#^i have the same curse placed upon me

[doverstar]

so far taylor swift’s new album is…not…good?

[mcmansionhell]

the motel room, or: on datedness

I.

Often I find myself nostalgic for things that haven't disappeared yet. This feeling is enhanced by the strange conviction that once I stop looking at these things, I will never see them again, that I am living in the last moment of looking. This is sense is strongest for me in the interiors of buildings perhaps because, like items of clothing, they are of a fashionable nature, in other words, more impermanent than they probably should be.

As I get older, to stumble on something truly dated, once a drag, is now a gift. After over a decade of real estate aggregation and the havoc it's wreaked on how we as a society perceive and decorate houses, if you're going to Zillow to search for the dated (which used to be like shooting fish in a barrel), you'll be searching aimlessly, for hours, to increasingly no avail, even with all the filters engaged. (The only way to get around this is locational knowledge of datedness gleaned from the real world.) If you try to find images of the dated elsewhere on the internet, you will find that the search is not intuitive. In this day and age, you cannot simply Google "80s hotel room" anymore, what with the disintegration of the search engine ecosystem and the AI generated nonsense and the algorithmic preference for something popular (the same specific images collected over and over again on social media), recent, and usually a derivative of the original search query (in this case, finding material along the lines of r/nostalgia or the Backrooms.)

To find what one is looking for online, one must game the search engine with filters that only show content predating 2021, or, even better, use existing resources (or those previously discovered) both online and in print. In the physical world of interiors, to find what one is looking for one must also now lurk around obscure places, and often outside the realm of the domestic which is so beholden to and cursed by the churn of fashion and the logic of speculation. Our open world is rapidly closing, while, paradoxically, remaining ostensibly open. It's true, I can open Zillow. I can still search. In the curated, aggregated realm, it is becoming harder and harder to find, and ultimately, to look.

But what if, despite all these changes, datedness was never really searchable? This is a strange symmetry, one could say an obscurity, between interiors and online. It is perhaps unintentional, and it lurks in the places where searching doesn't work, one because no one is searching there, or two, because an aesthetic, for all our cataloguing, curation, aggregation, hoarding, is not inherently indexable and even if it was, there are vasts swaths of the internet and the world that are not categorized via certain - or any - parameters. The internet curator's job is to find them and aggregate them, but it becomes harder and harder to do. They can only be stumbled upon or known in an outside, offline, historical or situational way. If to index, to aggregate, is, or at least was for the last 30 years, to profit (whether monetarily or in likes), then to be dated, in many respects, is the aesthetic manifestation of barely breaking even. Of not starting, preserving, or reinventing but just doing a job.

We see this online as well. While the old-web Geocities look and later Blingee MySpace-era swag have become aestheticized and fetishized, a kind of naive art for a naive time, a great many old websites have not received the same treatment. These are no less naive but they are harder to repackage or commodify because they are simple and boring. They are not "core" enough.

As with interiors, web datedness can be found in part or as a whole. For example, sites like Imgur or Reddit are not in and of themselves dated but they are full of remnants, of 15-year old posts and their "you, sir, have won the internet" vernacular that certainly are. Other websites are dated because they were made a long time ago by and for a clientele that doesn't have a need or the skill to update (we see this often with Web 2.0 e-commerce sites that figured out how to do a basic mobile page and reckoned it was enough). The next language of datedness, like the all-white landlord-special interior, is the default, clean Squarespace restaurant page, a landing space that's the digital equivalent of a flyer, rarely gleaned unless someone needs a menu, has a food allergy or if information about the place is not available immediately from Google Maps. I say this only to maintain that there is a continuity in practices between the on- and off-line world beyond what we would immediately assume, and that we cannot blame everything on algorithms.

But now you may ask, what is, exactly, datedness? Having spent two days in a distinctly dated hotel room, I've decided to sit in utter boredom with the numinous past and try and pin it down.

II.

I am in an obscure place. I am in Saint-Georges, Quebec, Canada, on assignment. I am staying at a specific motel, the Voyageur. By my estimation the hotel was originally built in the late seventies and I'd be shocked if it was older than 1989. The hotel exterior was remodeled sometime in the 2000s with EIFS cladding and beige paint. Above is a picture of my room, which, forgive me, is in the process of being inhabited. American (and to a lesser extent Canadian) hotel rooms are some of the most churned through, renovated spaces in the world, and it's pretty rare, unless you're staying in either very small towns or are forced by economic necessity to stay at real holes in the wall, to find ones from this era. The last real hitter for me was a 90s Day's Inn in the meme-famous Breezewood, PA during the pandemic.

At first my reaction to seeing the room was cautionary. It was the last room in town, and certainly compared to other options, probably not the world's first choice. However, after staying in real, genuine European shitholes covering professional cycling I've become a class-A connoisseur of bad rooms. This one was definitively three stars. A mutter of "okay time to do a quick look through." But upon further inspection (post-bedbug paranoia) I came to the realization that maybe the always-new brainrot I'd been so critical of had seeped a teeny bit into my own subconscious and here I was snubbing my nose at a blessing in disguise. The room is not a bad room, nor is it unclean. It's just old. It's dated. We are sentimental about interiors like this now because they are disappearing, but they are for my parents what 2005 beige-core is for me and what 2010s greige will become for the generation after. When I'm writing about datedness, I'm writing in general using a previous era's examples because datedness, by its very nature, is a transitional status. Its end state is the mixed emotion of seeing things for what they are yet still appreciating them, expressed here.

Datedness is the period between vintage and contemporary. It is the sentiment between quotidian and subpar. It is uncurated and preserved only by way of inertia, not initiative. It gives us a specific feeling we don't necessarily like, one that is deliberately evoked in the media subcultures surrounding so-called "liminal" spaces: the fuguelike feeling of being spatially trapped in a time while our real time is passing. Datedness in the real world is not a curated experience, it is only what was. It is different from nostalgia because it is not deliberately remembered, yearned for or attached to sweetness. Instead, it is somehow annoying. It is like stumbling into the world of adults as a child, but now you're the adult and the child in you is disappointed. (The real child-you forgot a dull hotel room the moment something more interesting came along.) An image of my father puts his car keys on the table, looks around and says, "It'll do." We have an intolerance for datedness because it is the realization of what sufficed. Sufficiency in many ways implies lack.

However, for all its datedness, many, if not all, of the things in this room will never be seen again if the room is renovated. They will become unpurchaseable and extinct. Things like the bizarrely-patterned linoleum tile in the shower, the hose connecting to the specific faucet of the once-luxurious (or at least middling) jacuzzi tub whose jets haven't been exercised since the fall of the Berlin Wall. The wide berth of the tank on the toilet. There is nothing, really, worth saving about these things. Even the most sentimental among us wouldn't dare argue that the items and finishes in this room are particularly important from a design or historical standpoint. Not everything old has a patina. They're too cheaply made to salvage. Plastic tile. Bowed plywood. The image-artifacts of these rooms, gussied up for Booking dot com, will also, inevitably disappear, relegated to the dustheap of web caches and comments that say "it was ok kinda expensive but close to twon (sic)." You wouldn't be able to find them anyway unless you were looking for a room.

One does, of course, recognize a little bit of design in what's here. Signifiers of an era. The wood-veneer of the late 70s giving way to the pastel overtones of the 80s. Perhaps even a slow 90s. The all-in-one vanity floating above the floor, a modernist basement bathroom hallmark. White walls as a sign of cleanliness. Gestures, in the curved lines of the nightstands, towards postmodernity. Metallic lamp bases with wide-brimmed shades, a whisper of glamor. A kind of scalloped aura to the club chairs. The color teal mediated through hundreds if not thousands of shoes. Yellowing plastic, including the strips of "molding" that visually tie floor to wall. These are remnants (or are they intuitions?) of so many movements and micromovements, none of them definite enough to point to the influence of a single designer, hell, even of a single decade, just strands of past-ness accumulated into one thread, which is cheapness. Continuity exists in the materials only because everything was purchased as a set from a wholesale catalog.

In some way a hotel is supposed to be placeless. Anonymous. Everything tries to be that way now, even houses. Perhaps because we don't like the way we spy on ourselves and lease our images out to the world so we crave the specificity of hotel anonymity, of someplace we move through on our way to bigger, better or at least different things. The hotel was designed to be frictionless but because it is in a little town, it sees little use and because it sees little use, there are elements that can last far longer than they were intended and which inadvertently cause friction. (The janky door unlocks with a key. The shower hose keeps coming out of the faucet. It's deeply annoying.)

Lack of wear and lack of funds only keep them that way. Not even the paper goods of the eighties have been exhausted yet. Datedness is not a choice but an inevitability. Because it is not a choice, it is not advertised except in a utilitarian sense. It is kept subtle on the hotel websites, out of shame. Because it does not subscribe to an advertiser's economy of the now, of the curated type rather than the "here is my service" type, it disappears into the folds of the earth and cannot be searched for in the way "design" can. It can only be discovered by accident.

When I look at all of these objects and things, I do so knowing I will never see them again, at least not all here together like this, as a cohesive whole assembled for a specific purpose. I don't think I'll ever have reason to come back to this town or this place, which has given me an unexpected experience of being peevish in my father's time. Whenever I end up in a place like this, where all is as it was, I get the sense that it will take a very long time for others to experience this sensation again with the things my generation has made. The machinations of fashion work rapaciously to make sure that nothing is ever old, not people, not rooms, not items, not furniture, not fabrics, not even design, that old matron who loves to wax poetic about futurity and timelessness. The plastic-veneered particleboard used here is now the bedrock of countless landfills. Eventually it will become the chemical-laced soil upon which we build our condos. It is possible that we are standing now at the very last frontier of our prior datedness. The next one has not yet elided. It's a special place. Spend a night. Take pictures.

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[ozzgin]

Santa baby are you really there?!

*hears a voice in my backyard*

FUCK SKIN WALKER

- you make Yan skinwalker i’ll do anything to get a skin walker to love me … yes I am 100% mentally stable

I'm not sure if you had something horror-esque in mind, because my immediate idea was Reader accidentally getting cursed and continuing her life completely unaware with a ""dog"" everyone is freaked out by, but she finds it cute. So more like dark comedy vibes. You be the judge. :D

Disclaimer: I have changed the name to Shapeshifter as to not delve into potentially offensive takes on native folklore. Thank you for informing my European ass.

Yandere!Monster x Reader [Shapeshifter]

On your last hiking trip, you've stumbled upon a helpless, lost dog. Or rather, it stalked you down to your cabin and spent the night in front of your window. You didn't have the heart to abandon the poor soul and so you brought it home with you. Strange things have been happening ever since and no one knows how to tell you that the monstrous coyote-like creature might be to blame. You're oblivious to everything.

Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, reader is cursed and proud

It wasn't your intention to return home with a new pet. Some might say it was written in the stars, this fateful encounter of yours. You had finished packing your supplies for a day-long hike, vehemently refusing to join your group of friends that would be guided around by a native. They’d warned you many areas of the mountainous forest were supposedly cursed or haunted, so you just scribbled the limits on your makeshift map and promised to stay on the main trails. After all, this was your chance to commune with nature. As the sun begun to set, you wondered if going by yourself was indeed a smart idea, given your lack of spatial awareness and difficulty to navigate maps. You flipped the piece of paper several times, deep in contemplation. Could it be that you’ve reached the forbidden lands? You quickly surveyed the area: based on the stuffed rag dolls hanging from old branches, and the animal skulls arranged in patterns among patches of burnt grass, it was very much a possibility. Perhaps the improvised slab that said “Stay away” in dripping crimson letters should’ve been enough of a warning, but you assumed they’d just been creative with trail markers.

You didn’t have the time to panic. Just as you were furrowing your eyebrows in a final attempt to decipher the map (at the time upside-down), your ears picked up a faint shuffle of leaves. Further away stood a dog, its glossy eyes fixated on your form. A lost puppy? It seemed to be on the larger side, but then again some breeds grow rather fast. You lowered yourself and patted your knees, whispering diminutives in an effort to call the animal over. It remained in place, staring quietly. Alright, then. You focused on finding your way back instead. Every now and then you'd turn back and see the dog, motionlessly eyeing you at a constant distance. Oh, dear. Was it lost? Frightening affair.

Back at the cabin you told the others about your discovery, with a hint of worry in your voice. You hoped the little pup had found proper shelter. You'd expected a similar reaction coming from your friends, but one of them suggested: "What if it was some shapeshifting monster? There's many legends and stories from the area." Everyone laughed and you joined hesitantly, mildly annoyed by the lack of empathy. That night you barely slept, twisting and turning under the heavy feeling of being watched. You woke up tired and nervous, dragging your feet towards the window for some fresh air. That's when you saw the same forest creature, fully awake and tall in its glory, positioned before your room. This was no coincidence. You had been plagued by the guilt of abandoning a vulnerable quadruped and you weren't about to continue as a passive observer. You strode out without a word and lifted the large dog with a huff, carrying it back in to figure out the transport logistics.

Thus started the unexpected companionship. To you, it's a lovely tale of two lost souls finding one another. Most people seem to disagree. Can you blame them? The rescued puppy you often speak of is, in the eyes of everyone else, a monstrous beast by all definitions. It resembles a coyote more than a dog, but even this description is too gentle. The fur is always raised threateningly and the protruding clusters of fangs remind one of the anatomical anomalies displayed in museums. The eyes, oh, the worst of all perhaps, bottomless depths that pull you in until you run out of air. The creature stares with the all-knowing gaze of a human. "Don't be rude", you snap at whoever dares to point these details out. "It must be a mixed breed or something."

Their persistence is truly ridiculous. You've even had guests run out in panic, claiming the dog stood on its back legs and whispered in a language unknown. Or that its shadow would morph into a grotesque man with claws and crooked antlers. Or that they've found it hunched over your sleeping form, its spine twisted outwards with jagged peaks breaking through the wild fur. Rubbish, all of it.

Strange things have been happening, no doubt, but your adopted fur-child has no blame to carry. You've been trying to distract yourself, going on dates and occasionally bringing potential suitors over. They all vanish overnight, nonchalantly leaving an empty, ruffled bed for you to wake up to. "Am I just unlucky?" You sigh, running your fingers through the coarse fur of your dog. It lowers itself under your touch, visibly enjoying the affection. For a split second, it glances out the window. By the time you come out of your depressed slump, the birds should've finished feeding on the remains. He made sure to tear and grind everything fine enough to not leave any marks behind.

That's how curses work, after all. He didn't expect, however, that you'd be utterly unaware of it. He has to give you the credit, not many people become stalked by an ancient curse and continue their life in blissful ignorance. Even more, for them to just casually pick up the haunting entity and bring it inside their home willingly...You're, uh, certainly a special one. Hence the change of plans. He was supposed to torment you into an early grave, but he's grown rather attached to your bizarre antics. And you do provide some damn good chin scratches. He's therefore satisfied with causing anguish and destruction to anything and anyone in your immediate vicinity instead. Since you've been complaining about the resulting isolation...

You wake up with a gasp, wiping your drenched forehead and checking the sheets. The dog is curled next to you, although its head is now tilted in your direction. "O-oh. It might be the loneliness talking...but I had the strangest dream." How troubling and embarrassing. Your beloved pet had turned into a deformed, monstrous man instead, pinning you down and hungrily grazing your skin with his sharp teeth. Your fearful protests eventually turned into shameless moans, your frail body at the mercy of the mysterious beast. It unfolded so vividly that your core feels sore. You stretch a sheepish hand towards your pet and abruptly stop halfway, noticing the marks diffused into your wrist, like violet smudges of watercolor. What the hell did you do last night?

The dog buries its head under the sheets and nuzzles its snout into your soft flesh. Heh. How many more disappearing guests will be needed for you to figure out your situation? He does find your obliviousness terribly amusing, as well as your willingness to clutch onto him despite his unsightly appearance. He was feeling particularly cheeky and thought of giving you a little scare, only to be once again taken aback by your neediness. He has to wonder who exactly is trapped in this situation, because your reactions to everything he does are frighteningly tempting. Maybe tonight he'll finally let you know, just as you're about to come undone beneath his heaving body. Something like, hmmm. "By the way, love, this isn't a dream." He could even add a little "woof" to tease you more.

[hoshigray]

js thinking abt sukuna fucking reader and toji at the same time (you can add aftercare if you want) 🫦🫦

၇͜ᩘ𑁍 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: true form! Sukuna + Toji x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - smutty then fluffy - size difference - double penetration; anal & vaginal + 2 dick! kuna - biting - back-to-front + missionary positions - prostate orgasm - light choking - pet names (baby, little girl, mama, princess) - aftercare; cleaning + massages + cuddles - mention of drool/spit.

Sukuna, ironically born as a cursed man, was blessed with something that most beings on this Earth lack.

“Fuuuck, goddamn, y’ feel so good, baby.” 

“Haaahhh, ohmyGo—Ahhh! S-so f’ll…”

And now, he uses it to please the two sprawled under his bow. 

In his shared quarters, the four-armed beast spends tonight in the comfort of his two partners. Candles lit to bask the room in a warm glow, nude bodies stripped of their clothes and situated upon the soft futon that cushions below them.

Toji lay first, his bare back to the soft surface while your back was glued to his front, exchanging sweat with the heat as he held your legs up by the back of your knees. Sukuna towers the both of you; his lower hands keep Toji’s arms spread for easier access to his two cocks—one for each of his companions. 

The top cock was buried into your cunt, clenching on the girth with every scrape of your upper wall, causing you to whimper uncontrollably. The lower one is currently inside Toji’s ass, pushing his frame with every push of the hips, which aids him into thrusting into your anus all the while. 

“OhhGaaahhd!” The air around is steamy; hot skin meshed onto yours, and wet kisses are placed on your neck and cheek by Toji. “Feel so good, so…biiig!”

“Haaah, heh, I know, mama,” the raven-haired one huffs hotly to your ear. “Y’re doin’ good, though…Hnnnm! Holyfuuck, ‘Kuna!” 

A guttural chuckle is heard while the tongue of his stomach teases your thighs with licks. “What did I do? Was it…this?” He snaps his pelvis, and both his dicks venture deep into the both of you. A poke to your cervix, combined with a graze to the tissue of his prostate, has you and Toji moan in unison. “Hmph, felt that good, huh?”

“—Ghhhh, fuck, y’re such a dick,” Toji laughs hoarsely while his face is guided by your hand to bring him in for a kiss. The two of you sigh at the feel of each other’s lips, your tongue licking his def scar while placing soft pecks on the corner of his mouth.

Four scarlet eyes narrow at the sight of his partners being intimate under him, unable to suppress the predatory purr of his grin. The mouth of his abdomen lays smooches to your tummy—albeit a little sloppy yet endearing—and he cups your cheeks to face him the moment your kiss with Toji breaks, heavy pants causing the air to get hotter. “Enjoyin’ yourself, aren’t you, little girl?” He sneaks another rut to have you both curl your toes.

Your hands come up to hold the giant’s face. “Nahaaa, Suk’naaa,” the way you say his name makes him gulp. “I’m close, so cl—Mmmphfuuck!!”

“Fuck, you smell good,” the scent of your lotion clouds his nostrils as he bends down, the addition of his weight cages both you and Toji. His upper right hand comes to your throat, pressing on it not to choke but enough to deepen your haze. The same goes for Toji with the wrap of his upper left hand. “Gonna be good and wring me out, right?”

“Yessss,” you nod with a ditzy smile. “Make us cummm like you know how…!” 

He liked the sound of that. “Then stay still, and let me end this.”

Sukuna releases both throats and uses his upper hands as leverage while flexing his abdomen, his pelvis hammering his cocks down to the hilt, slapping his heavy balls onto Toji’s taint. Wails and groans of pleasure are expressed in the room’s atmosphere. More hits to your womb has you wrap your arms around Sukuna’s wide neck, clamping your walls more onto your husbands’ dicks. The length inside Toji keeps rubbing his prostate, and the deep murmurs flying out his scarred mouth sound bewitching to your ear. 

It isn’t before long that you submit to the climb of your orgasm; the contraction of your asshole and cunt have the two men hiss. Toji is second to succumb to an orgasm, ejecting his load into your tight channel while burrowing his face close to your neck. The both of you climaxing on Sukuna’s shafts are too good to avoid, pushing him into releasing his semen into his mortal lovers with a grunt. Shocks are shared amongst each other, and Sukuna claims your lips with his own, shoving his tongue inside for you to tend and hum to.

A few more pumps of his hips before the behemoth lets his muscles relax, sighing deeply to your kiss until you need air, placing his heavy forehead on yours. All three figures calm down, allowing the sounds of crickets outside to act like a spell to center themselves. Sukuna’s exhale tickles your skin. “You two did well.”

Toji scoffs. “We hope so; puttin’ us through a workout.” The salmon-haired other begins to move, slowly withdrawing his lengths from his partners. You and Toji sigh breathlessly at the subtraction, and your body slides off the onyx-headed one. “So much fr’ takin’ a bath before this, huh, princess.”

You titter aimlessly. “At least we came prepared.” Your conversation is cut short as Sukuna returns with a wooden bucket and washcloth. He wrings the cloth of the water and damps it around your lower half, wiping the come that’s spilling out and messing your thighs. He massages your ankles with his lower hands while he works. “And as promised, Sukuna takes care of his mess.”He glares at you while you giggle. He then places your legs down and does the same to Toji, wiping his ass with the warm washcloth. 

“That’s true,” the mortal man chuckles as Sukuna pushes Toji’s left leg to his chest, cleaning the excess come trinkled to his bum. “Not gonna have us all sweaty and sticky fr’ nothin’.”

“Shut up and get ready for sleep,” he ignores you two laughing at him while he stands to dismiss the bucket and cloth out of the room. A hand comes up and quickly moves with the flick of his fore and middle finger, slicing the burning ends of the candles to darken the room. He finds the futon, grabs the comforter from behind, and positions himself between you and Toji—his upper arms pulling both of you closer for warmth to flourish.

“Thank you, my Lord,” you say with appreciation, answered by a low purl by the behemoth. You then cling close, “Goodnight, Toji.”

“Night, baby.”

Crimson eyes don’t close until the two pairs of eyelids fall on their own, and Sukuna finally lets the darkness keep you three warm and safe.

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 ☆ dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: i caved and did an actual Ewan fic! Given that the lad is more of a public persona nowadays, I reckon it's fine (?) This is pure self-indulgence for all my Ewan loves. May have a continuation but idk for now, enjoy!!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The reader and Ewan are paired for press interviews. Despite barely having any scenes together and only knowing each other in passing on set, the chemistry they share cannot be denied...

Your first round of press takes place in a primped up hotel suite in Paris, thanks to the team at HBO.

You are an up and coming actress, much like some of your costars in the show, but the pressure is heavier on you because you were entering in season two, whereas everyone was already well-acquainted with one another.

Your few scenes were mostly with Jace and Baela, so you grew close to Harry and Bethany.

However, the media team decided to pair you up with Ewan for the day. A little fun initiative was set by the team that a character from the Blacks would be do press with a counterpart from the Greens - hence, yourself and Ewan.

