flicking leisurely over the various meals and side dishes. “I mean it,” you counter, turning your head to once again peer at the crowd below, nose wrinkling ever so slightly before you suppress the inclination.

“There’s nothing wrong with letting loose every once in a while,” he replies casually, seemingly taking him time with deciding. “That’s rich coming from you,” you drawl, pointedly glancing at him. “You’re practically married to your paperwork. We had to set up a schedule for these dinners,” you emphasise, rolling your eyes. “Mother forbid you don’t get what you want exactly when you want it,” he replies, still choosing.

“What can I say? I deserve to be spoiled.” His shoulders shift, a low laugh huffing quietly from his mouth, the sound dripping between your legs. “Isn’t that right,” he drawls, deep hazel eyes settling leisurely on yours, shadows swishing idly over the plush seating.

You arch a neatly groomed brow, lips curving in a feline lilt. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was something you wanted to say?” You angle your head, keeping his gaze. But he shakes his head, that faint smile still on his mouth.

The waitress decided to return at that moment, and you resist the urge to berate her for so clearly interrupting the conversation. Instead you offer a polite smile, requesting a salad, pointedly asking how big it would be. “How big?” She repeats, playing dumb. You nod, keeping the smile perched on your lips, refusing to let her win. “I’m really not that hungry tonight,” you explain sweetly, “I was wondering since I saw you carrying some pretty large trays earlier—how do you even manage to carry that weight?” You ask, laughing slightly as you eye the thickness of her arms.

Beneath the table, a shadow zips up your leg, and you flinch, before shooting him a glare across the table. Azriel watches neutrally, but his gaze seems amused. With curved lips you return your attention to the waitress—so much wasted potential there. “I’m afraid all the salads come in the same size, but if you find it to be too much, nothing will go to waste,” she says smugly, “scraps get sent off to the farms, either for food or compost, so you needn’t worry about not finishing anything.” You smile blandly, not appreciating her bringing up farms and animals in a dining space.

She sucks in a breath, smile tightening as she at last turns away from you. “And for you, sir?” She asks, and you could vomit from her tone. Sprinkled with extra sugar. “This, please,” he replies pointing to something on the menu—tilted away from you. Curiosity simmers in the back of your mind, but you refuse to ask in front of the waitress. He’s probably doing it just to get to you.

She smiles and nods, jotting it down on her notepad before finally leaving, trotting away down the stairs.

“You better not be thinking about taking her home, Az,” you muse, leaning back in the seat as you fold your arms, subtly plumping your breasts. Mischief gleams on his hazel eyes as he casually examines his hands, “I don’t see a ring.” Despite the irritation gnawing at the back of your brain, the edges of your mouth lift at the comment, sighing heavily. “I should be the only female on your mind right now,” you say slowly, pulling out your nails to examine them in the warm light. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore a dinner partner?”

“Forgive me,” he counters, lips quirked, “you’d seemed more interested in the waitress. Trying something different tonight?”

Your lip twitches in disgust. “Are you trying to put me off my meal entirely?”

“I don’t think I said anything particularly foul,” he replies, amusement fading. “Well we both know your mouth isn’t the cleanest,” you muse lightly, surveying the decorations upon the table: a small vase of flora that’s been pushed to the side, some candles, a half-empty bottle of wine and some playing cards. “I’ll use my mouth how I want to,” he drawls, watching you steadily. “As will you.”

Traitorous heat liquefies in the pit of your stomach, bubbling and simmering away at the low timbre of his voice. You hum noncommittally, returning to his gaze. “So long as you aren’t using it on another male,” you say, shrugging. “Then live and let live.”

Azriel’s brow narrows, the edges of his mouth lifting. “You know that’s a contradiction,” he deliberates, relaxing in his seat. “You aren’t supposed to pick and choose who you’ll let live.” Habitually your lip twitches in disgust, but you tamp it down. “So long as it’s not being shoved in my face, then they can go on with their lives and I’ll go on with mine.”

“And Mor?” He questions casually, and despite his gaze having drifted idly to the candles you can feel the weight of his attention. “What about her?” You reply, keeping your features neautral.

Hazel eyes flick over the table, locking with your own. “Where does she fall among your morals?”

“Mor is Mor,” you reply blandly, resting your cheek on your palm, nails prickling skin. “She can do as she likes.” Azriel’s features remain in an unreadable set, but tension lessens as he reaches once again for his glass, sipping lightly.

You watch silently, how the warmth of the candles smooth his naturally flawless skin, shadows flickering in the hollow beneath strong brows, darkness dancing down the column of his throat. His lips remain in a bland line, tongue flicking out to bring in the alcohol, before returning the glass to the tabletop.

Casually, you slide your attention to the three candles that have been pushed to the side. “Want to learn a new trick?” You ask, feigning boredom. “I didn’t think you were one for party tricks,” he muses, an edge of mirth underlying his tone.

Ultimately you ignore him, allowing no more than a roll of your eyes before a single candle is being dragged over. Eyes latched with his, you brush the pad of your thumb and middle finger over your tongue, before clamping them over the flame, putting in out in one swift movement. Digits pull away, revealing the extinguished candle, a glint of victory in your eyes.

“Very impressive,” Azriel replies dryly, just as you had anticipated.

Watching silently, you slide a candle across to him. “Want to give it a go?”

There’s nothing subtle about the way tension ripples across his features, muscle tightening from the talons of his wings to the tips of his fingers. Hazel eyes the candle warily, a faint grimace on his lips.

A laugh spills from your chest at the expression, edging the flame away and instead reaching for the deck of cards. “How lucky do you feel tonight?”

Some of the torsion within his muscles relaxes, but he remains stiff. “Under normal circumstances, very,” he replies, glancing down as you deftly flip the box open, cards dancing between your fingers. “How about a bet?” You muse, eyes locked, shadows flickering at his back, spilling onto the table. “But if I win, you give that trick a go.”

Silence stretches between you, charged and taut.

Hazel drops to the cards being shuffled effortlessly, how they blur beneath your ministrations.

“Okay,” he says after a long moment, “I accept.”

Darkness flares around the booth, your teeth gleaming in a flash of white as a brief grin splits your lips. “Spine?” You ask, to which he nods, accepting the game—not even a sly quip about a necromancer suggesting Spine as the amusement of choice.

The seven cards are dealt out, the top one flipped over. “Ace is the skull. Good luck,” you smile, picking up your hand. “I do remember how to play,” he counters, features shifting to neutral as the game commences.

The rounds tick by, with him winning time and time again, all the while you’re sat opposite, with that bland, lifeless smile on your lips not even getting a single set down on the table. Still, when you reach the final round, your total amounts to no more than thirteen, having been forced to go out on a two during the first round, since the ace was worth twenty five, being the skull.

For the last time, you deal the seven cards, darting like shadows across the table as fingers flick deftly, setting the deck down softly, and flipping over the top card. Putting it face up on the surface.

With vague interest you watch his expression as he takes in his hand. If you didn’t know it was doomed, you wouldn’t be able to tell, his mask set firmly in place, no hint of disappointment or frustration to be found. Not even a curve of his lips with the fulfilment of your mutual knowledge—you’ve never lost to him. To anyone.

(With one exception.)

As expected, all seven of your cards end neatly catalogued into flushes, discarding the skull on the pile—the king of spades.

Azriel sighs, knowing the victory was coming, revealing his score of seventeen. A small smile plays on your lips as you sweep the cards back into their pack, pushing the candle toward him. “Better luck next time,” you say, his turn to fulfil the bet.

He eyes the flame warily, hazel glowing softly as the light warms his usually neutral features. You drink the sight in quietly, memorising the lines of his silky hair, a single strand brushing just below his right brow. How nice it would feel to skate your fingertips across his skin, pushing the inky lock away.

“Is it too late to back out?” He asks grimly, and you prop your chin on your knuckles, peering at him with a faint smile. “You agreed to this the moment you accepted the bet,” you reply softly, attention on him not the flame. Even to a stranger, his hesitance would be blatant.

“I’ll do it with you,” you say dryly, pulling the third candle over. Lick your middle and forefinger, watching as he reluctantly copies. “And…out.”

The flame winks out, extinguished in a heartbeat, casting your table mostly in darkness.

Blown-out hazel locks with you, still smiling faintly.

The grin fades, fingers dropping to the base of the candle to push it away. “Impressive,” you murmur sincerely, “once you wouldn’t have even considered playing.”

“Maybe a few decades ago,” he mutters, quick to push the candle away, hands sliding beneath the table. You hum noncommittally, straightening in your seat, sensing his aversion to the topic.

Your brow furrows, nails drumming on the table. Lip twitching with annoyance. “How long does it take to prepare a damn salad,” you mutter, pretending not to notice the ripple of ease across his shoulders. “Really, we’re never eating here again. The wait time is obscene, not to mention that server had an attitude on her. Doesn’t she know she’s supposed to be doing her job? All I needed was a simple answer, not a deep dive into their personal ethics.”

“You’d complain to an orphan if you got the chance,” he says, a hint of mirth returning to his eyes. “And you’d sooner destroy your own mind than let someone else have a look at it,” you return idly, reaching once again for your steadily draining glass, spotting the waitress making the journey up the stairs.

“Took her long enough,” you mutter under your breath, before pasting on a bland smile to soothe the male before you, a look of wariness on his features. All irritation is assuaged however, when you spot a smudge of lipstick on her straight, white teeth. Your mouth settles into a deliberate, straight line, glancing at Azriel to see if he’s noticed.

The waitress flashes a pretty smile your way as she sets the plates down, and you bite down on the urge to laugh, keeping your features politely neutral. When she turns to Azriel however, you feel an icy bite at your ankle, startling as one of his shadows nips at the exposed skin and you watch as he makes eye contact with the waitress. He thanks her, subtly gesturing to his teeth to let her know about her little embarrassment. She flushes wildly, a twinge of humiliation in her eyes as she hastily covers her mouth, apologising.

You offer her a sweet smile as she swiftly leaves, making her exit as quickly as possible to the stairs.

As soon as she’s gone, you turn back to Azriel, laughing. “Why’d you tell her?” You ask, sighing with mirth, pulling your plate closer. “Why didn’t you?” He counters, amusement void from his expression. You roll your eyes at his comment. “I didn’t want to embarrass the poor girl,” you reply, picking up the cool cutlery, feeling its weight in your palms. “Did you see how humiliated she looked at the end there? That was awful of you.”

He hisses your name lowly, and you raise mirth-filled eyes to his, spearing a slice of tomato on your fork. “What?” You grin, twirling the small weapon in your fingers. But he pins you with a hard look, shaking his head. “You can be a real piece of work, you know?”

“I had no idea,” you drawl, biting down on the crisp, red skin, delighting in the slight saltiness. A selfish indulgence on your part.

“At least now she’ll switch to a different lip tint,” you muse, watching as his expression turns cold. “Learn through experience, right?”

————

The hall fills with the sound of rustling clothing, voices chatting with pitched cheerfulness, heat pleasantly flooding the great room.

Night settled hours ago, faelights glowing proudly as the scent of warmly spiced mulled wine weaves through the air, sprinkled with sugar. Wreaths hang from the walls, decorating the large glass chandeliers, dripping diamonds.

The dark red liquid swirls in your glass, caught in a group conversation consisting of Mor, Elain, and a quaint looking bunch the latter seems familiar with, along with a couple of other familiar faces from your own circles. Andriette, with the hat wreathed in sparky feathers, laced through with purple and gold thread, accents of silvery aqua running through the deep indigo coloured gown she’s selected for the night. Changria with the vibrant oranges, rubies adorning her fingertips, wrists and neckline, looking like bloody teardrops from her earlobes. Small sequins have been scattered through the deep black of her hair, silky and lustrous.

Then there’s Cordia, the newest addition to your preferred group, still in the initial phase of integrating herself into your world. With rich brown hair and eyes to match, she’s chosen muted colours for the evening, complimenting her skin tone that’s lacking in the ripeness of life. As one of the many Fae of the night Court who organise their lives around the sparkling starlight, you find her a little bland on the eye, lacking the visual charm to fully convince you she has enough to offer.

Elain seems to be content leading the flow of conversation, though you can sense your ladies are getting restless and bored from the discussion, uninterested in the best soil to sow orchids in. A few of Elain’s own friends nod enthusiastically, offering their own tidbits and unnecessary opinions, eyes hurriedly darting across the circle you make up in search of a flicker of approval. Occasionally Mor will nod or laugh, offering one of her own comments, but even she is flagging in the conversation topic.

Changria shifts on her feet, and you take a mild sip from your drink to hide the eager quirk of your lips.

“Speaking of flowers,” she muses lightly, rubies glittering as light refracts through their pure colour. “I haven’t seen you frequenting the Peacock Inn recently, Mor. Spending your free nights at Rita’s these days?”

The vivacious blonde doesn’t seem the least bit ruffled by the slight sneer in your friend’s voice, instead allowing her full lips to curve into a rosey smile. “I find the conversation to be much more stimulating that side of the city,” she replies silkily, swirling her glittering champagne between pearl-tipped fingers, forgoing her signature red for the night in favour of a glittering ball gown that sweeps across the floor like golden starlight. “I’m surprised your sister hasn’t yet managed to pull you over. With how much time she spends there I find it strange you haven’t latched onto the spot.”

Elain’s friends shift uncomfortably on their feet, anxious to return to familiar ground.

“I think you must be mistaken,” Changria replies with her viper’s smile, as clean cut as glass. “My sister has no interest in fraternising with…same-minded folk. We were raised to be aware what counts as polite company to surround oneself with.” She pauses, dark eyes flicking to Mor’s from beneath thick lashes. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your group, of course,” she says with fake sincerity.

The edges of your mouth quirk, attention shifting to the bubbly blonde to see what she’ll do.

Irritation flares up when your fun is cut short, her pretty caramel eyes cutting to yours with enough ice that you have to step up. “And you?” She asks, “do you think this is polite company?”

You take a leisurely sip from your drink, having her wait just a few seconds before deigning her with a response. Both Andriette and Changria hide their mirth well, but you recognise that glimmer in their eyes. “I’m sure it’s all in good fun,” you smile, meeting her gaze, inclining your chin subtly. “Isn’t that right, Ri?” The black-haired female laughs, waving her bejewelled hand dismissively, “of course. My sincerest apologies if you felt otherwise, Mor.”

You smile at the superficial expression on her features, meeting each of Elain’s friends eyes, hurried and nervous smiles quickly pasted onto their lips before you turn to Mor. “It’s been a long night, after all,” you excuse smoothly, “she means nothing by it.”

The blonde hums, clearly choosing to ignore the snide remarks cleverly shot her way. Really though, what did she expect?

She can handle herself anyway—she didn’t need you to put a stop to Changria’s remarks, simply that it was the smartest thing to do.

In your peripherals, you watch as Cordia shifts, spurred on by the sly remarks, tempted to come out of her shell to find her own target.

“Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink,” Elain suggests easily, eyes weaving through the crowd effortlessly. “There’s a server coming by—maybe have a couple of the snacks to soak up a bit of that alcohol. They really are lovely, those ones.”

“Am I right in understanding you advised what foods should be served, Elain?” You ask, watching as her cheeks flush a little with colour, dipping her head in a nod. The gesture is so imbued with feminine dignity you can’t help but warm to her, as if able to see a fragment of your younger self contained within her frame.

“That’s right,” Elain responds, a small smile on her lips. “Nuala and Cerridwen kindly assisted in preparation, as well as a good handful of others.” She nods kindly toward the gaggle of females she’d brought to the circle, and her friends faces soften into smiles. “You all remembered to wash your hands between gardening and preparing our food, right?” Cordia chimes in, eyeing the tray as it’s brought in.

They’re all perfectly bite-sized, different toppings upon small crackers with an assortment of herbs and spices sprinkled in varying heaviness. You glance tersely at Cordia from the side of your vision, before selecting one of the small biscuits from the outskirts, raising it to your lips to taste. Andriette and Changria follow suit, Cordia following soon after, eager to learn and copy. Elain’s group takes a few of the finger-pieces, nodding and congratulating one another on the different flavours.

You hum, pleasantly greeted by the slight citrine flavour of your tiny mouthful, finishing it off in another bite, aware more than a few sets of ears will be interested in how you judge the food. Moments pass, and you take your time examining the flavours—surprisingly enjoyable considering their size.

“Very nice,” you hum mildly, feeling the piercing weight of Mor’s attention on your lips. “Who’s idea was that one?” You ask, and Elain practically beams. Ushering forward one of the females in a pale blue gown, chestnut hair rich beneath the warm faelight. “This is Idris,” she introduces, and you incline your chin to look down upon the tall female. “It came from a home recipe,” Idris blurts out, and Cordia grins into her glass—at least she knows to hide her mirth. “My father used to make it for me and my siblings when we were younger, and I thought it would be perfect to share.”

“Your father did the cooking?” Cordia remarks snidely, and you send her another sharp glance, growing impatient with how she’s speaking out of turn. “What sort of circumstances led to that situation?” Idris shifts uncomfortably on her feet—shoes worn without heels, likely in attempts to muffle her unusual height. With a nervous glance your way, she elaborates. ��My mother passed away when we were young, so my father had to learn how to care for us. Those snacks were the first things he mastered, so I’m proud knowing they’ve been served to such a vast number of people tonight.”

“He couldn’t afford servants?” Cordia questions humorously.

“Cordia,” you call sharply, pleased when she stiffens, twisting to face you—head slightly lowered. “Remember our earlier conversation about polite company?” You ask mildly, sipping from your emptying drink. The female nods, and you don’t doubt she memorised every word. You swirl your glass idly, before glancing at her sidelong. “Make sure to keep to that category. There are very few exceptions I make when it comes to the people I associate with, and you will not be one of them.”

The female flushes deeply, nodding hastily before mumbling a half-hearted apology to the tall but meek Idris, who accepts, likely out of sheer awkwardness.

You turn your attention to the pale-robed baker, meeting her eyes that flit about the room anxiously. With dark, tea-coloured skin, the dusty shade of red looks almost soft on her round and full lips, and you wonder why she’s decided on a pale blue robe when one that was wine-coloured would be far more suitable. With a dusting of gold over her eyelids, she could sweep a fair portion of the night’s attendees off their feet—both metaphorically and practically.

“Idris, correct?” You muse, nails glittering beneath the light. The female nods, fingers stuttering over the stitches in the bodice of her dress.

The very edges of your mouth raise, elegantly shifting your weight to one hip, running an appraising glance over her figure.

“Would you be interested in catering for another event like this?”

————

Footsteps tap softly along the floor of the open balcony, heels clicking as she finds you beneath the moonlight.

The glass has been refilled, and you gaze down at the revelry below, coloured lights dripping like diamonds, bobbing like fireflies between the shadows as fae sing and dance.

She comes to a stop at your side, waiting for you to address her, and you take another sip, just to make her squirm.

“How kind of you to join me.”

Cordia keeps still, attention keyed to your movements—smart thing. “You wanted to speak with me?” She asks, tone carefully neutral, but unable to mask the twinge of hope in her rich brown eyes. Her skin that must have once been livened from the sun in the Dawn court now lacks its vivaciousness, the colour of dried autumn leaves that crinkle and crunch daintily beneath booted feet.

“Allow me to be blunt as you are not someone I’m willing to soften my words for,” you say lightly, swirling your glass, glancing at her sidelong—watching as she stiffens further, and a twinge of fear creeps into her spiced scent. “You have not done yourself many favours tonight,” you muse, returning your attention to the sky, the clouds that have shadowed the moon. “It would serve you well to understand how things work for someone in your position.”

Her round figure is already fully facing you when you turn to her, fingers gripping her drink too casually.

“First of all, if you are going to target someone, do it with grace. Kicking a child does not prove strength, but weakness.” Cordia nods hurriedly, a sharp dip of her chin, eager to learn. “Secondly, do not go for someone contained within a group who will obviously side with them. Targeting that female when she was surrounded by others she was close with was foolish, and brash. A stupid error on your part, and embarrassing on mine.” She flushes wildly, lips parted, but nods again, mumbling out an apology. “And third,” you say voice icing over, “do not lash out with half-developed quips.” Deathly power condenses at your fingertips, like dew sliding along the taut string of a spider web. “There is a time and a place for mild jabs, but if you are unable to go for the throat, then you have no place in my circle.”

The sour tinge deepens, and your magic stirs in response, like a cat stretching out its spine, claws glittering.

“Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” she responds, a little hoarse.

“Prove it.”

“Prove it?” She echoes, and a small smile sharpens the cut of your lips, death haloing your figure as you stare her down. “Prove you can strike where it hurts.”

A blink reveals her hesitance, and you turn back to survey the city, sipping idly at your drink, as if you aren’t about to make or break the female at your side. The seconds tick by and you can hear how her lips fumble, silently scrambling for something sharp and bladed to gift.

Your eyes slide shut momentarily, mouth set in a sour line. “You can see yourself from the party.”

Cordia practically stumbles, but you don’t deign her with attention. “Reconsider,” she requests, gathering her pieces together, holding firm. “My answer is final,” you repeat idly, watching as a small circle appears below, people leaping and dancing as the round the small fire.

“Please,” she repeats, and through your peripherals you can make out as she discards her drink on the balcony, hands clutching the muted tones of her dress as she dips into a deep curtsey, holding the position flawlessly. The edges of your lips raise, before finally giving her your attention.

“I suppose it would be a shame to waste your dancing abilities,” you muse lightly, glittering black earrings tinkling as an icy breeze washes in. Cordia doesn’t dare look up, keeping her gaze trained on the round velvet of pitch dark heels. “Put on a show that will impress me,” you say at last, “and I will reconsider.”

“Thank you, my lady,” she breathes, relief soothing her muscles as she raises to a stand. “It will be the finest—”

“Down there,” you smile, gesturing with your chin to the bonfire far below, where the lower classes thrive and mingle, robes lacking the lustre and vibrancy of rich saturation, a sharp divide between the two spaces.

Cordia’s smile drops faster than a millstone through water, skin leeching further of colour, turning ashen. But she dips her head, understanding the ultimatum.

And so she leaves to dance, even if it will mean setting herself ablaze in the process.

No sooner than she’s out of sight, a familiar figure prowls silently out onto the balcony, stepping out of shadow and into the moonlight, bathed in silver.

“Azriel,” you greet, smiling faintly as he glides from the darkness, all calm quiet and reassuring grace. In a world that’s ever-shifting, he’s a constant, keeping the same cold attitude and unreadable mask wherever he goes. But then there are those moments where something warmer glimmers in his eyes, and your axis shifts a little, centre of gravity swaying as you enter his orbit. Rare moments where flame licks between paragraphs of conversation, small embers being allowed to warm before they’re once again fearfully stomped out.

“You could have chimed in when your friend was practically spitting in Mor’s face,” he says lowly, bypassing you entirely to lean calmly against the balcony railing and you blink, pulled back into your own realm. Features shift into a mask of soothing ease, moving silently to stand at his side. “She can handle herself,” you reply. “Besides, I won’t tell them what to think.” Through your peripherals you mark the slight frown between his brows, the displeasure in his mouth as he looks out across the midnight city, rendered in dark, inky blues and sparking pale starlight. You keep your back to the view, attention keyed to the male at your side, all thoughts of Cordia vanishing along with the task you gave her to complete.

“But you stepped in when it was Elain?” He asks, still not looking at you.

“Would you have preferred I said nothing?” You return dryly, sipping on your drink, casting your gaze back to the ballroom.

Azriel shifts, pushing up from his rest on the balcony, turning to look at you. “What would Rhys think?” He asks, and there’s something in his tone that has your full attention openly moving to him. “He’s like a brother, why would it matter what he thinks? We’ve all done bad things,” you reply grimly, memories pulling across your skin. “He’s your High Lord,” Azriel reminds quietly. “Your master, too.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, “that bond hasn’t been called upon in generations. And besides, he’s too soft-hearted to ever use something as outdated as that.” A note of affection has entered you voice, despite the slander you’re spewing. You peer up at Azriel, smiling faintly, “he refuses to so much as peek into someone’s mind without them knowing, he could never manage the bond. Much less given our relationship.”

Likely dozens of centuries ago, the both of your families had been powerful. Yours powerful enough that the dominant lineage grew wary of the necromancy that passed from blood to blood, never losing its potency no matter who it was bred with. Eventually a bond of submission was forged, rumoured that a hand had been forced, and ever since then, your blood has been bound to the ruling one’s. An oath of obedience sworn with each new ascension.

Admittedly, when Rhys’ father had been killed, and your own mother passing as collateral, you had hoped to escape it. Having grown up together, arranged to be married, lived in the same city for centuries, you’d thought perhaps something would change with you. Instead something had changed in him, after the loss of his family. A proposal had never been offered, and hopes of absolute freedom had been abandoned. You’d taken the oath the day he returned from Spring, blood still dripping fresh from his leathers, violet eyes so abnormally cold and cruel you’d done what you could to return their warmth. Shown you’d chosen to stay by his side, needless of a prompt.

“Still,” Azriel says, pulling you from recollection. “The fact remains. Stepping too far out of line will only force an unpleasant decision upon him. One that will likely be unpleasant to receive, too.”

“You don’t understand what you’re talking about,” you say softly, darkness gathering down your spine, festering and writhing. Fifty years worth of memories he has yet to understand. He watches you quietly for a moment more than usual, before his attention is stolen by a figure entering your shared privacy of the balcony.

Azriel visibly relaxes, standing straighter as Elain walks up to him, greeting the both of you with a warm smile that noticeably reduces the strain in the air. She comes to a stop at his side, and you frown as they exchange a quiet look, feeling too close to the outside of his neat circle for once, having been unaware of the constraints tightening. She leans into him, and you feel a frown emerging on your brow at her forwardness. Maybe she should take her own advice and find something to soak up the alcohol.

“Elain,” you greet, inclining your chin slightly, plastering on a pleasant expression as she turns to you. “Thank you for offering Idris another opportunity,” she says sincerely, voice soft as cotton. Azriel stiffens at the small revelation—nothing Elain would notice, but something you have no trouble spotting, almost perfectly attuned to him. “She loves cooking, though she doesn’t let it show that often,” she continues, oblivious to the Shadowsinger’s tension. “So even if she’s already said it, I wanted to thank you, too. I think it’ll help her in ways none of us can—getting to finally do something she loves, and getting to do it well.” Deep, swirling cocoa rises to meet you, tender and soft with emotion, so easy to target should someone want.

“It’s no concern at all,” you smile pleasantly, the corners a little too sharp to be entirely sincere, an edge in your stomach at her proximity to Azriel. “Though I appreciate you upholding the pretence that it’s anything but a self-serving action—very gracious of you, I must admit.” Her brows furrow a little, tilting her head, but then she shakes it, smiling faintly, “you like your mask, don’t you?”

Before you can ask—or even react to—what she means, she’s turning to Azriel, pushing up onto her toes to press a light kiss to his cheek, before smiling again kindly, and taking her leave. You watch her go, silently, until she’s disappeared between sweeping bodies, turning to Azriel. Raise your glass to your mouth, “well that was interesting.”

The rigidity is beginning to make sense now.

“How long are you going to let it drag on?” You ask, averting your attention to the fire below, fuelled by twigs as fae and faeries dance about. He’s quiet, and you fight against the muscle in your jaw, the urge to grind your teeth at his silence. Jealousy isn’t a pretty colour.

“We’re together,” he says at last, and you scoff.

“And I asked for how long,” you reply, not looking at him.

He’s silent again, and your lip twitches in disgust, pushing up from the balcony, turning to face him. “And when were you going to tell me you were fucking Elain?” You ask bemusedly. “I can understand keeping your other lovers private, but Elain Archeron?” You marvel, voice dripping with fake incredulity. “What does Rhys think?”

“It’s serious,” he replies quietly, and you scoff again.

“Uh-huh. And the Mother’s going to kiss my hands when I go to heaven,” you reply sardonically. “Seriously Azriel, what the hell are you thinking?”

“I’ve already heard this talk from Rhys and Feyre. I don’t need it from you,” he says coldly, and you pin him with a hard look.

A heavy breath blows from your chest, and you return to the balcony, surveying starlit Velaris. “Whatever. Even I can’t stop you from making this mistake.” Your name hisses lowly from his mouth, but you ignore him. Instead you focus on a small, female figure appearing below, emerging from the shadows as she meekly approaches the bonfire. A smile sharpens your mouth, and you lean forward. “Evening entertainment is starting,” you hum to him, shifting the subject.

There’s a pause on his end, and you know he’s considering dropping it, picking up on your cue to change the topic. Move away from the unpleasant conversations in favour of lighter topics. The air shifts, but he glances over the railing to where you’re looking. “Let’s see what the little chestnut has, shall we?”

“What did you do this time?” He sighs, a note of familiar exasperation in his tone, a faint smile softening your mouth. “Why do you always think I’m behind it? Can’t she enjoy a night on her own?” You ask, shifting to face him, jaw resting on your palm.

A muscle flickers grimly in his jaw, darkness simmering in his gaze. “She’s taking her top off.” You blink, turning to peer over the balcony. A sharp, surprised laugh cuts from your throat, more a harsh bark than mirth, because there she is, undoing the corset portion of her bodice, revealing the translucent white fabric beneath, swaying as she joins the revellers. “She’s certainly putting on a show,” you muse, pleasure shimmering across your skin as you wonder at the humiliation she might feel. What you hope she does feel, and what will go unrewarded. You would never have allowed someone like her to join your circles to begin with.

Beside you, Azriel shakes his head. “You’re going too far,” he mutters, “stop it.”

“Stop it?” You echo, “but she’s just beginning to enjoy herself,” you croon softly, watching as a male figure joins her on the ground below, hands greedily skating up her waist. Your name is again pulled from his chest in a warning, dragged out deep and gravelly. “What am I to do?” You muse, returning your gaze to his, now cold and hard, lethal beauty painted in pale moonlight. “I can hardly order her about from up here. Besides, I know what I’m doing, and this is a small price to pay for what she tried to bring my way.”

His lip twitches in disgust, and your heart skips a sudden beat, heat swarming your chest. The familiarity of that gesture—it’s one he’s learned from you. Like how behaviours can rub off on other people, you’ve left your own mark on him, and here it is, presenting itself to you. Nerves squirm around your throat, warmth fluttering through your lower stomach at the thought. Biting back a small, helpless smile, averting your gaze.

“You’re a nasty piece of work sometimes,” he mutters lowly, and this time you allow a fraction of the genuine smile to show, warmth gathering beneath your skin as you accept his invitation, falling back into the cruel dance of life, sparring with sharpened blades. “And you just perfectly captured Elain’s future thoughts when she finds out the things you do, Spymaster,” you reply, amusement lining your features. “She might not see that blood, but I do, and it’s not something you yet know how to fix.”

His features harden to ice, hazel eyes glittering with frozen cold as your words crash against his scar-toughened skin.

Down below, more clothes are being stripped away, and you grin, wondering how far she’s prepared to take this dance. How far she’ll go to preserve her precious face.

“How do you feel about trying a new restaurant this weekend?” You ask, distracting from the show. “After the embarrassment of that last time, I think it’s fair we go to a place I like for once.” You turn to face him, smiling faintly, but you’re met with emptiness.

At some point within the last minute, it seems he’d simply walked away.

Leaving you quiet on the balcony.

————

The ball had quickly lost it’s appeal after the small shock—what on the Mother’s head is he thinking? Elain of all people.

Fingers rub across your chest, just below your collar bones, massaging the area to relieve pressure. Him and Elain. Why hadn’t he told you? From how casually she’d stepped into his side, it has to be something that’s been going on for a while. The others must have known about it…why were you left out? Brows twitch but you pull back on the frown, anxious to avoid any suggestion of lines.

The conversation reworks itself in your mind, repeating until you practically have it memorised.

She might not see the the blood…

With each replay you can see as he walls himself off. Can spot those self-defence mechanisms kicking in, as thoroughly ingrained in him as the scars on his hands. That’s not what’s supposed to happen when he’s with you. He’s supposed to open up, not close himself off. Maybe it was the wrong thing to say… You’d thought it clearly a game, but maybe he’d been taking you more seriously than you’d anticipated.

…but I do, and it’s not something you yet know how to fix.

And he’d left after that. You don’t even know if he’d heard your rather bold dinner invitation, or if he’d winnowed elsewhere. To be at Elain’s side. To enjoy her as he would a ripe fruit. Maybe she is something to be wary of… If their relationship is so out in the open… You can’t remember a time Azriel had ever been okay with any of you meeting a partner, preferring to keep them to himself, hidden away until he got bored or it fell apart. Whichever happened first. It’s unnerving to find your constant shifting, and not in a favourable direction.

The tightness builds in your throat.

While it wouldn’t be long, you’d rather not have to sit through their relationship for the few years or so, even if you know it’s bound to end in misery, just as it always seems to be when it comes to him. Like a little black raincloud.

Your heart stutters in your chest, pulse increasing and you have to even your breaths.

Yeah…you should say something to him. Even if he likely won’t accept your apology due to cripplingly low self-esteem and issues with vulnerability, you hope the effort will be worth it. You don’t want him to wall himself off around you. You want him to bleed and gush, guts spilling, allowing you to see the mess you know lurks beneath his skin. A mess you could easily find in yourself, too. If only you could open up enough to show him your similarities. The connection would be obvious, and maybe…maybe you’d get to have someone who understood you, too.

Maybe he wouldn’t hate his own darkness as much if he was able to see how deeply rooted it is in your own, soulless body.

————

The dinner happens as usual, and you try to resist sinking into the off feeling.

It’s nothing obvious, but it’s lacking the usual cohesiveness, the fluid conversation feels dwindling and forced, and you realise he isn’t pushing back as much as he normally does. The snide remarks you make are left untouched, no disciplinary glances or displeasured frowns when you pass a quick judgement. Even when the comments become unfair to your own ears, he ignores them, instead choosing to pay attention to the food.

Once again, despite all your protests, you’re here at the same place you always go. He claims it’s his favourite, but you can’t bring yourself to believe he could possibly enjoy a place where the air is so thick and heavy, to the point of being stifling. You can practically smell the sweat and grease with each breath, and your skin crawls with disgust at having to frequent the restaurant so often.

Eventually the meal reaches its end, and the two of you leave, Azriel having paid once again. You think it’s only fair, since it’s his spot. There’s no way you’re paying for such a mediocre meal and such poor service.

The skies are heavy and grey, verging on thunderous, the air dense even once you’ve breeched the wards that keep the restaurant alive with heat. Cobbles are slightly crooked in places, and you take care walking, wary of the thin pencil-wide stilts that serve for your heels. All around, folk are enjoying their suppers, sat beneath water-proof gazebos as day at last utterly yields to night, faelights warming the streets dimly through the bizarre heaviness of the darkness.

“Azriel,” you call from his side, voice coming out confident despite being so unsure how to go about touching on yesterday’s subject. He makes no sound to acknowledge he’s heard you, simply continuing on with the leisurely stroll, and yet you know he’s listening. Just as he always is. Ever attentive.

“Yesterday, when we spoke,” you begin slowly, intentionally shifting your gaze to brush disinterestedly over shop fronts and seating areas. Nerves crawl uncomfortably around your throat, tightening but you keep your spine straight, shoulders pulled back as had been drilled into you. “You seemed closed off,” you say, unable to look at him. Not with the stutter of your heart.

When he makes no effort to speak back or elaborate, you push forward, anxious to keep your feelings tightly concealed. “You understand I was joking with you, don’t you?” You ask, counting each step, marking the cracks between the grey cobbles. He hums, not really and answer. Your throat rolls, gaze sliding to eye him sidelong, the clean cut of his profile against the dark blues of the night, skin keeping its soft warmth despite the swiftly plummeting temperature.

“You took your time to tell me about Elain,” you remark, switching topics hastily. Quickly dancing away from the apology that was sat so readily on your tongue—just unsure how to come out. What words to join together to express your grief over his own reactions while not feeling an ounce of regret for what was said. You won’t take it back, but you wish he wasn’t…however he is, with you.

“About that,” he says, and your attention keys to him entirely, as it always does whenever he seems prone to revealing a little more of himself to you. “Things are going to change,” he elaborates, “Elain and I will be going out to dinners together, and because of our lives, this is going to have to find time somewhere else.”

You blink, steps faltering, heels stuttering over the cobbles as you stare at him but he keeps up the idle pace, forcing you to push your body into fluid movement, flowing after him. “What… Az, what are you talking about?” You ask, tone confused, lacking its usual sharp edge as apprehension tightens around your throat. “These suppers,” he repeats, attention remaining ahead, “they’re going to stop.”

“Why?”

“Because Elain and I are together, and we—”

“Shut up about Elain,” you say sharply, voice lowered, coming to a stop on the cobbles. Azriel pauses, features superficially neutral as he takes in your stance. Waiting patiently, as he’s always prepared to do.

“These are our dinners, Az,” you hiss, keeping your voice low, wary of eavesdroppers. “They’ve been our time for almost three centuries. And now you’re trying to replace them because you got laid?” Disbelief drips from your hushed voice, staring at him incredulously, shaking your head. “We’ll talk about this again when the blood’s returned to your head,” you hiss sharply, but his brow dips in displeasure, and you’re kept from walking away.

“Don’t talk like that. About me, or her,” he says bluntly, irritation itching across your skin. “Az, you’re thinking with your cock,” you hiss again, stepping closer to reduce the chances of being overheard. “These dinners are the only times we get to be together. You are not cancelling them just because you want to get between her legs, is that clear?”

Azriel makes a sound close to a sigh, and emotion—raw and unfiltered—sears across your chest, licking like flames as you stare at him. “Don’t bother getting frustrated. I’m not asking, I’m telling you what’s going to happen. Besides, the family dinners are still open.” Even if you haven’t attended one in almost two-hundred and fifty years.

Your heart pounds in your chest, long-suppressed rage rearing her head with such force there’s nothing you can do to muffle her. “Don’t pull that, Az,” you warn lowly. “You know that’s not a solution. You can find time elsewhere, these days are the only ones that work for us.”

“She’s my partner. She comes first.”

“And what about me?” You hiss. “You’ve known her for—what? Two years? Have been in a relationship for less than that, and I’m the replaceable one? Pull your shit together.”

His brows narrow, gaze hardening as he takes you in. Hazel eyes cool, freezing over as his patience is relieved of its duty. “I want to eat with her. I want to spend my time with her,” he says coldly, “you are tiring and draining to be around.”

“Tiring and— What has gotten into you?”

“This isn’t anything new,” he replies, “she and I have been together for a while now, and this is how things happen.”

“How long is a while?” You hiss, feeling as if the cobbles are falling away beneath your feet. “Long enough,” he replies monotonously.

“This is how you treat your century-old friends?” You ask, power writhing in your stomach. “Pushing them aside when something new and shiny comes along?” You hiss, emotion whipping at your heart until blood leaks out. “Fine. Fuck the tightness out of her for all I care. See if you’re still interested once you’ve gotten what you want.”

“Do not—”

“I have everything, Azriel. I’m the most sought-after female in this city,” you hiss, pressure building behind your eyes but you shove it away—you can’t have the kohl running. “Males have crawled on their knees to gain an ounce of attention. My life is perfect, I don’t need anybody but decided you might be worth my time.” Anger heats your skin, features twisted in an ugly carving of rage.

“If your life is so perfect, why do I pity you?” He replies harshly, rain beginning to drip from the heavy skies.

“Pity me?” You echo, faintly. “You pity me, shadowsinger?” You grit out, lip curling back with disgust. “I don’t want your pity. My life is perfect. People would die to be in my position. To be as coveted I am, and I gave you a chance at that.” You spit, seething, keeping an eye on the rain—looking like it’ll become heavier. It’ll ruin the curls you kept pressed in if you don’t get inside soon. “You can’t replace me,” you scoff, staring at him beneath lightly dipped brows—careful of wrinkles. “You’ll never find someone as good as me.”

A vindictive smile stretches across your dark-painted lips, triumph searing across your skin, heart pulsing in a way you’ve been craving for decades—centuries. “I’m everything you could ever want: beautiful, intelligent, rich. Not to mention excellent in bed, anyone would be blessed by the gods to call me their own,” you point out, baring your teeth with victorious rage. “You can’t deny we’re perfectly suited for one another. Everyone and their mother knows we’re a strong pair, practically untouchable. We spend all of our time together—there’d be no difference between how things are now and how they would be if you would just open your damn eyes and realise how much you need me.”

“I’m the one you confess your sins to, I’m the one who absolves you, I’m where you go to seek comfort,” you hiss, wary as a strand of neatly curled hair falls out of place. “And you think Elain is anything in the face of that?”

Breath puffs from your chest, air curling in thick tendrils as the crispness of the breeze deepens in its chill. Fingers tremble at your side, skin immune to the swiftly plummeting temperature, spurred on by self-righteous anger. The need to right a wrong becoming satiated now he understands what an awful choice he’s making.

Azriel’s expression doesn’t shift, hardly shows a grain of emotion, the rain beginning to drip into the soft, inky locks of his hair, weighing the strands down to curl over his brow.