You're nervous as you walk down the hallway, unable to fully pay attention to the instructions your lovely assistant gives you.

She tells you about the different interviewers for the day, bloggers and magazine writers from all over the world. She reminds you that each one will only be for a maximum of 5 minutes, so it shouldn't be too complicated. She smiles and eagerly says, "Take a deep breath, you got this!", as you reach the suite doors.

But in your mind, all you can recall is your first interaction with Ewan, almost a year ago right after the table read. You had nervously blurted out to him that Aemond is your favourite character, after he just asked, "How are you?". He laughed, said thank you, before he was pulled away in conversation by Tom.

You pray to the fictional Westerosi gods that things will fare better today. That you won't get all tongue-tied when those steel blue eyes land on you.

Upon entering the room, the team is quick to fuss over you. Sometimes you forget that you're actually an actress now. A celebrity, some might say. It all feels surreal and you have a inkling it won't ever stop being this way.

Ewan is already seated in front of the camera, and he stands to give you a hug as you finally walk over.

"Hey there, how are you?" he smiles widely, smelling like cigarettes and something muskier as he wraps his arms around you.

Unroll your tongue. Rework your brain. Calm down.

"Hey, Ewan!" you respond. "I'm doing great, happy to see you again."

"Well, I only wish we could have had more time together on set." Ever the gentleman, he gestures for you to take your seat before he does the same. "But next season perhaps? Who knows?"

"Oh, sure." You settle in, pleased by the fact that your chairs are only about a foot apart. "We can both look forward to my character giving Aemond the arse kicking he deserves."

He laughs, eyes glinting with mischief. "Come on now, I was thinking our characters are actually quite compatible, no?"

"Well, I sure wouldn't want to step on Alys' shoes. She'd probably curse my character all the way to Yi Ti."

"Hmm," he hums, biting his lip. You can't help but hear Aemond when he does that. "I say you can always count on Aemond and Vhagar to come to the rescue of a beautiful maiden such as yourself."

Well, you'll be damned. Ewan, while still an introvert of his own sort, is as charming as can be. If he's turning it on to get himself hyped for the press, it's working.

It's definitely working on you, to say the least.

The media manager gives the signal for the first interview to begin, and a reporter walks in, all ready with prepared script in hand.

"Here we go," you mutter, facing forward.

"Good luck," Ewan replies.

You both shake the reporter's hand, and he introduces himself as Jared.

"So guys," Jared begins. "Why don't we start with you telling me a little bit about what we can expect from your characters this season?"

The question is easy, and it doesn't take long for you and Ewan to think it through. Jared asks a few more basic questions, before drawing the attention more to you.

"When you watched season one, did you have a favourite character?" he asks you.

You smile, "Oh, I mean, I have to say - and Ewan already knows this, by the way - that Aemond was my favourite character."

"Was?" Ewan says, feigning shock. "Unacceptable."

"Was... Is... " you shrug, rolling your eyes playfully, earning a laugh from Jared. "I think I might be more a Daemon girl now."

"Oh!" Jared exclaims happily. "Does Matt know about this?"

"I'll be sure to tell him - "

Ewan interjects, shaking his head at you, "There's no need to tell him, because I'll convert her back to Team Aemond in no time, trust me."

"Daemon is awesome, though," you say to him, smiling.

"Sure." Ewan makes a face like that fact doesn't matter. Wasn't he the one who said that Daemon would be the character he would most like to play if not Aemond?

"And Caraxes is my favourite dragon." You share a look with Jared, hoping he would agree.

"Yes!" Jared says. "Caraxes is the best dragon in the show, in my opinion."

"Ah, you're both wrong," Ewan says. "My Vhagar is the oldest and baddest dragon in all of the land."

"My Vhagar, he says," you joke. "Seems like someone still hasn't shed Aemond for this press tour."

"And I never will, darling." His gaze is intense when he turns to you, and you clear your throat to fight the warmth rushing to your cheeks.

"Alright, they're giving me the wrap-up," Jared thankfully breaks the tension. "It was a pleasure talking to you guys, congratulations on the new season!"

One interview down, and your nerves have already considerably subsided. Ewan tapping your arm to start up a conversation once more surely helps in distracting you.

In the best damn way possible.

"How do you think we did? That wasn't too bad, was it?"

"I think we did quite well," you casually offer a high five, but your heart skips a beat when Ewan interlaces your suspended hands for just a moment.

"I'm glad they paired me with you," Ewan says, after releasing your hand. You hold on to the armrests to keep your fingers from twitching.

"I am, too," you admit. "I am a fan of you, after all, but I think you already know that."

He blushes, "Well, that's not a bad thing. I think you're a fantastic actress. I must have seen your first film a good ten times."

"You mean my first and only film," you add humbly. "But thank you."

"Only film for now," he affirms. "No doubt this is only the beginning for you, darling. With your talent and your charisma, I'm sure you have potential scripts piled up already."

"I could say the same for you! Have you seen what your fans say about you online? You're the internet's new boyfriend, Ewan Mitchell."

The media manager announces the next interview, but Ewan follows up with a response for you under his breath, "I have seen some things. But when I have a girlfriend, I'll make sure she won't have to share me at all."

Oh, so apparently he is single. But wait - why is he telling you this?

You don't get to mull over that thought. For the time being, the next interview starts and you make sure you do a good job at what you're paid to do - promoting the series.

Not daydreaming about getting with a costar, for heaven's sake. Stay professional.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You feel lightheaded after finishing the seventh - or had it been the eighth? - interview.

Your assistant delivers a coffee to you during the twenty-minute break. Ewan had stepped out to the balcony to have a smoke, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

He certainly is everything you expected him to be, and so much more. Insightful, cheeky, dedicated. An artist, through and through. He was in the business for all the right reasons, passion and respect for the craft.

If he had any flaws, you weren't privy to them yet. If there are any reasons for you not to be attracted to him, you didn't know what those were yet.

And with every flirtatious remark and pointed smile, you can't deny the hope blooming in you.

"Hey," he reappears, pulling you out of your musings. "I hope you don't mind that I smell of smoke."

No, you didn't, not when it's him.

"Don't worry about it," you reassure him. You tilt your head forward to take a sip of your coffee, but a lock of your hair falls in front of your face. Annoyed, you think to reach for it, but Ewan beats you to it, tucking it back in place.

"There you go, darling," he croons, gesturing for you to proceed in drinking.

"Th-thanks." His eyes don't leave yours as you take a slow sip.

"So," you say, desperate to break the silence, "which interview did you enjoy the most so far?"

"How can I possibly choose? I mean, I really liked the one with ComicSociety, the guy that said our characters have a lot of chemistry and should get together next season. He's right, I already told you!"

"Ohhh, sure, that will go down really well with the Blacks and Greens."

He smirks, "I don't see why not?"

"For one, Aemond is ensnared by Alys, and my character will never give up fighting for Rhaenyra. I just don't see it happening, Ewan."

"Right," he mutters thoughtfully, "there is still Alys in the picture."

"Still in the picture? With the amount of steamy scenes you two have lined up for season three, I'd say she will be Aemond's entire picture in and of herself."

"Hmm," he glances at you once, then looks down. Dare you think it, does he look disappointed?

"But hey," you add lightly, "maybe we can talk to Ryan and he can flip the entire script just for our characters."

"Yeah," his cheeky smile resurfaces, "maybe you can take Alys' place."

Take the place of Alys? Of Alys. Is he insinuating...

"Next round of interviews, guys!" The media manager announces to the room.

"Here we go again, darling," Ewan squeezes your hand once, before putting on his professional face once more.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

By the end of it all, not even caffeine can perk you up. You were exhausted, you and Ewan having finished four full hours of press.

Your assistant comes to your aid, ready to direct you back to your own hotel room.

"This has been such a pleasure, Ewan, really." You stand, this time initiating the hug.

He squeezes you gently, humming in your ear. When you pull apart, he says, "I honestly wouldn't mind trudging through hours and hours of press with you."

That's sweet of him. You're too tired to mask the warmth that rises to your cheeks. "And I feel the same. Today couldn't have gone any better."

"Truly, and listen, maybe we could - "

"Ewan!" The manager approaches. "I'm so sorry to rush with this, but we need to film just a quick soundbite with you for Aemond. Just two to three questions for the Max Tiktok account?"

"Oh, okay - " Ewan is reluctant to turn away from you.

"Perfect! If you could just stand there by the windows please..." The manager already has him by the arm, directing where he has to go.

"We have to go," your assistant says. "Still have to prep for tomorrow."

"I'll see you soon, Ewan!" you call out to him. "Thanks again."

He gives a half-hearted wave, dejected as he watches you walk out of the room.

"That wasn't too bad," you share with your assistant as you enter the elevators. "Not bad at all, actually."

"Oh, you did so well," she compliments. "It definitely helps with the press that you and Mr. Mitchell have such insane natural chemistry."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

In the calm of your hotel room, you get ready for bed.

Just when you're about to finish with your nightly routine, your phone rings from your bedside table. You're quick to rush over, thinking it could be your assistant or your manager, with an urgent update about work.

But no - it's an unknown number. A UK number, as it appears.

Confused, you click answer anyway, putting it to your ear with a tentative, "Hello, who is this?"

"Hi, darling."

"Ewan?"

"Yeah, uhm, I hope I didn't disturb you - "

"Not at all," your answer comes out in a rushed breath.

"I also hope you don't mind that I got my assistant to ask your assistant to give me your number? It's what I wanted to ask you before you left today."

"Oh." You feel fully awake now, by some miracle, butterflies finding home in your stomach. "I don't mind. I... I should have given you my number, anyway. I have most of the cast's, in case I need to get a hold of you guys."

"Hmm, right," he says from the other end. You hear him calmly breathing, the sound strangely comforting, and wonder if he can hear the same from you.

He says, "I just wanted to keep hearing your voice. Didn't get enough of it today," and your heart just about stops.

"Oh. Okay," is all you are able to respond with.

"What are you doing?"

"Just... just getting ready for bed." Phone pressed to your ear, you shuffle around the room, putting some things back in place.

He says nothing for a few seconds, but you still hear his breathing, and some shuffling in the background. It occurs to you that he might just be as nervous as you are now.

Maybe.

"Listen," he finally says, "do you want to hear my pitch to Ryan about why our characters should get together next season?"

A genuine laugh escapes you. He sure is persistent. Playful, sure, but you're definitely willing to play along.

"Let's hear it."

"First," he says, "you have to renounce Daemon as your favourite character - "

"Not a chance."

" - and swear your love for Aemond."

"Keep dreaming."

He laughs, and you can only picture the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Aww darling," he teases, "don't you love me?"

💌 part two - part three

The OGs will know that the final line is a nod to my first ever Aemond fic! 🖤

Did this slightly delay my series works? Yes, yes it did. Do I regret it? For Ewan frickin Mitchell, I would never ~

[idyllic-ghost]

Title: Unveiling Hearts: The Law of Attraction Pairing: lawyer!Joshua x fem!lawyer!reader Genre: rivals to lovers, coworkers to lovers, lawyer au, romance, smut, fluff, angst Wordcount: 13.4k Rating: 18+

Synopsis: Two former law school rivals are forced to confront their past and present when they end up working together at the same firm. As old tensions resurface, their professional and personal lives become entangled, leading to unexpected challenges. Through rivalry and collaboration, they navigate the complexities of their relationship and careers, discovering that some connections are meant to be re-examined.

Warnings: reader is afab, smut (MDNI), slight dom/sub dynamics, switch!reader, switch!joshua, drunk sex, sex without protection (reader is on birth control), self-doubt, fighting (verbally)

A/N: this is a collab made by @haologram - find the Don't Hate, Litigate! masterlist here!

Disclaimer: The scenarios and depictions in my works are fictional and do not represent real-life situations. They do not aim to reflect the complexities of any culture, city, or individual. All characters are entirely fictional, regardless of names or descriptions.

MDNI: Adults only. Minors are not allowed. Any minors found will be blocked.

Join my taglist // Masterlists

As soon as your eyes flutter open, an unsettling sensation grips you. Despite the blinds being tightly drawn, an unusual brightness floods the room, casting an eerie glow on the walls. The familiar muffled sound of your neighbor’s TV, a constant background noise every morning, is conspicuously absent. This odd silence is jarring. Your heart races as you turn to glance at the clock, its digital display blinking erratically, showing a time far later than your usual wake-up. Panic sets in as you realize your alarm never went off, and you've overslept by a crucial half-hour.

With a string of curses, you stumble out of bed, your feet tangling in the sheets as you lurch toward the closet. Frantically, you grab the first outfit in sight. The button-down shirt you pull on is slightly wrinkled, and you tuck it into your pencil skirt with hurried, sloppy movements. You mutter under your breath, knowing that this disheveled look is a problem for the future you to handle.

Struggling with your pantyhose, you nearly topple over, muttering a string of curses. "Damn you, alarm clock, this is all your fault," you grumble, your voice tinged with frustration. Finally dressed, you sprint into the kitchen, where the unfamiliarity of your new space looms large. "Where are the cups?" you groan, flinging open cabinets and drawers in a frantic search. Each empty cabinet and misplaced item heightens your frustration, making your heart race even faster. After what feels like an eternity, you stumble upon a bowl and, with a resigned sigh, decide it will have to do for your much-needed coffee.

Tofu, your white, fluffy cat, watches you with an air of amused indifference. His emerald eyes follow your every move as you haphazardly brew coffee in the bowl. "Really, Tofu? Just going to sit there and judge me?" you mutter, glancing at him. He meanders over to his food bowl's usual spot, looking at you expectantly. "Great, even the cat knows this place better than I do," you sigh, shaking your head. You scoop out his food and place the bowl on the tray, giving him a quick pet. "Bye, Tofu. Be good," you say, but he merely flicks his tail and turns his back, more interested in his breakfast than your farewell.

Turning to the hallway mirror, you take a moment to compose yourself. You meticulously smooth down each unruly wisp of hair and straighten your blazer with unwavering attention to detail. The reflection staring back at you looks polished and composed, a stark contrast to the chaos of your morning. Satisfied, you grab your bag and dart out the door, mentally steeling yourself for the whirlwind of tasks and challenges that await.

As you arrive at the law firm, you navigate the bustling corridors, your mind already racing with the tasks you need to catch up on. The familiar hum of office chatter and the clatter of keyboards provide a strange sense of comfort amidst the morning's turmoil. You barely settle into your chair, your to-do list unfurling in your mind, when your boss's voice rings out, "We need you in the conference room for an urgent meeting."

You grab your coffee mug, now filled with the hastily brewed beverage, and head to the meeting. "So much for a moment to relax," you think, your shoulders tensing with the anticipation of another demanding day. As your colleagues file into the room, you steel yourself for the challenges ahead. Despite the morning's chaos, you know you have to keep pushing forward.

When you enter the room, you notice a familiar figure standing by the window, reviewing a stack of documents. A tall, handsome man with a dark navy suit and his hair swept back in a haphazard way – the kind of hairstyle that looks effortless, but everyone secretly knows is high maintenance. Your heart skips a beat as you recognize him— Joshua Hong, from law school. The years have been kind to him; he still has the same confident stance and sharp eyes.

You sit down in your usual seat, praying that your old-school rival doesn’t recognize you. Today out of all days – when you look disheveled and tired as all hell – he just had to appear. If you remember correctly, he works for a rival company and you spend several minutes wracking your brain for an answer as to why he is there. Your boss begins discussing the new, urgent case you are assigned to, but your attention is divided between the details of the case and the presence of Joshua. You feel a mix of surprise and irritation at seeing him again, memories of your intense rivalry flooding back.

Once the meeting ends, you’re hurriedly packing your things together to avoid Joshua – you know you wouldn’t be able to avoid him completely, but maybe you could buy yourself enough time to go to the bathroom and put yourself together. However, your plans are disrupted by your supervisor who comes walking over to you.

“Y/L/N, you were unusually quiet today,” he says with a furrowed brow. “Is anything the matter?”

Your supervisor is kind, and you feel truly fortunate to have him. However, his timing leaves much to be desired. As he calls your name, you notice Joshua's head snap in your direction, his eyes narrowing with interest. Maybe he had already seen you, but now he seizes the opportunity to approach. His confident stride carries him across the room, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He joins the two of you, thanking your supervisor for a good first meeting before turning his full attention to you.

“Y/N,” he says, his tone laced with a hint of amusement, his eyes gleaming. “It’s been a while.”

You force a smile, striving to keep your tone neutral. “Joshua. I didn’t expect to see you here,” you reply, noting how his presence seems to fill the room with an almost overbearing energy.

“I just transferred from my old company,” he replies, his voice carrying a familiar, competitive edge. His gaze locks onto yours, unyielding. “Looks like we’ll be working together.”

“Looks like it,” you respond, your heart pounding as you struggle to remain composed. “Welcome to the company, Joshua.” Your words feel stiff, formal, a shield against the flood of emotions his presence invokes.

As you leave the meeting, the cold, distant persona from your university days begins to surface. Memories of who you used to be, shaped by Joshua’s antics, flood back, making you cringe. You recall yourself as the harsh critic, the goody-two-shoes who somehow managed to be a vicious competitor, always driven to outperform everyone else. That fierce competitiveness got you through school, but now, in hindsight, you can’t believe how ruthless you were. The entire situation feels surreal, like a never-ending nightmare.

When you finally reach your office, you glance out the window, only to see Joshua talking to your supervisor again. The sight of him triggers a flood of unwanted memories. He notices you staring and waves playfully, a smug grin on his face. Quickly, you avert your gaze, wishing you could crawl back into bed and escape the reality of work.

The atmosphere in the office feels stifling as you try to focus on your tasks. The bustling environment, usually a source of motivation, now feels oppressive. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glare, and the incessant hum of conversations around you becomes a dull roar in your ears. Your mind keeps drifting back to Joshua, and the uneasy feeling in your stomach grows.

As the day drags on, you find it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Every little sound seems amplified—the rustle of papers, the click of keyboards, the distant ring of phones. Your thoughts are a jumbled mess, and you can't shake the anxiety gnawing at you. When lunchtime finally arrives, you retreat to a quiet corner of the break room, seeking a moment of solace.

Sitting with your back against the wall, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to center yourself. The familiar scent of coffee and the murmur of your colleagues’ conversations provide a small measure of comfort. You remind yourself that you’ve faced challenges before and emerged stronger. This time will be no different.

When you return to your desk, you catch sight of Joshua once more. He stands at the center of a group of coworkers, his animated gestures and infectious laughter commanding their attention. The sunlight streaming through the office windows catches the gleam of his watch and the crisp lines of his tailored suit, accentuating his charismatic presence. His eyes twinkle with that familiar confidence, and every so often, he glances around the room, as if he owns it.

You take a deep breath, feeling a knot of tension in your stomach. Steeling yourself, you remind yourself that his reappearance will not unsettle you. Squaring your shoulders, you walk with purpose to your desk, the clicking of your heels on the polished floor echoing your determination.

Settling into your chair, you take a moment to ground yourself. The familiar hum of the office envelops you, a steady rhythm that helps you regain your focus. You arrange your papers neatly, your fingers tracing the edges of each document, seeking comfort in the orderliness. The scent of fresh coffee from your mug mingles with the faint aroma of office supplies, creating an oddly soothing atmosphere.

With renewed resolve, you dive into your work, your fingers dancing over the keyboard with practiced efficiency. The tasks before you, once daunting, now seem manageable. You immerse yourself in the flow of productivity, your mind honing in on each detail, each challenge. The turbulent morning fades into the background, replaced by the clarity of purpose.

Just as you settle back into your workflow, you stand to retrieve a document from the printer. As you round the corner, you collide directly with Joshua, who is holding a stack of papers. His documents scatter across the floor, and for a brief moment, you lock eyes.

"Watch where you’re going," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

Joshua bends down to gather his papers, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Looks like some things never change," he retorts. "Still as clumsy as ever, I see."

You kneel to help him, your fingers brushing against his as you both reach for the same document. A jolt of annoyance surges through you, mingled with an unwelcome spark of attraction. "And you're still as irritating as ever," you reply, your tone sharp.

He chuckles, the sound low and infuriatingly charming. "It's good to see you haven't lost your edge."

"Good to see you haven't lost your overconfidence," you snap back, handing him the last of his papers. "Just stay out of my way."

"Can't make any promises," he says, his eyes twinkling with that competitive spark. "But I'll try to be more careful around you."

You stand up, brushing off your skirt, and take a step back. Joshua stands up with you, looking at you expectantly. Some of his, otherwise perfectly slicked back, hair had fallen out of place over his forehead. "You do that," you say, turning on your heel and walking away.

The encounter leaves you simmering, but also oddly invigorated. The rivalry that once pushed you to your limits in university now fuels your determination, and the undercurrent of attraction only adds to the tension.

Returning to your desk, you feel a renewed sense of focus. Despite the lingering presence of Joshua in the back of your mind, you remind yourself that you’re capable and resilient. Each completed task, each problem solved, reinforces your confidence. You glance up occasionally, noting the bustle of the office around you, a testament to the day marching on.

Later that evening, you meet up with your friend Nari at your favorite bar. The warm ambiance and the hum of conversations provide a comforting backdrop as you both settle into a booth with your drinks. It’s just what you need after your chaotic day at work, and you let yourself fully relax – something that your friend seems to be unable to do. Nari sips her cocktail and sighs deeply, clearly exasperated.

“Another bad date?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” Nari groans. “I don’t know why I even bother with these dating apps anymore. They never seem to work out.”

You nod sympathetically. Nari’s dating woes are a frequent topic of conversation, almost to the point where you have a script of what to say. “Maybe you need to take a break from them.”

“What am I doing wrong, Y/N?” she exclaims with a pout.

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” you correct her. “None of these guys you’re seeing can reach up to your standards, that’s all.”

Nari swirls her drink thoughtfully. “I just can’t get that one guy out of my head. Do you remember the one I met at the bar a few years ago? We had this amazing conversation all night, but I never got his number.”

You scoff playfully, rolling your eyes. “You're such a romantic, Nari. Holding out hope for some guy you met once.”

“You don’t understand! We talked for hours, at some point I thought I'd never go home– and I was fine with it! I think we talked about Billy Elliot for, like, an hour. We both had been crying through it as kids, apparently,” she explains. “It felt like I had met a soulmate... not just because of that, of course, but we were so alike in everything we talked about! I’ve never met anyone like that.”

“This is why I can’t do what you do,” you say. “I can’t do romance, I’d just end up disappointed.”

Nari laughs and leans in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Speaking of romance, what about you and Joshua? Seems like you two have a lot of unresolved tension.”

You nearly choke on your drink. “Joshua? No way. He’s just... ugh, he’s always been a pain. And now I’ll have to deal with him again. I thought I was done with him after uni.”

“Uh-huh,” Nari teases, raising an eyebrow. “A handsome, successful pain who you just can’t stop thinking about.”

You shake your head in an attempt to drown out her claims, but you can’t deny that Joshua has been occupying your thoughts since you saw him earlier. Despite feeling annoyed by his presence, you find yourself strangely intrigued by the possibilities. It’s strange how someone you despised could still ignite a sense of motivation within you.