“I spent my time with you because I thought I could fix you,” he says blandly, making you falter. “You’re so self-obsessed, convinced the whole world would pause everything for you—I can’t even begin to understand how insecure you must be to have reached such a severe state of delusion.”

“Delusion?” You snarl, freshly manicured nails piercing the soft flesh of your palms, hours of pampering ruined by a single outburst. “The only one who’s deluded is you, for even considering picking the flower-baring whore over me.” Hazel eyes gutter, taking on a glittering icy hue as his jaw tenses.

“You’re the court torturer, and I’m the necromancer—there’s never been a better pairing cast together, and there never will,” you seethe, death and rot simmering at your fingertips that his eyes trace warily. “You’re really so selfish you’d latch onto Elain and bring her down with you?” You ask, watching as the blade finds its mark, hazel flinching. “I’ve seen your darkness, and you’ve seen mine. The mother couldn’t have made our match more obvious.”

“You know I’m right, Azriel,” you crow, taking a step forward, needing to wrap this up quickly—people are murmuring, rain growing heavier. You can already feel it beginning to take the silky sheen from your hair. “I’m the better choice. Now and forever. I will always be the better choice.”

His expression shifts to something you can’t place—almost like sorrow—thick brows narrowing over dark hazel eyes. He takes a silent step forward, the edges of your mouth kicking up with a spark of success. Vicious pride blazing in your gaze—warping into tunnel vision.

“I will tell you only once,” he bites out, glittering fury lighting the deep hazel of his gaze. “Never speak of Elain that way.”

“Or what?” You bark, staring up at him, arms folding indignantly to plump up your chest. “You choose that bitch over me, and it’s over between us,” you declare, victory within your grasp. “You forget I know where her father’s buried,” you hiss viciously, keeping your voice low enough for only him to hear.

A blind person could spot his kindness from a mile away, as useless as it is. He would never put himself first, especially not before you. You’ve had centuries to observe his behaviour, you know this is his weakness, the cripplingly low thought of himself, somehow unable to appreciate the divine beauty of his own features, looking as if he’d been hewn from the heavens themselves then unleashed upon earth to wreak destruction.

He’s equipped with the weapons to be a heart-breaker, to have whoever he wants, yet has somehow managed to overlook his own beauty. A rare gem for you to take for yourself, to treasure and polish to perfection, to stare at and admire in the guarded privacy of your own heart. He’s the first, and only one who’s ever managed to get past those impenetrable walls of ice, having thawed you out over likely thousands of dinners, and nights out, and not-so-casual brunches.

But Azriel shakes his head slightly, sighing in the freezing air, breath curling in a smooth twirl, whisked away by the chill breeze. “You’re doing this to yourself,” he says quietly, hazel piercing into you beneath a narrowed brow, gaze filled with ice. “I’m not going to choose you.”

“So you’d throw away three centuries of simmering pleasantries?” You spit out, an icy drop of rain slipping down your generous cleavage, goosebumps raising. “Don’t be so arrogant; it’s unbecoming.”

He takes a step forward, casting you in his darkness, his warmth remaining just out of reach, pulling you into his orbit. “You think anyone will love you like I will?” You ask, but your voice shakes as the words slip out. Throat rolls, nails slicing into already ruined palms. “I know you, Azriel,” you grit out, “what you are. What you do.” You shift on your feet, spine straightening, shoulders flattening. “Do you really think anyone else will stick around for that?”

Shadows flick over the peaks of those great wings, wreathing them like dark halos as hazel shutters. “Walk away,” he murmurs, darkness swirling idly about, like early morning mist. “Walk away, and you can keep your fragile sense of self intact.”

“Is it the number of people I’ve slept with?” You grit out, glaring up at him. “We can pretend that never happened, if you want me to be more like her. I can learn botany—it wouldn’t be an effort. I have gardeners that could arrange bouquets, and lace my hair with wild flowers. I’m sure someone’s found a spray to keep bugs away, so—”

“I’m not picking you,” he says harshly, eyes pinning you to the cold, icy cobbles.

“Why not?” You hiss, but he shakes his head, exhaling a short sigh.

“Just go back home,” he replies, a little softer. “Save yourself the embarrassment. I’d hate to be the one to shatter your carefully cultivated image,” he mutters, turning on his heel.

Panic surges, blindly reaching out, heart clenching in your chest as both of you stare at your hand gripping his wrist. The murmurs hurry in intensity, but fall away as hazel meets your gaze, narrowed and wary. You know he must be able to feel the tremble of your fingers, but you can’t let go now, that would be admitting defeat. So you step closer, his warmth washing over you, night-kissed scent wrapping with your own.

“I can change,” you manage, voice hoarse in the freezing rain, weighing and ruining your curls. Tiring and draining, he’d said. “Tell me what to do, and it’ll be done. I can fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” he replies shortly, “I spent a long time thinking I saw glimpses of myself in you—when you used to quieten in the evenings instead of plastering on one of your catty smiles. When you used to enjoy the silence instead of trying to fill it with numbing activities.”

You stiffen in the cold, grip tightening on his wrist, gaze locked with hazel.

“At some point you might have been salvageable, but not anymore,” he continues, small pieces of yourself trembling with each word, raw and tender. “And what about yourself?” You reply, heart tight in your chest. “You think that you have the right to pass judgement on me? With the things you’ve done?” You stare up at him, pulse beating to a nauseous rhythm. “You’ve lied, murdered, and tortured your way to where you are. I’m an angel compared to you.”

“You’re rotten to your core,” he hisses, wings flaring wider, towering over you. “Rotten, spoiled, and utterly unloveable.”

Something faintly familiar stings through your stomach, wrapping in knots and dragging outward, twisting.

“No one would pick you—has anyone even thought of doing so?” He asks, sharp hazel eyes piercing like blades through the thawed out ice of your heart.

“You did,” you whisper, lungs filling with choked-down aches. “You chose me, Azriel. So I’m choosing you back.”

“That’s not how it works,” he hisses, pulling his arm from your grip like your muscles are made from rain-soaked paper. “I gave you a chance to change. You could have been better if you’d tried.”

You shake your head, staring at him, fingers cold as icy water drips over their outstretched tips. “That’s not fair,” you whisper, “I didn’t know I was being tested.” But he pays you no mind, turning on his heel, making to leave you out in the rain.

You’re moving without thinking, darting into his path, blocking his way.

“Fine,” you breathe harshly, fingers trembling as they clench at your sides. “I’ll say it.” Alarm flares in those beautiful swirls of colour, his lip twitching but you ignore the familiar expression, gone with a flash of pain.

Your throat rolls thickly, staring up at him, aware of the whispers from beneath cafe shelters, hardly bothering to keep their volume low. “I don’t—…” you fumble, shocking humiliation twisting across your stomach. Are you really doing this? Is he worth your pride? Worth losing those cultivated defences? They’ve been up for so long, you’re unsure if you’ll be able to swallow the emotion that’ll inevitably swamp you.

Hazel waits silently, all quiet grace and reassuring shadow.

“I don’t have anyone else.”

The words burn across your skin, the admission having nausea roiling in your stomach, pulse pounding wildly. Stripped bare, emotion flayed to a raw, bloody pink.

“She has other people,” you whisper painfully, lip curling in disgust. “She doesn’t want you like— She doesn’t need you like…like I do.” Despite the way your confession sears through your blood, hurting like a scar picked open, he already seems to be done with the conversation. Ready to move on and leave you behind.

“You don’t need me, or want me,” he replies blandly. “You’ve been so emotionally numb for the past dozen decades you’re addicted to the first drop of feeling you’ve gotten. You like the idea of being with someone after such a long period of loneliness, and you’ve misunderstood whatever you’re experiencing as love when it isn’t.”

“You don’t know that,” you whisper, heart fluttering in your throat so high you think you might be about to regurgitate it at his feet. “I’ve kept to myself because no one else has been worth it. No one else has made me even consider talking with you like I sometimes do.” A cold wind blows through your skeleton, a shiver shuddering in your stomach, hands clutching your exposed arms.

“I’m far more beautiful than she is anyway—”

“No,” he cuts in, “you aren’t.”

And suddenly you’re reduced to your adolescent self, secretly sneaking into her mother’s purse, snatching at all the makeup you can find and scurrying away to the bathroom to paint yourself beautiful. How heavily the bright lipstick had weighed on your lips, slippery and over-lined. How your eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot once you’d finished with the thick stick of kohl. The pins that had curled your hair into a matted mess, tangled into a unsolvable nest.

How proud you’d been of your work, parading out into your mother’s chambers, eager to show off your likeness.

She’d taken one look, and screamed, landing a hard smack across your cheek. Staining the carefully applied lip tint, pushing it onto gleaming white teeth that bit into your tongue with the force of the impact. She’d dragged you by the hair back into the bathroom, tub filling to the brim with freezing water where she’d shoved you in, clothes and all. Grabbed a towel and started scrubbing at your face, the water clogging your airways as her nails scraped and poked until your skin was raw. She’d wasted no time unpicking the curls from your hair, simply ripping them out, or in some cases, sheering the locks jaggedly from your scalp.

The following weeks had been the worst of your life, keeping your head hugged in a kitchen cloth, not having any of your mother’s precious silk caps to prevent friction and fraying. You’d hardly taken your eyes off the ground, keeping your gaze trained to the pretty bows on your shoes, clutching the straps of your bag tightly.

There had been other instances like that, but none quite as debilitating—the time a month later your’d put together a small breakfast, teetering up the stairs one at a time in your freshly pressed dress, starched and aired, before pushing her door open. She’d screamed worse than last time, and your feet had frozen to the floor. It was only when the glass vase had smashed against your temple that they’d unstuck, hands shuddering as you tottered backward, stumbling until the door had slammed in you face.

Whether it was that specific instance, or the litany of other formative moments of your childhood that had be warped and distorted into something cold and cruel that had led you to this moment, stood opposite him in a freezing cold street, gossiping whispers passing like a sickness between onlookers as the rain drips down cream-smooth skin, you’ll never know. Too many actions uncorrected for too long for you to ever understand when you truly became her spitting image. At what point you went from a young girl trying to fit into her mother’s skin, to fully embodying her rotten perfection.

Plump, rosey lips hiding a mouthful of foul, fetid teeth.

“So you’re—… You’re really…” something warm and wet drips down your cheeks, and you realise with mortifying humiliation you’re crying.

Azriel sighs harshly, the impatient sound slicing across your breast bone. “That’s not going to work,” he says coldly. “Cry all you want, it’s not going to change anything.”

Your heart flutters wildly in your throat, as if trying to break free, stomach twisting and turning in vicious knots. You don’t understand why he’s walking away. “She won’t… She’s not going to treat you better,” you manage, voice cracking along with your heart, shattering with such painful slowness you can practically feel it fracturing. Ice splintering off into shards.

His jaw works, and you resist the urge to turn and run beneath his gaze. He shouldn’t be seeing you like this. It’s gutting your chances.

“I trust her,” he mutters lowly, rain hissing on the cobbles. “I trust her not to take advantage of my weaknesses. To see them and accept them.” He steps closer, and your legs tremble. “Not to turn them into ridiculous little games designed to make herself look better.”

“That wasn’t—… I was helping you.”

“You enjoy succeeding where others fail,” he hisses, his warmth at last brushing over your skin, close enough for his scent to wrap around you fully. “You get a kick out of proving you’re better, no matter how good your life is.”

Your jaw trembles, nails biting into the soft flesh of your palms. “I have worked for my supposedly good life,” you say sharply, tone wobbling.

“Your predecessors worked,” he hisses, “you were born with a power that made you precious. Without it, you’re nothing.”

“Power is everything.”

“And that’s exactly why no one’s ever loved you.”

You flinch.

Stumble a step back.

“That’s not true,” you whisper. “Rhys loves me. So does Cassian, and Mor. You do, too.”

“You wouldn’t know love if it knocked you to the floor,” he snaps, and a long-forgotten memory flashes across your skin.

“I love…I like myself.”

He rolls his eyes, brows narrowing in disbelief. “You hate yourself more than I do.”

Shoulders bunch together, curving inward. “Doesn’t that make us perfect?”

He blinks, caught off guard by the tone, bathed in broken curiosity. He’s known for a while there’d been something wrong taught to you, but you’ve never really allowed him close enough to find out what.

Then he shakes his head, turning away. “Mutual hatred doesn’t equate to love,” he mutters, pausing. Looks at you from over his shoulder. “We spent three centuries together, and you couldn’t even figure that out?”

You remain silent, lips parted as you search for an answer.

He huffs in disbelief. “No wonder you’re always on your own.”

————

You’re hardly able to stumble your way back home, looming before you in a great mass of shadow.

You’re at the threshold of the tall gates, when a voice calls your name, and you turn to find a female with rich brown hair with deep eyes to match, skin just a little to wan for your tastes. Cordia.

“Leave,” you order coldly, the tall iron gates swinging open upon your command, power thrumming beneath your veins as you make your way up the road, thick forestry lining the edges. Breath drags raggedly from your lips, lungs spasming as emotion rages in your chest, ripping itself open upon the now jagged shards of ice that he’s splintered, damaged and bruised.

“You’re in a sorry state,” she calls mildly, following behind you as you march up the steep road with little difficulty, body shaking and trembling as raw feeling strikes at your core repeatedly. Teeth grit together, nails digging into your upper arms as you huddle against the cold, choosing to continue along the rain-soaked path in favour of winnowing.

“That was quite the performance you put on there,” she hums, and you freeze in your steps. “Oh? That got your attention,” she smiles, stepping into your path. “Yes, I saw your breakdown. So did Andriette, so did Sangria. Anybody who is anyone will have heard about your little-girl tantrum within the hour.” Terror thuds in your throat, stomach lurching as your meal is upended into the shrubbery nearby. You hear Cordia make a sound of disgust while tears prickle at your eyes, nostrils burning as your stomach spasms, retching over and over until you’re struggling for breath.

“And to think after all that effort too,” she gloats. “All that beauty and power, and you still couldn’t have the male you wanted. Serves you right for being so picky,” she hisses gleefully, watching as you remain hunched over, knees sunken into the dirt after your legs gave out. “I guess you’d call that karma. You destroyed me, now you’ll hit the bottom of the barrel too. How’s it feel to be in the shit-gutter with me, huh?”

The tremors become violent, and she laughs, stepping away. Breath shudders in and out, hyperventilating as you spiral away, discipline and control turned weak and mushy from flayed emotion, humiliation and terror mixing in a deadly combination. “Does rejection feel good to you?” She asks, arms folded across her chest, and you barely gather the strength to stand.

And that’s exactly why no one’s ever loved you.

You wouldn’t know love if it knocked you to the floor.

No wonder you’re always on your own.

Fresh tears sting at your eyes, stomach lurching again, retching and a palm presses to vomit coated lips, the taste bad enough to make you try to throw up all over again. Cordia makes a sound between disgust and pleasure, relishing the moments she’s being gifted. “Everything you have,” she marvels, “land, money, beauty, power. At least you’re an ugly crier. Who’d ever want to kiss piggy lips like yours.”

Rage burns you alive, hands wrapping around her throat, ripping her life away in seconds, reduced to dust, mixing with mud that you take minutes trampling deeper into the wet road. You wipe your mouth, staring grimly at the mess on your shoes, stomach turning but you feel a little better now that things are fairer.

When you reach your home, you make no effort to dampen your power, allowing it to roll in thick waves from your soaked body, rat-tailed hair slicked away from your features. Let the message convey itself, for every maid and servant to leave immediately, or face the consequences. Livid emotion rocks and shatters across your chest, swirling with unstoppable intensity and you kick off your shoes, heading up the stairs, treading rain into the clean white rugs.

A maid rounds the corner too quickly, slamming into you, and your urge to kill finds its target, power piercing into the quaking female. You grit your teeth, yanking at its leash, guiding it elsewhere to keep from murdering an innocent. Instead your hand pulls back, taut like a bow string before lashing across her cheek, the sharp jewels on your fingers biting and tearing at her skin as she’s shoved backward. “Get out,” you hiss, voice distorted and raw, power recoiling and refocusing, licking its lips as it finds the maid again, but she’s already scrambling away.

Breaths rage in your lungs, and you manage to make it to your bedroom, eyes skittishly darting to and fro in search of something, something you need—

Tears spill heavily, a sigh of relief and wonder releasing from your body as the razor drags across your forearm, short and sharp breath stuttering as that pressure builds and builds, the steel flying across your skin until you could peel the flesh apart like the crusty pages of an old book.

You pant heavily, arms trembling unsteadily with adrenaline you haven’t felt in years, suddenly crushed by the weight. Groans drag from your chest, sobbing wretchedly as you settle on the floor, ripping the clothes from your legs, slicing and slicing and slicing as you cry and smile and scream and die— Like it’s all condensed into fluttering feelings, passing through, forcing their way so intrusively through your mind it’s shards of glass nicking at your head, wrapping your brain in a bag of needles then tossing it down a flight of stairs.

Blood paints your floor, dripping heavily and exhaustion sticks to your skin like sweat, the compulsion to purge the poison dulling with your heartbeat, thudding weakly in your chest and life bleeds thickly and fluidly from your body, gashes torn through your skin already beginning to stitch themselves back together. Exhaustion fills you, taking adrenaline’s place, and the last thing you can manage it a flick of your wrist, transporting the blood-stained rugs to the large kitchen sink a few floors below, filled with water to keep it from setting.

You’re slumping to the floor, bones digging jaggedly into flesh as it’s ground into the hardwood floor, body relieved of consciousness, shuddering strain seeping away, washing like a cool breeze in the peak of summer up your spine. The world fades away, taking with it the heaviness of emotion, the searing ache across your breast bone, lungs stuttering with deep-seated pain.

At last escaping it.

————

Heavy thuds pull you ungraciously from sleep, coming from your front door.

The first thing you feel is a deep ache across your body—back and shoulders stiff from lying on the floor. Your lids feel thicker…heavier than usual, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth as you peel it away.

Memories hit you like a sack of bricks, passing in a flash before delightful numbness banishes it to some dark and lonely corner of your body. To sit until you’re ready to face it, or until it rots away to something harmless and unbothered. Whichever comes first.

The thuds repeat, and you close your eyes, sinking into your floor, skin thick with imagined grease, hair tangled at the base of your neck, skin hurting with stinging pain when you attempt movement. While the cuts have faded, the echoes burn beneath your flesh, small needles embedded beside bone, prickling and spiking with every motion. Whoever’s at the door can dissolve into the wind for all you care, you’re in no state to deal with anyone.

Magic clicks through the house, and you startle, as if zapped by a whip of static. Your heart pounds as the door unlocks, disobeying its enchantments and allowing entrance to the stranger. Except it’s no stranger, the only soul who has access to your house is the High Lord himself, a condition of the bond that stretches between you, malnourished and untouched.

Quiet steps to the staircase reveal him stood in the hallway, hands placed with deceptive disinterest in his pockets, clothing fine and tailored perfectly. Just as it always is.

Cold, violet eyes flick to you, stood atop the case, but even he’s unable to entirely conceal that razor’s edge in his gaze, glint cutting through purple-blue. Sharper than steel, colder than ice.

“What do you want?” You ask, not bothering with pleasantries. He clearly isn’t here for tea and biscuits.

He’s silent for a pause, gathering his patience, or…you don’t know what. But he takes his time, as if to set you on edge. “Come down here,” he says at last. There’s not a single note of inflection in his voice, lethally soft, whispering effortlessly across the marble of the front entrance.

Your features remain set in their hard, bland line, gazing down at him with mild hatred. Whether it’s a side effect of the bond, or his natural terror as High Lord, something inherent warns you not to disobey, reluctantly descending the stairs, glittering black dress still clinging to your body, hair a ragged mess at your shoulders, lips likely stained and eyes smudged from the kohl.

“What do you want?” You repeat lowly, bare feet settling on the floor, level with him. Darkness seems to whisper at his back, thrumming throughout the halls, muffling all those usual noises, becoming abruptly silent. Vibrations dying in his wake.

Cold, violet eyes run over you appraisingly, though he makes no comment over your dishevelment, and it’s somehow worse than if he had struck the mark. As if he knows he doesn’t need to sink that low to hit where it hurts, biding his time to deliver the fatal wound.

“Can you guess why I’m here?” He asks softly, wrath underlying his poisoned tone, hairs prickling at the nape of your neck. Your pulse spikes as his attention skims the lavish halls, entirely empty, before turning for the door that will lead him to the sitting room. “I’m too tired for your games, Rhys,” you mutter bitterly, following after him warily. “There’s nothing playful about the decision that’s about to be made,” he replies icily, nodding to one of the sofas as you pass by. “Sit down.”

“I think I’ll remain on my feet,” you say with forced calm.

A muscle feathers in his jaw, features remaining cold and disinterested. Warning chimes drill up your spine, alarming you to the off-ness about him. The tautness to his usually elegant movements, fluid and lethal. Now cut to something harsher, hewn to something more brutal.

“Tell me,” he orders quietly, “why you think I’m here.”

You stare at him silently. Sullenly. Stinging all over your body.

“You wanted to say hello?” You say at last, lacking any humour to the response, too drained to muster up even a spark of emotion.

The edges of his mouth quirk, no mirth to be found in his face. A grin a he would have given Under the Mountain. A grin you’ve come to despise, and one you thought would never be shown again. Sharp, glittering talons prickle at your mental shields, hardened to steel on their outer walls, utterly impenetrable without permission.

Or so you had thought.

In one clean slice, the razors have cut through your adamant as if it were fatty flesh. Not a single brittle bone impeding the clean incision. Shock paralyses you, breath stolen as that faint grin ices over, threat now rolling visibly from his shoulders, darkness condensing into something almost solid, gaining density as it slinks closer to the ground.

The sound of skin smacking against skin cuts through your mind, a sharp inhale stolen after, shuddering gasps rasping through the silence, followed by panicked footsteps as she flees. Your cheek burns, feeling the metal bite of jewelled knuckles upon rubbed-raw skin.

Fingers rise, trembling as you check absently for a mark, brushing lightly across the afflicted area self-consciously.

“Why do you think I’m here?” He repeats, the whisper as quiet as a last breath on dying lips, cold and utterly lifeless.

For the first time in three hundred years, terror filters through your veins. Cloying, and dominating, pinning down and twisting your senses. “It was for good reason,” you breathe, becoming acutely aware of the lethal brush of darkness. A single touch that could reduce you to a red mist.

“Stop,” he says, quiet and sharp, like scissors snicking through hair. “You’ve been toeing the line for a while now, and that was the last step you’ll take in my city.”

My city. Velaris.

Your mouth opens to speak, nausea rising, stomach twisting as emotions begin to seep back into your body, satiating your mind with painful vibrancy. But the words are stuck in your throat. You stare at him, eyes round and wide, at once blank and contorted with raw feeling. Rushing and spilling as guts twine together, restitching themselves after being sliced across the floor.

“You’re an infection,” he hisses lowly, talons tightening at your neck, and you remain helpless. Powerless. “I don’t care for whatever excuse you’ll try to spin. I’m done with you. We all are.”

The talons retract, and air burns at your lungs, nostrils and eyes prickling as you gasp, hunched over, stomach spasming enough you think you might vomit again, and you’re thankful you didn’t put anything in it. The thought of reaching for your own magic hadn’t even occurred to you.

“Whatever remarks you want to make, I will tolerate. You are, and have always been your own person,” he says lowly, prowling forward on predator’s feet. “But the second you lay a hand on one of my people, it’s over. You will not return from it.”

“I hardly even touched her,” you choke out, lip curled back from your teeth, emotion thrashing and raging against your ribs, volatile in your blood as you stare up at him. At once having given you everything, and left you with nothing.

“I saw the memory,” he hisses, “she told me what happened. How you treat—” His nostrils flare, freezing in his tracks. Pupils dilate then contract to slits, and you stare as he turns on his feet, making for the closed kitchen door. Where the blood soaked rugs and sheets remain.

“Rhys…” you rasp, stumbling forward. “Rhysand.”

The smell of iron is sharp, bursting throughout the room with a potent tang, saturating the air with its distinctive metallic scent. The water is a deep red, concentrated with cold blood, almost opaque with its thickness.

The High Lord is utterly still in the doorway, taking in the devastation of the kitchen, some of the sheets laying strewn wetly across the floor, and it occurs to you he will not know that it is your blood dripping across the white tiled floors. That’s it’s your blood staining the pristine surfaces.

Undiluted terror crushes into you a second before his own darkness does, breaking across your skin as you’re flung across the room, smacking against the ground as the air is knocked from your chest. Your ears ring with the impact, lips parted, back arched in pain, hands trembling as memories flash across your skin.

You wouldn’t know love if it knocked you to the floor, he had said.

You stare up at cold, merciless violet.

Both of you know what he’s just done, but only one of you cares.

Words fail you, unable to admit to your own stupidly self-inflicted disciplines. Shame ruptures across your skin, unable to move from the shock of being floored in a heartbeat, after having had centuries to put between the last memory of pain this deep. It always scars more when it’s from someone close by.

“I don’t know when you lost yourself,” he breathes heavily, staring down at you, twisted and warped from the force of his magic. “I don’t know when, or how, or why. And I don’t care.” The words break on your skin like whips, cracking and splitting still-healing flesh to put the pain deeper. “You hurt one of my people,” he hisses lowly, watching as you struggle to your feet, limbs moving disjointedly from pain he’s unable to see.

He takes a step forward, and you have to force your legs not to stumble back, to hold strong as he prowls closer, night rippling through the room. “Many people are hurt in your city,” you grit out, “many people are hurt in your court. And yet you’re finding fault with me?” You shake your head sharply, glaring at him from beneath your brow. “You went too far,” he hisses, the sound like hail and ice slicing skin. “Every day you pushed a little harder, and I let it slide because I thought you needed the freedom, that you needed to at last understand you were free of her.”

“Fucking shut your mouth,” you spit, death leaking across the floor, rising to meet his own.

Both of you know who would win this battle, but you don’t seem to care any more.

“I kept my mouth shut for too long,” he counters, striding closer and magic sparks and crackles, tendrils colliding then recoiling as it’s mixed in the confined space, pressure building in your fingertips. “I let you get away with too much. Leeching off Az until even his patience ran out. Putting Mor down because you couldn’t stand to see someone from your own position escape, and live. We offered you help and you chose to walk away.”

Fury lacerates through your heart, burning at your mind as you meet his step, moving forward as you bare your teeth, the house quaking as more power is funnelled into it’s contained space. “You dragged me beneath that godsforsaken mountain, Rhysand,” you hiss lowly, “I stayed with you for fifty godsdamn years, while they got to stay here, because I was the one who was common knowledge.” You shove at his chest, but he hardly budges. “I was there for you, whenever you fucking needed me. So don’t you dare try and spin betrayal on me.”

“It is your duty to stay by my side,” he snarls, hand gripping your jaw in a vice-like hold, muscle spasming beneath his touch. “Everyone suffered in those years. Everyone sacrificed something. Everyone had something taken from them.”

“You chose them over me!” You spit, nails tearing at the rough skin of his knuckles as heat burns at your eyes. “You protected them. You suffered, and gave up pieces of yourself for them. None of it was for me.”

He stares at you, unreadable emotion raging behind writhing violet, lips parted as darkness rumbles through the house. “Why would it be for you?” He whispers, still staring at you. “You’re so wrapped up in your own life you forget anyone else exists.”

“You’re lying,” you mutter, “that’s a fucking lie, and you know it.”

“You threatened to bring their father back from the dead,” Rhys snarls, the damper on his power coming clean off, air growing thin as pressure crushes down on your bones, too much to possibly be contained.

“I don’t care if you’re bound to me until the day that I die,” he hisses, and you can feel that fatal strike being prepared to wound. “I don’t care if you have no way to disobey me should I give you an order. I don’t care if I could command you to never abuse your magic like that again.”

“Rhys…” you breathe, staring at him, fear bubbling away. You’d told Azriel he would never touch the bond, that he would never do that to you, and yet… “Rhys, don’t…”

“I can’t,” he hisses, defeat lining his features.

Relief washes over you like a wave of cool water, shoulders slumping from their tension, magic beginning to dissipate.

He shakes his head, a lock of neat, blue-black hair falling out of place. “But if you aren’t out of Velaris by the time the sun rises tomorrow…”

He’s in front of you in a flash, but your power doesn’t respond. Not as he appears before you, or as his hand slides around your throat. Not even as he forces a bargain upon your flesh, ink burning as it’s stamped in plain sight.

“You will not only lose your powers over death, but your life, too.”

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#azriel x reader #azriel angst #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #heart dividers by cafekitsune

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yourcoffeeguru · 5 months

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veryinnovative · 1 month

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@jegulus-microfic | april 30, prompt: sky | word count: 1.927 featuring older ceo regulus black and younger secretary james potter part 2 | part 1 AKA word on the street is i Excel in the sheets

“Erh…” he tries after a stretch of silence. “So, how was your day?”

Regulus pins him frozen to place with a look, a sign spelling ‘stupid’ nailed right into his forehead. “You know how my day was. You manage my schedule.”

Damn, tough crowd. “Okay,” James drawls, a little unsure. “But, like, how did it go?”

The place functions as any other hole-in-the-wall restaurant that serves just a handful of people throughout the day, most of whom are loyal customers returning every so often for a comfort meal when homesickness becomes a little too much to bear. Even now, there are only a couple of people scattered about, none of which pay any mind to either Regulus or James.

“So, first impressions?” James asks when he takes a seat across from him.

“It’s satisfactory.”

“Satisfactory.” James blinks.

Regulus is quiet. He looks terribly out of place wearing a luxury suit exported from one of the globe’s corners and James can’t help but feel a little guilty. He’s seen Regulus carve into lobster with only a fork and knife but still can’t help but worry about future dry cleaning prices for which he may or may not be responsible.

“Erh…” he tries after a stretch of silence. “So, how was your day?”

Regulus pins him frozen to place with a look, a sign spelling ‘stupid’ nailed right into his forehead. “You know how my day was. You manage my schedule.”

Damn, tough crowd. “Okay,” James drawls, a little unsure. “But, like, how did it go?”

Regulus, perhaps finally acknowledging his poor attempts at small talk to ease the awkwardness, studies him intently for a long, close moment before acquiescing. “Enervating.” Right, because Regulus is the type to unironically use words like enervating.

“The business deal?” James asks and Regulus nods. “Dude from Jakarta, right?”

“The CEO from the biggest real estate company in Jakarta,” Regulus corrects him.

Tomato, tomato. “Does this mean you get to leave work at a reasonable hour starting tomorrow?”

“I’ve never had reasonable working hours.”

“Of course, I forgot the very important detail you’re a raging workaholic.”

Regulus’ mouth sets into a firm line as his brows knit together into a censorious frown—his entire face contorting into something that’s one odd remark away from turning downright petulant. “I am not—” He stops. Breathes in. Probably recognizes James is very carefully pulling his tail and for some reason becomes decidedly collegial. “Allow me to rephrase myself. I am meticulous. I prefer finishing tasks before going home and don’t mind when it results in me staying at work a little longer. It’s inevitable as a CEO when timezones don’t work in my favor.”

Absolute bullshit. “Just last week you kept leaving the office after the cleaning shift already came by to sweep the place clean. I know because they told me.”

“I can’t see how any of this poses as a bother to you.” And there it is, the good ole Regulus Black-esque deflection.

“I’m just worried. That is all.”

Regulus’ nose twitches and he looks away, a clear indication that he no longer wants to be a willing participant in the conversation. When Regulus becomes like this, James has learned to leave it be.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long for the food to arrive. James can stop pretending to take in the beautiful sight of the night sky, cracked asphalt, and the flickering colors of traffic signs when the plate is placed on the center of the table, carrying an assortment of different meat cuts and a modest side salad that will probably be Regulus’ for the taking.

Using the table etiquette of a properly groomed aristocrat, Regulus carefully selects some vegetables to put on his plate and a modest serving of rice. He skillfully carves out some pieces around the skewer.

“Seriously,” James deadpans. “Go on, Your Royal Highness, you can use your hands for this.”

Regulus almost bridles at the mere suggestion.

“Seriously, there’s no shame in it. Here, let me do it for you”

Regulus watches as James grabs one of the skewers and uses his fork to tear chunks off, dropping a generous portion of roasted vegetables and meat on Regulus’ plate. “You want some of this flatbread?”

Regulus shakes his head and James shrugs. He swiftly mouths off a dollop of sauce on his thumb, which earns him one of Regulus’ notorious James-exclusive grimaces.

Right, table manners.

They get to eating and James is once again reminded of how much of a slow eater Regulus is. It’s like he counts his chews, jaw working diligently with the faint scrapes of his cutlery against the plate. That and he works even as he eats, almost on auto-pilot with how he takes out his phone to open Outlook.

“Using your phone at the table is rude manners,” James teases.

“I got an e-mail.”

“Of course.” He nods. “Nothing workaholic about that, no.”

“It’s an important e-mail.”

“You know I read something about how it’s also important to spend time with your employees.” He waves around a piece of the flatbread as if to emphasize the point. “Get to know them better and all.”

“I know plenty about you,” Regulus answers as he types away.

“That so?”

Regulus looks at him, entirely indifferent as the phone is placed face-down on the table. “James Potter. Twenty-three years old. Finished your master’s degree at Oxford, with flying colors might I add. You took a gap year to travel, working all sorts of jobs to pay for your accommodation. Currently, you live near Camden and spend most of your spare time enjoying hobbies or going to the pub with your friends. You have a Joe and the Juice stamp card.”

James tries not to physically reel back. “That…” He starts, absolutely nonplussed. Someone come pick his fucking jaw off the table, it’s dropped off its hinges. “You know what Joe and the Juice is?” Impossible, all things considered. Regulus is in a tax bracket where chain restaurants might seem like fanciful inventions, the kind of places mentioned only in tales where fine dining is unheard of. There's a brief curiosity about whether this is the equivalent of discovering that Toy Story's Pizza Planet is a real place that actually serves food.

“I've come to understand that it's a venue offering juice among a broad array of meals and beverages, yes.”

Still, that’s doesn’t explain… “How do you even know all of that? I hardly even know anything about you other than that you recently turned thirty and were homeschooled for this position.” And that he’s quite fond of the occasional handful of candied macadamias when feeling particularly indulgent. James keeps a packet of it in his bag.

Regulus’ throat bobs. “I do thorough research on the people I employ”

That’s not more than thorough research at this point, far beyond the usual background checks done on new personnel. “Uh-uh. Or you stalk my Instagram during your free time.”

Regulus promptly chokes on his food. His fork falls onto the plate with a loud clatter. James nearly knocks his knee against the table as he too scrambles for the pitcher to pour him water, almost knocking over his can of Sprite in the process.

“Easy, I was just kidding.” He has half the mind to stand up and start patting him on his back to dislodge whatever molecular-sized cucumber wedged itself in his airpipe. “I doubt Mr. Black Enterprises even uses Instagram.”

Regulus looks up startled. Definitely not from the lack of air.

Oh.

Ohohohoh.

“Oh my god.” James’ face splits into a distinguished, shit-eating grin. “You do.”

“What?” It’s barely a wheeze with the way Regulus has been caught. His grip is deadly around the fork, something that should warn James to be wary.

“Instagram,” James repeats, trying his hardest not to gloat when Regulus shivers. “You use it? The Regulus Black uses Instagram? I thought you would be a member of some upper-echelon-exclusive platform instead of mingling with us.”

The worry swiftly dissipates, giving way to confusion, and then settles into something far more at ease. Although James enjoys those fleeting moments where he gets Regulus riled up, he much prefers seeing him relaxed. “Oh—I—Yes. Occasionally,” he stammers, swallowing and reaching for a napkin to dap at his mouth with. “Barty convinced me,” he hastily adds. “It’s a very private account. I’m hardly active on it.”

Sinking into his seat, James pats around for his own phone. “You should follow me.”

“Shu?”

“On Instagram. You should follow me. If you want, of course.”

The tips of Regulus’ ears turn a delicious pink as he returns his attention to his plate. “I’ll think about it.”

After some more idle talk and eating, they decide to head out before Barty ultimately decides it’s past working hours and he’s not dropping Regulus off at home—some palatial penthouse tucked away in one of London's secluded enclaves where the affluent reside, enjoying a life of extravagance as they remain shielded from the public gaze.

Nonetheless, the cherished designated driver will have to linger a bit longer, as both James and Regulus pull out their cards at the cash register. Being a very wise man, Hakeem registers the amount into the terminal and swiftly turns away, well aware that nothing good ever comes from getting involved.

James dismissively waves his hand. “You can put away your card, it’s on me.”

Of course, Regulus isn’t compliant in the slightest. “I made you feel obligated to stay longer than you intended, so it's only right that I pay.”

“I’m the one who invited you, come now.”

“And I’m the one responsible for making you miss out on dinner.”

“Nah. I told you, it was my fault. Seriously, I want to—”

He attempts to move closer, but Regulus also edges forward. Despite being shorter, Regulus exudes an air of authority that instinctively compels James to widen the gap between them and not bump into him. “And I insist.”

But luckily, James is taller and his arms are longer. “Gotta be quicker than that then.”

He extends his arm, shooting right past Regulus’ and taps his card against the terminal, smiling smugly when Regulus scowls up at him, not in the least impressed by his playing dirty. James’ lips part, a jab resting right on the tip of his tongue, something along the lines of ‘They don’t teach you this at fancy pants school?’ only for a chime to disrupt his train of thought.

Card declined.

“Low funds, Yakup,” Hakeem announces without looking over his shoulder like James isn’t sinking to his knees in embarrassment already.

“You got paid four days ago,” Regulus murmurs at his side.

“Rent and utilities were due yesterday.” It nearly comes out in a whine.

“I doubt your rent takes up your whole salary.”

“I also had to pay off my credit card,” James grits out, fumbling through his wallet looking for some cash. In an alternative universe where they’re starred in some cartoon show, the poor faux leather division coughs up dust motes.

“Seriously? How much do you make?

“Might I remind you that you pay me.”

The way Regulus clutches onto his credit card, unlimited of course, one might think the poor thing is about to fold in half. James might as well, to be honest. “Move.”

“No.” His pride’s already been hurt. “Hakeem, can I pay in installments?”

“Only if you take young Khadija out on a date.”

James considers it for a moment, but Regulus the comment only makes Regulus seethe further, “Potter, if you don’t move I’ll give you a reason to worry.”

That’s enough to convince James. He steps away, all kicked puppy-like, and watches how Regulus’ payment gets processed far quicker. “Next time’s on me.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, even as the apples of his cheeks dust pink. “Come, I’m tired and want to go home.”

#jegulus #james potter #regulus black #jegulus fanfiction #marauders #marauders au #jegulus microfic #starchaser #sunseeker #ino microfic tag!#arab jegulus <3 #i had to split this in two and i fear the first half shan't see the light of day for a while yet #for now it's just in a doc for mil's perusal..#this is v low effort but it's why i love it #ceo reg save me #fic / word on the street is i excel in the sheets.#i forgot the title </3 #80% is asleep but matter not... it shall find u

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rosewaterandivy · 9 months

Text

girl crush

Summary: there’s more than two beds, but of course you sleep in his.

W.C.: 2.5k

Warnings: y’all know me - it’ll be the usual! Smut, idolatry, devotion, unprotected sex (wrap it up!), pussy drunk Steve— I don’t make the rules 😤‼️

a/n: aka your first time with Steve, who may or may not be your boyfriend?

🎶 I’ve got a girl crush, I don’t get no sleep, I don’t get no peace, thinkin’ bout her 🎶

“Wish I could babe,” his voice sounds distant over the phone, wind whipping every other word through the mic, “But we just started production out here, we won’t wrap for a while yet.” You’d caught him during a break in filming, miraculously.

Several dates in LA after an introduction from Eddie, and here you are trying (and failing) to plan another. He’s back in California after a press tour and you were fresh off of recording your latest album.

“Well,” you drawl out, “I could come to you?” The question is rushed, breathless, you screw your eyes close in fear of fucking it all up.

A pause.

“You sure?”

“S’easier than dealing with your schedule, Harrington,” you say lightly, “Palm Springs is doable enough.”

He’s working on some indie picture out in the desert, you were murky on the details. You hear shuffling from his end and ‘psst’s trying to get someone’s attention.

“Rob… Rob! Can you– yeah, the address?”

A moment later your phone dings with a notification.

“So,” you say, throwing clothes haphazardly into a bag, “What’ve you got planned for us?”

Three or so hours later finds you in the desert and absolutely ecstatic about it. Dressed down in cut-offs and an old merch tank–or, as dressed down as you could get–you breathe in deep, thankful to be out of LA. Little to no paps and tabloids to be worried about–or worse, Deuxmoi acolytes–so you could finally relax.

Steve met you out front with the fattest joint you’d seen in years, he nearly dropped it when you all but tackled him to the ground. You were so happy to be with him again.

“Little soon to be proposing, no?”