“Do you know why he transferred?” Nari asks, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Not at all,” you admit. “I thought he was pretty much in love with his old company– that’s what it sounded like in school, at least.”

“I have a memory of you complaining about that, yeah.” She nods and sips on her drink before she gets an idea that almost makes her jump out of her seat. “If you’re going to start complaining about Joshua now, I think I’m allowed to talk about my almost-soulmate! We should take turns!”

“Why are you so excited about that?” You laugh at her eccentric behavior.

“Because now I finally have something to hold over your head!” she exclaims and the two of you laugh together.

After finishing your drinks, you and Nari leave the bar, bickering lightheartedly about your love lives before you head your separate ways. Walking home, the cool night air does little to clear your head. Your thoughts drift back to Joshua and the memories of your law school days. You remember the heated debates, the competitive spirit, and most vividly, the times you compared test scores after the particularly grueling exams. Everything you did, in the end, you did to beat Joshua. It’s part of the reason you ended up at the top of your class, you’re sure of it.

As you unlock your door and step into your apartment, your cat greets you with a soft meow. You sigh, kicking off your shoes and recounting the day’s events to your furry friend. “Can you believe it, Tofu? Joshua Hong, of all people.”

Your cat blinks at you, unimpressed by your human drama. Shaking your head, you head to the bathroom to get ready for bed. After feeding Tofu, you walk into your bathroom to do your skincare. As you brush your teeth, you catch your reflection in the mirror, thinking about Joshua’s smirk and the way he still knows how to get under your skin. You shiver at the thought, quickly spitting out the toothpaste in your sink before going into your bedroom.

Finally, you crawl into bed, setting your alarm with extra care this time. 

“Not going to be late again,” you mutter to yourself, determined to face whatever challenges tomorrow brings, including Joshua. As you drift off to sleep, your dreams are filled with memories of past rivalries and the confusing mix of emotions that come with seeing Joshua again.

The next day, you walk into the office determined to focus on your work and ignore Joshua. However, that plan quickly falls apart. As soon as you start reviewing the case files, Joshua walks up behind you in the meeting room. He looks over your shoulder, at the notes you have on your computer, and points out a section you had just written.

“Are you sure you want to approach the case like this?” he asks, pointing to your notes. “I think your argument here is a bit weak.”

You glare at him, refusing to back down. “I’m confident in my approach, Joshua. Maybe you should focus on your work instead of nitpicking mine.”

He smirks, raising an eyebrow. “Just trying to help. Wouldn’t want you to get left behind.”

From that moment, the rivalry that had simmered since law school reignites with full force. Every interaction becomes a contest of who can outdo the other, with you both constantly trying to prove your superiority. Meetings turn into battlegrounds of sharp words and pointed comments, neither of you willing to concede any ground.

Weeks pass, and your frustration with Joshua grows. You vent to Nari over lunch, recounting the latest clash with your rival.

“He just gets under my skin,” you fume, stabbing at your salad. “He questions everything I do, and it’s driving me crazy.”

Nari listens patiently, a knowing smile on her face. “You know, all this bickering sounds like something else to me.”

You look at her, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Nari says, leaning in, “as I said before, it sounds like you two have a lot of unresolved tension. To me, all of your stories sound like he’s flirting with you. Maybe you should just ask him out and get it over with.”

You blink in surprise, caught off guard by the suggestion. “Ask him out? Joshua? Are you kidding?”

“Think about it,” Nari insists. “You guys are already close, and there’s clearly something there. It might be worth exploring.”

You shake your head, but Nari’s words linger in your mind. The idea seems absurd, yet the more you think about it, the more you wonder if there might be some truth to what she’s saying. It’s not like your love life can get any worse—it’s practically non-existent. Being with someone you know, someone who’s as passionate about work as you are might be a good thing. Maybe there is something beneath all the rivalry and tension that’s worth exploring.

Over the next few days, Nari’s words echo in your mind. The more you think about it, the more you realize there might be some truth to her suggestion. Joshua is good-looking and undeniably talented, and your interactions, while contentious, are always charged with a certain energy. You start to wonder if, beneath all that rivalry, there might be something more. And even if there wasn’t, maybe there could be something – you had been on your own for a while, it was time to find someone.

Finally, you decide to take Nari’s advice. You can’t deny that Joshua has been occupying your thoughts more than usual, and maybe it’s time to confront this situation head-on. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

The case your team has been working on finally comes to a close, and you all decide to celebrate with a night out at a nearby bar. As the drinks flow, your usual restraint begins to wane, and you find yourself getting more and more intoxicated.

Encouraged by the alcohol and a sudden surge of confidence, you decide to go for it. You approach Joshua, your heart pounding in your chest. He’s standing by the wall, watching all of your coworkers play a game of mafia loudly. He managed to lose in the first round, and you followed shortly after—on purpose, to be alone with him.

“Joshua,” you slur slightly, trying to steady yourself. “I need to tell you something.”

He looks at you curiously, tilting his head. “What is it, Y/N?”

Taking a deep breath, you muster all your courage. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I think there’s something between us. Do you... want to go out with me?”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Joshua sighs, a look of regret and guilt crossing his face. “Y/N, I... I have a girlfriend.”

Your heart sinks, the embarrassment hitting you like a sobering wave. “Oh,” you manage to say, your voice small. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

You nod, forcing a smile. “No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have... I’m just gonna go.”

Even when he’s rejecting you, he’s perfect. Without waiting for a response, you turn and make your way outside, your vision blurring with unshed tears.

You find yourself sitting on the curb, the cool night air doing little to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside you. Through blurred vision, you order a cab on your phone. As you wait for your cab, your phone rings. It’s Nari.

“Hey, guess what!” she exclaims, her excitement palpable even through the phone, and she doesn’t even give you time to answer before she continues, “I found him! The guy from the bar all that time ago. We’re going out for fast food right now! His name is Vernon– can you believe how sweet that is?”

You force yourself to sound happy for her, even though your heart feels like it’s breaking. “That’s amazing, Nari. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, Y/N. I gotta go, but we’ll talk soon, okay? I’ll give you all the details later,” she whispers out the last part as if she’s scared to get caught.

“Sure,” you say, barely managing to keep your voice steady. “Have fun.”

As the call ends, you finally allow the tears to fall. The cab arrives, and you climb in, trying to hold back the sobs that threaten to escape. The driver doesn’t say anything as you give your address, and you spend the ride home in silence, the events of the night playing over and over in your mind.

When you finally get home, you collapse onto your bed, the weight of your unrequited feelings pressing down on you. Despite your best efforts, you can’t stop the tears that come, and you cry yourself to sleep, the heartbreak feeling all too real.

The next morning, you drag yourself to work, the events of the previous night still weighing heavily on your mind. The thought of facing Joshua again is too much to bear, so you decide to take action. After some deliberation, you gather your courage and head to your boss’s office.

“Come in,” your boss says as you knock on the door. You step inside, closing the door behind you.

“Good morning,” you greet, trying to keep your voice steady. “I wanted to discuss something important.”

Your boss looks up from his paperwork, giving you his full attention. “Of course, Y/N. What’s on your mind?”

Taking a deep breath, you say, “I’d like to request a transfer to a different department.”

Your boss raises an eyebrow. “A transfer? This is sudden. Is everything alright?”

You hesitate, choosing your words carefully. “I just think a change of scenery would be beneficial for me right now. Personal reasons, mostly.”

He studies you for a moment before nodding. “Well, it’s interesting you bring this up. You were due for a promotion. I was planning to discuss it with you later this week. If you’re looking for a change, we can consider promoting you to a different department.”

Surprise and relief wash over you. “Really? That would be... perfect.”

“Great. Let me work out the details, and I’ll get back to you by the end of the week,” he says, offering a reassuring smile.

“Thank you,” you reply, genuinely grateful.

For the rest of the week, you make a conscious effort to avoid Joshua. You adjust your schedule to minimize any potential interactions, keeping your head down and focusing on your work. Whenever you catch a glimpse of him in the hallway or the break room, you quickly divert your path, hoping to remain unnoticed.

The days crawl by, but finally, your boss calls you into his office again. “Y/L/N, I have some good news. We’ve finalized your promotion. Starting next week, you’ll be moving to the Corporate Law Department as a Senior Associate.”

A wave of relief floods over you. “Thank you so much. I appreciate the opportunity.”

“Congratulations, Y/N. I have no doubt you’ll excel in your new role.”

As you leave his office, you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Relief at the promotion and the prospect of a fresh start, but also a lingering sadness at how things turned out with Joshua. You throw yourself into your new role, working hard to establish yourself and make the most of the opportunity.

Months go by, and you successfully manage to avoid Joshua. Your new position keeps you busy, and the physical distance between departments helps. Slowly, you begin to find your footing again, the sting of rejection fading with time.

While the rivalry with Joshua may be behind you, the memory of it lingers, a reminder of the complicated dynamics that can exist between two people. But for now, you focus on moving forward, determined to make the most of your career and whatever comes next.

It’s late spring, and Nari is practically glowing with happiness. She and her new boyfriend, Vernon, have been dating for a few months now, and they’ve just decided to take their first trip together. Over one of your weekly lunches, Nari excitedly tells you about the trip.

“Guess what?” Nari exclaims, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“What’s up?” you ask, smiling at her enthusiasm – it was always nice to see her being so positive, something that’s happened more and more recently.

“Vernon’s friend invited us to stay at his summer house for a few days! It’s going to be amazing – a beautiful lake, lots of relaxation, and just what we need,” she gushes.

“That sounds fantastic,” you reply, genuinely happy for her.

Nari leans in a bit closer. “There’s more. Vernon’s friend said I could invite someone, and I want you to come with us.”

You’re taken aback. “Me? Are you sure? It’s your first vacation together, Nari. I don’t want to intrude.”

Nari shakes her head vigorously. “No, no, it’s not like that. I’ll be honest, I need you there. This is a big step for me and Vernon, and having you there would be a huge support. Plus, Vernon’s friend is single, and you never know…”

You laugh and shake your head. “I’m not going for a romantic setup, Nari. But if you need me there, I’ll come.”

Nari beams at you, relief evident on her face. “Thank you, Y/N. It means a lot to me.”

A week later, you find yourself nestled comfortably in the backseat of Vernon’s car. The gentle hum of the engine and the rhythmic swaying of the vehicle create a soothing backdrop as Nari and Vernon engage in lively conversation up front. The bustling cityscape slowly fades away, giving way to a more serene and picturesque countryside. Verdant fields extend endlessly on either side of the road, their lush green expanse interspersed with vibrant wildflowers that flutter playfully in the breeze. As the car's tires glide smoothly over the pavement, you watch the world outside morph into a stunning pastoral scene, the tranquil rhythm of the journey calming your senses.

When Vernon’s car finally rolls to a stop in front of the lake house, your breath catches. The estate before you is nothing short of magnificent, standing majestically against the backdrop of the glistening lake. The grand architecture of the lake house blends seamlessly with the surrounding nature, its wide verandas and large, inviting windows exuding an air of comfort and elegance. The entire property seems to beckon you inside, promising a retreat from the outside world.

You take a moment to soak in the breathtaking view, feeling an overwhelming sense of peace. The lake stretches out like a pristine mirror, reflecting the clear blue sky and the lush, green trees that frame its edges. The late afternoon sun casts long, golden shadows across the landscape, imbuing the scene with a warm, inviting glow. It feels like a perfect sanctuary where the demands of daily life simply melt away.

“Wow, this place is amazing,” you breathe out, your eyes wide with admiration as you take in the idyllic surroundings.

Vernon’s face lights up with pride. “Yeah, it’s quite something, isn’t it? My friend’s doing very well for himself.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you turn to Vernon. “What does your friend do for a living?”

Vernon chuckles softly, clearly enjoying the moment. “Josh is a lawyer.”

The name hits you like a sudden jolt, and a sense of dread grips you. “Wait, a lawyer? Josh?”

Before Vernon can respond further, you notice a figure approaching the car. A wave of panic washes over you as you recognize the approaching figure.

Joshua Hong.

Desperation surges through you, and you scramble for an excuse. “Nari, can you drop me off at a bus stop or somewhere nearby? I just remembered I have an urgent appointment back home.”

Vernon, oblivious to your distress, steps out of the car to greet Joshua with a friendly wave. Nari, her concern evident, turns to you with a worried expression. “Y/N, are you okay?”

You manage a strained smile, hoping to alleviate her concern. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a last-minute thing.”

Nari’s concern deepens as she looks around, considering your request. “I’m sorry, but there aren’t any bus stops around here for a while. Is it really that urgent?”

“It’s about to be…” The urgency in your voice is more than noticeable, but you know you have no choice but to face Joshua. With a heavy heart, you brace yourself and step out of the car, greeting him with a curt nod.

“Joshua,�� you say, striving to keep your voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within you.

“Y/N,” he replies, his tone polite but his eyes revealing a hint of surprise at seeing you.

Vernon, sensing the tension, steps in to diffuse the situation. “Joshua, Y/N is Nari's friend I mentioned earlier.”

Joshua nods politely, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. “Nice to see you again, Y/N.”

You muster a tight-lipped smile, doing your best to conceal the inner storm. “Likewise.”

Nari glances between you and Joshua, her curiosity piqued. “You two know each other? From where?”

“From work,” you and Joshua say in unison, the shared response hanging in the air.

Nari’s eyes widen slightly as she processes this. “Oh… it’s that Joshua…” she murmurs under her breath, and you feel a headache beginning to brew by the front of your head.

As you follow Nari and Vernon inside, you can’t shake the feeling that this trip might not be as relaxing as you hoped – especially with Joshua Hong in such close proximity.

The group settles into the lake house, and you’re shown to your rooms by Joshua. Nari and Vernon are assigned the more spacious guest room, leaving you with the smaller one just down the hall from Joshua’s room. It’s a beautiful place, but the proximity to Joshua adds another layer of discomfort. He shows it to you while the other two unpack their bags. When you’ve walked into the room and put your bag down, Joshua leans against the door frame.

“I heard you got a promotion,” he begins, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, I did,” you reply tersely, not sure where this conversation is headed.

“Congratulations,” he says, his voice sincere.

“Thanks,” you mutter, feeling uneasy under his gaze.

“Listen, if I had known that it was you, I would’ve asked Nari to invite someone else,” Joshua admits his words causing a pang of disappointment in your chest.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint,” you retort.

“That’s not what I—” he starts to explain, but you cut him off.

“I’ll leave as soon as I figure out a way to get home,” you declare, already planning your escape. "They insisted on driving me here, so I don't exactly have a way of escaping."

“Y/N, you should stay,” Joshua insists, his tone softer now. “I’ve never seen you take time off before. You should enjoy yourself.”

You scoff bitterly. “You think I can enjoy myself when you’re around?”

“I’ll stay out of your way as much as I can,” Joshua offers, ignoring your bitterness. “As long as Nari and Vernon haven’t planned group activities.”

You pause, considering his words. The prospect of leaving this beautiful retreat because of Joshua doesn’t sit well with you, but neither does the thought of spending more time in such close quarters with him.

“... fine. Let’s hope they haven’t,” you concede reluctantly, closing the door with a finality that hangs heavily in the air.

As Joshua walks away, you close the door and lean against it, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. This vacation suddenly feels more like a test of endurance than a relaxing getaway.

Despite the close quarters of the lake house, you manage to maintain a respectful distance from Joshua. You navigate the space with a careful precision, orchestrating excuses to linger in the background or to partake in activities where he’s less likely to be present. It's a delicate dance of avoidance—sidestepping eye contact and keeping your conversations short and polite whenever your paths intersect.

One afternoon, Nari proposes a boat ride around the lake. You agree reluctantly, hoping the change of scenery will provide a welcome distraction from the uncomfortable tension that lingers between you and Joshua. As you settle into the boat, the engine’s soft rumble vibrates through the seats, and you take a deep breath, attempting to embrace the moment.

Across from you, Vernon occupies his seat with a quiet, unassuming presence. His warm smile and relaxed demeanor are new to you, as you haven’t had much chance to interact with him until now. He seems genuinely at ease, contrasting sharply with the tension you feel.

“I heard about what happened between you two,” Vernon says, his voice gentle but carrying an undercurrent of curiosity.

You glance over at Joshua, who stands by the steering wheel, showing Nari the intricacies of boat operation. Nari, bundled up in one of Vernon’s oversized sweaters, tugs at the sleeves as she watches Joshua’s every move. She studies the way he operates the boat with knitted brows, nodding along to every other word he says.

Joshua, dressed in his annoyingly perfect white t-shirt and black swimming trunks, looks effortlessly handsome, and it stings to see him so relaxed. His hair is messily slicked back, kept in place by the salty water from his swim earlier- which you definitely didn't witness. Some of the water still clings to his slightly sunburnt skin. A pair of sunglasses sit on the tip of his nose, and you can't really see where he's looking but you hope for everyone's sake that he's looking at the water and not you. With him far enough away to allow for candid conversation, you turn back to Vernon with a sigh.

“Did he tell you everything?” you ask, your voice carrying a trace of exasperation.

“Pretty much,” Vernon responds with a thoughtful hum. “Honestly, I’m on your side. He’s a big flirt.”

“You can say that again.” You take a sip of the cocktail Nari had prepared for the group, the fruity flavor providing a momentary distraction. “I think it’s in his nature…”

Vernon chuckles, lifting his own drink to his lips. There’s something surprisingly comforting about his presence, and you begin to feel a sense of camaraderie with him.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for Nari, by the way,” you say, your tone sincere. “I haven’t seen her this happy in a long time.”

Vernon shrugs modestly, but his small, genuine smile betrays his pleasure. “I just like making her happy... Actually, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Go ahead,” you encourage, curiosity piqued.

“I’ve been thinking of asking her to move in with me,” Vernon confesses, his voice laced with both excitement and nervousness. You hum thoughtfully. “Things have been going so well—so I was considering asking her with flowers, lilies.”

“She’ll love that.” You nod approvingly. “She’s quite the romantic—getting her flowers that she's named after will definitely make her swoon.”

You both chuckle at the thought, glancing over at Nari, who waves cheerfully from her spot. The warmth of the moment makes you realize that Vernon’s proposal is heartfelt and genuine. You turn back to him, offering more advice. “Asking her to move in with you is a great idea. I’m sure she’d love it. She’s just a bit shy when it comes to big gestures. It might be better to do it after the trip, when you’re alone. She likes to keep things private.”

“Good to know.” Vernon nods, setting his glass back down with a thoughtful expression.

“I’m not her best friend for nothing,” you say with a hint of pride.

“True,” Vernon agrees with a smile. “... Can I give you some advice too?”

“Shoot,” you reply, looking at him with an intrigued gaze.

“Try again,” he suggests softly, his tone carrying a note of encouragement. “With Joshua, I mean.”

“Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” you ask, feeling a mix of hope and skepticism.

“Things have changed...” Vernon’s fingers fidget slightly, as if he’s weighing his words carefully. “I won’t speak for him, but just… give it a try.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you say with a resigned sigh. “Maybe I will.”

As the boat glides smoothly across the lake’s tranquil waters, the gentle lap of waves against the hull offers a brief respite from the storm of emotions swirling within you. The serenity of the lake, combined with Vernon’s unexpected support, provides a welcome escape from the lingering tension at the lake house.

As the vacation nears its end, you find yourself alone with Joshua on the porch one evening – Vernon’s words floating freely in your mind. You’re not sure how you ended up sitting with Joshua, but you were tipsy enough not to care. After the drinks before and during dinner, on top of the beer you’re drinking now, your ability to think of the consequences of your actions has flown out the window. So, sitting next to Joshua on the deckchairs is the least of your worries at the moment.

The sun sets in a blaze of orange and pink hues, casting a warm glow over the lake house porch where the two of you sit. There’s tension in the air, a mix of unresolved rivalry and unspoken attraction that has lingered between you for so long.

Joshua breaks the silence, his voice gentle yet filled with determination. “I heard Vernon’s going to ask Nari to move in with him.”

“He is.” You nod. “It’s sweet.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea?” he questions.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“It’s only been a few months, they barely know each other… I just think it’s better if they wait.” Joshua takes a sip of his beer.

“I think you’re being pessimistic.” You put down your own bottle of beer. “They’re good for each other. Some people can have all the time in the world and still not work out, why shouldn’t they try it out?”

Joshua pauses, looking over at you with a questioning gaze. You watch the gears turning in his head, and he eventually groans when he comes to a realization. “Vernon told you about my break up, didn’t he?”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” You sigh. “It’s not like I pried the information out of him, you know?”

“I know, I just… we have a history that makes everything awkward, somehow,” Joshua says. “It just adds to it, I guess– I should’ve told him not to say anything.”

“It’s fine. Why should I care?” You fidget with your nails.

Joshua placed his half-empty bottle of beer down on the wooden table, the condensation leaving a small ring on the surface. As he did so, he shot a quizzical look in your direction, raising one eyebrow in playful curiosity. A rush of excitement bubbled up inside you, but you quickly attributed it to the alcohol. Nevertheless, unable to contain your amusement, a soft giggle escaped your lips as you returned his gaze with a coy grin and raised your eyebrows inquisitively, silently prompting him to explain his unexpected gesture.

“You don’t care?” he asks, “Not at all? Not one bit?”

“Not at all.” You take another sip of your beer. “Not one bit.”

Joshua hums in disapproval, slowly shaking his head – but his smile gave away that he was joking around. The look he gave you, something secret glittering in his eyes, took you back to all those years ago. He looked the same as he did in university. Maybe his smile lines were a bit more pronounced, and maybe you could find gray hairs if you looked closely, but he was pretty much the same. A proper boy next door with an irresistible charm.

“I could’ve sworn that you asked me out a few months ago,” he argued. “To me, that seems like caring– I don’t know about you.”

“Shut up.” You playfully roll your eyes at him and put your beer bottle down next to his. “Let’s forget about it. I should’ve known you weren’t interested, anyway.”

“I don’t want to forget about it,” Joshua confesses. “And who says I’m not interested?”

You cast a furtive glance in Joshua's direction, your eyes widening in surprise, but he responds with a casual shrug. As he sits up, he swings his legs over the deckchair's edge to squarely face you. His tousled hair adds to his disheveled charm, prompting you to sit up a bit and instinctively reach out to straighten it, but you stop yourself just in time. The two of you are seated with your feet pointing toward each other, both of you feeling the weight of anticipation for what might unfold next hanging in the air.

“You’re interested in me?” you ask.

“Why do you think my relationship went to shit?”

You guffaw at his statement as if it was the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard. However, Joshua looks back at you with complete seriousness.

“You’re saying you broke up with your ex because of me?” you say.

“I might as well have,” he confesses. “She said I talked too much about you… even went so far as to encourage me to go after you ‘now that I’m single,’ although I don’t think she was being serious with that one.”

Hearing about Joshua’s failing relationship, because of you no less, satisfies the little monster of envy in your chest. You can’t help but laugh at the situation, though you quickly cover your mouth and apologize.

“No, you’re right.” He picks his beer up again and takes a sip. “It is funny.”

“... you talked about me?” you question, and lean forward as if to encourage him to share his secrets. “What did you say?”