“Think I’d do better than some hydro from Arglye,” he grouses, but you take it from him anyway with a deep inhale, “Says ‘hi’ by the way.”

“Tell him I accept and we’re registered at Tiffany’s,” you say finally, exhaling slowly.

He rolls his eyes, “Okay, Material Girl,” he helps to hoist you back up, “Tour time.”

After the grand tour, which was impressive–“Holy shit, do you have Robin on retainer? ‘Cause if not...”--Steve entertained you in the kitchen, making what he called the ‘secret sauce.’

“Oh, that?” you scoff, pouring some wine, “Had that on date number two, if you’ll recall.” You take a sip and continue with a waggle of your brows, “My compliments to the chef, as ever.”

Steve blushes at that, recalling how pretty you had looked with your glossed lips around his cock, all warm and soft under the dim light from the setting sun. A groan rumbles from his chest as he braces himself against the countertop, knuckles turning white.

“You’re a menace,” he said, voice low and gravelly, before he turned his attention back to the pots and pans on the stove.

You shrug and drink some wine, savoring the crisp tart taste against your tongue. Steve flits from one spot to the next while he cooks, stirring the sauce one moment and blanching veggies the next; all the while, remaining loose enough to pour a second glass of wine for you and another for himself.

Infuriatingly attractive that.

The sun had gone down in the desert while Steve finished with the pasta. You’d assigned yourself the task of setting the table and doing the dishes after dinner. Plates and cutlery arranged, you helped yourself to some salad while Steve served the pasta.

You mouth had already been watering at the mere scent of whatever was bubbling away on the stove, and all it took was one bite to have you audibly moaning at the dinner table. His eyes met yours, mischievous and curious, as he sipped his wine.

“Fuck me, that’s good,” you say with closed eyes, savoring the taste.

Steve laughs quietly across the table.

Dinner goes on, you try to reign in your vocal appreciation of the meal. He fills you in on some details of the shoot, set gossip, and the like. You offer up the scant information you have about the upcoming tour and album release. Clearing the table is easy enough between the two of you, knocking hips every so often as you washed and he dried the dishes.

You ended up in his bedroom, collecting the duffle you’d packed from the guest room down the hall. It was a kind thought, that you would opt for a separate room and your own space; he was hesitant like that, never wanting to assume.

Electing to change in the ensuite bathroom, you step out of the denim cutoffs and fold them neatly on the counter. Shoes had been kicked off at the front door earlier in the evening, leaving you now in an ancient Corroded Coffin shirt that had seen better days. He’s sat on the bed, looking all soft and sweet–tousled hair and wire rimmed glasses framing his face nicely, skin flushed from the wine.

He bit his lip when he saw you come out, hair a mess and legs, legs, legs, but a vision nevertheless. He can’t help himself as you step between his splayed knees at the edge of the bed, his hands coming to rest against he curve of your hips.

“Hey honey,” he murmurs as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Hey Steve,” you greet in return, lips pulled tight in an embarrassed smile.

Gently, he tugs you closer to him, the fabric of the shirt rucking up against your skin. His finger skirts against the back of your thigh, the skin shivering involuntarily. “Missed you,” he says, voice raspy and low.

His soft gaze lingers on you, warm hazel eyes looking up through long lashes. “Missed you too,” you say quietly.

“Yeah?” he asks, fingers grasping at the flare of your hips before he leans back on the bed, “C’mere then.”

As you clamber onto the bed, he lays back against the cool cotton of the duvet pulling you down with him. Substantively seated in his lap, you rest your head against his chest and let out a sigh.

“Comfy?” he says, a hand trailing lazily up and down your back. You nod, fingering the fabric of the shirt between your fingers. Softened by time and wear, paint and lettering disintegrating each time you wore it. It smells comforting like you–cardamom and sandalwood with a hint of something boozy–smells like home.

“I’ll keep you close then.”

His other arms falls against your hips while he continues to trace shapes against your back. You feel his lips leave at the crown of your head before his head falls back against the mattress. It’s quiet and he can tell from the rhythm of your breathing that you’re a few minutes from falling asleep.

The nation’s favorite spitfire in his bed, face nuzzled into his chest, bit by bit chiseling your way into his heart.

Steve lets his teeth worry his bottom lip, willing his nerves not to get the best of him. “Y’know, I really like you.”

“Mmm,” your drowsy moan comforting, the lazy smile tugging at your lips setting off the butterflies in his stomach. “I really like you too.”

Fuck, he hadn’t been this nervous in a while. And yeah, you’d been seeing each other for a minute but not long enough to have the ‘what are we’ conversation.

His hand tangles in your hair, loose and windswept from the drive, fingers scratching lightly at your scalp. A muffled moan pours from your lips and vibrates his chest.

“Sorry, sorry” you slur sleepily, “M’not normally such a lightweight.”

Steve, for his part, doesn’t think anything of it. You’d had, what, one glass of wine at dinner— maybe two? But you could be tired from the drive.

Maybe he’s misreading this thing entirely. A brief flicker of panic licks up his spine; maybe it’s too soon, maybe you just want to sleep—

“Can hear you thinkin’ up there,” you mumble and pull him from his downward spiral. A brief movement as you settle your chin to his chest and glance up. Your eyes are half-lidded and sultry, lips pulled in an enticing fashion.

He grunts when you shift your weight until you’re practically sitting on his chest to keep him breathless. He’s smiling up toward the ceiling, one side of his lips curled upward, jaw slack, easy and yielding because Steve offers himself to everything like this: headfirst and wide-open.

It’s be infuriating if he wasn’t crashing headlong toward you. It’d be irritating if he wasn’t so damn earnest about it.

After a while of feeling out each other's atmosphere, eyes catching every so often before flitting away to focus on something else, Steve arches up to request a kiss, all warmth and need.

You lean down to touch your lips to his gently, brushing your nose with his along the way— a wholly delicate gesture he never would’ve expected from you, but has grown to adore.

“We can go slow,” you breathe against his lips. “Don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Steve’s stomach swoops. He reaches up to cradle the back of your neck, drawing your forehead to his. “That so?”

You're smiling— so big and beautiful it hurts. And his heart is so loud he thinks you must hear it.

The kiss was clumsy, you chalked it up to too much drink, but the touch of your lips to his burned down his throat, like whiskey and joy— warm and smooth and cataclysmic as his hand cupped your face. You kiss him and Steve hears himself sighing into your mouth. His cheeks flush in excitement because you’re not letting go, so he presses his lips to yours a little slower, a little firmer, learning all the ways you like to feel him there.

“Steve,” you breathe, and it lights him up. “Steve,” you say again, and his eyes slip shut. Even now, he’s crushed with longing.

You press the heat of your core into his groin, grinding your hips into his.

When your tongue touches him again, he thinks he might go blind. His eyes flutter open as much as they can, to savor the moment of your face so close to his. Your eyes, shut. Your skin, flushed. Your hair, a silky, folded curtain against his chest.

You are straddling Steve’s thigh now, sitting on your knees and moving against his thick limb in slow orbits. The underwear sitting against your hips is still there but does nothing to keep the slickness between your legs at bay. His thigh is moist from it, and it catches a shine in the fading light.

“Need you, baby,” you plead. “Any way you want.”

You glow like a full moon in the night, divining his animal desires with phosphorescent eyes.

Too eager now with permission. Too eager now with the fiercest kind of lust—of love—he lets it go. All for you, and you all for him. He nips at your collar, drowning deeper and deeper. Fingers meandering to hook into the gauzy and damp fabric hiding you from him and pulls. Wants you bare and shuddering beneath him. Hip bones against hip bones, the noises you make—ragged and hoarse—sending tremors down his back.

Steve grips your waist and moves you from his leg. A whimper escapes before it turns into a gasp as he turns you around, back meeting the cool of the sheets. “You call it, sweetheart.” Comes his husky voice in your ear. You know he means it completely.

A moan slips forth when he dives into the back of your shirt and tears it off, does the same with his. He wants to hear that noise again. The two of you are entwined like real lovers, pulling apart only to breathe and whisper to each other.

He falls onto his forearms, touching foreheads together, noses together, lips hovering until you meet him in a sloppy half-kiss, tongue slipping over his, spit and sweat shimmering across your mouth.

Steve doesn’t bother taking his boxer-briefs off completely, crumpling them down just below his cock is enough for him to slide in like he was created for you. He tells you as much, as you whimper and cry out beneath him.

“Look at me,” He prompts, tilting your face so you see where he’s connected to you. He’s searing hot as he thrusts upwards. “You were made for this.” He’s delirious with it, the heavy thrum that flows through the union of your bodies, “You were made for me.”

Like a prayer, he repeats your name.

Inside of that deafening miasma, Steve is still awake and a part of him knows that this is what he’d been longing for. His cock is throbbing inside of you and every time he pulls out and thrusts back in, your cunt wipes any shred of doubt from his mind.

Your head tips backwards and he catches the base of your skull in one giant hand. “So good,” you praise, “You’re so good, Steve.”

God, he’s so hard. Cramming himself inside your body, torso to torso, as close as he can get because he needs it—he needs it so bad.

He’s blind with it, drunk off it, beginning to rut like he’s in heat, surprised at the confessions he burns into your neck g’na marry you, fuck— that have you gasping and clenching in equal measure. Catalogues and litanies of honey, baby, fuckfuckfuck, god—growling devotions sinking into your throat, your shoulder, your chest. Sucking inscriptions in the common tongue of love as they slip past his lips.

You take all of him again and again, matching his pace, eyes squeezed shut, opening briefly but dazed. Panting and pleading his name, sudden waves of orgasm making you shake and shiver. Then he starts again— easier, kinder, letting the beast work its way back through his skin. Tongue sweeping lines. Canines pulling flesh.

You sigh and smile. A sacred dream of flesh and blood wrapped around him. “Wanna see you, baby,” you say, “Let me see you, sweetheart.”

So he does, blinking through the darkness and finds you like a beacon, as you always are, as you always will be. His hair falls to one side, lighter from the summer sun, suspended and rocking along.

“’S that good? Like this?”

“Yeah. Yes,” he babbles, “Wanna give you everything.”

“Come with me, Steve—come on, baby.”

And it’s all so fast. Your words. His words. Your hands. His hands. Hips moving in heavy thrusts and hair falling over his face and endless moans of god, fuck, 'm gonna come at the last minute before his eyes roll back behind his lids.

Steve buries his face into your neck, groaning. “Mine,” he whispers finally coming back to himself. Raspy and slow and again when you gasp. Your nails dig into his back reflexively, thighs squeezing him tight.

He’s smiling like an idiot because he doesn’t know what else to do about it. His heart is fluttering and filling up. He looked at you for too long, thought about you too hard even though you’re right here and his, and maybe that’s what launched itself into his dizzy head.

A hard kiss that makes you whimper. Mine. Another to the line of your open jaw. Mine. Your throat. Your collar. Your chest. Mine. Mine. Mine.

You smile into his temple, rubbing your cheek on him, too.

“Keeping me all to yourself?”

He nods eagerly, heart full, then overflowing. “Keeping you forever.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fan fiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #modern!actor!steve #fic: hmlhr #Spotify

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inky-duchess · 9 months

Text

Etiquette of the Edwardian Era and La Belle Époque: Tea

This is a new set of posts focusing on the period of time stretching from the late 19th century to the early 20th Century right up to the start of WWI. I'll be going through different aspects of life. This series can be linked to my Great House series as well as my Season post and Debutant post.

Today will be focusing on the rules of tea with this time period.

Tea was a staple in society, not only as a comforting beverage but as a social gathering beset by strict rules. Etiquette at tea is not only important for guests but is a sign of respect to one's host.

High Tea vs Afternoon Tea

You're reading both terms and you're thinking high tea is the formal version and afternoon is informal. In fact, no. It is the opposite. High tea was actually served far later, about 6pm/7pm and focused on more savoury, substantial dishes. High tea was more of a lower class tradition, designed to fill the stomachs of hungry workers. The word "high" is derived from the tall tables used. Afternoon tea is served at 4pm, designed to fill the gap between lunch and dinner. Afternoon tea is served at low tables with all the guests seated and involve a lighter meal, more nibbles than anything.

Hosting and Attending Tea

Tea is an event that happens every day, it's not an excuse for a snack, it's a ritual. One can have tea served in one's own home or at the home of a friend. One must be invited to tea, one can't just show up and expect to get fed. Tea was typically served in libraries or drawing rooms and done times outside in the gardens if weather permits. One had to dress for tea usually in comfortable but appropriate clothing. Men would wear suits, women would wear tea gowns or a simple gown - keeping their hats upon their head, if they are visiting. Tea was not poured by the footman but by the host or if it is a large party, by one assigned guest. The hostess or designated tea pourer would serve themselves last.

The Tea Set

Tea sets are highly coveted and much remarked upon at tea. One would usually inherit a service (that's what the collection was called) or be gifted it at one's wedding. Services would all match and most households had different kinds, the best usually reserved for important guests.

Teapot: the tea pot held the hot water and tea leaves was was usually made of china and decorated.

Cups: the cups were generally low, shallow.

Saucer: a small plate for the cup to rest on

Tea cannister: where dried tea leaves would rest until needed.

Sugar bowl: was a small container made of china with a cover to protect the sugar from moisture.

Milk jug: a container for the milk

Slop basin: was a porcelain dish used for disposing tea leaves left behind with the dregs of tea.

Tea spoon: small spoon used to stir tea

Side Plate: small serving plate used for food.

As you might have noticed, other than a tea spoon, cutlery is not listed. There would be a spoon for jam and a knife for a scone, most food was designed to be eaten with one's hands.

There is also one instrument not listed here and it's the most recognisable thing at afternoon tea.

The Tiered Tray

The tiered tray is a set of trays stacked upon one another holding on each one, a different course. Sandwiches and savouries were served on the bottom (Favourites include smoked salmon, cucumber, cress, egg salad sandwiches), scones on the second and sweeter delights served on the top (sponge cake, macaroons, pastries etc). One would begin ay the bottom and work one's way upward.

Making the Perfect Cup of Tea in the Edwardian Era/Belle Epoque/Gilded Age

Disclaimers: Let's make one thing clear. Tea is not prepared one way for all. Tea is culturally important across the world and every culture has their own rules about how tea is consumed and served. There's no one right way.

I will be discussing the English way of brewing tea in this post.

As mentioned before, tea is held in a cannister before use. Tea leaves were added to the hot water and lightly stirred.

Controversially for most people, milk was commonly added first.

One would then set a strainer in one's cup, tilting the pot. The strainer will catch the leaves and leave your cup almost tea-pulp free.

With the tea added, one could add in sugar. The trick is not to make a show about it or be too loud. One simply should gently turn your spoon from the 6 o'clock position to the 12 o'clock position. Also, the spoon rests on the saucer when not in use and doesn't stay in your cup.

When drinking your tea, put your pinky down. That's an American myth. Simply lift your cup to you, lifting the cup to your mouth by the handle. Saucers are not lifted unless your cup is far away. Don't slurp it, there's plenty more where that came from.

Etiquette at Tea

Afternoon tea is for light conversation, do avoid heavy topics.

Listen attentively when being spoken to.

Don't talk with your mouth full or stuff your mouth. Typically everything should be polished off with 2-3 bites.

Gloves should be removed at tea because one is eating with their fingers.

If one is leaving the table to go to the bathroom or a breath of air, simply turn to your neighbours and excuse yourself. No explanation needed.

Napkins should be removed from the table and set across one's lap when one is sitting down. When finished with tea, set it beside your plate before you rise.

Also you daub, not smear.

Don't cut your scone but break it.

Don't lick your fingers.

Don't bang the spoon on the side of the cup.

Also there's no dunking biscuits into your tea. It's just not done at afternoon tea.

Never thank the staff for fetching anything - or at very least, don't be overhead doing so.

Always say your goodbyes to the hostess and compliment the tea, even if you had a rubbish time.

Also most importantly, never criticise somebody else's manners. That's the height of rudeness.

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roosterforme · 11 months

Text

Batting Practice Part 25 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Now that Bradley had the ring, he didn't want to wait. He kept thinking about what it would mean to move in with you and Everett and be a family. He wanted all of it. So he got Everett to help him out one last time.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst and swearing

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

You locked your office door and sank down into your seat. You were too nervous to eat the lunch you packed for yourself as you got your phone out to call your lawyer. It had taken you a few days, but you decided what you wanted to do about Danny. It wasn't ideal, but you'd do it.

As you sat and listened to the hold music playing in your ear, you poked at your sad looking salad. Danny was going to blow up at you after this. And it would be months and months before you saw a cent, but you supposed it was the best you could get since you couldn't get Danny stripped of parental rights. Tears pricked at your eyes, because you just wanted him gone. Good and truly gone with no ability to come back and hurt Everett again.

When your lawyer returned to the line, you told him that you wanted to move forward with serving papers to Danny to petition for child support. If you couldn't get rid of Danny, at least you could pad Ev's college account or help him buy a car someday.

"You do understand that Daniel can take four months to contest the petition? And that's on top of the time it may take to serve him the papers?"

You rested your forehead on your desk and took a deep breath. At least you would be the one dealing all of this shit behind the scenes so Ev wouldn't have to know about it. But Bradley was always imploring you to be more open with him about this, so you'd have to figure out how to tell him that Danny was here to stay. Unless you and Bradley ever got married. Unless Bradley ever wanted to petition to adopt Everett.

"Yes," you said, your voice only a harsh whisper. "I understand. We can proceed."

As your melancholy settled in, you decided to text Molly about what you did. It didn't take long for your sister to respond. She must not have been working right now. You never could manage to keep track of her schedule, so you had no idea how Bob was so efficient with it.

Danny is a little baby cocksucker bitch! Bleed him dry! Do it for Ev! I'll help you take over the world after I have a nap.

You snorted, pleased that not a moment had passed since your parents died when Molly was not one hundred percent on your team. And now you had Bradley. And you supposed you had Bob, too.

A sharp knock on your office door had you jumping in your seat. "Coming," you called, scrambling to go unlock the door only to find Bradley standing there in his khaki uniform with a bunch of tulips and a wrapped sandwich. His aviators were perched on the tip of his nose, and he looked like a fantasy. You could see three of the receptionists leaning out of their cubicles to get a better look at him.

"Kitten," he whispered with a grin before kissing your cheek. When you silently pushed your door open wider, he brushed past you, and you closed it behind him.

"What are you doing here?" you asked breathlessly. He set the food and the flowers down on your desk, and you rushed into his arms.

"I just missed you," he whispered in your ear. "And it's Tuesday. Technically the slowest day of the week. I needed a pick-me-up." And with that, he scooped you up into his arms while you gasped, and he deposited you on the edge of your desk.

"Well, I'm glad you're here," you told him, reaching out to pull him closer. He tossed his sunglasses onto your desk, and then you couldn't even remember what you wanted to tell him. Something about your lawyer? His hands were on your bare knees, sliding up under your black skirt.

"You know I love this," he whispered, pushing your skirt up your bare thighs. "I like to daydream about this skirt. On your bedroom floor. Or all bunched up around your waist."

You coaxed his lips down to yours with your finger under his chin and kissed him softly. "I have some free time right now."

Instantly, he was lifting your butt up off of your desk and yanking your skirt up over your hips and around your waist. You squealed with delight as he set you back down and smiled as he knelt in front of you. "Really?" he asked, nudging your inner thigh with his nose and kissing you there.

"Yes," you giggled as he looked up at you. When you spread your legs wide for him, he kissed your core through your underwear, and you gasped, "Go lock my door, Coach."

He dipped his long index finger inside the lace fabric and nudged your clit with his knuckle. "Where's the fun in that?"

You moaned, and then you were shimmying your underwear down your legs. Bradley tucked them into pocket, and you couldn't believe you were letting him do this with the door unlocked. But the prickle of his mustache along your slit had you grabbing at the back of his head and spreading open further for him.

He licked a long stripe from your opening up to nibble on your clit, and you dug your fingers into his hair. "That's a good Kitten," he rasped, kissing along your pussy and thighs as he slipped his index finger inside you. Just a few strokes and you were whining for him, your thighs clamping around his head. But he pushed them apart again and kept them in place with his other, huge hand.

"Bradley," you gasped, and he pulled you a little closer to the edge as he sucked on your clit. "Oh god."

He released you and licked a circle that had you tugging on his hair. "Wanna make sure you think about me when you're at work, Baby," he grunted before rubbing his mustache through your wetness until you were getting a little loud.

"Bradley!" you whined. He was good. You leaned back on one hand as he made your legs shake. And when he looked up at you as he circled your clit lazily with his tongue, you knew you were getting close. "Keep going," you told him, rocking against his face a little bit.

The sight of him buried between your legs with your fingers messing up his hair took you all the way. Because when he wrapped his lips around your clit one more time, you came for him. Loud and needy. And then you slowly sat fully upright again while your ears buzzed. He was still placing soft kisses on you everywhere that used to be covered by your underwear.

"I love you, Kitten," he whispered as he squeezed your thighs and stood up to kiss you. His mustache was wet, and you licked him while you moaned softly. His whole face tasted like you as you licked and kissed him. It was intoxicating, and you pulled him closer so the front of his uniform pants rubbed against your pussy. He was rock hard.

"You wanna?" you asked him as he stroked his fingers along your cheek.

"Fuck, you know I do," he promised, rubbing his mustache down your neck. "But I need to get back to work."

You bit your lip and watched him reluctantly pull away from you and adjust himself. There was a little wet spot on his pants that absolutely thrilled you as you asked, "Where's my underwear?"

His smile was smug. "In my pocket. I'm gonna hang them in my locker at work like a little souvenir."

You gasped, your pussy still bare for him with your skirt hiked up. An embarrassingly needy little sound escaped you as he patted his right pocket.

"I hope you don't mind if the guys see them."

You pressed your lips together. You actually really liked that underwear. They were a stretchy white lace thong that you found comfortable. But if Bradley wanted to put them in his locker and think of you every time he hit the shower, then you were more than happy to let him have them.

"I don't mind," you whispered. "But you know you're going to make Bob blush, right?"

Bradley kissed your forehead and said, "Molly has broken him in, I think. He doesn't blush as much as he used to. Now, don't forget, we have plans for the Fourth of July. And I'll see you at your house later tonight after my practice."

You nodded and watched him leave as you stood up and pulled your skirt down. "Love you, Kitten," he called from your open door with his erection still visible in his pants before he strolled away.

You looked at the sandwich he left for you as your stomach growled. Your appetite was back again since talking to your lawyer, so you sat and ate it while you smiled at the spot on your desk where you just had an orgasm.

As soon as you pulled up the spreadsheet you had been working on, your phone vibrated on your desk next to the tulips he left for you. He sent you a photo of your white lace thong hanging up in his locker.

Bradley Bradshaw: I wasn't joking. I'm looking forward to getting lots of compliments on my new decoration.

You squeezed your thighs together and squealed.

--------------------------

Bradley had to rush back to base. When he stopped by the locker room to drop off his keys and wallet, he pulled your underwear out of his pocket. They were a little damp, and when he pressed them to his nose, your scent overwhelmed him. He should have fucking stayed long enough to bury his cock and his cum inside you. What was he thinking? A reprimand from one of the admirals would have been worth it.

With a deep sigh, he hung his pretty souvenir on one of the hooks and snapped a photo. He sent it to you as he literally ran outside and across the tarmac to the meeting room for his afternoon session. He had your underwear in his locker and your engagement ring in his kitchen drawer.

He had big plans for that ring. There were just a few things he needed to prepare, and he couldn't stop smiling as he thought about what he and Everett were planning. He could talk that kid into anything over some McDonald's chicken nuggets.

But he had to keep his thoughts from wandering too much to you and Ev while Mav was lecturing. Because every time he thought about marrying you, he thought about being Ev's dad. And he really needed to not get too far ahead of himself, because he had no idea if you'd support that idea or not. Bradley got the impression that you wanted sole guardianship and legal rights to your son. And honestly, Bradley could also get behind that. One hundred percent.

When the lecture ended, Bob was waving his hand in front of Bradley's face. "You ready to head to practice?" he asked cautiously. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Bradley grunted, jumping out of his seat. Today was the first practice for the rec league team, and Everett had bugged nonstop to come and watch. But Bradley wanted to get one good practice in with nobody there, just in case he ended up being terrible.

He walked with Bob back to the locker room to change into the navy blue hat and jersey with the number 1 on the back, deciding to skip the shower until later tonight. When he was changing his socks, he saw Bob's eyes wander to his locker, and then he quickly looked away.

"Nice panties," Jake said as he strolled past on his way to the showers.

"Thanks," Bradley replied, smirking, because he just knew this was going to get you all flustered when he told you later tonight.

He drove to practice, and thought about his plan for the Fourth of July. It would be perfect, and somehow, he wasn't even nervous. Because being with you felt right.

And then he pitched so well, both coaches pulled him aside after practice to tell him he's the best they had ever seen on a recreational team. And Bradley just had to laugh, because he was pretty sure he was still better at playing shortstop.

"Damn," Bob said in between gulps of his Gatorade. "Your arm is a cannon. I barely managed to hit that single."

"Thanks," Bradley said, rapidly throwing everything into his bag, just wanting to get to your house. And then he paused and really looked at Bob. "Holy shit," he mumbled as Bob adjusted his glasses and checked his phone with a smile. Molly must have texted him. Bob was deeply in love with Molly. Bob might perhaps be Bradley's brother-in-law one day.

"See you tomorrow," Bob told him with a nod as he hoisted his gear bag up onto his shoulder. And as he walked to the Bronco, Bradley hoped that Everett would be lucky enough to have Bob as his uncle.

----------------------------

It was late when Bradley got to your house. Everett was already in bed, and you were cleaning up the kitchen and starting to pack lunches for the morning. One more day of work this week, and then you and Everett were both off for Independence Day. And Bradley had invited you to Maverick's hangar for a party and fireworks.

Of course Everett couldn't wait. But that child idolized Bradley.

You heard his key in your front door, and your heart skipped around in your chest. "Hi, Kitten," Bradley whispered, dropping his stuff off next to the stairs. "Is Ev sleeping?" he asked, kissing you softly.

"Probably. I got him in bed about twenty minutes ago."

"I'm gonna go up and check on him," Bradley replied, quietly taking the stairs two at a time. God, you couldn't handle it. Tears filled your eyes. He loved you both, and you wanted him to move in with you in the worst way. But you were just going to have to wait. It would be worth waiting.

You could hear him come back downstairs a moment later with a little frown. "He was already asleep."

You threw your arms around his waist and squeezed him. "You can make him pancakes and drop him off at summer camp tomorrow. If you want to."

"Of course I want to," Bradley murmured against your hair. "I love your son."

You rubbed your cheek against his soft undershirt and melted into his embrace. "He loves you, too. And if you don't let him come watch you pitch next time, he might cry."

"Fuck. No," he groaned. "You know I can't stand the sight of him in tears. Almost rips my fucking heart out."

You laughed softly. "Guess we'll just have to come to your first game. Now, do you want a bedtime snack while you tell me about practice?"

"I sure do," he mumbled, backing you up against the kitchen island. "Let me finish you off? I had you for lunch, and now you can be my snack."

"Okay," you told him, pushing him away a few inches. He looked at you with wide, curious eyes. "Usually I don't allow food in my bed, but if I'm the snack then I suppose it's fine."

Bradley's eyes narrowed as he scooped you up and carried you upstairs. You had to stifle your laughter so you didn't wake Everett up. When Bradley dropped you onto your bed and climbed on top of you, he took your hands in his and kissed along your neck.

"Can we talk about the holiday for a minute?" he asked, and you rolled your eyes a little bit. He'd been asking incessantly about taking you to Maverick's and making sure you didn't have anything else planned for the day.

"Yes, Bradley. But I already told you, Ev and I are free the whole day."

"I wanna take you to the park in the morning," he whispered, his mustache tickling your ear as you enjoyed his delicious body weight. "I want you to see how good Ev is when I pitch to him."

You smiled and wrapped your legs around his hips. "Sounds perfect."

"And then we can head to the party at the hangar. Maverick is setting up a splash pad for the kids," he said, pressing his lips to yours with a grin.

"Are you going in it?" you asked. "You're an overgrown kid."

"Only if you do," he said as you rolled your hips against his. "You should wear that leopard print bathing suit you have."

You gasped and giggled. "The one I wore to the tee ball pool party? At the beginning of the season? When we had our first real kiss?"

"Hell yes," he hissed. "Couldn't stay away from you, Kitten. I was already in love with you."

You kissed him and held him tight. You couldn't pinpoint the moment you fell in love with him, but you knew you'd never be able to stop now.

--------------------------

Wednesday ended up being a rainy day, and everyone in the entire city seemed confused by it. Even Everett was out of sorts when you picked him up from summer camp.

"Is Bradley going to come over and play with us tonight?" he asked, staring out the car window as you drove him through the storm. "I wanted him to take me to the park."

He kept pouting as you told him, "He needed to get some stuff done at his apartment tonight." You wished he could wrap up whatever he needed to do early and come watch a movie instead. But he told you it was important.

"Well can we go over to his apartment?" Ev whined.

It struck you that you'd never once been there. And now you wondered if it looked the way you imagined it. Bradley told you a million times how much cozier your house was than his place, and you just shook your head. Because he could have moved in if he wanted to.

"Not tonight, Ev."

He was silent for the rest of the ride home, plainly annoyed with you for keeping him from Bradley. And then he was pretty quiet as you watched Finding Nemo together for the millionth time. But when you reminded him that tomorrow, if the weather was nice, all three of you were going to the park and then Maverick's party, he perked up.

"Bradley is really excited about the park tomorrow!" Everett said as he climbed into bed. "He's excited to show you something."

"Oh yeah?" you asked, tucking him in while the soft rain hit his window. "What does he want to show me?"

Everett laughed and rolled onto his side. "I can't tell you."

You sighed and kissed his cheek. It was probably something silly or something baseball related. "Well I guess I'll just have to wait then." But he was already starting to doze off, holding onto the stuffed Phanatic.

You were a true San Diegan. All the rain was making you tired. You thrived on sunny days and warm weather. When you went to plug your phone in before bed, you saw a text from Bradley.

Bradley Bradshaw: I can't wait to pick you up in the morning. Give Ev an extra bedtime kiss for me?

You had to laugh, because he seemed to have no concept of what a consistent bedtime for Everett was. You could already tell that if Bradley ever moved in, he and Ev would be outside playing until well after dark all the time, and you'd be the one reeling them in.

When you fell asleep, you slept hard. And you woke up to Everett in your room, climbing up into bed with you. "Mommy, I'm hungry."

It was pretty late, and Bradley was coming over to pick you up for the park, but at least the sun was shining today.

You stretched and pulled your son into a tight hug. "Cereal or eggs?" you asked as he snuggled up with you.

"Cereal," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the blankets. "Are you going to get up and put on makeup and a dress and stuff?"

You laughed and said, "We're just going to the park and then a splash pad party in the desert, Ev. I wasn't planning on getting too dressed up today. Why?"

"You should," he said, wiggling out of bed and running out of your room.

"Okay," you muttered to nobody. And a little while later, you were sipping coffee and eating cereal in your kitchen, still not dressed for the day when Bradley arrived.

"Why do you look so nice?" you asked when he let himself inside. He was wearing a snug fitting red and white golf shirt and chino shorts.

"Do I?" he asked, glancing down at himself as he went right to Ev and kissed his forehead. And you didn't even mind that you always got greeted second. Because when you got your kiss, it was on the lips and had your knees going weak.

"Hi," he whispered as you threaded your fingers through his hair. "I missed you last night."

How on earth did he make you this silly? Your heart was beating faster and your skin felt extra sensitive as he ran his big hand down your arm.

"I missed you, too."

Then he pulled away and looked you up and down. "Why aren't you dressed yet? We have a busy day, Kitten." And you finally went back upstairs to get changed as both of them pushed you out of the kitchen. You could hear them talking softly and laughing as you climbed the stairs.

When you came back down in some denim shorts with a white tank and a sheer white blouse, Bradley smiled at you before leading both of you out to the Bronco. Everett had his gear bag, and when Bradley opened the back tailgate, you saw all of his stuff there too.

"You brought a whole bucket of balls?" you asked, pointing to the bucket tucked behind his bag. "Are you going to make me play catcher for you guys again?"

"Yep," they replied in unison, making you laugh.

"Okay, but you know I'm not very good."

"You're stellar, Kitten. Aces, Baby," Bradley promised as he scooped Everett up and carried him around to his booster seat.

You tended to disagree, but if the two of them really wanted to play ball in the park all day, then you would just chase balls around and cheer them on. The ride to the park was filled with Everett asking Bradley questions, something your son never seemed to tire of. And as always, Bradley answered every single one of them the best he could without getting irritated at all.

At a red light, you reached for his hand and said, "I love you." He responded by stroking your fingers with his thumb as he hummed along to the radio. And soon you were at the park and unloading everything. You watched as the boys both put on their matching Phillies hats and took sips out of a bottle of Gatorade. They had a little routine now, and it melted your heart.

"Ready?" Bradley asked Everett and then you.

"Ready," you replied, carrying the bucket of baseballs for them. You followed them to the same shady area where you had played catcher before. The sun was strong today, but at least it wasn't too hot yet. Being in the shade would help with that.

"Ev, start stretching while I get your mom all set up," Bradley said, reaching into his bag and pulling out his catcher's mask and mitt.

"Hey," you said with a smile. "I remembered it's a mitt and not a glove!" you said, and Bradley pulled you tight to him for a kiss.

He hummed against your lips as he ran his empty hand down your back to squeeze your butt. "It's going to be important that you know these things, because Ev and I are going to be on this baseball shit forever now. We're about to get annoying as hell, Kitten."

"I don't mind," you said, looking up into his brown eyes that were always so sincere. "Please, annoy the shit out of me forever."

The smile that took over his face had you giggling while Everett ran around you in circles doing his own definition of warming up. Then Bradley mumbled, "Gotta keep this pretty face safe," while he fitted the catcher's mask around the back of your head. He slipped the too large mitt on your hand and kissed your neck. "All set now."

"Can we do it yet?" Ev asked, slowing his run down and picking up his bat. "Please?"

"Yeah, kiddo," Bradley replied, turning both of their hats backwards. "We can do it."

You eased yourself down into the uncomfortable position to catch the baseballs for them. But Everett was hitting most of them, which made your job kind of pointless. Bradley was telling Ev what each pitch was going to be before he threw it.

"Here comes a slider," he called out, and you watched your boyfriend's muscles tense up deliciously before he threw a pitch right to Everett. Your son hit it up in the air and Bradley caught it. "Pretty good! Let's try another slider." Then he threw the same pitch again, and Everett hit it over Bradley's head.

"I can't believe you're this good, Ev," you praised, because truly you could not. It was impressive the way he hit Bradley's fastball and curveball as well. You knew Bradley wasn't pitching hard or fast, but he was still pitching to Everett. And your seven year old son was hitting almost all of them.

"Okay, kiddo," Bradley called out. "This one is the special pitch I've been working on. Are you ready for it?"

"Ready, Coach!" Everett called out in excitement. He turned and looked at you with a smile before he returned to his batting stance, and you made sure you were all set, too.

You weren't sure what kind of pitch was a special pitch, and Bradley was really taking his time getting ready to throw it. He kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He looked a little nervous, but you didn't know why. It wasn't like you and Ev were going to tell him he did a bad job of throwing a new pitch he was working on. Honestly, you were excited to see it.

When he finally took a deep breath, he met your eyes before winding up to throw it. The ball sailed right to your mitt, and you caught it cleanly. Everett didn't swing at it, and now he was looking at you with his bat hanging down at his side. When you looked up at Bradley, he was staring at you. Then you noticed that the ball was more red than white as you dumped it out of the mitt and into your empty hand.

"What is this?" you mumbled, turning it around in your hand. It was covered in little red hearts that looked like they had been drawn on with a sharpie, and there was something written in Bradley's handwriting.

Will you marry me?

You gasped and looked up at Bradley, but now he was down on one knee with his glove on the grass next to him. Everett was bouncing around next to you as you read the ball again. "Mommy?" he asked quietly, and you looked up at his eager face.

Heart racing, you stood up and shook the mitt off your hand as you looked toward Bradley. You yanked the mask off your head as you ran toward him shouting, "Are you serious?"

His smile looked a little unsure as you tackled him onto the grass and straddled his waist. His Phillies cap rolled away as you looked down into his perfect face.

"Well? Will you marry me, Kitten?" He held up a diamond ring as you kissed him and started crying.

"Yes. I'll marry you." Your voice was shaky and filled with tears, but you were so happy as you cried and kissed him.

"She said yes, kiddo!" Bradley shouted to Everett when you buried your face against his neck. And you realized they had both been planning this together which just made you cry more.

"Yes! It worked!" Everett screamed, and a few seconds later, Bradley was holding both of you on top of him in the grass, alternating between kissing your lips and Everett's forehead.

You were still clutching the baseball in your right hand as Bradley put the ring on your left finger. It was a little big, but it was beautiful. "It looks like a baseball," you said as he grinned.

"That's why we picked that one!" Everett informed you, looking happier than you'd ever seen him.

And then Bradley kissed your finger and whispered, "I'm going to love both of you forever."

-----------------------------

He did it! He asked her! Love how happy Ev is! Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 26

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

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luciferism · 6 months

Text

[ "Symphony of Love & Desire" ]

Malleus x GN!Reader

Summary: It was Malleus' birthday and a party was being held at the Diasomnia dormitory. The formalities and main event of the party was done. You, Malleus' classmate and close friend, was pushed by your peers to sing a song requested by the band for further tonight's entertainment. You agreed to sing the song after a brief musing.

Tags: 18+, one shot smut, eventual smut, birthday fic (sort of), lots of kissing because I love it, porn with feelings, power play, dom/sub, slight degradation, hickeys, rough sex, pwp, creampie, multiple orgasm, brief oral sex (receiving)

A/N: I certainly have a type and Malleus is one of the addition. Yes, I'm now diving with my non-existent cock first at the LEGAL twst boys—especially Malleus. Also yes, I'm posting about another character's birthday instead of my side chick: Idia Shroud.

Word Count: 10.3K

[ Masterlist ] | [ Archive of Our Own ]

Malleus Draconia, the birthday celebrant, was seated at a table in the center of the dorm’s lounge. He looked even more stunning and regal in his white dress suit—a common outfit worn by birthday celebrants at the Night Raven College—that exquisitely hugged his tall figure and mesomorphic physique. He enjoyed the sights, sounds, and smells of the festivities.

The party was nearly over, most of the important affairs having been done, most of the guests gone already and those left were enjoying the last dregs of conversation and food. The main banquet hall had been cleaned up after the main course had been served. It was a splendid feast, with roasted meats, baked sides, and an array of soups and salads. After that, there was a delightful dessert course, featuring a variety of chocolate, baked, and creamy delicacies.

You stepped through the ornate double doors of the large lounge where the party was currently being held. The band at the front of the room had begun to play a slow, melodic song. The lights dimmed for a moment, before coming up bright again as a spotlight shined on you. Everyone's eyes were on you now, and the room waited with breathless anticipation.

You took to the stage before the crowd. You were dressed accordingly and you looked composed as you clutched the microphone stand. With a deep breath, you allowed your eyes to adjust to the sudden change in lighting before moving forward. You had been pushed into a role of prominence that you were far from comfortable with, but you let yourself loose for the night.

Malleus had remained the majority of the evening in his seat, content with observing the room and taking note of any little tidbit that may interest him. The band had continued their soft, slow melody, setting the perfect atmosphere for your announcement.

As the first cheers of support came from around the room, Malleus also began to applaud in support. He was just as entertained by this yearly ritual as any other, even if you did not always seem to be in the best spirits.

"Sing it loud!" He was heard to say, and the room followed his example.

Inwardly cursing yourself for falling victim to peer pressure, you took your place on the stage that had been set up. Your dread was not evident in your confident stance and easy demeanor. Your voice cut through the chatter when you lifted the microphone and called for silence.

"My gentlefolk. You know who I am, and what I am here to do, of course. As tradition dictates, this evening is to be entertaining and memorable, as I have the honor of providing this night's entertainment."

You scan the coagulation of students and some teachers then spot your gaze upon your peers that pushed you on the stage at the side—cheering you on. You shake your head as a faint smile appears on your lips.

You took a deep breath when the band started to play the intro of the song that they have requested for you to sing. Some students of the crowd clapped when they recognized the instrumental intro of the song. Surely, you wonder about their song choice. Nevertheless, you know the song by heart and it seemed there was no room for negotiation for this one.

As you kept singing, you found yourself enjoying the act; and Malleus kept watching, paying extra close attention to you now. Every lyric sung and every note hit with precision and beauty. The first lines of verses were sung with the full support of the room, which sent Malleus' spirits soaring.

Even with Malleus still in his seat, he leaned in closer, his eyes glued on you as you sang. A light sweat broke out on his forehead despite how well climate controlled the room was, and he took a few quick breaths to compose himself, though this did little to help his attraction towards you.