“I’m not sure if I should tell,” he mutters and leans forward as well. “Do you really want to know?”

“Desperately,” you say dramatically, making Joshua laugh.

“Most of the time I complained– but apparently my tangents were too flirtatious in nature.”

“That’s just like you.” You nodded. “You flirt with everyone.”

“Of course, you would think that…” he murmurs and glances down at your lips. “The truth is, Y/N… I only flirt with you.”

“That’s not true! I’ve seen you! You chat up every woman I’ve ever seen you work with– not to mention the way you always try to flatter our superiors.”

“Flattery and flirting are different, sweetheart.” He puts down the bottle again and moves a little closer to you. “I thought you, out of all people, would’ve noticed that by now.”

You can only stare at Joshua, your mind completely blank of any retaliation that you would usually come up with. Not even when Joshua reached over to you, and grabbed your hand; not even when he pulled you up to your feet and guided you over to where he was sitting, could you come up with anything to say.

You only stare as he grabs your beer from your hand and puts it on the table, before making you straddle his lap. Everything in your mind is screaming at you to do something – you’re surprised by how easily you give in to him, but you do nothing to stop it.

“Is this okay?” he asks and you can only nod in response. “Not feeling so chatty anymore?”

Who is this man? You don’t recognize the Joshua in front of you – when did he gain the ability to make you weak in the knees? With a gentle touch, Joshua traces the skin of your arms until he reaches your hands – which he puts on his shoulders. His every move is slow, giving you the opportunity to deny him. You don’t. Joshua lets out a chuckle at your wide eyes and slightly parted lips.

“Who even are you?” you manage to whisper.

“Tonight? I’m whoever you want me to be.” 

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m sober enough to know what I want,” he argues. “Do you?”

You swallow and glance down at his lips, at the way the tip of his tongue darts out to wet them ever so slightly — has he always had such perfectly kissable lips? When Joshua’s hands play with the hem of your shirt, you’re brought back to your senses. He raises his eyebrows, silently repeating his question.

“Fuck it,” you mutter under your breath. “Take me to your room.”

Nari and Vernon are already asleep at the other end of the house, deciding to take an early night after the drinking and constant sun exposure tired them out, so Joshua carries you through the house without worry. He’s already kissing you by the time he opens the door to his bedroom – the only room you haven’t seen in the house.

His bed is neatly made, everything put into place, although you hardly notice it as Joshua’s keeping you much too busy. He throws you on the bed, before crawling up to you himself. You find yourself pinned under him, as he drinks in the sight of you looking like the perfect prey.

“Will you let me have my way with you without biting back tonight, sweetheart?” he murmurs before pressing another soft kiss to your lips.

“Depends on if you can shut me up or not,” you tease.

“Oh, you’re just begging to be taught a lesson, aren’t you?”

You shut him up with another kiss, and he smiles against your lips. As your hands find their way under his t-shirt, he pulls away for a second to pull it over his head. Your hands reach out to touch him, admire his toned, sunkissed torso—cursing yourself for saying no when the rest of the group went out to swim earlier today. Joshua’s hands are playing with the hem of your shirt now, and you sit up to take it off. One of his hands cups your still-covered breast, while the other gently caresses your waist.

“Beautiful,” he mutters under his breath before bending down to leave marks along your clavicle.

You turn your head to give him more access, a gasp escaping your lips as his teeth graze against your delicate skin. His hands go behind your back, unclipping the clasp of your bra and pulling the straps down your shoulders.

You cup his cheek, your fingers trembling slightly as you study his flushed face. The intensity in his eyes and the warmth of his skin feel almost surreal, as if this moment is one you’ll never experience again. Your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps, the air around you charged with an electric tension that makes it almost impossible to think clearly.

“What are you doing to me?” he asks, his voice a mix of confusion and desire. His breath mingles with yours, each exhale heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions.

“Is it me or is it the alcohol?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, each word laden with uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he admits, his eyes locked onto yours, his gaze searching for answers that neither of you seem to have.

Before you have a chance to respond, the space between you closes with a sudden intensity. His lips crash against yours, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through your entire body. The world narrows to just the sensation of his kiss, every other thought and concern momentarily forgotten. The tension that had been building between you erupts in this singular, explosive moment, leaving you breathless and utterly consumed.

Joshua pushes one of his knees between your legs, and you moan into his mouth at the contact. The sound ignited something within him, and he began kissing down your body. When he reached the top of your jeans, he expertly undid the button and zipper and pulled the pants off your body. A wet stain is visible on your gray panties, and Joshua presses his thumb against it. An urge to close your legs hits you then, but he’s holding them apart—as if he’s protecting his right to see you like this with his life.

Soon enough, he’s ripping your panties off and diving into your pussy. His tongue is messy, toying with your clit before moving down to your hole. Joshua moans, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, as he tastes you. His arms wrap tightly around your thighs, holding you in place. Even if you wanted to escape his ministrations, you couldn’t.

“Oh god,” you moan, “Don’t stop!”

You should know better than to command Joshua to do something. As soon as the words leave your lips, his grip releases and he sits up on his knees. Your orgasm is dragged away from you, and you glare up at Joshua. He only grins back like a madman, his lower face covered in your juices.

With a huff, you sit up and go to unbutton his jeans—desperate to have him feel the same withdrawal. He halts your movements by softly placing his hands over yours, gently guiding them to a stop. You look up at him. His eyes are filled with lust as he cups your cheek, bending down to capture your lips in a kiss. You whimper when you taste yourself on him.

“Do you want me?” he murmurs against your lips.

“Please,” you whine.

“Tell me,” he hums. “Tell me that you want me.”

He leans his forehead against yours, staring into your soul. You can’t allow yourself to say it—you can’t give in to him this easily… right? But you do want him, that’s no secret by now. You don’t just want him, you need him.

“I want you, Joshua…”

With an animalistic growl, he pushes his lips against yours again. You help him get his pants off, your teeth clashing against each other as you move. There’s no time to savor feeling him up over his underwear, he just rips them off.

His calloused hands push you back onto the bed before he pushes your thighs apart again. He watches you like a man starved, waiting for any sign that you don’t want to continue. You reach out for him, and once he’s in your embrace you lock your legs around his waist.

“I give in,” you murmur in his ear. “Have your way with me.”

At your compliance, he aligns his cock with your core and pushes inside of you. The two of you groan at the feeling—something that you hadn’t felt in so long, to the point where you had forgotten how much better it felt than playing with your toys. You trail kisses down his jaw, to his throat. Joshua starts moving his hips against yours, and you find yourself in ecstasy. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he moans hoarsely.

You smile against the skin of his neck, only humming in approval. His dick was bigger than you could’ve imagined, filling you up to the point where you felt completely full, and when he slams into you like your pussy is the best he’s ever had, you can’t help but nearly scream for him. You can only hope that your friends are sound asleep.

“I should’ve done this sooner.” Joshua pants as he leans his forehead against yours. “You feel so good…”

For a moment, you swear that you heard him whine for you. As his hips stutter, you take the opportunity to maneuver yourself on top of him. Once you’re sitting on him, you grind your hips against his before you start bouncing. Joshua sits up, taking one of your tits in his mouth—his hands traveling from your waist to your upper back to push you further against him.

“Do you want to cum inside me, baby?” you ask.

Joshua peers up at you through his lashes, his eyes hazy with lust. His mouth detaches from your body, and you smile at the sight of his glossy and swollen lips. He nods, laying back down to fuck up into you. Joshua’s hands are back on your hips, keeping you still to let him do all the work.

“Holy fffuck–”

You reach your hand down to rub your clit, and Joshua moans as you clench around him. The two of you are babbling incoherently; begging the other to cum with you, telling each other that you’re so close, and letting out unintelligible moans.

By the time you’re cumming, you’re shaking and your eyes are rolling back into your head. You fall against Joshua as he starts slowing down his thrusts. His arms embrace you again, holding your sweaty body against his chest.

“Are you alright?” he whispers, his voice tender and concerned as it brushes against your ear.

“I’m good,” you slur out, struggling to piece together your fragmented thoughts.

For a brief moment, everything goes dark. When consciousness returns, you find yourself lying beside Joshua. The covers are now draped over both of you, cocooning you in a warm embrace. Joshua’s fingers trace gentle, soothing circles on your skin, his touch both comforting and intimate. As your eyes flutter open, you meet his gaze. His eyes hold a mixture of relief and affection, and a soft, reassuring smile spreads across his face.

“Hi,” he says, his voice low and gentle, as if he’s afraid to startle you.

“Hi,” you respond, your voice still shaky. “Was I out?”

“Only for a bit,” he murmurs, his fingers continuing their soothing motion. “I got us cleaned up and into bed. You didn’t miss much.” His tone is calming, filled with a quiet confidence that eases the lingering haze from your mind.

You chuckle, moving to lay closer to his chest. "I'm on birth control, by the way... you don't have to worry about any surprises."

Joshua hums in response. Your legs are already sore, but you find comfort in the slight sting. Joshua’s fingers don’t stop drawing circles and the action, along with the rhythm of his breathing, has you almost falling back asleep.

“I missed you after graduation,” he admits with a mutter. “I thought I’d find it peaceful, but I didn’t… I did everything to hide it, but maybe switching companies gave it away.”

“You switched companies for me?” You move to get a better look at him.

“Would it be embarrassing if I said yes?”

“Absolutely.” You grin, and he replies with a smile. 

You stifle a yawn, and Joshua coos at you in a way that you would’ve found annoying—but now, your heart swells a little in your chest. He brushes away a few stray hairs from your face.

“Go to sleep,” he murmurs. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Goodnight.” You nuzzle your face back into his chest.

“Goodnight.

Morning brings a bittersweet awakening. Despite Joshua’s confession, despite the night you shared together, you can’t bring yourself to stay with him. You know that it would only end with broken hearts and an even more awkward atmosphere at work. No, you can’t stay like this — Joshua’s arms around you, his soft snores, and his calm heartbeat, all make it too real.

You feel the weight of last night’s decisions as you quietly slip out of his embrace. He doesn’t wake up, he merely scrunches his nose and lazily pats the space on the bed to find you. When he doesn’t, he settles for a pillow that he embraces just as he had embraced you prior. Tears begin to sting your eyes, you can’t watch this any longer, and you leave without hesitation.

After changing and grabbing your purse from your room, you find Nari sitting in the kitchen on one of the barstools. She’s snickering to herself while she’s watching Vernon make breakfast– you’d never seen her let go of control in the kitchen before, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Joshua could wake up any moment you would’ve stayed and watched. She turns to you with a bright smile once you make yourself known by clearing your throat.

“Good morning!” she chirps, but her smile falters when she sees your wrecked expression. “Are you alright, Y/N?”

“I… I need you to drive me to the bus station.” You didn’t mean for your voice to become so shaky, but you couldn’t help it.

“Did something happen?” Vernon asks, but you can’t look at him.

“I just need to go home– I think I’m getting sick,” you lie.

“Oh, well if you just wait a minute, we can pack up and leave all together. I don’t mind leaving early if you’re feeling sick,” Nari says, compassionate as ever.

“No.” You look up at her, trying to silently communicate something with your eyes — what, you’re not really sure. “I need to leave now.”

Nari pauses, thinking it over before eventually nodding. Every second that passes feels like an hour to you, and your friend seems to be able to notice it. She says goodbye to Vernon, telling him to not burn the house down as she plants a kiss on his cheek. You want to throw up.

“I’ll get my jacket.” She grabs the car keys and walks out of the kitchen ahead of you. “Let’s go.” 

The drive is silent, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of emotions left unsaid. Nari understands your need for solitude, respecting your fragile state. The journey feels longer than it should, each passing mile echoing the uncertainty of what lies ahead.

At last, you arrive at the bus stop. She tells you that she’ll bring your bags for you when she and Vernon get back to the city. Before you can step out of the car, she puts a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s Joshua, isn’t it?” she asks and you nod. “Alright. I understand if you don’t want to talk about it… but know that I’ll back you up no matter what.”

With a soft murmur of thanks, you bid Nari farewell, watching her drive away into the distance. Alone at the bus stop, you wait for the bus that will take you back to the familiar confines of your life.

The sun rises higher in the sky, casting a warm glow that hints at new beginnings. As you board the bus, you carry with you the echoes of a night spent in each other’s arms. You sit down in one of the many empty seats, looking out the window to watch the trees fly by and the lake in the distance grow smaller and smaller.

Back at work, you find yourself actively avoiding Joshua, more so than before. Every morning, you arrive early at your desk, burying yourself in tasks and emails, hoping to avoid any unnecessary encounters that might stir up the unresolved emotions from your time at the lake house. 

The tension between you and Joshua doesn't go unnoticed by your colleagues. They whisper about the shift in dynamics, speculating on the nature of your interactions and the underlying reasons for your distance. Despite their curiosity, no one dares to address the elephant in the room, leaving the unspoken tension to hang heavy in the air.

For you, avoidance isn't just about uncertainty in your feelings for Joshua; it's also about safeguarding your professional reputation and maintaining a sense of control over your emotions. Sleeping around with someone at the office – let alone, someone who’s under you in rank – is enough to stir up headache-inducing drama.

As the weeks pass, you remain resolute in your avoidance, navigating the delicate balance between personal desires and professional boundaries. The workplace becomes a battleground of unspoken words and missed opportunities, with both you and Joshua wondering if there's a way to reconcile the growing attraction with the realities of your professional lives.

Amidst the uncertainty, you and Joshua find yourselves at a crossroads, unsure of whether to pursue what could be or maintain the status quo. The aftermath of your intimate encounter at the lake house lingers.

When you hear the news of Nari moving in with Vernon, you’re ecstatic – and when you see his apartment, you’re in awe. The luxurious condo has two stories and although the loft area is smaller, it’s still impressive. You hadn’t ever thought to ask Vernon what he does for a living, but clearly, it pays well.

As Nari excitedly shows you around the apartment, your heart swells for her. This is all that she had wanted; she had a stable job and a stable relationship, and now one of the most impressive apartments you had ever seen. Once you have seen every crevice of the home, she invites you to a housewarming party that she’s hosting later tonight.

“Isn’t a housewarming party for people who move into a new place?” you ask with a smile.

“Well, yeah– but I’m moving into a new place, so it still counts!”

You laugh with her, congratulating her once again on her new place and promising her that you’ll definitely be there tonight. As you leave through the dining room, you spot a bouquet of lilies sitting pretty in a vase. The memories of yours and Vernon’s conversation bring back memories of the lake house; memories of Joshua. You paint on a smile as you say goodbye, promising to swing by later to help with preparations.

Nari’s excitement is contagious as she organizes a lively housewarming party. The space is adorned with cheerful decorations: vibrant streamers hanging from the ceiling, colorful balloons clustered in the corners, and a beautifully set table brimming with snacks and drinks. Friends gather, their chatter and laughter filling the room, ready to toast to the new chapter in Nari's life.

You arrive, trying to mask the unease lingering beneath the surface. You know that Joshua might be here – or might stop by for a moment, but that’s enough for you to go into full-on fight or flight mode. As you walk in, Nari greets you with a warm hug.

“I'm so glad you could make it!” Nari beams, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you reply, forcing a smile. Inside, though, your heart feels heavy.

As the party progresses, the merriment around you contrasts sharply with the turmoil within. You watch Nari and Vernon laughing together, their connection undeniable. Every affectionate glance they share feels like a knife twisting in your chest. Are you really about to lose your best friend to a friend of Joshua’s? Does he have to take everything from you? The unresolved tension with Joshua weighs heavily on your mind, clouding your judgment along with the many drinks you sneak from the kitchen.

You hate yourself for feeling this way, opting to stay in a corner of the living room to take a moment to breathe. However, the good friend that she is, Nari comes to check up on you.

“Are you alright? You’re not bored, right?” she asks.

“No, I’m fine.”

Your eyes are drawn to a sudden rising volume from the hallway, somebody just arrived. Joshua walks into the living room, still in his suit from work – he had probably been working overtime before he got here. He’s lively chatting away with Vernon, and you feel a clump building up in your chest. You swallow looking back at Nari, who looks as worried as ever.

“I’m just worried about you,” you admit.

“Worried about me?” She chuckles. “Why?”

“This thing with Vernon just seems to be moving too fast. Maybe you shouldn’t.” Your words are sharp as knives, and you can see how they cut through Nari’s bubbly personality.

“What are you talking about?” Nari furrows her eyebrows, her lips forming into a small pout as they always did when she was irritated.

“You’ve only known him for a few months–”

“Oh, so now you’re the expert on relationships? Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Because you’re not thinking straight!”

In a moment of emotional vulnerability, fueled by your own insecurities and the effects of a few too many drinks, you lash out at Nari. The noise of the party seems to fade as you focus on her, your voice rising.

“Be honest. Do you really think this is a good idea, Nari?” you blurt out, your words slurring slightly. “Moving in with Vernon so soon? You’re rushing into this without thinking!”

“Vernon and I are happy. This is what I want.”

“It’s not about what you want, it’s about what’s smart!” you snap, projecting your frustrations about your non-existent relationship with Joshua onto her newfound happiness. “You’re just setting yourself up for disappointment.”

The room falls silent, the party atmosphere dims as tension fills the space. Nari’s eyes well up with tears.

“I thought you were happy for me,” she says, her voice trembling. “Why are you being like this?”

Unable to contain your emotions, you storm out of the party, leaving behind a bewildered Nari and a gathering of uncomfortable guests. The weight of your actions settles heavily on your shoulders as you retreat into the night, grappling with regret and remorse for hurting your friend.

Alone in the quiet of the night, you reflect on the events that transpired. You realize that your anger towards Nari was misplaced, a manifestation of your own internal struggles rather than a reflection of her actions.

The guilt gnaws at you, urging you to confront the root of your insecurities and face the truths you've been avoiding. You walk as far as you can, which is just a block away before your feet start hurting from your heels. You huff over your uncomfortable shoes as you lean against a pole to try to take them off.

Concern etched on his face, Joshua steps out into the cool night air, searching for you. The city streets are bustling, but he spots you, slightly disoriented and clearly in need of assistance. Without hesitation, he approaches, gently guiding you with a steady hand. He makes you put your foot back down on the ground and bends down to fix the strap you had managed to loosen before he stands back up

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you. Are you okay?” Joshua asks, his voice is soft and concerned.

You’re surprised to see Joshua, a mix of relief and embarrassment washing over you as he helps steady your steps. Your mind races, trying to recall your address, but the fog of alcohol clouds your thoughts.

“I... I don’t know,” you mumble, your voice shaky. “I just yelled at my best friend about her perfect relationship, embarrassed myself in front of all of our friends, I’m cold and- and my fucking feet hurt!”

Tears begin to well up in your eyes, and Joshua reacts quickly by gently slipping off his suit jacket and draping it around your shoulders, providing warmth and comfort. Realizing the urgency of the moment, Joshua signals for a passing taxi and assists you as you climb into the back seat.

“What’s your address?” he asks.

However, over the drunken rambles and ugly sobs, he can’t hear a word that you’re saying. You wrap your arms around his bicep, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. You mumble something about just wanting to sleep. With a sigh, Joshua tells the driver his address and asks him to drive carefully. 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to arrive at his condo, as it was only a few blocks away. The warmth and familiarity offer a stark contrast to the chaotic night outside. He ensures you’re settled comfortably on the couch as he helps you off with your shoes. Joshua mutters something about getting you a glass of water, and you hum in response. A few seconds later, he’s back with a tall glass of water which he makes you drink in its entirety.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Okay, let’s get you into something more comfortable.”

Joshua gently guides you deeper into his apartment, his hand steady and reassuring on your back. You stumble slightly, the room spinning around you as you struggle to stay upright. When you reach the bathroom, he helps you sit down on the toilet seat, his touch careful and considerate. The cool porcelain feels surprisingly comforting against your flushed skin, and you lean back, feeling a wave of relief as the spinning sensation subsides a little.

After a minute, Joshua returns, his presence a welcome anchor in the disorienting haze. He places a pile of clothes neatly by the sink, their crisp, clean fabric a stark contrast to the disarray you feel inside. Alongside them, he sets down a box of makeup wipes, their crisp packaging promising a small, fresh start. Without a word, he leaves you alone, allowing you the space to collect yourself.

Once you’re dressed and feeling a bit steadier, you step out of the bathroom. The sight of Joshua waiting for you, his expression a mix of concern and care, brings a pang of guilt. His eyes soften as he takes in your appearance, and he offers a supportive smile as he helps guide you to the bedroom.

The journey to his bed is slow and steady, his hand a constant, reassuring presence on your arm. As you settle into the softness of the bed, the comfort of the sheets and the warmth of the room contrast sharply with the turmoil still churning inside you.

“I’m sorry–” you start, but Joshua quickly hushes you.

“Just rest,” Joshua says gently. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

You nod, grateful for his kindness as you close your eyes, the events of the night replaying in your mind. The weight of your actions and the need to address your inner turmoil hang heavily, but for now, you allow yourself to be enveloped by the warmth and safety of Joshua’s care.

As morning light filters through unfamiliar surroundings, you stir awake, feeling disoriented and unsure of where you are. Panic momentarily sets in as you try to piece together the events of the previous night. Your mind races with fragmented memories, leaving you uncertain about who you spent the night with.

Just then, the door opens quietly, and Joshua steps into the room with a gentle smile. Your heart skips a beat as you see him, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Did you seriously sleep with Joshua for a second time in your drunken state? What did your drunk self have against your sanity?

“Morning,” Joshua says softly, his smile is warm but his eyes are filled with concern.

You sit up quickly, clutching the blanket to your chest. “Joshua, did we...?” you start, your voice trailing off in embarrassment.

He shakes his head, sensing your unease. “No, you slept in here,” he explains calmly, gesturing to the bed. “I took the couch to make sure you were comfortable.”

Relief floods you as you realize your assumption was wrong. “Oh, thank you,” you reply, nodding awkwardly, trying to collect yourself amidst the morning haze.

Joshua gives you a reassuring smile. “I made some breakfast. Why don't you join me in the kitchen?”

You follow Joshua with a mix of gratitude and lingering embarrassment, the weight of the previous night still heavy on your shoulders. As you enter his elegantly furnished kitchen, you’re struck by the refined simplicity of the space. The morning light filters softly through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the polished countertops and tasteful décor.

You sit across from Joshua at a beautifully set breakfast table. The gentle clinking of cutlery and the soft hum of the coffee maker are the only sounds that break the stillness of the calm morning.

As you begin to nibble on your food, your movements are tentative and slow, each bite a small effort to ground yourself. The flavors are comforting, but your mind is still tangled in the events of the night before. The tranquility of the kitchen contrasts sharply with the turmoil you feel inside, and you find yourself grappling with the lingering embarrassment while trying to process the events that led you here.

“How are you feeling?” Joshua asks, his voice gentle.

You sigh, looking down at your plate. “Honestly, a mess… I was so awful to Nari last night. I don’t know what came over me.”

Joshua leans forward, his expression attentive. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Although the situation was strange, you feel yourself fully able to talk to Joshua like this. The vulnerability in your voice is obvious as you begin to share your inner turmoil. “Seeing Nari so happy with Vernon just... it brought out all my insecurities. God– I hate myself for what I said to her.”