You looked at the crowd again with a smile on your face, your eyes moving over each and every person there. Your voice was sweet and smooth, your delivery was almost perfect and… sensuous as Malleus would interpret it. For all your unassuming manner, your presence was strong and striking as you stood and moved in front of that audience.

Malleus' eyes had remained on you from the very start, and he felt as if he had been hypnotized in place by your voice. He felt like a teen boy again, his face still a slight tint of rosy, his attention focused on you. He took deep breaths, but his heart began to beat a bit faster. His eyes followed every movement of your lips, every expression that crossed your face.

As you began to sing the climax of the song, Malleus could not help but become completely enamored with the way your body and movement expressed the emotions of the song. Each motion, each word said it all; that this was no longer a performance, but something more personal.

Malleus was breathing quite heavily, and a fine sheen of glisten covered his face now, feeling his heart beat faster and harder than he had felt in years. He stared at you, eyes glued to every breath, every blink, every motion. In a moment of weakness, he even licked his lips before he realized what he was doing. Every word that came from your lips felt like a dagger to his heart, though they were quite beautiful.

You took a deep breath as the song reached its final chorus, your wandering eyes watched the crowd and your eyes met with Malleus'; and you both shared a knowing expression. Your eyes remained locked with each other, and you could feel Malleus' eyes on you as well. Not an ounce of your feelings were left to interpretation.

Malleus' breath was caught in his throat and he watched you with an almost trance-like state. As you finished the song, your eyes still remained locked, and the room seemed to disappear as Malleus remained focused entirely on you. The final chorus brought him closer and closer to the ledge of madness, as a wave of heat and excitement covered him. He licked his lips again, it is as if this entire song was written by you and with him as the subject.

Malleus felt his fingers curling as he resisted the urge to grab you by the collar or brush his fingers through your hair. The song had him in a sort of ecstasy, having played on his emotions in a way he never expected possible. The emotions played in a symphony of his senses, and it was all he could do to remain seated.

You remained staring at Malleus with the same warm, slightly mischievous smile on your face that you wore since the beginning of your singing. As you had been in the center of the crowd, you now felt Malleus' eyes on you as you shared a moment of silence.

"Thank you gentlemen, I hope you were entertained by my performance for our dear Malleus' birthday."

You held Malleus' gaze for a few seconds longer than was comfortable, and then you turned away and greeted a cheering audience with a bow, your smile never breaking. You walked off the stage to a raucous applause, your face still slightly flushed with effort and excitement.

Malleus could feel his heartbeat out of his chest, his emotions a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. He could not even hide his blush, nor turn his eyes away from your figure as you walked off stage with grace.

He remained seated for just a moment, taking deep breaths and hoping that you could not see just how excited he was at the song performance. Malleus could have sworn that you had planned for this show, and if you did, it was the most clever, well executed act of seduction Malleus had ever seen.

He took a moment to compose himself, but the images of you and the chorus kept playing in his mind. He was surprised to see how many members of the audience had their phones out and were recording the moment. Malleus took a deep breath once again and recollected himself as best he could, wanting to catch up with you before you left.

Malleus waited a few minutes, knowing that you had been performing on stage and probably needed to catch your breath and collect yourself. When he started making his way through the crowd, he spotted you off to the side in an empty hallway.

He made his way towards you, his heart beating so loudly he thought that it would give away his approach. When he finally reached the corner, he rounded the wall and saw you standing by yourself with your arms behind your back, eyes glued on the dark gothic paintings plastered on the walls.

Malleus took a deep breath and walked over, clearing his throat slightly as he approached. He hesitated for a moment, trying to decide whether to tell you how he truly felt. He took a deep breath and spoke.

"I have never... I have never heard someone sing like you do," his words were quiet, his tone soft and reserved. He could feel himself beginning to blush again.

"That... that song, you really sang it. You performed it perfectly, and I can't thank you enough. I have never been so... so mesmerized, so completely captivated by a song like that. Your voice…”

You turned at the sound of Malleus' voice and smiled at him, taking a moment to look the man up and down. The look that passed between the two of you was a telling one, and it was quite obvious that you both knew what was going on.

"Well, thank you for your words of appreciation, Malleus," you began to walk over to Malleus, hands still behind your back.

"I only did what I think would entertain me and the audience as well."

Your expression was that of interest, a sly and playful smile spreading out across your face as you began to take in the well-crafted suit and the handsome face of your friend. You also caught the light blush that was creeping towards Malleus' cheeks, and the way his breathing hitched ever so slightly. The man's expression was one of subtle excitement and eager anticipation.

Malleus met your gaze as he approached, his face flushing brighter with each moment. You might have been the most attractive person Malleus had ever met, as he would now admit despite the two of you being quite closer than he is to most people; and it was quite obvious that he was just as captivated by your figure as he had been by your impromptu performance.

As you drew closer, Malleus took a deep breath and stood up straight, trying to maintain some composure despite the overwhelming emotions washing over him. He placed his hands together and looked away from you for a moment before looking back again.

"I... I wanted to say.”

Malleus let out a nervous chuckle—which is a far cry from his normal disposition—feeling your presence like a warm glow around him as your eyes remained locked. You had a way of making him feel nervous and excited in all the right ways.

"I... It was... that song hit a chord with me that... I don't think I've felt that way in ages. And the way you sang it... I have had that song on a loop in my head for days, but the way you sang..."

He took a breath and tried to calm himself, "You're... magnificent.”

You smiled, eyes remaining locked with Malleus'. You took a small step closer, leaning in and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Magnificent am I? My performance must have really hit a chord then, to make you say something so... intimate about it. I am pleased I was able to please you so, Malleus."

You leaned in just a bit closer as you looked up at Malleus' unequivocally attractive features, a slight smile graced your lips.

"And I suppose I should also thank you for being such a fantastic classmate and a friend." You gave Malleus a light wink, the two of you smiling back and forth before Malleus looked away, his face still a bit flushed.

Your eyes twinkled, your smile growing and your gaze still lingering for a moment before you tilted your head upwards and pressed your lips against Malleus' own in a slow and gentle kiss.

Malleus was absolutely caught off guard by the sudden kiss, caught completely in the whirlwind of your lips. It was the most romantic thing anyone had done for him. Malleus felt lightheaded, feeling his body tremble as his body grew more flushed.

The moment was surreal, and so many emotions crashed and flooded through you at once. You could feel your feet leave the floor as your lips pressed against his own, his arms wrapped around you as you both relished in the moment. Malleus felt as if time stood still, and for a moment everything else in the world just faded away. His mind was filled with a mix of elation and confusion as his heart raced at the sheer excitement of the moment.

It was so tender and gentle, but every inch of it said "I have wanted this for a while".

Malleus had to bite his bottom lip to prevent a moan from escaping him. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, and he felt completely and wholly weak. He wanted to kiss you for a long time, and he never knew how your first kiss together would feel so wonderful.

You held Malleus gently as the kiss lingered for just a moment, though to you it felt like hours. You felt yourself begin to puff, not from the act of kissing but from the pure emotion coursing through you. Malleus was more than a friend to you, more than an intimidating figure to fear, he was someone who you could not help but admire and adore.

You could feel Malleus' body tense, yet there was a warmth and ease that could bring him comfort and make him melt in your grasp. You could feel Malleus' heart pounding against his chest, and he wrapped his other arm around your waist as the kiss lingered for another moment.

Sooner, you felt Malleus' hands grip your neck and shoulder, your chest heaving with your breathing and your heart racing. You could feel the way that Malleus felt you, wanted you... it was as if you were in a dream.

You pulled away from the kiss, your hand cradling Malleus' jaw, your thumb slowly stroking over his lips. You stayed close to Malleus, still looking up at him, your eyes peering deeply into the fae's soul.

"Did you enjoy your birthday present, Malleus?”

Malleus stood there, staring into your eyes as his mind and heart were still racing. For a moment, the only sound that Malleus could hear was his heart beating, pounding so hard it felt like his chest might explode.

"I... I don't think I could have ever imagined such a... perfect gift. I... I just..."

Malleus looked down at the ground as he tried to collect himself. Then, he finally got the nerve to look down directly at you. He still felt utterly weak in your presence, and you had only seemed to grow more stunning since the kiss. It was as if you were a perfect figure, every movement a dance, every look an enticement.

"Yes, I enjoyed it more than I have ever thought possible." Malleus gave you a brief, but passionate kiss. His heart was racing and his breath was short as he stepped back. He wanted to taste your lips again and he knew that he was in too deep now.

You let the kiss linger for a moment, gently leaning your head toward Malleus. When Malleus pulled away, you smiled and nodded, your expression one of understanding and appreciation. You could see the passion in Malleus' eyes, and you knew just how smitten the man was.

Just then, your eyes sparkled with a deep sense of playfulness and mischief, your hand that was still resting on Malleus' jaw went to Malleus' collar. With a light chuckle, you leaned your head upwards once more and pressed your lips to Malleus'; and your other hand pulled the back of Malleus' head, as your lips chafing onto his.

After what felt like hours of lips pressing in the most tender graze, you begrudgingly pulled away for breath.

"I love you, Malleus. I've been wanting to tell you that for a while now," you said with sincerity as your emotions poured out in the open for Malleus.

It was a long time coming and you were given the perfect opportunity to confess the love you felt for the few years you had known together.

Malleus was speechless, his heart racing to a point where he thought it might explode. The kiss was tender, sweet, and his desire to kiss you one more time was intoxicating. Malleus felt his heart ache from the separation, his very soul wanting to join with you, and he knew that if he did not make a move quickly he would regret it.

Malleus wrapped both hands around the back of your head and pulled you back to himself. He leaned in with no hesitation and pressed his lips to yours once more.

The kiss became more deep, slow, and completely immersive. Malleus' emotions had taken full control over him as he kissed you with a passion and love he had never felt before. Malleus pressed against you, his arms sliding under your shirt and his hands rubbing your back and shoulders; and you could hear the faint rustling of your clothes. He took the initiative of this kiss, wanting to take everything he could from you and give him everything back in turn. He wanted to give you every ounce of his body, to show you just how much he cared.

When you felt Malleus take control of the kiss, your eyes flickered open in surprise. You had never experienced anyone quite so assertive and bold, and it made you feel almost like a younger teen that had their first crush touch their hand for the first time all over again—your legs growing weak and your body quaking. You had to hold on tight to Malleus to keep yourself grounded, your mind swimming so much that you couldn't put words to your feelings.

Malleus held onto you as tight as he possibly could, his hot breath wafting on your face as his heart pounded like thunder. He was completely and unequivocally in love, and there was nothing that he wanted more than to feel your lips upon his forever. The entire world could fall to disarray, and Malleus would still keep his hold strong over the person he had fallen for.

When it finally ended, you were breathless, the passion of the kiss and the heat that it brought with it being almost more than you could bear. As your eyes slowly opened you felt Malleus' hands rub your back, his arms sliding underneath your shirt as he pressed his hand against your chest, his body pressed against yours as tight as he could.

You knew Malleus' intentions and your heart felt like it would jump out of your chest and bid you goodbye.

Your throat imperceptibly bobbed and spoke in a hushed tone, "Take me where nobody can see and disturb us."

Malleus pulled you close to him as he felt your legs giving way underneath him. Every inch of your body pressed against Malleus', and the feeling of your warm body pressed against his own felt better than any drug.

He didn't hesitate the moment you asked to be taken somewhere private, his arms wrapped around you as he lifted you off the floor. His lips pressed against your ear and he whispered seductively.

"Hold on tight."

Malleus was already in the process of pulling you to a secluded corner of an empty hallway, far away from the event and away from the crowded lounge. The corners were dark and empty as he carried you close around the corner, his hands occupied with your body. Malleus' expression was of excitement and passion, and his voice was deep and heavy as he spoke.

"You have no idea how much I have wanted you.” Malleus' heart was racing, his body practically buzzing with excitement. The moment had finally come, and he was going to cherish it to its fullest extent.

Your hands were wrapped around his neck, and Malleus felt your head pressed into the crook of his neck as he held you to his chest. You made your way to his room, where nobody was nearby, the door was locked, and the mood was intimate and exciting.

Malleus leaned against the wall, pressing you against it. Malleus' free arm and hand slid down your back and down your hip, his fingers brushing against the fabric and tracing the figure beneath. His other hand stayed wrapped around the back of your head, holding you against the wall as he slowly kissed you more and more. The kiss was aggressive and Malleus was finally taking what he wanted. Malleus' mouth was a warm, deep, and tender caress as it played over your mouth and chin and cheek.

Malleus finally broke your lips apart. Your eyes locked upon one another as your hearts raced and your breath was heavy, and then Malleus' fingers wandered over your shirt and he began to slowly unbutton it. He moved slowly, his hands touching your body in all the right places as he whispered seductively.

"Take a deep breath my dear, for things are about to become... quite intense.”

You had the greatest difficulty in taking a deep breath when Malleus' fingers started to unbutton your shirt. You watched the man's lithe fingers work their way over the fabric of your shirt, and your body felt like it had been set ablaze.

"Mm... Malleus..." your voice trembled just a little as you spoke.

You had never felt someone take such control over the situation, it was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. Your voice was breathy, and you could feel your mind trapped in a haze as the excitement only grew and grew.

Your breath went in and out in short bursts of air and your very soul practically boiling under Malleus' attention. The man before you was the epitome of power and status, your ideal of success, and you were utterly intoxicated under his touch.

"Whatever you want, Malleus, take it. I'll be yours."

This had been your dream for the longest time, and now it was going to be made a reality.

Malleus smiled as he continued to slowly unbutton your shirt. His hands felt the warm skin beneath, feeling the muscles contract and loosen as his breath caressed your neck. As the buttons of your shirt were fully undone, Malleus slid the shirt off of your body and leaned down to lightly brush his lips against your collarbone.

Malleus slipped his arms around your waist, his warm breath hitting your skin as he whispered seductively, "There is something I would very much like to do to you, my dear.”

Malleus' lips pressed back against your collarbone, his warm breath gently caressing your skin. His hands ran over your back and sides, his fingers rubbing and caressing the figure of your body while his lips began to work their way down your chest. His warm breath continued to hit your skin with each exhalation, and his hands kept moving over your body.

Malleus' lips kept on softly brushing against your skin, his hands gripping your hip as he leaned down to your ear. Your breath was ragged, and Malleus' voice had the distinct sound of dominance about it. His voice was deep and rich, and the words were slow and deliberate.

"I would very much like... to kiss... all of the parts of your body... inch by inch." Malleus slowly slid your pants down, his lips still caressing your neck as he spoke in a whisper.

Malleus paused, his lips still against your neck. The man was flushed with adrenaline, his muscles tense as his body practically vibrated with the heat that grew within.

"May I?" Malleus' breathing was short, and his body quivered with the anticipation of what he wanted to do next. His grip on you tightened as his lips slipped away and he looked directly into your eyes. Malleus looked like a hunter, and he was about to take his prize.

You couldn't contain yourself and the response was already bubbling to the surface. You were practically a bundle of raw nerves and anticipation, and the voice you heard was like that of honey on your ears.

"Please... yes... do it. Please, I want every inch of your lips on my body," you sounded desperate, your breathing ragged and your voice shaking with the intensity of the moment. It wasn't just a thought or a desire for you, it was a need, a hunger that could only be sated in this moment by Malleus.

Malleus gently kissed your neck, his lips and the breath from his words caressing your skin and you felt like your skin was burning in every kiss. Your pants were down to your ankles in another moment, and your eyes were focused on Malleus, locked onto the fae's eyes.

The atmosphere was filled with a charged tension, and Malleus could feel your eyes exploring him as well. His fingers brushed across your body as he leaned over you, his lips pressed once again on your neck. His kisses were driving you insane. You wanted the man to take you, to explore every inch of you, and to make you his entirely.

"Please, don't just say it, Malleus, do it," the words were soft and breathless, a plea from you to your friend, now lover.

This was real, you could feel it with the touch and the words of the man looming before you. Your skin continued to burn, and your legs were weak from the excitement and the passion. Your eyes flickered open and the words in your mind left your lips.

"Take what you wish, my love. I am yours." Your expression changed to one of quiet desperation, as if the very words came from your soul itself.

"Love." Malleus spoke the word as if it were honey in his mouth. Malleus leaned over you, his eyes and lips locked on yours, and he was enjoying watching your reactions. He breathed it, whispered it, and let the word linger as his lips moved down your neck, his teeth slightly biting down, and his tongue softly tasting your skin. His hands moving to your hips and holding you.

There was no more time for games, and now it was time for passion.

Slowly, Malleus took off his suit jacket and threw it onto a nearby chair. The two of you were inside his dorm room, and there was something romantic about getting close to the person he wanted so badly and finally having you all alone. Malleus' own breath was coming in short and heavy puffs as his eyes feasted on your mess of a quivering naked body.

Your eyes widened and blushed as Malleus took off his jacket and threw it onto the chair. Your breath came in short puffs, and your heart raced in your chest. Your every nerve and muscle aches for Malleus to do to you what you both had been waiting for. You saw the fae prince in a different light, and it was more intense and intoxicating than you could ever have imagined.

You felt like you were dreaming, your eyes staring up at Malleus as he went topless. His body was hot, his flesh was warm, and his skin was tingling with desire. Malleus' touch was both tender and rough, as if he was being gentle whilst preparing to pounce on you, and you let out a soft moan as the man’s hands touched you.

Every inch of your flesh tingled as Malleus touched you and his breath drifted across your skin like a fine mist. You wanted nothing more than to lose yourself in the moment, to forget that you were inside Malleus’ dorm room and give your heart over the man that was making your soul sing.

Malleus moved slowly, his eyes locked on yours as his lips found their target. He kissed you slowly, intimately, in a way that showed that your moment together was not one based on lust or obsession but on a desire for something much deeper and more meaningful.

Malleus pulled you close, and his arms came around you. Malleus' tongue darted around your jaw to your ear, and your own breath was coming in short and heavy gasps as you felt the fire between them grow once more.

Malleus' fingers slowly traced the outline of your body as he kissed you more. His lips danced across your abdomen and further down your hips. Your pants were down to your ankles, and Malleus was feeling your leg shake.

He kissed your thigh as he spoke. "I cannot wait any longer.”

You found yourself unable to speak, your body reacting to the man before you and your desires overwhelming your words. You wanted to scream out in pleasure and passion. Your body was burning hot from Malleus' touch, and your own hands were slowly stroking the man's back.

"Then... take me," you whispered, your words soft and breathy. "I'm yours... in every way."

The word seemed to come from your soul itself, and you let your arms fall limp. You felt like you couldn't hold yourself up any longer. The touch in Malleus' hands and tongue both drove you crazy as you felt your control over yourself fading fast.

Malleus slowly kissed his way up once again to your stomach, and your eyes were shut tight as you felt the heat increase; and your own hands were trembling as you felt everything about your senses heightened.

There was no time for games, and no time for play. The two of you wanted each other and it was time to finally be together. Malleus slowly lifted your legs, and your fingers were biting into the mortars of the wall behind you.

"You are mine and I am yours." Malleus' voice was a husky whisper, and his voice was filled with a passion and excitement he had never been able to express or feel before.

Malleus brushed one hand over your crotch as you stood weakly on your feet, making your back pressed and rubbed against the concrete wall. Your body was twitching. It sounded and looked like your breath was escaping in short and shallow puffs like an untended fire, your eyes fluttering and closing just to open wide and stare into Malleus' own.

You felt it building up inside, this deep craving and desire that you felt only grew the longer it remained unfulfilled. Your skin felt like it was ablaze, you could feel it burning under Malleus' tongue and lips.

"More... please," your voice was soft, and his breathing was loud.

"Malleus..." you whispered once again, your voice laced with lust and a desire for more. You were almost speechless, and your head was rolling back against the wall and you mustered all of your strength to stay standing on your feet.

Malleus stood slowly, his hand sliding over your ass and down your leg as he smiled. He took the moment to enjoy the situation and the person he had his attention on. Malleus' hand slowly rubbed and teased along the inside of your thighs, and both of you were heavily breathing.

Malleus watched you and your reactions carefully, noting every small change, every twitch and movement, every look and sound you made. It was a heady feeling, knowing he was having this much effect on you, but it was also exciting. The way he felt for you was exciting, and making a person as wonderful and put together as you responded to him so readily was a source of pride.

His own hands gripped your hips tightly, as if he was going to lift you up and take you right there while you both are pressed against the wall. There was something about you that drew him like a moth to a flame, something about you that made him feel like the chase was worth it. Malleus took his time and savored every touch, every moment, every word.