Joshua listens attentively, his presence a surprising comforting anchor amidst the storm of emotions. “We all have moments we're not proud of,” he says softly. “But recognizing them is the first step to making things right.”

You glance up, meeting his eyes. “I don't know how to fix this. I’ve hurt her, and I don't know if she’ll forgive me.”

“Give her some time,” Joshua advises. “And when you're ready, talk to her. Be honest about what you're going through. She'll understand.”

In the course of the conversation, there is a sense of relief and lightness as Joshua's empathetic and genuinely concerned responses provide reassurance. Yet, the enduring pain remains. The guilt for the actions towards Nari is now overshadowed by the guilt for the actions directed at Joshua.

“I’m sorry, Joshua,” you say. “I shouldn’t just have left.”

“You had your reasons.” Joshua lifts his coffee cup to his lips. “And I can’t say that I blame you– it was a little too much too fast. I told Vernon after you had left… you should’ve seen his face.”

The two of you break out into soft laughter, the tension between you slowly dissipating. The picture of Vernon’s shocked face is just too clear in your mind, and you end up letting out a snorting laugh. You both pause as you’re struck with embarrassment. When you look up at Joshua, you see a flash of opportunity glimmer in his eyes.

“Don’t,” you warn, but it’s too late.

Joshua struggled to stifle his laughter, but he couldn't help but emit a few chuckles. Under normal circumstances, you would have felt angry at his reaction. However, in the current situation, his amusement was contagious, and you found yourself unable to contain a smile.

“You know,” you say, “I’m actually glad you’re here. You’ve been more supportive than I could have asked for, and definitely more than I deserve.”

Joshua returns the smile, his eyes warm. “I’m just happy I could help.”

As the morning sun filters through the window, you find yourself sitting in the cozy intimacy of Joshua’s kitchen, sharing a heartfelt breakfast and conversation. In that tender moment, you feel a sense of clarity washing over you, marking a pivotal turning point in your relationship.

Realizing the weight of your words and actions from the previous night, you understand the need to mend fences with Nari. With a resolve fueled by introspection, you decide to take the first step toward reconciliation. You leave Joshua’s apartment to go back home, feeding Tofu and freshening up before you sit down on your bed with your phone in your hand.

Gathering your thoughts, you reach out to Nari, your fingers trembling slightly as you type a message on your phone. 

Hey Nari, I really want to apologize for last night. Can we meet up? I’ll be at our usual spot at 3.

After a few moments that feel like an eternity, a reply comes through. It’s a simple “Sure,” but it’s more than enough for you. You breathe a sigh of relief and quickly agree. The hours until the meeting drags by, your mind racing with thoughts of how to articulate your heartfelt apology.

At the café, you arrive early and sit down by your usual table, nervously fiddling with your cup of coffee. You’re not sure if she’ll even show up, and you wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t, but she, nevertheless, walks in through the door. When Nari walks in, you wave her over, standing up to greet her. She offers a tentative smile, but the hurt is still evident in her eyes. The atmosphere between you is thick with tension as she sits down.

“Hi,” you start, your voice trembling slightly. “Thanks for coming.”

Nari nods curtly, her expression guarded. Taking a deep breath, you dive in. “I’m really sorry for what I said last night. I know I hurt you, and that was never my intention. I let my own frustrations and insecurities get the better of me, and I took it out on you. It wasn’t fair, and I deeply regret it.”

Nari’s eyes remain hard, but she listens quietly. The tension is still there, hanging heavily in the air.

“The… incident with Joshua freaked me out a lot– I hadn’t been able to get it off my mind, and the thought of seeing him at your party only made it worse,” you continue, your voice wavering. “I guess, seeing you so happy with Vernon made me scared. I projected my emotions onto your situation. I know it’s no excuse for what I said...”

Nari’s expression softens slightly, but she remains silent, contemplating your words.

“I really am sorry, Nari. You didn’t deserve any of that,” you add, your voice barely above a whisper.

Nari takes a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing a little. “I understand where you’re coming from,” she says finally, her tone gentle. “I should’ve thought about your situation with Joshua... and I appreciate you being honest with me about what you’re going through.”

The tension in the air begins to dissipate, replaced by a sense of tentative understanding. “We all have our moments. What matters is that we’re able to talk about it and move forward,” Nari continues, a small smile forming on her lips.

"So, you'll forgive me?"

Nari pretends to think for a moment, before breaking out into a big smile. "I'll forgive you."

A wave of relief washes over you as you hear her words. “Oh, thank you, Nari. I promise I’ll do better.”

Nari reaches across the table to squeeze your hand. “I know you will… also you owe me a coffee.”

You release a hearty laugh, then briskly make your way to the barista to request another cup of coffee. As you return to your seat, you notice Nari gazing at you with a look of worry etched into her gentle smile.

“Did you get home okay last night?” she asks.

“I… didn’t get home,” you admit.

“What? You didn’t sleep outside, did you?” Her eyes widen as she raises her voice ever so slightly.

“Actually…” You lean forward and lower your voice. “I ended up at Joshua’s place.”

“What?”

You quickly shush her, and she repeats her “What?” in a lower volume. You smile at her, and she raises her eyebrows in a silent question. You shake your head.

“He took me home and let me sleep in his bed– he even slept on the couch,” you say. “I think… I’ll try asking him out again.”

“Really?” Nari gasps but quiets down as her coffee arrives.

She thanks the barista and waits for him to be out of earshot before she lets out an excited “Oh my god!” The two of you quickly fall into your usual banter.

It had been a long, arduous day at work, and you were finally ready to head home. The rain pattered against the office windows, creating a soothing yet melancholic backdrop to your thoughts. You hadn’t spoken to Joshua since that morning in his kitchen, and the awkwardness between you lingered like an unspoken shadow.

As you gathered your things and made your way to the exit, you unexpectedly bumped into Joshua. His eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly composed himself.

“Hey,” he said softly, holding up his umbrella. “Looks like we’re leaving at the same time.”

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile. “Didn’t realize it was raining this hard. I would’ve taken the car this morning if I’d known.”

“Here,” he offered, extending the umbrella. “You can use this. I’ll be fine.”

You hesitate but then nod. “Thanks… How about we share it? We’re both going the same way, right?”

Joshua smiles, a hint of relief in his eyes. “Sure, let’s go.”

The two of you walked in silence under the umbrella, the rain a steady rhythm around you. It felt strange yet comforting to be so close to him after everything that had happened. When you reached the bus stop, the awkwardness slowly began to dissipate.

On the bus, Joshua found seats for both of you and as the vehicle jolted into motion, he broke the silence. “So, how’s everything with Nari?”

You smiled, genuinely happy. “We’re good. We talked it out, and we’re fine again.”

Joshua’s face lit up. “I’m glad to hear that. I hope you two don’t have to go through something like that again.”

You chuckled, teasingly. “Well, that depends on whether you're going to keep messing around with me or not.”

He looked at you with a soft smile, a serious look in his eyes. “I don’t want to mess around anymore.”

The bus pulled to a stop near your apartment. As you both got off, the rain still coming down, Joshua turned to you. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded, heart pounding in your chest.

“Would you go out with me if I asked?” he asked, sincerity in his eyes.

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth. “Yes.”

“Good...” He smiled, approaching you and taking your hands in his. “Go out with me?”

“You can do better than that,” you tease and he lets out a chuckle.

“Can you give me the pleasure of taking you out this weekend, sweetheart?” he asks again with a playful smile.

“Sure you can.”

It was still raining and there was no sign of stopping. You knew that if you went separate ways now, he’d give you his umbrella. Not wanting to be the cause of his cold, you invited him to your place. “Why don’t you come to my place and dry off? It’s just around the corner.”

The two of you walk under Joshua’s umbrella together, your shoulders brushing against each other. You speak of whatever comes to mind, mostly work and the cases you’re currently busy with – although the subject matter is something you usually keep at work, you don’t mind the banter.

When you arrive at your apartment, you open the door for Joshua as he shakes off the rain from his umbrella. The two of you get into the elevator, a tension building up that is unlike the ones you had felt before. Excitement is the only word you can use to describe it.

The building is tall, and you live far up, so the elevator takes its time to climb up the floors. Joshua stands next to you, his hand brushing against yours for a while. He takes it in his hand once the elevator doors open and lets you lead the way to your front door. His hand is warm in yours, sending a shiver down your spine. 

You only let go of his hand once the two of you stand in front of your door. Unable to keep his hands off of you for long, Joshua wraps his arms around your waist while you try to unlock your door. You let out a giggle, so unlike the laughs you have let out before that, you barely recognize it as your own, while your shaky hands struggle with the lock. When you finally open the door, you immediately spot a white, furry ball. Tofu meows at you, clearly annoyed with your late arrival.

“A cat.” Joshua’s voice is laced with surprise as he lets go of you.

You walk further into your apartment to pet Tofu, but he quickly sneaks past you and struts over to Joshua. He closes the door behind him quickly, scared that Tofu might walk out. Tofu has no interest in the outside, instead, he walks between Joshua’s legs and purrs.

“I thought I’d end up single for the rest of my life and decided to start early with the cats,” you quip playfully. “Tofu… really likes you.”

“Is that odd?” Joshua squats down and puts out his hand for Tofu to sniff. 

“He doesn’t like strangers…” you say, “Or anyone.”

Joshua grins at you as Tofu practically jumps into his arms. He stands back up with the cat in his embrace before he kicks off his shoes. You glare at your cat for betraying you, but Tofu barely meets your gaze.

“He’s cute,” Joshua says. “... and hairy.”

You look at Joshua’s black suit, completely covered in white fur. Quickly, you apologize and take Tofu from him. The cat lets out an irritated meow but doesn’t fight back. When Tofu has walked away, you take Joshua’s suit jacket and hang it up. You show him around the apartment, sneaking glances at him as he rolls up the sleeves of his button-down and loosens his tie. 

Eventually, the two of you found yourselves on the comfortable couch, indulging in a late-night meal created from the delicious remnants of takeout food in your refrigerator. The ambiance was soothing and unhurried, a welcome change from the earlier palpable strain. Tofu was nestled by Joshua’s side, emitting a robust and consistent purr akin to a well-oiled machine working at full capacity.

Joshua looked around your cozy apartment and then back at you. “This isn’t our first date, is it?”

You laughed softly. “It could be.”

He shook his head, smiling. “I want our first date to be special.”

You looked into his eyes, leaning over to put your hand on his knee. “It could be special if you wanted it to be.”

That’s how the two of you end up in your bedroom, with him on top of you. Joshua’s slowly thrusting into you, savoring every second. His forehead leans against yours, your hands traveling across each other’s bodies. Soft moans and gasps echo throughout the room, the noises mixing with the sounds of the bedsheets and the gentle rain against your windows.

“What are you doing to me?” Joshua sighs deeply, closing his eyes as if trying to steady himself.

“Is it really just me?” you ask playfully, although your voice tinged with uncertainty.

“It’s only you,” he reassures, his gaze meeting yours with a sincerity that cuts through the confusion.

You smile, pressing a chaste kiss on his lips. He surrounds you, embraces you, holds you, consumes you… The build-up is undeniable, and it only becomes more intense as Joshua’s hand travels between your bodies to rub lazy circles on your clit. He captures your lips in another kiss, slow and satisfactory. Whines and whimpers emanate from both of you as you near your high.

“I’m still on birth control,” you remind Joshua with a murmur against his lips.

Joshua groans at the silent promise of getting to cum inside you again. Ever since the last time he got a taste of you, he swears that he’s addicted. His hips stutter, and you clench around him to urge him closer to his release.

“Please,” he whispers hoarsely.

“Cum with me, baby,” you murmur.

Joshua releases inside of you with a moan, and your orgasm follows shortly after. A light encompasses you, flooding your veins with a kind of warmth that you’re not sure you’ve ever experienced. He stays inside of you even when his movements stop, his head finding its place in the crook of your neck. You rake your nails up his back until they find their way to the nape of his neck.

You press a kiss to his temple while you play with his hair. Joshua responds by pressing loving kisses to your neck. The two of you fall asleep just as he pulls out of you and lies down beside you under the covers.

As the gentle, golden glow of the morning sun filters through the delicate lace curtains, you slowly stir, feeling the warmth of his body and the reassuring strength of his embrace. In that soft, hushed moment, you find yourself waking up to a sense of peace and contentment that has been absent for what feels like an eternity.

As you try to get up to make breakfast, Joshua tightens his hold on you. “Don’t go,” he murmurs, his voice still heavy with sleep.

You laugh softly, kissing his forehead. “I need to get ready.”

He pouts playfully. “Stay here a little longer.”

You kiss him again, your heart full. “How about I get up if I promise to make you breakfast?”

Joshua pretends to think it over, then grins. “Deal.”

Your laughter fills the air as you rise from the bed, his warm hand gently holding onto yours just a moment longer. The morning was idyllic, brimming with shared laughter, precious moments, and the assurance of many more beautiful experiences together in the future.

As you and Joshua continue to move forward together, your journey unfolds as a delicate dance, intertwining professional ambitions with the deepening of your personal connection. Each day brings its own set of challenges, which you navigate hand-in-hand, discovering and growing through each other’s strengths and vulnerabilities.

You find solace in the way you support one another through the ebb and flow of your careers. Joshua’s unwavering faith in your potential becomes a beacon, encouraging you to reach beyond your comfort zone. In moments of self-doubt, his reassuring words and confident smile serve as a reminder of your capabilities, helping to reignite your determination.

In turn, you offer Joshua a steady anchor during his more tumultuous times. When he faces the pressure of a particularly grueling project or grapples with a professional setback, you’re there to remind him to pause and believe in his own strength. Your quiet support helps him regain his footing, providing him with the confidence to overcome the hurdles in his path.

With each shared success and challenge, your mutual respect grows deeper. Celebrating each other’s victories becomes a treasured ritual, whether it’s the joy of popping a bottle of champagne for a well-earned promotion or finding solace in each other’s company during quiet nights when things don’t go as planned. Every experience strengthens your bond, seamlessly weaving your lives together.

As you reflect on your journey, it becomes clear that embracing vulnerability and letting go of old insecurities has allowed you to discover not only love but also a profound sense of personal fulfillment. Joshua’s presence in your life has illuminated the truth that true growth often emerges from facing fears and embracing new possibilities.

One evening, curled up on the couch with Tofu nestled comfortably by your feet, you admit with a contented sigh, “I never thought I could be this happy.”

Joshua smiles warmly, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. With a playful glint in his eye, he teases, “I know a few things that could make you even happier.”

“Shut up,” you reply, playfully swatting his chest.

Joshua’s laughter fills the room as he pulls you closer, enveloping you in his comforting embrace. You sigh contentedly as his familiar scent surrounds you, finding comfort in the perfect harmony of the moment. Even though you still have your moments of bickering and face the occasional rough patch like any other couple, you realize that this shared experience is as perfect as it gets.

feedback is always appreciated!

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[mac-tirs]

the usage of different types of english in elden ring

most human/tarnished NPCs we meet, like rogier, ansbach, and nepheli, use late modern english:

"a sorcerer, as you might have guessed. i'm looking for a little something, here in the castle. when i'm not hotfooting it from the troops, that is." - rogier, first meeting "general radahn. a pleasure to see you, after all this time. but those remains do not belong to you." - ansbach, upon summon for PCR

but older demigods like messmer, ranni, and morgott use early modern english:

"thou'rt tarnished, it seemeth. mother, wouldst thou truly lordship sanction, in one so bereft of light? yet… my purpose standeth unchanged." - messmer, pre-battle cutscene "thou needst not indulge them unduly, but they too wish to appraise thy worth. it hath been a passing long time since a newcomer entered my service, after all." - ranni, after agreeing to serve her

then there are the younger demigods, like miquella, malenia, and potentially melina, who use a later variant of modern english, similar to the tarnished NPCs we speak to:

"if we honour our part of the vow, promise me you'll be my consort. i'll make the world a gentler place." - miquella, post-PCR cutscene "the scarlet bloom flowers once more. you will witness true horror. now, rot!" - malenia, phase 2 transition cutscene

finally, the hornsent NPCs like the hornsent, hornsent grandam, and the hornsent spirits such as the one outside the whipping hut, who use late middle english similar to the english found in shakespeare's sonnets:

"fie, another? ... then, as that woman would surely say, we are in our purposes well aligned. but understand. your kind are not forgiven. the erdtree is my people's enemy. by marika long betray'd, set aflame." - hornsent, first meeting "all your resentment lingers yet... the raw stuff from which i shall surely forge a curse. upon the dastard messmer's head. upon marika's children each and all." - scorched ruins hornsent spirit

i find it interesting how different the usage of english is in the game, and i feel that it can be a hint on how to properly date an individual's occupation in the lands between/land of shadow. the hornsent, being a people much older than many in the lands between, use the most archaic version of english, while the tarnished and younger demigods use a form of english more closely related to our own in the current period. older demigods (and marika herself, as heard from melina's recounts of marika's spoken echoes) use a form of english more closely related to the period of transition from middle english to early modern english.

additionally, another interesting thing to me: mohg is almost certainly nearly the same age as morgott (since they're referred to as twins), yet he speaks a little differently compared to morgott:

"tarnished, thou'rt but a fool." - morgott, post-battle dialogue "dearest miquella. you must abide alone a while." - mohg, pre-battle cutscene

this makes me wonder if it's possible that, assuming that miquella's verbiage is indicative of his younger age in comparison to the older demigods (aka the demigods born before the marika/radagon union), miquella's charm altered mohg's perception enough to also alter his manner of speaking and carrying himself in some way. if his pursuit of finery (dressing in embroidered robes and handling himself with poise, juxtaposing his bestial growls and strength) was mainly done in an effort to fit into miquella's ideal of a consort. of course, mohg could just be as vain as he seems to be all on his own accord, but i find that it's interesting to entertain the idea that even his current state of being was due to miquella's charm.

i'd love to hear what others think about this. i'm not very learned when it comes to english (it's not really my first language), but i find this all very cool to think about.

[misshugs]

₃The Cameragirl³ || snc

After a cheeky reply you might've regretted, you end up dragged into the office to have a little... talk.

contains: SMUT +18, oral (both ways), unprotected sex, cursing, pet names, alcohol consumption, no mention of Y/n

a/n: you asked, i delivered.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

word count: 3k

[u n e d i t e d]

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

You thought about how lucky it was for the room to be soundproof, glad that nobody will hear your screams. Although... it would be quite pleasant to let everyone know how they please you, how they touch you like nobody else.

The way you know only them could do it.

You didnt expect this to be the way you'd be doing your cardio, but it seemed destiny had some other plans.

[hours before]

You were basically shaking as they took you back onto the office, the thought of them asking about your stupid comments instead of going with the flow like they always did.

It was too obvious to be jokingly flirting this time, and they noticed.

And you were scared shitless.

You didn't know if they would genuinely go ahead with it or maybe let you know they're not interested, which made your stomach growl in response to your anxiety.

Well, to your hunger as well. You haven't eaten anything since yesterday.

They just got to sit you down on the table before listening to your poor stomach. They laughed.

"Right. You just woke up." Sam said as you shamelessly nodded your head out of embarrassment. "Then let us eat before talking it out. Wouldn't like for you to pass out on us."

"Come on, then." Colby continued, extending an arm to you, which you cheekishly ignored and stood up from the table wilst puffing your cheeks out. "Giving me an attitude? Yikes." He laughed.

"Didn't even help me out when I was stuck in Sam's arms? Yikes." You replied, walking out of the room. You could hear their chuckles before walking down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Heating yourself something to eat, they reluctantly got closer and sighed. "Hey, uh... we need to leave right now. There's this person we have to meet for another haunted place and this is the only time they have available. We completely forgot." Colby explained to you, looking back at his phone, guessing it was the message he received.

"Oh, okay. I'll be here, then." You said, giving him a side look before continuing making your food.

"You don't wanna come with us?" Sam asked.

"I wanna eat?"

"Right, right... well, we'll talk later, then. Don't think you're still safe." Sam smiled at you before walking away with Colby.

You rolled your eyes jokingly, but when they left, you let out a big sigh you've been restraining.

You were safe, for now at least. While thinking of a way to try and avoid the topic all together, you got a message. It was a mutual friend of yours, asking you to come to a party.

Quickly agreeing at the false sense of hope you received, she told you that the boys were also invited. She also agreed upon picking you up beforehand, since you weren't really going to do anything anyways so being early and prepping everything up was also a nice way to keep your mind out of the gutter.

After eating, you basically had the whole day for yourself, so you might as well prepare yourself earlier.

Thinking about them, you thought cautiosly about what to wear.

And honestly?

You felt like you needed to push their buttons a little bit more tonight. Yeah, whatever happened a few minutes ago made you a blushing mess, but at the same time, boy... the adrenaline you got from it sure was fun.

Then again, you guys weren't exactly together... so what's wrong with wearing something a bit more... revealing?

And so, it was decided. Searching throughout your closet, you found a short dress that fit your criteria for the night. With a slit through the back that went down to heaven and short slits on the side, making your thighs almost pop out.

It wasn't something you usually wore. Heck, you forgot you had it for all you remembered, but it looked so good in your skin that you just had to use it.

A couple of hours passed by and you were already at the party, getting things ready before some people started coming through. It didn't take long before the place began crowding with people.

The host, your friend, has been under the influence even before it all began. You were starting to get a bit tipsy yourself, getting loose at the dance floor whenever a good song started playing.

"Hey, quick question." Your friend yelled at you. "Where's Sam and Colby? They said they were busy and didn't know if they were gonna come." She explained. Looking at her with confusion, you then remembered.

"Oh! They're talking to someone for their next investigation, that's why." Unbeknownst to you, you were merely half right. Yes, they were talking with someone about their next location, but they also denied due to other reasons involving you.

Thinking about it, you believed they weren't going to arrive at the party, therefore, you were somewhat down at the thought. You wanted to tease them tonight, but it seems that your plan wasn't going to happen.

It didn't step you away from having fun, though. Drinking, dancing, talking with friends... it was a good time. That is, until a random dude you've never seen in your life started approaching.

Disinterest in your eyes was visible, but the guy seemingly ignored it completely and kept making the cringiest remarks you've heard in your life.

He tried to get closer to you, reaching out to your waist before you could try and run away.

Your heart racing at a thousand per hour, his hands were rough, almost certain that there might leave a mark on your fragile skin.

"Won'tcha come with me tonight, 'lil mama?" He smirked, holding you tight and close to him, making you almost puke.

"Get the fuck away from me!" You tried to scream, tried to push him away but to no use. You were still weak from your recent investigation after all.

"Now, come on. Don't do this to me, honey." Holding your chin on place, he made you look at him. "I can make you feel really g-"

"Back off dude, she's taken." You heard a familiar voice before finally setting free from his grasp. Colby was the first one you saw, taking off the guys arms from you.

Another set of hands held you softly by the waist, pulling you closer, away from him. Sam. You looked up at his face, he seemed mad.

He looked at you, now worry in his blue eyes. "You alright?" He asked softly in your ear, holding one of your hands to try and comfort you. You nodded quickly, glad that you've been saved once again.

Looking back at the guy, Colby was pushing him away. A determined stare down from his side, making the guy that was trying to gain your attention chuckle.

"Where were you, huh? When she was having fun all alone in the middle of the room? You're just tryna pull her off as well. You dipshits are nobody." He snarled back at Colby, annoyance in both their faces.

"We're not gonna let shits like you touch our girl, understand?"

You could barely hear what they were saying due to the loud music from every side, but you surely heard that last part.

Their girl? What did that even mean?

A visible smirk on Colby's lips when he turned around to look at Sam. You didn't think the next set of actions were the respond to this childish kids play, but you could feel Sam's soft hands on your chin, making you look at him and his lips interlocked with yours in an instant.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck, what was happening?

Was there a faucet running? Cause boy you were dripping wet. These men were driving you crazy.

You caught a glimpse of the now pissed guy walking off before Sam could pull away. When he eventually did, you looked at his smiling face for a second before reality hit you like a truck.

Your face flushed with a red tint on your cheeks. Looking back at Colby who was walking closer towards you, both of them now towering over you.

"I-I thought you guys weren't gonna make it?" You asked, genuinely confused now that you remembered your friend vividly explaining they were busy.

"We weren't, but our plans for the night switched places." Colby smirked at you, making Sam laugh at the remark, even more with your confused face.

You didn't understood at the time, but their plans were supposed to be you. "We finished earlier than expected, but then when we got home you weren't there." Sam explained. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Well, she told me to come here early to help her out, so..."

"Ah, so you've been here for longer?" Colby asked, putting his hand on the slit on your back. "I guess I can't blame the guy, such a revealing outfit for so many hours..." He continued, slowly caressing your back with his hand, moving his hand down your bare skin. "I don't think I'd be able to hold it on a minute longer if I were him."

Shivers went throughout your whole body after listening to his words. "So if you didn't know we were coming, did you put this on for everyone else to see?" Sam asked, looking at you in the eyes. "I'm a bit jealous."

Your lip was quivering. The plan was to flirt back and tease them if they eventually came, but right now, you were speechless. The touch of their hands making your legs weak and shaky. A sudden hand up the side slit of your dress from Sam caught you slightly off guard, caressing your hip softly.

"Showing this much skin... Is this dress yours? Why have we never seen it before?" He asked.

"I don't.. I-I don't use it often." You managed to reply before panting at the constant feeling of getting touched by them. The adrenaline of someone possibly seeing what they were up to with you was nerve racking.

"We'll make you use it more often then, but only for us." Colby whispered, holding your ass and making you let out a soft moan. "We might as well have to find another place to chat more comfortably, what do you think, Sam?" He asked and Sam nodded.

Holding your hand tighter, he started walking away from the croud and into a random room from your friend's house. Closing the door, they noticed the music was barely heard. "Soundproof?" Sam asked.

"Seems like it."

"Most her rooms are..." You explained, making them look at eachother with a smirk before looking back at you.

"Good. You won't have to worry about screaming our names too loudly tonight then." Sam said.

"W-wha-" You could barely manage to say before Colby lifted you up and walked you to the bed.

Sitting you down, you looked up at them towering over you again.

"You're not escaping us tonight. You know that, right?" Colby began, crossing his arms.

"We're gonna have that... talk. Right now if we need to." Sam said, making you gulp.

"Can the talk be a bit more... dynamic?" You opened your legs slightly, which made them smirk.

"It was going to be from the start, sweetheart." Colby said with a deep tone, putting his hand on the insides of your thighs, quickly getting his hand closer to your heat. You sighed when you felt it, Sam fixing your hair behind your ear before getting closer to your face for another kiss.

While you kissed back, your legs closed a bit by instinct when you felt him playing with your clit through the fabric of your panties. "She's so wet, Sam." He informed, making Sam chuckle in the middle of the kiss, pushing his tongue deeper inside when you opened your mouth.

They made you lie down on the bed while your heated make out session with Sam didn't give you a second to even breathe. You moaned slightly when you felt your legs being pushed apart.

Sam slowly pulled down your dress, leaving your boobs out in the open, he separated from your lips and sighed. "No bra or anything, it almost seems like she was expecting us to fuck her." He said, pulling back only to see your whole view. "Fuck." He whispered.

Colby took off your damped panties and threw them to the floor, pushing up the skirt of your dress to have a clear view of your pussy.

You could see him licking and biting his lips while admiring the view. While sam went back to your soft, tasty lips, he began kneeding one of your breasts, playing with your nipple. You whined at the feeling, your heart racing at the touch.

Not a minute later, you could feel your legs being slightly lifted and a tongue licking your pussy, making you moan in between the kiss, letting Sam's tongue slip back in once again.

Shaking, you could feel Colby's tongue making circles around your clit, sucking at it, eating you up, making you arch your back at the feeling.

Sam separated from your lips and started giving you wet kisses around your face, slowly descending through your neck and onto your boobs, nibbling at your skin before making its way towars your nipple.

Sucking at it, you moaned softly and held onto his hair for support, while Colby kept on sucking and pushing his tongue inside of you, exploring every inch he's able to.

While Sam started sucking and licking one of your nipples, he made sure you were kept entertained. Putting two of his fingers inside your mouth for you to lick, you began sucking on them while drowning the moans in between.

From all of the stimulation, it didn't take long for you to cum all over Colby's face. He cleaned you up with his tongue, making sure to look at your erotic expressions whilst having Sam's fingers in your mouth, drooling all over them.

They both separated from you. You were filled with a sense of loss for a moment, but nothing that was going to stay for long. Sam sat behind you, making sure you lied your back on his chest while holding one of your breasts and opening up your legs.

Colby, enjoying the view, waited patiently for his friend to make you feel good. "Let's make sure you can suck us up well, yeah?" Said Sam while slowly moving the hand he had in your mouth down to your pussy.

Opening your lips with his fingers, he teased for a moment before pushing inside of you, making you moan and pull back your head on his shoulder.

One finger, then two, then three.

He stretched you up good while Colby was busy taking off his pants and looking at everything his eyes could manage from the view.

"Make sure Colby can see your pretty face." Sam whispered, thrusting quickly with his fingers. You could feel his bulge quickly rising behind you, poking your back.

You did as told, looking at Colby in the eyes while moaning and whining, your legs shaking at the feeling of being stretched out. "Colby... fuck. I need you."

"What do you need, baby?" He asked seductively, putting out his dick while you moaned at Sam's teeth biting onto your skin.

"You.. your dick... please." You whined.

"You want him to also make you feel good?" Sam asked while squishing one of your boobs and you nodded rapidly.

"Yeah. Yeah, please. Oh, fuck. Please." Pleading in such an erotic way, they couldn't just say no. Sam's fingers left you right before you were on the edge of yet another orgasm, but it didn't take long for something even better to take its place.

Colby's tip was slowly pushing in, making sure to not hurt you. You opened your mouth, taking out your tongue as the feeling was euphoric. He got closer and sucked on it before kissing you.

When he was completely inside, he began thrusting slowly but surely. Quickly speeding up when he felt you were already getting used to his length.

Moaning his name out, you looked back at Sam and whined for him as well, touching his erection from behind you, making him grunt. "Sam. Take... take it out." You panted in between moans.

And he did as told, quickly pulling out his dick while getting on his knees so that you could quickly hold it and put it inside your hot, wet mouth. "Oh, fuck." He let out when he felt your tongue up his friend.

You were quick to put it inside your mouth, bobbing your head up and down while getting railed up by Colby. The vibration of your moans sent shivers down Sam's spine. Holding your head up for support, he began thrusting inside your mouth as well.

It was a dream come true, you were on cloud 9, almost fainting at the pleasure you were receiving from both ends.

You didn't take long to cum, neither did them. After all, those teasing were killing them as well, they were just trying to hold it long enough for you to release yourself first.

You gulped down Sam's juices before pulling out, panting when he did. You were beat. If you barely had any strength before due to the recent investigation, now you were sure of it.

They made sure to clean you up before fixing your dress, giving you kisses all over your body, looking at the now visible hickeys all over your skin. "Gotta let people know you're taken. We can't have what happened before again." Colby whispered in your ear before kissing your cheek.

Breathing heavily, you nodded at them, not even entirely sure what you were agreeing upon.

"Well, that was a nice chat, was it not?" Sam said, smiling at your wobbly self.

"It really was, glad we could clear things up, right?" Colby continued. "I mean, I'm guessing you understand what we meant, right?"

You looked at him, getting your breath back together, smiling. "That you're my boys?" You asked, "Or maybe you have to explain it all over again, maybe I didn't understand what you meant."

They looked at eachother, smirking. "Then let us explain it again."

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

"come over here and kiss me on my hot mouth, i'm feelin' romantical."

thank you so much for reading <3 //also last part isn't a cliffhanger, we all know they went for round two, the end

smol taglist from those that wanted pt 3 *(sorry if you didn't want to be tagged): @oh-prettylady @lemonnightmare @honey-bees-13 @jupiter1700

~nikkõ

[fiendishfables]

Can I please request dom! Lucifer eating you out? I just know that man is very talented with his tongue

a/n: say less, really; short and sweet lovin' from Luci

warnings: nsfw, eating out, cursing, dom dom Luci

words: 676

additional notes: Thank you all so much for 110+ followers! It means the world to me that you guys enjoy my writing so much!

"Luxury of the King."

Dom! Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

The white, silk sheets beneath you rustled softly. Gentle puffs of air left your lips, saliva coating their plush surface in a light layer. The familiar black dots began aligning along the edges of your vision. Chest rising and falling with erratic patterns; a light sheen of sweat adorning your brow, seeping lightly into your hairline. You felt and looked like the epitome of an absolute wreck.

And it was all because of the man who's head was currently buried between your legs.

Despite your clear state of overstimulation, he was a relentless predator. Well, his forked tongue, rather. It worked against and inside you, like you would be the last thing it ever got to taste. Flicking against you, tasting all of the sweet nectar you had to provide for him. He was determined to eat you dry.

"I-I'm sorry, darling. You just taste s-so...fuck...so damn good."

His mouth continued its assault against you, making sure to take his time and devour you all in the same set of actions.

If he could just stay in between your legs all hours of the day, oh how he could die a happy man. No worries or strife, just you splayed out for him, presenting yourself as a canvas for his tongue to travel. He gulped at the thought.

You truly were the best luxury a king like himself could have.

Lucifer knew he didn't deserve you. He always asked himself how he got so damn lucky with happening upon you, but he never got too curious upon questioning, nor greedy when it came to your services. This was enough to take him all the way to Heaven and back. What more could he possibly ask for, other than your lovely company?

He noticed how your hips were now beginning to move more, as if trying to get away from his relentless tongue. Just the thought of your sweet taste being abandoned from his warm, forked muscle made his pupils slit and eyes narrow. In response, he placed a gentle yet authoritative hand on your lower tummy, pushing your trembling hips downwards to the mattress; that's where they were to stay until he was done with you. You were a gift from Heaven he was sure, and Hell be damned if he didn't savor it. Just thinking that seemed like madness. Lucifer wanted to taste everything you had to offer him. Every. Single. Thing.

"Stay still. Don't you dare try to move away from me." He growled, voice dropping much lower than its normal octave, causing you to flinch in surprise. His head had come up and out from between your legs, almost enticing a whine from your throat at the loss of stimulation, yet a sigh of relief at the same time for the smidgen of a break you were currently being blessed with.

The sudden change in his attitude was a bit of a surprise, but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't hot as hell. The puppy dog side of your boyfriend was what you were most used to, so seeing him act this way instead was a very nice change of pace. You could never be scared of him; your safe word was always at your disposal if you felt he was being too demanding or rough, and he knew it too. So unless you used it, he would continue with his advances.

You looked at him through half-lidded eyes and offered the best nod you could manage with the state you were in, letting your head fall back to its original position on the fluffed pillows, lungs grasping for any sort of air they could muster up.

He gave a low nod back, a sly smile gracing his lips as he licked around them in order to clear off the remnants of your juices that he had yet a chance to devour like the other servings he managed to obtain.

"Good..." He said with a pointy smirk, before lowering his head once again to get right back to work.

[wandaslittlebird]

Confessing (Alternate)

Mean!Stepmom!Wanda x Pervy!Reader

After months of spying on your stepmother, you’re finally caught and made to confess far more than you’d expected.

CW: Non-consensual spying, underwear stealing and other nefarious acts, mentions of masturbation, stepmom/stepdaughter, intense questioning, dacryphilia (kinda), humiliation, spanking, mommy kink, accidental orgasm, arousal tasting, allusion of oral (W receiving)

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: This is literally the exact same fic I posted yesterday but with a non g!p reader. The only things that have changed are the reader’s anatomy and the ending.

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, still mostly naked from the long shower you’d just taken. You stood up on your tippy toes in order to highlight the main attraction: your new lacy thong underwear.

You’d stolen them from your stepmother Wanda's wardrobe earlier while she was busy making dinner. When you’d found them, you just knew you had to have them.

It was the first time you’d ever stolen her panties to wear, and the act both scared and aroused you. It was one of the boldest moves you’d ever made in your months of silent admiration of Wanda.

Not to say that the stuff you’d been doing up until this was innocent or tame, by any means. This was just the furthest you���d ever pushed the envelope.

It’s not that you wanted to get caught, per se, but the risk was enticing. It was sort of like exhibitionism. The risk of being in public added excitement, but that didn’t mean you wanted to get arrested for public indecency.

“Honey! Dinner’s ready!” Wanda’s voice cut off your thoughts from the dining room.

You frowned, not ready to get dressed quite yet. Nonetheless, you shouted from the bathroom, “I’ll be down in a second!” before slipping on your plaid pajama pants and an old band t-shirt. It’s fine. You’d be nice and quick with dinner, then you could slip away to the privacy of your room for the rest of night. You had a better mirror in there anyway: a full body one that would solve this tip toe problem. Maybe you could even put on a bit of a fashion show for yourself, trying on all of your favorite bras and deciding which one made for the best set.

You took a deep breath, trying to mask your excitement. It was going to be a perfect night. All you had to do was make it through dinner first.

You walked nervously down the stairs into the dining room where you found Wanda dishing out pasta onto each of your plates. She offered you a gentle smile upon arrival. “Oh good, you made it. I was worried for a second there you’d make me eat alone. Just pasta tonight, nothing fancy. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, uh, it’s no problem at all,’” you assured. “Anything you make will surely be delicious.” You tried to offer her the same smile she’d offered you, but it came out awkward and uneven. It was clear you were nervous. You cursed yourself for your inability to hide your feelings from her.

She tilted her head in slight confusion. “Are you feeling alright? You look a little flushed.”

“I… uh… yeah I’m fine. I must’ve just taken a really hot shower,” you attempted to explain. She clearly wasn’t buying it. You shrank back in your chair a little bit. While it was sexy, the thin cut of the underwear wasn’t exactly comfortable. You shifted around as the fabric crept up into uncomfortable places.

“Are you sure?” she asked, unconvinced. “Let me feel your head.” She leaned over the table, giving you a clear view down the front of her shirt. Fuck. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath her blouse. You inhaled shakily, shifting even more obviously as you felt yourself grow wet at the sight of her.

She touched your head with the back of her hand. Her brows furrowed in confusion as your uncomfortable wiggling became more pronounced. “Darling, you seem terribly restless. What’s going on?” She was starting to catch on, at least, to the fact you were keeping something from her. Though she couldn’t pinpoint what it was, she was certain she could get it out of you. You were never very good at keeping secrets, especially not from her.

You scooted your chair backwards, determined to escape this situation as quickly as possible. “I… uh… Actually I am feeling a bit poorly. I better go up to my room.” You made a move to try and get up, but she grabbed your wrist before you could escape.

You turned to let her and you were met with a glare that nearly made you crumble. She looked at you like she was looking into your soul, like she was some sort of omnipotent goddess that already knew every secret you’d ever tried to keep. “Honey,” she said, voice even and emotionless, “I think we need to have a talk.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you collapsed back down into your seat. “I’m sorry, mommy,” you whispered tearfully. How could she possibly know? Did she see something by accident?

She smiled knowingly. She had you now. That poor little head of yours couldn’t come up with a lie right now no matter how hard you tried. She circled the table and squatted down next to your chair, squeezing your hand and soothingly rubbing your temple with her thumb. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s not mad. I just need you to tell me what happened, okay? It’s okay, you can tell mommy.”

You swallowed. So she didn’t know. If you played your cards right, you could still make it out of this. Subconsciously, you crossed your legs, squeezing them tightly together to hide yourself from her. It was a painfully obvious move, but her soft voice and her hand on your head were making it so very hard to think clearly.

Wanda smirked and ran her hand up the side of your hip. Whatever you were hiding was somewhere in here.

Her hand slid over the fabric of your baggy pajama pants. Oddly enough, she couldn’t feel any underwear underneath the pants. Your secret wasn’t just that you weren’t wearing underwear, was it? No. As her hand got further up your waist, she felt them. It was different from anything she’d ever known you to wear. The fabric didn’t make its way around your waist until it was up over your hip bones.

“Honey,” she said calmly. “What are you wearing under your pajamas?”

Your mouth went dry and you froze, unsure how to answer her question. You decided it was best to play dumb. “W-what do you mean? Underwear.”

“Oh come on now darling,” she said, voice soft but slightly perturbed. “You know what I’m talking about. What underwear are you wearing right now?”

Your eyes darted around the room, avoiding her gaze at all cost. She wasn’t going to check if you lied, was she? “Just my… white cotton ones.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, unconvinced. “Do you mind if I lift up your shirt so I can make sure?”

Your hands flew to your waist, pinning your shirt to your body. “I… uh… I don’t feel comfortable showing you my underwear.”

She pursed her lips, annoyed with your evasiveness. She had started to believe that her soft mommy act wasn’t going to cut it, if she really wanted you to confess. “Darling, I’ve seen you in your panties countless times before. Hell, I probably bought you those underwear. Why are you getting so bashful all the sudden?”

You curled up tighter. You knew she was on to you by this point, but the humiliation of revealing yourself was too much. “I just… I don’t wanna show you, okay?” Your bottom lip quivered, tears threatened to spill from your eyes.

Wanda stood up, pushing your chair back until it hit the wall. You gasped, looking up at her, frightened as she loomed over you menacingly. “Alright, darling. If you can’t be a good girl and tell mommy what’s going on, I’m going to have to pull you over my lap, push your pants down to your ankles, and spank you in whatever panties you’re wearing, okay? So I’ll ask you one more time. What. Underwear. Are. You. Wearing. Right. Now?”

Your eyes went wide. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest. Your entire body started to shake as you stared up at her, frozen. Her gaze was harsh now, face unmoving as she waited on an answer.

Finally the dam broke. A cry ripped from your throat and tears poured down your face. You crumbled to pieces underneath her. “I’m not wearing my underwear, I’m wearing yours! I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have done it. And I know I shouldn’t have lied! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You sobbed.

She shrunk back down, squatting again on the floor in front of you. She could hardly hide the pleasure she got from watching you shake and sob underneath her. She took your hand in hers, wiping away your tears. “See, baby? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You melted into her hand. You were truly hers now. No more lying, no more games. No more thoughts in your precious little head aside from “do exactly what mommy tells you to do”. Any resistance you had had melted away.

“Can you tell mommy why you were wearing her panties, sweetheart?” She asked softly.

“I wanted to be pretty,” you cried weakly. “Like you.”

Wanda tilted her head. You had plenty of underwear of your own. She even let you get the fancy stuff sometimes. Certainly your own underwear collection was more expansive than hers. “Were your own pretty panties not working for you? You just had to steal some of mommy’s?”

You nodded. Your head was so jumbled it felt like the confessions were spilling out of you. “I see you through the door sometimes, when you’re getting dressed. You just look so… perfect with your matching bras and panties,” you confessed.

“You see me through the door?” She asked, noting how you had said ‘see’ rather than ‘watch’. “Do you spy on mommy while she’s naked? Do you watch me when I change my clothes?”

Your head lulled to the side. “No! …yes… sometimes.” You confessed, getting quieter with each statement.

She raised her eyebrows, surprised and amused by your unswerving honesty. She’d known, of course, about your little habits. You weren’t as sneaky as you thought. However, having you blubbering under her, confessing every little thing you’d ever done, brought her immense satisfaction.

She ran her hand up your upper thigh again, lightly tracing shapes with her fingers. “How long have you been spying on mommy, huh?”

You sighed, feeling the wet spot on the underwear grow. Her touch was so memorizing you nearly forgot to answer the question. She pulled her hand away, grabbing your face and raising her eyebrows expectantly. You snapped out of your haze. “I don’t know! I don’t know how it started! Please! I promise I’m not a naughty girl!”

Her hand moved up to your hair, gently wiping it from her face. Her rapid switching from gentle to harsh was making your head spin. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Mommy’s not mad. You’re doing a very good job being honest with me.” She leaned forward, so close you could feel her breath against your ear. “How does it make you feel, watching me in my room like that? Watching me change my clothes and seeing my pretty lingerie?”

“G-good,” you answered hazily. “I just… I like to see, sometimes.”

She was slowly climbing up your body, almost in your lap now. “You just like to see sometimes, hmm?” She repeated. “Is that all?”

“Sometimes I-I like to… um… to-touch my… in the hallway while I watch,” you confessed, too scared and hazy to lie to her anymore.

A faint smile grew on her lips. She could hardly believe how vulnerable she’d made you. She’d never quite seen you like this before. “That’s quite naughty of you, darling. You can’t just touch yourself in the hallway like that. Someone could catch you, you know.”

“Dad almost… one time he saw… but he didn’t know what I was doing and I pretended I was waiting on you.”

She sat on your knees, rubbing soothing circles on your collarbones and shoulders. “Dad almost caught you, huh? And what were you doing, exactly?”

“Just… rubbing… on the outside. I didn’t have my h-hands in my pants or anything,” you stammered.

She leaned forward again, moving her hands down to your hips. “That was a very very naughty thing to do, little girl. I better not catch you rubbing yourself in the hallway again.”

You shook your head. “It will never happen again! I promise!”

She grabbed your face again, significantly softer now that she’d already broken you. She simply lifted your chin to look her in the eyes. “No more lying, darling. I want to know the truth. Are you going to stop spying on me?”

You nodded frantically, determined to never find yourself in this situation again. “Never! I swear!”

“Good girl,” she cooed. She gently rubbed your cheek with her thumb. “And no more stealing my underwear, agreed?”

You nodded again, driven to yet another confession you hadn’t planned on making. “No more! And no more stealing the dirty ones either. I won’t even snoop again! I promise!”

“Oh?” Wanda purred, “So you’ve been stealing my dirty panties too? Not just the clean ones?” Once again, she had been noticing her panties in your laundry instead of hers for months now. She was under no illusion that they were ending up there accidentally.

“This… this was the first time I stole any clean ones! I’ve never worn them before either!” You defended.

She hummed softly, pretending to ponder your confession. “Hmm. And what, exactly, do you do with my dirty panties?”