Malleus brought his lips back up to your face and your eyes met once more. Malleus could feel the heat of the passion coursing through your flesh, and he could practically feel the need and want, the craving for more. He wanted to take you right here, right now, for the moment was perfect and he felt it. He wanted you, and he wanted you so desperately.

"Do you want more?" Malleus' voice was gentle and filled with love.

"Yes, please... don't stop..." Your voice was little more than a grunt, but it had the effect you desired.

Your fingers dug into the wall behind, as if trying to stay standing and Malleus' hands clutching your waist to support you. You were practically shivering and your legs were parted by Malleus' thigh. You could barely think straight, let alone speak coherently.

"You want me." Malleus' voice was a husky whisper as he spoke the words. Malleus could feel your need for him, and he felt the hunger you had for him inside his very skin. The kiss was growing deeper, and suddenly, you could feel the man's hand sliding down your spine slowly, his fingers tracing over your skin, exploring and seeking for even more pleasure.

Malleus watched you fall apart in front of him and he had never felt more excited. You were his prey, and you were now a captive to Malleus. Malleus was so excited, he could hardly keep himself from biting your flesh, but he knew better. Your flesh was delicate and he loved you, and it would take great force of will not to tear you to pieces while the hunger for you built inside him.

"I want you." Malleus' voice was filled with desire to consume you whole.

And so, he did. He lifted you up and gently placed you on his bed as if you were a precious cargo; then he swiftly removed the dangling undergarments from your ankles.

He pushed you back so that you were lying on the mattress, and he let his lips explore your body once again. He kissed your chest over and over, his lips trailing down along the line of your abdomen then back up your chest—licking and nibbling the puckered nipples. He kissed your neck with long slow kisses, and then his lips moved up to your right ear and slowly moved down to your left jaw, kissing every inch of skin along the way.

"Malleus... please... " you whispered softly, your eyes fluttering in a daze.

Malleus took one look at your body and he felt his passion and his hunger build and he was finally hungry enough to take you and not even be subtle about it.

Malleus' own pants were quickly undone and set to the side of the bed. There was the sound of passion in the room, the sound of breathing and the rustling of clothes being shed. Your body was a marvel to Malleus and he took his time in admiring it.

"What a sight to behold." Malleus' voice was a whisper as he looked over your body, and then Malleus' lips and tongue made their way back to your ear. "Such a prize, to have in my hands.”

You were a mass of quivering hips, aching muscles, twitching fingers, and shallow breaths. You were trembling, shaking, and so much more as you let Malleus have his way with you.

You were a whirlwind of excitement and you were so far in over your head, you couldn't believe you hadn't both drowned. Your breath was shallow, your eyes flutter and unfocused as you let every sensation wash over you. Malleus' body and voice and words were a spell that you had just fallen under and you were utterly powerless to break it.

"Malleus... I need you..." you whispered, letting out a small gasp.

"Please..." You begged once more and spread your thighs a bit wider, your feet planted on the soft sheets of Malleus’ bed.

"Shhhhhh..." Malleus' voice was a husky whisper as he finally gave in to his own hunger.

He kissed your belly, licking and swirling his tongue along your flesh as he spread your legs even more, his tongue moving deeper down your body and his touch finally finding the place he was desperate to find.

You could feel your body shaking and you couldn't stop it. Your breath hitched and your body was tingling from head to toe as Malleus laps the flesh between your legs. And yet, Malleus felt no pity or concern for you. All he felt was excitement and hunger.

"Oh, Malleus..." your voice broke as Malleus gave in to his own passion.

Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as if to keep from being pulled deeper into the experience. Malleus' tongue and lips worked over your genitalia with abandon, pushing you further and further over the edge until you could do nothing but let go and let Malleus have what he wanted.

As the pleasure perpetually cascaded along your flesh, your hands mustered the dregs of your strength and grabbed Malleus' hair and pulled him back to your face. You wanted nothing more than to feel Malleus inside you like you had never wanted anything your entire life.

"I need you, I want you inside me." You grunted from the pain and pleasure as your flesh grew more aroused and screamed for more intense stimulation.

Malleus made a husky, excited sound as your hands grabbed his hair and pulled him back up. His lips were wet and sloppy from the kisses and licks he just gave you and he was quite visibly shivering now. The moment was pure heaven, and he was desperate to claim what was rightfully his and to make this moment last.

He climbed on top of you whilst spreading your legs. He held your shoulders and your arms, pushing his body down, and making sure that the two of you were close together. You had nowhere to go, no way to escape.

"You want me to take you?" Malleus almost growled the words, his voice a deep husk, and his fangs glistened against the dim lights of his room.

Malleus leaned in closer to your face as he lifted your right leg off the mattress. There was an unspoken question in his eyes, and you could see the hunger in his gaze for him.

"Tell me... " Malleus whispered the words, his voice full of desire and hunger.

You were trembling all over but you didn't feel cold at all. You felt hot like your skin was set ablaze by Malleus’ touch.

"I'm more than ready." Your voice was a breathless sigh as you looked up at Malleus.

Your genitalia was leaking with your slick from all the stimulation. You were a mess. Your hair was a mess and you were a mess of feelings too. You were ready to give yourself to Malleus, and there was no fear in that choice. It was the right thing, the only thing, that you needed right now.

"Yes," you whispered with your voice quivering in his excitement. "Oh my… god..." You let out a heavy sigh before you spoke again, "Please... please!“

Malleus was grinning as you whispered the words, as if it was the hottest, most seductive thing he had ever heard. He was a proud man, and to hear his prize say these things about him made his day.

Malleus let your legs move closer together, and his right thigh moved in between your own, slowly spreading you open wider before him. He saw the hunger in your eyes, and he saw the need in your face. He saw you open to him as you lay on his bed and begged for what you wanted.

"Good…" Malleus' voice was filled with delight. He leaned down atop your body and grabbed you by the hips, sliding his body closer to yours. His mouth slid to your ear, and his tongue was teasing one of your sensitive ears as his hand caressed your thighs.

"Ready, dear…” His eyes met yours, and the two of you looked at each other, both desperate for more after this long moment of longing. Malleus licked his lips and his smile was mischievous and cruel.

You gasped and shuddered as Malleus teased your ear, your eyes fluttering, your face flushed pink as you tried to stay in control, but you knew that there was no way he would last much longer.

"Yes! Yes, oh my god yes! Please take me. I want you, I NEED you, and I'm ready!" you were desperate, you couldn't wait another minute.

Your body was shaking with nervous excitement, and there was no fear in you, just pure, unadulterated need. You heard your own breath coming in shallow heaves, and you felt your own body's hunger as you watched Malleus move towards your entrance. You can feel Malleus' tip hitting and rubbing your pulsing core ever so slightly.

“I want you as well…” Malleus' voice was a husky whisper, his teeth gritted and his tongue working the edges of his mouth as he spoke to you. His eyes were heavy as he puffed, his warm breath hitting your skin as his desire for you grew with each word that left his lips.

You were right where he wanted you, completely vulnerable, totally exposed, completely open to him. Malleus' hands and feet slid around you, as his tongue worked over your neck, chest and arms. He was completely and utterly prepared to take everything you had to offer...

Malleus leaned closer to you once more until you were chest to chest, as his hand left your thighs and moved up your body to grip your waist. His mouth stayed glued to your ear, and he whispered softly in your ear as his body slowly slipped overtop of yours. He made sure to keep his eyes on you, his gaze firm and dominant, with a hint of desire in its glint.

"I know," he growled softly as he felt you shake with excitement. "Hold onto me... “

Your answer was a groan, a loud, lustful moan as Malleus moved over your body. Your eyes closed tightly as your body quivered, trying to contain yourself. You could feel Malleus' body against yours, and your own stomach churning with gleeful anticipation.

"Oh... oh Sevens, I..." your voice trailed off.

A loud gasp escaped your lips as Malleus’ tip started to push inside. Your eyes shut closed, all your attention was poured into the sensation of Malleus' shaft tearing its way inside you and stretching your flesh.

Malleus' mouth was right in front of your ear as he whispered to you. "You're mine, you… are completely mine."

And with a slow motion, with the speed of moving glaciers, Malleus started to thrust deliberately inside your walls.

He moved with determination and a cold hunger, for he knew how close you were to being his. He knew how much you wanted him and he knew it was only a matter of time. It was time to end this, to put the finishing touches on the perfect night.

"Hold onto me..." Malleus' command rang out once more, and his voice was a growl as he made himself clear.

He was in charge and you would know it. Malleus did not want to hurt you and he did not mean to hurt you. But, it was part of the game, and you would be fine by the end. Malleus let his movements be measured and slow for the first few seconds as he eased himself in, and then he slowly increased his pace. He wanted you to feel it, to feel every inch and every moment.

You were breathless, completely frozen in shock as Malleus claimed you in the most intimate way possible. Malleus was right on top of you, his manhood pumping fast and deep inside you, and you were helpless.

You tried to keep yourself together, but you were completely under Malleus' power and it seemed Malleus was in no rush at all to finish. Malleus moved with a confidence that matched the hunger in his eyes and the cold, dominant gaze he was giving you.

You let your hands move to Malleus' shoulders as you gasped out in the final act of surrender.

"I won't run away so claim me as your own," your words were punctuated with a low moan.

Your body shook involuntarily and your legs slowly spread even further apart to make sure that Malleus was able to move his hips faster and deeper. You let your mind go and you let his body take over. You were Malleus’, completely.

That moment of surrender was exactly what Malleus needed. He moved slower now, but his eyes never drifted off of you. He pushed his shaft fully inside you, and he stayed there for a beat, just to let you feel the force of his presence.

"I claim you," Malleus' words were a whisper, but there was no doubt as to their meaning or to his intention. After the man spoke, his hands began to slide back up your body, and his mouth was going to explore every inch of your neck.

Malleus moved slowly, but it was a steady rhythm. He was completely in control of the situation, and of you, and he was certainly going to take advantage of that situation. He wanted to enjoy every moment of this experience, and he wanted you to enjoy it as well.

You can see Malleus' face tightened as you shifted your body underneath him. You accepted the gift, and welcomed Malleus into you by bucking your hips against the fae’s. Malleus' body was moving with a slow and consistent pace, giving you enough to feel it, to build the intensity of the moment, each moment and every inch of it.

"Right there! Ah..." You whimpered breathlessly as Malleus' tip hit a sensitive spot inside your flesh despite the deliberate and tender thrusts of his hips.

Malleus' lips slowly worked their way down your neck, leaving small kisses in the wake of Malleus' mouth. He kept a slow pace, letting his motions carry your mind and body away with them. He slid your legs further apart, forcing you to move your thighs even further down the mattress, opening yourself up even more to Malleus. He was enjoying this and he was not going to be finished so quickly.

Malleus whispered in your ear once again, his voice a soft but cold voice that spoke of his pleasure…

"Enjoy it." Malleus whispered into your ear again, the words sent shivers down your spine. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he knew he wanted more than just this.

He was a man of control, a man who kept calm in everything he did... except tonight. Malleus' focus was entirely on you, his words and eyes sharp and cruel, but they were a mask for the hunger he had for you. He was moving deeper now, forcing the tip of his manhood even further in.

Your mouth was open as your breaths were shallow. Your mind was lost to Malleus' body. You were his toy, one of his possessions and you belong entirely to him. You swallowed a low, lustful sound that escaped your body as Malleus' shaft kept on tearing its way inside your tight and slippery flesh. Your body tremors with anticipation, your voice was a breathy moan that you could barely get out.

"Ah... I... Malleus... " you quavered as you stumbled with your words. Instead, you responded with a moan, letting your head fall back as you gave it completely over to Malleus. Your eyes were closed and you felt your mind drifting away.

Malleus' pace was picking up slowly now, moving back and forth, back and forth, and pushing himself deeper and faster. He felt the insides of your body clenching and pulsing around his shaft in every thrust of his hips.

He whispered into your ear, "You are mine."

The words were like a wave, moving over you, the feeling of Malleus' ownership over you. It was a cruel thing, that ownership, but it was also a powerful thing. Now Malleus would have his way.

Malleus' tongue was working on your neck; licking, moving, and whispering to you the things he knew you wanted to hear. His mouth was a whirlwind of motion. Each part of your body was being worked to perfection. He knew you would enjoy them all.

You could feel every deep movement, every moment of being stretched out. Your thoughts were cloudy and you were breathing heavily. Each thrust by Malleus was a new experience. Your words came out in broken sentences, your mind was in a vortex of pleasure.

"I am, I am yours..." With each word from your mouth, Malleus' pace grew faster, and he drove deeper, faster, harder.

Malleus' voice had grown harsh and was more demanding by the second. He felt you giving way completely and he knew it was only a matter of time. He was in the driver seat and he would keep the pedal to the metal.

"Oh, you! What a mess you are..." Malleus' voice was a purr, one that carried a hint of amusement with it. It was like he was seeing you through a fog of lust and desire, of unadulterated excitement.

"Are you ready?" His voice was quiet and it carried just enough menace, just enough warning that you were close to the edge. But you also knew that the question was not a request for permission, it was a question of Malleus' curiosity.

You had taken Malleus at his word, and you were giving into every sensation that was coursing through you. Your mind was losing itself, and each moment was getting even closer to losing control.

You could feel his manhood pumping in and out of you mercilessly. The way it throbbed and twitched, how warm it was, and the way it hit so deep inside that it gave you a burning sensation. His deft hands grope your flesh with a vice grip, leaving reddish traces of nail marks here and there; and how those hands leave handprints on the back of your thighs from his harsh spanks and grip. How the pleasure and pain mixed together to drive you closer to the edge. You felt the pressure accumulating by each passing second.

"Yes!" You felt like you were in a dream, like your body was completely removed from your mind. Your body responded instantly to the harsh voice of Malleus, it's every cell moving to please him. Your voice was a mix of pleasure and agony, as if you were struggling to hold on to yourself, to hang onto life.

"More... please.”

It was like he was punishing your body. Keeping you wanting, keeping you desperate. Malleus was going to hold you right there on the very border between submission and denial, of pain and pleasure that he inflicted on your body. All the while he was making it perfectly clear that these decisions were his alone.

Malleus' voice was a growl as he pushed himself deeper into you. He wanted you to feel every inch of him from every stroke. He wanted you to feel his possession, his dominance, his power. His words were a demand, not a request. He had been patient with you the entire time, and he had enjoyed the process. That patience was beginning to fade slightly now and every single word out of his mouth was filled with a sharp edge.

"More? You want more of me?" Malleus asked, and then his fingers curled firmly on your waist, digging their nails on your supple flesh.

Malleus smiled as he heard your mumbled words and desperate moans. He knew he had you at the edge of the cliff, and with the words he just heard, he knew it was time to push you over.

"Moan for me as much as how you pant like a dog in heat," Malleus' voice was low and demanding, and his tone had shifted to a more cruel edge. “Like how you are desperate for me to fill you with my seed.”

His hands were running up and down your body, and his face was just inches from yours. He was pushing and pulling, he was taking and he was giving... he was playing with you to his heart's content. He was going to get as much pleasure as he could out of you. He was going to push you over the edge into the abyss of sensation without remorse.

"Yes, please. I want more of you. Please!" Your plea was desperate, a desperate voice of a person pushed past their limits and into a realm of sensations beyond anything you had ever known before. Your body was shaking, your legs were wrapped around Malleus, your back was pinned to the bed and your head was thrown back in surrender.

"Oh god, please Malleus! Push deeper! Faster! Please, please!" you cried out loudly in a fit of passion and submission. It was as if Malleus' body was a lock, and Malleus' voice and words were the key.

"Yes... yes... give it to me... More!" And with that utterance from you, Malleus knew that the game was over. Malleus' voice was a purr as he pushed himself even deeper, and your voice was a rasped mess of pleasure, pain, and ecstasy.

Malleus knew that you just crossed the bridge into surrender. You had no words left and your body was doing all the screaming. Your eyes were closed and your breathing was ragged.

Just as your body was wracking with waves of pleasure, Malleus pulled himself out of you, just to plunge in with a force he had reserved for very special occasions. Malleus knew that this was where it ended, and he was ready to take that step too.

Malleus' pace was frantic now, as if he had held himself back all this time just to reach this moment of pure pleasure. He moved deeper, he moved faster, he moved harder. His grip on your body was iron and his voice was cold, harsh and demanding. No man was going to take what was his. Malleus was in control. The pace and heat were increasing as you both prepared yourselves to climb the pinnacle of pleasure. His body was the paint and your body was the canvas.

"Oh you... Oh..." Malleus' voice was heavy with lust and utter pleasure.

Your body was in perpetual tremor and your legs were wrapped around Malleus, unable to let go of the fae. You were quaking so hard and was almost unable to breathe. You weren't really in control of your body at all anymore as though your body was acting on its own.

You were in a heaven of pleasure. You screamed and your back arched so much that if Malleus let go, you might snap in half. It felt like a fire that was consuming every inch of you, every nerve in your body was set ablaze. It didn't feel like a fire of pain, no it felt like a fire of lust, a fire that was spreading from inside of you and consuming you entirely. You couldn't hold it in any longer, it was impossible.

"Yes... Oh, Malleus... Yes! " The scream was enough for Malleus to know it was finished.

And with a final powerful thrust of Malleus, you gave everything you had in a final act of lust. Your voice was a loud, dragged out guttural moan, and the words left your mouth slipped in a breathless whisper. You moaned Malleus' name over and over again. It was a pure, immaculate, physical release.

There it was, that single moment. Malleus could feel it too, you were giving yourself to Malleus and that was just the beginning. He had been patient but now he was pushing for more. Malleus had found a sweet spot and he refused to let his prize slip away. His own pleasure had been growing and he would not be denied any longer.

"My dear... I am still inside you." Malleus' voice was filled with heat, with the promise of more.

Your moan was broken and raw, every bit of your energy seemed to leave you with that final release only to be replaced almost immediately with shame. Your body was still shaking but your voice was broken. You could feel Malleus still inside of you, you knew that Malleus had no intention of letting you off the leash quite yet. Your eyes were closed, your face was flushed, and you were breathing as if you were being suffocated.

You managed to find your voice, albeit barely. It was not the begging words, it was not the strength of the voice you had been using so easily a moment ago. It was the voice of a person completely overwhelmed by a pleasure you never knew existed.

"I... Yes, I need more." Your eyes fluttered open and you turned your head just enough to look up at Malleus. Your hand reached out and grasped Malleus' buttocks trying desperately to keep him close as you let the fae find his own release.

Malleus was holding back no longer whilst he chased his release as you begged for more. His pace was growing more frantic than ever before. His voice was a murmur and his grip on you was a vice. His voice was becoming an endless cascade of his own pleasure, and his hands were moving in circles, kneading your body as all the while he was growing closer towards climax.

Every push of his hips sent your body into further spasms of pleasure, each moment had sent you to another intense climax. It was as if your souls were meeting somewhere in the middle, as if your bodies were two halves trying to become one.

His voice turned into a yell and he gave out one last mighty push to bring him over the edge. Malleus' voice was hoarse and it was ragged, it was a sound that seemed to echo throughout the room. He let out a final loud breathy moan and then he collapsed down on top of you as his semen filled you to the brim and flooded out of your clenching hole.

"Oh… my love." He groaned as he found his breath again. "You were perfect." He breathed out.

Malleus was laying on top of you. Malleus' breath was heavy and he was completely out of air. Your body was still wracking with waves of pleasure, as if it was still trying to adjust to the sensations that had been unleashed within. Your eyes were clenched shut and your body was shaking slightly as if you were in a dream and trying to wake yourself.

You were still struggling to find your words. There was no breath left in your body. Your voice had given out and your body was completely exhausted. The only sound that came out of you were a few gasps and a broken, hoarse moan.

Your whole body was shaking and you could barely move. You had given Malleus everything you had and you had nothing left anymore. There was nothing in your head either, your senses were all overwhelmed and you were not even sure you were still in the same reality. You were just a broken mess, utterly spent.

After what felt like an hour, although you're still breathlessly in a daze and exhausted, you managed to let out a hoarse chuckle and spoke.

"That was amazing, it was the best I've ever felt."

Malleus raised his head and looked down at you lying beneath him. He was looking at you still feeling his own sense of euphoria from the experience. He felt as if he was still high from the sensation, as if his entire body was awash from head to toe. His voice was still husky, still rough, and every breath he was taking was filled with the after effects of everything that had come before. He could not describe just how good he felt.

"You were perfect." Malleus smiled down at you, completely unable to wipe the grin off his face.

He turned his head around, his eyes locked onto yours. He leaned in as close as he could get to you and he whispered:

"The best you've ever felt, so far. " His voice was a warm growl, the kind that only promised more of what you just had.

"Oh, my dear, this is only the beginning.”

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