“I just… smell,” you confessed. “Some I use them to… t-touch myself with.”

“You use them when you touch yourself?” She asked, her voice still gentle and sweet. She ran her hands through your hair with an air of possession.

You nodded. “One time I had… I had a taste. But just one time!”

She chuckled smugly. “Oh?” She smirked down at you. “You took a taste, huh? Just once?”

You nodded. You were so terribly embarrassed. You wanted to throw yourself into her and beg her for forgiveness, but you doubted it would help.

“And how did I taste, darling?” She asked.

You moaned a little at the memory, hips bucking up as you felt yourself grow even wetter. “Really g-good. I’d never… finished that much before.”

“Aww,” she chuckled again. “Did you cum really hard when you tasted mommy?”

You nodded. Her hands traced light patterns on your hips, making their way to your stomach. “Just from a little taste?” She asked again, egging you on for more details.

“I… it kinda sprayed everywhere,” you explained. “I’ve never done that before.”

You were so wet now, you’d soaked through both the thin fabric of the underwear and your pants, leaving a wet spot on your chair. Wanda looked down at the spot and smirked smugly.

“It looks like maybe you enjoyed it, huh?” She lightly traced the waistband of your pants, getting close but not quite touching the wet parts of the fabric.

You whimpered and bucked your hips up, trying to get her hand closer to where you needed it. “Y-yeah. I didn’t know it could… happen like that.”

Wanda hummed, pondering your words. “Yeah, sweetheart. It happens like that sometimes when you feel really really good.”

You nodded, still sniffling. The whole ordeal had you beyond embarrassed, yet you noticed that your arousal persisted through the embarrassment. Perhaps it was even worsened by it.

“Can-can I go to my room?” You stuttered. You had to get out of here, to somewhere more private before your humiliation and arousal bubbled over.

“Aww, sweetheart,” she cooed with fake sympathy. “Did you really think after all of this I would just let you go to your room?”

Your eyes went wide with terror. There was only so much more of this you could withstand before disaster struck. “B-but you said you weren’t mad!”

“I’m not mad, honey,” she reassured. “But what you’ve done was very very naughty, isn’t it?”

You nodded, another wave of tears threatening to fall.

“And when little girls do naughty things they have to be punished, don’t they?” She said, affectionately combing through your hair.

You nodded again, whimpering under her gentle touch. “But you’ll go easy on me, right? Because I was a good girl and I was honest and I told you everything?”

She chuckled. Your description wasn’t exactly accurate, but she couldn’t help but take at least a little pity on you. You had confessed in the end, even if it took a little pushing. “Of course, baby,” she soothed. “Now go upstairs and wait for mommy. I want you over the end of the bed in nothing but mommy’s panties, okay?”

You nodded frantically, running up the stairs and assuming the position as soon as she got off your lap.

She chuckled, amused by your eager obedience, and boxed up the pasta she’d made so she could easily heat it back up after this was over.

It only took her about five minutes to make her way up to the bedroom, but to you, bent naked over the edge of the bed, it felt like hours.

You had to fight to keep your head down on the mattress when you heard her open the bedroom door. You whined as you watched her pull the wooden hairbrush from her nightstand. “No mommy! Please not the hairbrush! Please I was so honest and-and I answered all of your questions-“

She cut you off by rubbing gentle circles on the swell of your ass. “Shshsh,” she soothed. “Mommy’s only doing this because she loves you, okay? I have to remind my sweet girl what happens when she’s naughty so she’ll remember to be a good girl, right?”

You whimpered and squirmed under her, trying to be patient and still but also desperate to get away from the hairbrush. The thin fabric of the underwear offered you little to no protection.

“I want you to count for me, okay?” She instructed. “If you can keep count like a good girl, we’ll only do 15, but if I have to count for you, I’m gonna have to do 25, okay?”

You nodded, determined to be good and keep count. However, you weren’t traditionally known for keeping a clear head during your punishment. “Can-can I hold onto a pillow, please?”

You couldn’t see your face, but the tears in your voice made it hard for her to deny you anything. “Of course, baby,” she said, pulling a pillow from the headboard and tucking it into your arms. She kissed the side of your teary face. “Mommy loves you very much, princess. It’ll be over soon.”

She tapped your ass twice with the hairbrush before placing the first smack firmly on your left cheek. You cried out, wailing more with overwhelming embarrassment than pain.

“One!”

She hit you again with perfect precision in almost the exact same spot.

“T-two”

She switched sides, smacking you again on the other cheek.

“Three!”

You made it to seven before you inevitably lost count. She waited for a moment after the strike before she decided your wailing was not going to give way to a number, and she officially started counting herself.

By ten, you had resorted to begging. You knew better than to flail and kick your legs, she’d have you pinned over her lap with a far worse punishment in store, but you were allowed to cry and plead all you wanted. “Please mommy! Please, I'll be good. I learned my lesson mommy please no more!”

You sounded so pathetic she was tempted to have mercy on you. You weren’t even halfway through your punishment now that she’d pushed it to 25. But she would stick to her word. That was, after all, what was most important when it came to discipline.

It wasn’t even so much the pain, you were trying to escape, but something far more alarming that boiled in your lower belly. Having her, a commanding force over you was awakening something in you. The humiliation of a confession, matched with wearing her underwear and being spanked like a child over her bed had a coil building in your lower stomach.

By 15 spanks, you realized it was inevitable. You were pleading with her more quietly now. Your hips bucked against the bed in what she thought was an attempt to get away, but by the 20th spank the coil snapped. In a humiliating display of desperation, you came, all over the sheets.

She stopped spanking you, taking a second to realize what just happened. “Did you just…?”

You wailed into the pillow, burying your face into it until it nearly suffocated you. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry mommy I didn’t mean to! I’ll clean it up! I promise! Please no more spankings mommy! Please, I'll be a good girl!”

Wanda laughed sadistically. “Good girls don’t have little accidents when their mommies spank them, do they?”

Your voice trembled. You could hardly breathe. “N-no.”

Wanda tapped your sore ass twice with the hairbrush. It hurt worse than when she’d done it earlier. “Get up, sweetheart.”

Reluctantly, you got up, standing naked at the foot of the bed next to a clothed and composed Wanda. Every bone in your body wanted to run out of the room, but her intimidating demeanor had you locked in place.

She grabbed the back of your hair roughly, causing you to gasp. “Do you like it when mommy spanks your little ass?” She asked.

“N-no,” you whimpered.

“Really?” She asked before roughly pushing your face down until it was hanging just above the mess you’d left on the bed. “It sure looks like you did. Tell mommy the truth. Do you like it when I spank you?”

You whined, tears falling from your face and mixing with your cum. “Yes! Yes I like it when you spank me! Please mommy!”

“Lick it up,” she commanded.

“W-what?” You stuttered. She couldn’t seriously be asking for what you thought she was asking.

“You heard me. Lick. It. Up.” She repeated. “If you wanna make a little mess on my sheets, you're gonna clean it up yourself.”

You stuck out your tongue, licking the cum from the mattress. It was disgustingly salty, mixed with the tears that were continually streaming into it. You sobbed in embarrassment. You were certain you’d never been more humiliated in your life. Yet, you still felt your arousal growing.

“Oh?” She said, presumably noticing the arousal still building between your legs. “Is my little girl enjoying this too? Do you like it when mommy gets rough with you?”

Deciding this couldn’t get any worse, you just nodded.

Her grip on your hair loosened, switching instead to a soft stroking. “That’s a good girl,” she praised.

She gently pulled you back up from the mattress when she deemed it sufficiently clean. She pulled you to face her. “Let mommy have a taste.”

You hesitantly parted your lips, slowly meshing them with hers. She hummed contentedly, running her tongue along your own.

You grabbed her by the back of the neck, losing yourself in her. You stopped caring that you were naked and sobbing and pathetic.

Her hand fell from your hair to your chest. She pushed you backwards so hard you crashed on to your back on the mattress.

She crawled on top of you, kissing you again. You could feel her hands reach down to unbutton her jeans. You moaned into her mouth as her smooth bare legs met yours.

She straddled your waist, breaking the kiss to crawl further up your body.

“If just a taste from my panties made you squirt before,” she started, “I wondered what I can make you do with the real thing.”

[hisunflower]

 𓈒 𓈒 ✿ ˚ boyfriend | lee jeno,

who loves the little moments with you.

genre: fluff, smut, boyfriend!jeno | contains: soft!jeno, switch couple, cursing, small dialogue, 18+ mdni, sex mentioned !

boyfriend!jeno who was adorably quiet upon his first impression of meeting through mutuals (he turned out to be the softest, sweetest and silliest guy you’ve ever known—compared to his hard outward appearance—you had no idea he’d be like this…who would??~).

boyfriend!jeno who is still shy around you at certain moments, like when you change in front of him in the dressing room, seeing you in your bra and panties always gets a rush out of him, but seeing how a dress hugs your body sends him over the edge (“babe, can you help me zip this up?” you can tell he’s nervous when he zips up your dress, but it’s so cute how he’s still so giddy about you).

boyfriend!jeno who playfully flirts with you while grocery shopping like the two of you aren’t dating…“excuse me miss, can you help me find this?” (he shows you the grocery list you two had written at home; 1. eggs, 2. noodles 3…etc, etc…and right there in the middle of the list where he’s pointing and smirking, it says in bold, ‘your number,’).

boyfriend!jeno who towers over you and rests his head on yours from behind, kisses your neck and ears making you giggle while standing in a quiet line in public (he’s such a tease, but maybe you more than him~).

boyfriend!jeno who grabs your hand from behind when he’s taking the lead through a crowd of people (sometimes it’s the other way around when his introversion sneaks up on him and you save the day).

boyfriend!jeno who always molds his larger hands around yours, spinning the promise ring he got you around your finger (“one day this’ll be here…you know, when you have my last name and all.”)

boyfriend!jeno who notices when your shoe laces are loose and ties them into bunny ears or if your hoodie isn’t zipped up all of the way on a cold day (he loves to tidy you up and keep you warm <3).

boyfriend!jeno who sticks his hand in your jeans back pocket whenever you’re out together, at home he gives you massages in the same place (or in other words, he loves squeezing the flesh of your bare ass underneath the tiny shorts you wear around the house).

boyfriend!jeno who tickles you until you can’t breathe on the couch, laying there underneath him in your tank top and shorts “god, you’re so cute,” and suddenly he’s making out with you like he hasn’t tasted you in days.

boyfriend!jeno who carries you to the bedroom to play fight, (seconds later your shorts are down your ankles as he’s slipping and ramming so deep into your wet cervix from behind—p.s, it doesn’t hurt; he constantly checks in with you—fingers indented into your skin as his hands arch you into the mattress…your head is buried into the pillows as you drool and moan curses of his name).

boyfriend!jeno who gets rough with you, pulling you into his lap as he thrusts up into you, but you beg him not to stop as you throw your head back and he pulls your hair, (“f-fuck! baby! jen-don’t stop!” this boosts his ego, but you don’t mind when you’re having sex ‘cause he’s gonna give you all he’s got, “mm baby…” he’s giving your tits each a turn in his wet mouth~ “fuuuuck, y/n,” now he’s the one throwing his head back as you ride him until his abs clench and brows furrow, all while he begs and whines about how close he is.

boyfriend!jeno who buries his face into your neck as your core swallows him whole, pulsating around him as he fills you, milking him dry until he’s left panting on your chest…sweaty bodies naked together, your sacred mix spilling out of you as you both watch him stuff it back inside of you, catching your breath, exchanging ‘I love you’s and holding each other.

boyfriend!jeno who is patient with you, affectionate, attentive and doesn’t get mad at you if/when you forget things (“that’s okay baby, we can use this instead,” “don’t worry baby, it can be replaced.”)

boyfriend!jeno who buys you whatever you want even if he doesn’t want anything for himself (you usually buy him something anyway because your baby needs to eat too, but if he doesn’t let you, you share with him).

boyfriend!jeno who happily watches you eat the food he buys for you whenever he tells you he isn’t hungry.

boyfriend!jeno who orders your favorite desserts and ice cream on cute dates to bakeries around the city (he knows all about your diet, has your allergies in his notes app just in case and has your favorite toppings all memorized perfectly…) ;((

boyfriend!jeno who makes out with you in the pool after splashing you with water or in the ocean, in the middle of the waves or in the rain for no reason at all (he’s genuinely the best kisser wherever whenever).

boyfriend!jeno who always includes you in activities and wants you to play sports with him and dream (he knows with you on his team it’s an easy win, plus it’s extra entertaining for him to see you out of your shell and get competitive with the members).

boyfriend!jeno who laughs at you when you’re screaming the rules of a game with his friends (he thinks you’re cute when you’re defensive and pouty).

boyfriend!jeno who randomly pinky promises that he’ll always be your best friend for as long as you’re together, “forever” (your heart almost aches…you tighten your hold around his pinky with yours as a promise is made).

boyfriend!jeno who blushes like crazy and smiles from cheek to cheek when you kiss the mole underneath his eye, after you whisper, “I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”

author’s note: hello friends! haha, the delusions are CRAAZYY!! Hahanmsb!2)$/

[milkbobatyun]

foolish little dove

pairing: yandere!sunday x reader

genre: angstober, events, yandere

summary: the consequences of not listening to the head of the oak family

word count: 936

C O N T E N T W A R N I N G : yandere behaviour, manipulation, fear

a/n: this can be read as a continuation of my first yandere sunday piece 'my love, mine all mine'

the plush mattress of the bed dipped underneath you, the room furnished with an abundance of luxury—silk sheets, velvet drapes, golden accents, all shining in the glow of the candlelight. it was more than any common person could afford. yet, this was just a gilded cage, a dream disguised as a nightmare,

you were the dove, wings weighed down by invisible chains, helpless as you await for the fate your captor planned for you. the balcony teased you, thick, tempered glass doors teasing you, though it remained locked, the taste of freedom just out of reach.

oh how you prayed you could fly into the sky from the balcony, to feel the fresh air blow gently against your skin.

the vast room seemed to grow larger every day, the loneliness gnawed at your insides, making you yearn for company.

the sun rose and fell, night’s moonlight flooded the room. the repetitive ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs struck through throughout the room, the gramophone’s needle scratched out the same haunting tune, echoing around the bed chamber. 

you lost count of how many days you were locked up. the staff brought you your meals, took you to the bathroom to bath, their routine revolving around you like clockwork. your days began to blend into each other, making your mind a blurry haze.

today, a key jangled in the lock, the soft creak of the heavy oak door echoing in the still room.

sunday’s heavy boots thudded across the floor, muffled by the plush velvet carpet.

your blank gaze slid away from where your hands tangled each other, your hair hanging around your face like lifeless vines, towards the new figure in the room. when you catch sight of a white coat and not the mundane black uniform of the servants, your head snaps up, eyes lighting up with hope.

your eyes meet sunday’s steady gaze, lunging forwards, hands grasping at him, at his clothes, to prove to yourself he wasn’t a figment of imagination. those hallucinations happened more often now. 

sometimes, it was your family, screaming in agony, their bloody hands clawing at your exquisite clothing, cursing you to eternal suffering, their screams worming its way into your ears. other times, it was the trailblazer, haunting the dark corner of your room, a silent visitor who would stare blankly in your direction.

the smooth velvety fabric rippled cooling against your soft and warm skin. sunday’s mouth twitched into an amused smirk, as he closed the distance in a few long strides. for a fleeting second, you allowed yourself to believe that he was here, to free you from the cold shackles around your ankles. his cold hands, concealed by his pure white gloves, traced your face.

“my, my,” he purred, voice soothing. “how is my little dove?”

“please,” you pleaded, tears streaming down your face. “please, let me go… i beg of you” your voice trailed off, dying like the hope you held in your heart.

a hollow chuckle flooded the room, sunday’s face twisted in cruel humor.

“you still don’t get it, do you?” he hisses, voice taunting. “you’re mine now, little dove. even if i let you go, where would you go? home?” 

a twisted smirk adorned his face. 

“oh right,” he continued, tapping his finger on his chin in mock consideration. “you don't have one anymore! maybe because…they’re all dead!”

his eyes were alight with evil delirium, looking down upon you like a hawk would upon its prey. 

with one finger twirling a lock of your hair, sunday leaned close to your ear, lips brushing your ear like a lover’s promise, and whispered, “remember, my little dove, you’re mine now, always and forever.”

with a gentle, almost lover-like caress of your cheek, sunday placed a kiss on your forehead, before he turned on his heel, heading towards the door.

something within you snapped and you moved before you could think, hope shining in your eyes. you tried to run towards the opening. though your legs, weak with days of sitting around, failed you. sunday watched you with sadonic delight, gaze cold and emotionless as he observed you while you flailed about, like a newborn deer. 

throwing dignity to the wind, you dragged yourself towards the door, the comfort of the carpet burning against your skin. you watched as the shining sliver of freedom shut behind sunday. 

the door clicked shut with an echoing finality. hearing the snap of the lock, turning back into its place, you remained, clawing at the door. you were but a dove in a gilded cage, weighed down by invisible chains, freedom nothing but a cruel illusion, always out of reach.

taglist (open): @yeonjunsfox

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

[joelscurls]

stalemate

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

words: 7.2k

summary: Frankie Morales is your best friend — until a drunken hookup tears you apart.

warnings: 18+ minors dni; friends -> enemies -> lovers, TF characters without the TF plot, no Tom (in this house we hate Tom), alcohol consumption, smoking, angst, jealousy, pining, Frankie & reader being idiots in love, explicit smut, size kink, brief mentions of drunk sex, bad / regretful sex (between reader & OC), oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, use of pet names (bebita, querida, baby, etc.), grilled cheese as a love language, happy ending, I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything!

a/n:  thank you so much to @javisashtray & @pedgito for beta-reading this for me <3 this is for all my frankie lovers out there (aka bitches with good taste). dividers are by cafekitsune. follow @joelscurlsupdates for fic notifications! enjoy :)

Frankie Morales makes the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had. Perfectly golden bread; gooey, melty cheese — just the thought of it makes you drool. He says he has a secret ingredient. Won’t let you in the kitchen while he cooks for you, lest you find out. 

Sometimes, upon entering his apartment, you can already smell melted butter. He’ll have started on one without even asking if you want it. He knows you always do. 

Sit, he’ll shout from the other room. I’ll be right there. Feel free to put something on — but please, not 13 Going on 30. You’ll thank him and question his distaste for Mark Ruffalo in the same breath: you’re the best, but it’s not my fault Matty is the dream man.

He’ll bring you the wafting plate along with a Corona, and insist that you eat before it goes cold while he makes one for himself. Ever the gentleman, ever the friend — at least he was.

Because the two of you haven’t spoken in a month; not since the drunken hookup that you’re both pretending didn’t happen.

You’d laughed the entire cab ride home from the bar. That last round of tequila shots had left you feeling good, all warm and giggly, and Frankie mirrored you in the backseat with his drunken grin. Eyes glassy, lips pulled wide, he’d smacked you lightly on the shoulder as you recalled Santiago’s pitiful loss in that third game of pool. “When he pocketed the eight-ball…” he trailed off into another fit of laughter. 

“And then—“ you attempted, voice caught in your throat as another giggle barreled out. “—the cue hitting his drink!” Your entire body folded over, hands braced on Frankie’s thighs as the two of you struggled to regain composure. Through labored breaths, you squealed. “He’s never going to live that down!”

After a few particularly stressful months at work, you lived for these nights out with your friends. You’d met Frankie through your best friend Mal, who was dating his friend Benny, and your circles had eventually meshed into one. Sometimes it felt like it had always been that way, like you’d known the guys your entire life.

Especially Frankie.

Your friendship was a special one — punctuated by frequent trips to the movies to watch the latest horrible slasher film; by nights spent yapping on the phone about nothing in particular. He’d become a constant in your life. Never, in your right mind, would you even dream of doing anything to jeopardize that— 

“You look really hot tonight, by the way.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have. But then it was you who leaned in closer, you who rested your hand on his hip and plucked the Standard Heating Oil cap off his head, placing it atop your own.

It was you who kissed him first.

He deepened it though — that was all him — large, restless hands grasping at your sides, your back, your face; tongue pushing past the seam of your lips to press against yours. He’d groaned into your mouth when the cab stopped at the curb in front of your building. Cursed under his breath when you pulled away.

And then, your voice ragged and breathless, you’d asked, “do you want to come in for a bit?”

It was a mistake. A horrible, blissful mistake. Waking up with sticky thighs and Frankie’s thumbprint bruised into your hip, you’d found his side of the bed cold; your inbox empty. He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. Still hasn’t.

The aftermath is cursory glances. Half-assed greetings and pleasantries murmured across the bar. Which you don’t mind, really. You don’t want to speak to him. He’d probably just feed you some lie about losing track of time, not remembering what happened that night.

You wish you could forget it.

The visual is fuzzy; fleeting. But his voice — god, his voice — it still rings in your ears, drips at the nape of your neck like a leaking tap: fuck, baby, knew you’d take my cock; feel so good wrapped around me.

Your friends don’t know. They can’t; they wouldn’t let you live it down. Benny has made plenty of offhand comments already about you and Frankie being perfect for each other, having the same stubborn disposition. Mal does nothing to shut him up. Instead, she encourages him. Tells him he’s so right. 

You’re pretty sure your eyeballs are going to fall out someday from glaring too hard.

Because you’re not perfect for each other — far from it, actually. Fuck, you can’t even communicate effectively. How could you ever be in a real relationship? 

Not that you want that. Frankie is…well, Frankie. Sure, he’d felt undeniably incredible on top of you, inside of you — but he isn’t the type to settle down. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard Frankie talk about dating. 

Besides, he’s clearly not interested in being anyone’s anything right now. Not even your friend. 

It hurts; cuts deeper than you care to admit. Just weeks ago, you’d spent an entire weekend at his place, marathoning the X Files and gorging on cold pizza. Now, he won’t even look your way for more than a few seconds. 

Won’t make you a fucking grilled cheese.

It’s a Friday night, which means you’re meeting your friends at Sid’s. The glow of neon seeping through the windows of the old dive bar is warm and inviting as you step out of your rideshare and make your way toward the doors.

Frankie is sitting at the bar with Santiago when you enter. Hunched shoulders, narrowed eyes trained on his bottle of Corona, he appears detached from whatever Santi is saying to him. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you stroll up to them — not until his friend’s hand lands hard on his back, pulling his attention away from the beer. He offers a half-assed hello and an even more half-assed half-hug, and then he’s sliding back onto his barstool. 

Ever-oblivious, Santiago doesn’t seem to notice the way Frankie curls in on himself; the way your back is up like an agitated cat’s.

Mal and Benny turn up minutes later, immediately ordering a round of shots for the group. You down the liquor eagerly, not bothering to lean on salt and lime to numb the sting. You want to feel it. You order another before joining Mal and the guys at a pool table in the back, letting the acid slide down your throat with no more than a wince as Santi racks the balls.

“Alright Fish, you’re up,” he says. “Me and you. Whoever loses buys the next round.”

You watch as Frankie quirks a brow at him. Takes a swig of his beer. “You sure you want to make that bet, Pope?”

Santi grins; nods confidently. “Hell yeah, I do.” The rest of you don’t bother to suppress your laughter. You catch a glimpse of Frankie, head thrown back, his broad, glistening neck exposed, and you have to fight to ignore the sudden panging in your chest.

When Santi inevitably loses, you order a vodka soda. You’re already feeling a bit tipsy after two shots in less than twenty minutes, so the drink goes down smooth; quick. There’s a rush to your head as you settle back at the bar and fiddle with the wrapper to your straw, letting the slightly soggy paper roll between two fingers.

You barely notice when Frankie slots in a few seats down, your attention drawn only when you hear his voice. It’s deep — sounds just like it did when he had his chest pressed to your back in the dim light of your bedroom — and his intonation nearly gives you whiplash. 

When you snap your head up to look at him, you find he’s speaking to a woman. Her back is turned to you, long, dark hair tossed over her shoulder and her elbow resting casually on the bartop, but you imagine she must be beautiful by the way Frankie is visibly fawning over her. You’re staring, you hear her tease. Can’t help it, comes his reply.

Something like discomfort builds in your throat. Rises up up up. You take a long sip of your drink, letting vodka and sugar push it down. 

You’ve never seen Frankie flirt with anyone, apart from you. It’s strangely unsettling, listening to him smooth-talk her. I’m a pilot, you know, he brags; could take you up in the sky someday if you wanted. Her giddy squeal comes seconds later; really? You’d do that for me?

You feel bad for her. She doesn’t know yet that all he’ll do is disappoint her.

He feeds her lines as you sip on your drink, citrus and grain burning only when he tells her: yeah, I came with friends; they’re all over there. Gestures toward Benny, Mal and Santi standing around the pool table in the back.

Scoffing, you stand from your seat at the bar and retreat to the patio. You don’t bother to check if Frankie is looking. 

It’s cooler here, a sobering breeze carrying salt air with it as it wafts by. A few patrons have spilled outside, most smoking on faintly glowing cigarettes as they talk and laugh boisterously among themselves. You’d planned to sit alone, to plant yourself on a bench and enjoy your drink in solitude. But then a stranger is approaching you — a man, cigarette grasped between two of his fingers — and he’s asking you for a light.

He’s in his mid thirties, if you had to guess. Curly, dark hair sprouts every which way from his scalp; rounded, green eyes studying you as he awaits a response. He’s tall, though not as tall as Frankie.  His shoulders aren’t nearly as broad and his chest isn’t quite as wide. His t-shirt hangs loose around his torso, swallowing his narrow frame — dissimilar to the way Frankie’s button-down clings to him. 

Then again — why are you even comparing? Maybe the opposite of Frankie is exactly what you need. 

You’ll have to seduce this stranger first, though. Not that it seems like it’ll be very difficult. His eyes are already raking over you, lips turned up at the corner as you take a casual sip of your drink.

“I don’t smoke,” you admit apologetically. 

“Ah — that’s alright.” 

He has an accent; midwestern, maybe? You don’t bother to ask. You don’t care, really. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is—

“You here all by yourself?”

“Yeah,” he laughs at your lack of subtlety. “Are you?”

“No,” you say. “My friends are inside.” Lowering your voice, you add, “but I was thinking about leaving soon.”

“Why’s that? Early morning tomorrow?”

You shake your head. Rub at your neck as if working out a knot, a contented hum pushing past your lips at the press of fingers into skin. Your stranger’s eyes trail rather conspicuously downward.

“Just over it,” you sigh exasperatedly. “I’d much rather be home…in bed…out of these clothes.”

You pull gently at the strap of your dress, as if you can’t bear the sensation of it against your shoulder any longer.

Your stranger’s gaze darkens, and the grip on his box of cigarettes grows tighter.

“You uh — want some company — once I find a light?”

Too fucking easy.

“Sure,” you giggle.

He slips away only for a minute or two, giving you just enough time to second-guess yourself. You know nothing about this man, not even his name; only that he smokes American Spirits and smells like tobacco. Should you really go home with him? 

But then you think of Frankie inside  — talking up a woman at the bar, pretending that you don’t exist — and that just about makes up your mind for you.

Your stranger reappears, now-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. The tip of it rages red and angry, and you think you know how that feels.

He smirks at you as he stuffs the pack into the front pocket of his jeans. An unceremonious silence hangs in the air as he sucks on the filter and puffs out a string of smoke. You wait patiently for him, quietly. 

He snuffs the butt of his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Takes your empty cup and discards that too. 

Can’t wait to get you home, he whispers in your ear then. You feign arousal, peering up at him and batting your eyelashes. Me neither, you mewl. Let’s go.

You lead him back through the bar, finding Mal and letting her know that you’ll be going. She seems a little perplexed, quirking a brow at you as you grip tightly onto your stranger’s arm, but she tells you to have fun anyway. Text me, she mouths as you make your way to the exit.

You only get a few feet, though, before you’re intercepted.

Frankie is blocking the door, arms crossed, a panic-stricken look on his face that you can’t quite comprehend. “Hey,” he says, “can I talk to you real quick?”

Your stranger backs off. Lets go of your arm and starts out the door. “I’ll wait outside,” he says, slipping away with a wink before you can protest.

The bar is bustling with noise, people in every corner drinking and laughing and dancing. Strangely, though, you’ve never felt so alone. So vulnerable. And you hate that Frankie has this power over you, the innate ability to make you feel so fucking small. It’s infuriating, it’s—

“Are you sure you want to leave with him?”

“Excuse me?” you scoff. 

Frankie stares you down, face red, eyes inky-black. “You don’t know this guy, do you? What if he’s a murderer or something? Or like — a pervert?” 

He’s grasping at straws, you know it. It’s why you laugh; roll your eyes. 

“What are you, my keeper?”

“No, it’s just — I’m just concerned for your safety, okay?”

You’re briefly stunned. After weeks of ignoring you, he cares about your wellbeing? How can he be so hypocritical?

“I’m fine,” you bite back. “Why don’t you go back to your girl at the bar? Worry about getting yourself some instead?”

He’s wounded, if only slightly. His lips part like he might retaliate, but he’s silent. Dejected. Satisfied, you brush past him. March out the door without so much as a parting glance.

Finding your stranger leaning against the bar’s brick exterior, you force a smile. He outstretches a hand and you take it, reluctantly. “Ready to go?” he asks. 

You’re not so sure anymore, but you nod anyway. Squeeze your stranger’s bicep and preen under his lustful gaze when he tenses in your grip. “Yeah,” you purr. “I’m ready.”

Cold air bites at your toes the following morning. It wakes you from a deep slumber; bitterly pulls you into consciousness. Confused, you yank at the covers. But a mysterious weight holds them in place, and only then do you remember then that you’re not alone. 

Eyes sliding open reluctantly, you scan the room. Your dress from the night before is draped over the chair in the corner, your stranger’s clothes piled up on the floor nearby. He snores next to you, an arm raising to hang above his head, and you shift. Slip out of bed and pull a t-shirt on before padding into the bathroom.

Early morning light spills across tile, bounces off the mirror above the sink. You squint, shuffling over to the window and yanking the blinds closed. Then you check for damage in your reflection. Your makeup from the night before has stained your cheeks and your eyes look as tired as you feel, but otherwise there appears to be no physical evidence of your rock bottom.

The sex wasn’t great — not even good, really. Your stranger had lasted all of three minutes, had fanned his hot breath across the shell of your ear as he came, and then collapsed on top of you. Rolled over and drifted to sleep. He’d started snoring before you could even process what had just happened.

Cold water splashed across your cheeks does nothing to cool the burn of regret that scorches your skin. You feel uncomfortable, almost as if your body is tainted, now, remnants of your stranger leaking from between your thighs as you steady yourself at the edge of the sink. 

He must’ve heard the tap, or maybe the pounding in your chest, because he emerges seconds later. He yawns and stretches, feline-like, in the doorway. “Hey,” he mutters. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good,” you say, eyes twitching slightly as you will them to stay put above his waistline. 

“You always up this early?”

You nod. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that you’d nearly jumped out of bed at the sight of him still there. He doesn’t need to know that for a split second, you’d almost hoped it was Frankie.

He asks if you want to get breakfast. You shake your head in faux-sympathy. “Sorry, can’t. I was hoping to get some cleaning done.”

“I could stick around and help,” he offers. 

Jesus Christ. Just take the fucking hint.

“That’s so nice of you; I’m just more efficient by myself,” you lie again. 

If Frankie were here, he’d grab the cleaning rags out of the closet just off the kitchen. He knows where they’re kept: second shelf, on the left. He’d wipe down the counters and the coffee table while you’d work on clearing dishes, disposing of pizza scraps. And he’d probably put on his dad-rock playlist — against your wishes — though you’d inevitably find yourself dancing to Foo Fighters and giggling when he’d sing along and mess up the words.

It begins to sink in then, as you shoo your stranger, now dressed, out the door, that your attempt to use sex as a way to get Frankie out of your head was useless. He’s still there, refusing quite adamantly to budge, all mussed curls and big eyes and deep voice. There’s no evidence that he’ll be leaving any time soon.

The revelation renders you nauseous. You spend the rest of the day with a hangover that you’re sure has not been induced by alcohol. And by the time night falls, darkness descending over your bedroom like a fog, you still feel sick.

A week later, you drag yourself to Benny and Mal’s for their monthly game night. You’d tried to get out of it, told Mal you haven’t been feeling great — which isn't a total lie — but she’d begged you until you broke. 

Will is coming, and it’ll be the first time we’ve all gotten together in over a year, she’d whined through the receiver. 

And then-

I know things were weird between you and Frankie last time at the bar, but you can’t let that stop us from seeing each other.

How do you know that, you’d asked, chewing on your bottom lip, the phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder.

He basically moped around the rest of the night after you left. Kept bitching about you leaving with that guy. He seemed really…agitated. You don’t have to tell me what happened, just please don’t bail.

So you’re here, steeling yourself as you climb the steps to the front door, hoping that if nothing else, you can make it through the night without strangling Frankie for his lack of discretion. 

You enter the house with baited breath.

Your eyes immediately catch Frankie, tucked into the corner of the sectional, fingers wrapped tightly around his beer. He meets your gaze briefly before letting it slip to the floor by his feet, as if he’s trying to pretend he hasn’t seen you at all. 

“Hi,” you try.

He looks back up at you, or rather past you. Taps his fingers along the bottle for a long moment. “Hey,” he says finally, to the wall behind your head.

“How have you been?” the words come out forced, almost foreign. You shift your weight awkwardly and he sighs. 

“Fine. I’m fine.” 

“Right,” you mutter. More silence. “Me too, in case you were wondering.”

“Good,” he says, voice cold. “That’s good.”

You’re not sure whether you want to slap him or kiss him. Because as infuriating as he’s being right now, he looks gorgeous, denim shirt hugging his biceps, his shoulders; stray curls peaking out from under that stupid Standard Heating Oil hat. You yearn to rip it off his head, run your fingers through his hair, nip along the sharp line of his jaw; the broad expanse of his neck.

You long to feel something other than the prominent ache that’s permeated your body for weeks, now. And you fear that he’s the only one who’d be able to alleviate it.

Your mouth opens again just as Benny emerges from the kitchen. Whatever words you were about to utter are lost in the ether as he pulls you into a suffocating hug and thanks you for coming. 

“Mal’s in the kitchen,” he says. Grabs a handful of Lays from a bowl on the coffee table and shovels them into his mouth. Still chewing, he adds, “we got those wine coolers you like; they’re in the fridge.”

With a hurried thanks, you slip away unscathed.

You find Mal crouched in front of the open fridge, rustling through a produce drawer stocked with beer cans. 

“Hey,” you announce. 

She seems almost surprised to see you when she cranes her neck toward your voice, despite your promise to show. Eyebrows raised, mouth slightly agape, it’s as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. She pulls another drawer open. Fishes out a wine cooler and passes it to you with an outstretched arm. 

You take it in one hand. Help her up with the other. 

“You’re here,” she says, and it sounds like more of a question than a statement. 

“Yeah. I said I would be.”

“I know, I know. It’s just — I wasn’t sure. The whole Frankie thing…” 

“It’s nothing; I promise,” you lie. “Water under the bridge. We’re fine.”

She quirks a brow at you, disbelief coloring her features, but she lets it go. Closes the fridge with a thunk and adjusts her sweater at the hem. “Good,” she says. “I don’t want you two ruining game night.”

It’s half a joke, but you know deep down she means it. She takes this all very seriously. Back in college, she’d forced you and your suitemates to play Cards Against Humanity with her every weekend. None of you had the heart to tell her when it started to grow monotonous, and so the tradition carried on well past graduation, eventually evolving into a new tradition with new friends.

Games bring people together, she’d said once over a round of Monopoly that had stretched well into the night, resulting in delirious laughter and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

You’d believed her at the time. Now, you’re not so sure that it’s foolproof.

The two of you rejoin the guys in the living room, Santiago and Will having shown up in your absence. You greet them as Benny pulls out a stack of game boxes. Settle on the couch, as far away from Frankie as you can manage.

It starts during the second round of Charades. 

The first round had gone fine — good, even. Teamed up with Santi and Will, you’d avoided eye contact with Frankie for the whole of it. Focused only on guessing Santi’s horribly-mimed clues in between handfuls of trail mix and sips of watermelon-flavored bubbles.

It’d felt a bit like old times, all of you in one room again. Mal snuggling into Benny on the loveseat; Will catching his brother up on time spent touring the country, giving motivational speeches to recently discharged veterans. He’d asked you how you’ve been as Santi studied his next word, and you’d remembered then that everything was very much not how it once was.

And you hadn’t missed Frankie’s discomfort at the question; the way he set his beer bottle down on the table with a bit too much force, glass clanging against wood. Though if Will noticed too, he hadn’t said anything. Just moved into a story about some woman he met on the road that reminded him of you.

Santi’s turn had ended with a whopping zero points for your team, and now Frankie is standing at the front of the room, unfolding the scrap of paper in his hand and reading it to himself. In the lull, you find yourself staring at him, eyes near glazing over at the sight of the tiny paper pinched between long, thick fingers. Fingers you remember the reach of, the weight of. 

He crumples the paper and stuffs it into his pocket, signaling that he’s ready to go. Mal flips over the sand timer on the table. And you almost don’t notice at first when he starts, mind occupied by equal parts lust and annoyance, that he’s fucking mouthing the phrase.

You watch, enraged, as Benny squints to read his lips. He raises his hand excitedly and jumps to his feet; yells out the answer with a sureness that Frankie affirms with a nod. 

“That’s right. It’s the Empire State Building.”

“That’s fucking cheating!” you shout, a bit angrier than the situation calls for, and the room grows quiet. Fury coursing through you, you add, “are you fucking serious, Frankie?”

You feel the eyes on you; the awkward sheen you’ve cast over the room. Mal shifts across from you, glaring when you turn to face her, and you laugh defensively. 

“What, nobody else thinks that’s unfair?”

“Please,” Frankie sneers. 

“No, she’s right,” Santi tries — ever the peacemaker. “We’ll just add a rule going forward; no mouthing the words.”

“Fuck that,” you hiss. “I want their point taken away.”

Frankie scoffs from the other side of the room. “Bullshit! We earned that before the rule was added.”

You’re fuming now, standing to get a bit closer to his height; though he still towers over you. Mal is right on your heels, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to placate you. You brush her off. Take another stride toward Frankie.

“There shouldn’t need to be an official rule against it, Frankie. It’s common fucking sense — which clearly, you have none of.”

Visibly offended, he says nothing. Just tenses his jaw.

“Why did you come tonight?” you continue, voice more level now; direct. 

You hear your name uttered behind you, tone pleading, warning. You ignore it. 

“Seriously, why?”

He’s quiet for a long, drawn-out moment, eyes pointed at the floor again.  

“What are you talking about?” he spits, finally. 

You laugh, amused and irritated, and these things somehow feel one in the same. “I mean, clearly you don’t want to be in my presence or even acknowledge my existence — unless it’s to cockblock me — so why are you here?”

His brows furrow; lips twist. For a second, you think he might actually leave. He adjusts his cap, jangles the car key in his pocket — but Benny stops him before he can take a step.

“Just — cut it out, okay? Both of you.”

“He’s the one-“

“I don’t care,” Benny interjects. Scanning the room, you catch sight of Santi and Will and Mal, all visibly agitated, and you sigh.

Guilt washes over you, then. The twisting of Santi’s face, Mal’s doleful stare, the wordless look exchanged between Benny and Will. All confirm your fear that you’ve effectively ruined their night. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

Frankie echoes your apology. Still, the others aren’t impressed. 

“I don’t know what’s been going on lately with you two, but you need to figure this shit out,” Benny says. He sounds like a parent: stern and slightly disappointed. “Can you please just — go in the other room and talk through it?”

Though you haven’t much cared for Frankie’s opinion as of late, you still turn to him to gauge his reaction. He appears just as hesitant as you are, just as guilt-stricken. But something more lurks behind his eyes — something like fear, anxiety. Why, you aren’t sure.

You raise a brow at him, a wordless question. He answers with a sigh. 

“Fine,” you both say at once.

“Thank goodness,” Mal chimes. Herding you two like cattle with a hand on each of your backs, she leads you out of the living room and into the adjoining hallway. 

Her voice drones behind you as you make your way toward the third door on the right. Shall we continue the game?

The guest room is primly kept. It appears almost untouched at first glance, though you know that to be untrue. You’ve stayed here before, after blurry nights spent drinking shitty gin and singing karaoke. That must’ve been years ago now, though, after Mal and Benny first bought this house, and you begin to wonder if your tumultuous friendship with Frankie only made you neglect your friendship with her. And that only adds to the anger stirring inside of you — because what was it all worth, if it’s ended up like this?

Frankie closes the door behind him with a click, and the air in the room feels exponentially thicker. 

“What the fuck was that?” you hiss. 

He scoffs. “Me? You’re the one who freaked out and started an argument over nothing!”

“It wasn’t nothing. You were cheating.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. Takes two steps toward you. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “so you are aware that you’ve been an asshole?”

He says your name, voice suddenly lower, softer. Your entire body tenses as you struggle to keep strong, to not think about how it sounded in your ear in the midst of pleasure.

“I wasn’t trying to be-”

You throw a hand up; silence him. “Well you have been,” you groan. “You’ve been a huge fucking asshole. You hurt me, Frankie. You were my best friend, and then you just… stopped returning my texts. You won’t even look at me when we’re in the same room together. Did you regret it that much?”

The room goes still. You watch as Frankie’s chest rises and falls arduously, his eyes settling on you. They’re dark, pupils blown wide, squeezing shut as he exhales long and hard.

“No.”

You quirk a brow at him, confused.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, averting his gaze. “And that’s the problem — I didn’t regret it at all.” His eyes lift slowly, finding you again, voice more sure when he adds, “I’ve wanted it for a long time”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying, your heart climbing its way out of your ribcage and up your throat. You gulp, feeling the shape of it there as saliva slowly slides past. 

He takes another two steps forward, mere inches from you now, and your breath hitches.

“Do you know how difficult it’s been to look at you without getting fucking hard?” he whispers. “How many times I’ve fucked my fist in the past month imagining it was you?”

Your mouth falls open, stunned. “That girl at the bar-”

He shakes his head. “I thought maybe if I fucked someone else, it would help.”

“And did it?”

“I didn’t — I didn’t go home with her,” he admits, a little bashfully. “I couldn’t do it.” 

His hand lifts, then, cautious and shaky. It finds its way to your face, grazes your jaw so softly you’d think you imagined it if you couldn’t see.

“Why not?” you squeak.

He nods, as if he’s finally accepting something he’s known to be true, admitting it to himself before he does so out loud.

“Because she wasn’t you.”

It feels as if your entire world has spun on its axis. 

Without thinking, you wrap your hand around Frankie’s neck and pull him toward you, crashing your lips into his with a groan. He’s quick to respond, desperately tangling his fingers in your hair and winding his tongue around yours, a broken moan slipping from his throat. 

For a long moment, that’s all it is. It’s clashing teeth and restless hands; the draw of blood and the taste of it, earthy and metallic on your tongue. It’s the two of you, reconciling for lost time and unshared feelings and the overlooked need for each other through tangled bodies. 

And when you finally pull apart, his lips are swollen and his eyes are glazed over, and you’re sure you don’t look much different.

“Frankie,” you whine as his mouth latches to your neck, warm and wet. He doesn’t retreat; just hums against you. 

“Need you,” you say breathlessly. “Need you to touch me.”

His large hand skates down your front, under the waistband of your leggings. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, and your knees buckle. You lean into him, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest as he begins rubbing small, deliberate circles into cotton. 

Lips trailing up to your ear, he nibbles at the lobe. Presses his tongue just behind the shell of it and sighs. “Been wanting this since that night. Want to make you feel good. Want to do it right.”

You mewl in response, high-pitched and too loud, and you have to bite into his shoulder to keep from crying out again. He’s still working you toward the brink, pace relentless, beseeching you every time you buck into his hand. 

There you go baby, that’s it; I got you. 

You know he does, can feel the support of his unoccupied hand at the small of your back, holding you to his strong body. And god, how you’ve missed the feeling of it pressed to yours. You think that that alone could make you come.

You feel yourself slipping as your orgasm approaches, legs slumping underneath you more and more with every pass of his fingers. “Frankie,” you warn, teeth still anchored in his skin. “I’m going to-“

The words are muffled, but he gets it. Presses down harder and works his fingers faster. “Come on baby,” he growls in your ear, “come on.”

Your orgasm hits you so hard that you collapse, your body dead weight in Frankie’s grip as you writhe. He grasps onto you tightly, working you through it with his unyielding touch, swiping back and forth, back and forth as the final waves crest. 

You’re panting when it ends, and still when Frankie helps you to the edge of the bed. Perched there, staring up at him with glassy eyes, you realize you’ve never felt so sated and so needy at the same time.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Please fuck me.”

He should probably say no. After all, you’re in your friends’ guest room, people just a few hundred feet on the other side of the door. But then again, he’s already made you come.

You watch him consider it, eyes flickering to the door and back to you, dark and deep and pooling with want. 

In the end, he can’t help himself.

“Can you be quiet, querida?” 

You nod, though you’re sure that even if you said no, he wouldn’t care. He’d do just as he’s doing now: pressing your shoulder, encouraging you to lay down on the bed; helping you pull your sneakers off, then your leggings, then your shirt; stepping back to marvel at your half-naked form before him. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and your entire body heats from the inside out. You feel like you’re on fire, his stare keeping you alight as he undresses down to his boxers.

He climbs over you with a hand on either side of your head, pressed into the mattress. The lip of his hat bumps you, and you immediately rip it off of him, tossing it aside and tangling your fingers in dark curls. 

You tug at them, dragging him down until his face is hovering just above yours, and he responds with a strangled moan. His body pressed to yours now, you can feel the weight of his hard cock against your clothed pussy. Your mouth finds his again in a languid kiss — slow and deep. You feed each other sighs and moans, taste each other’s longing. His hips roll into yours with every exhale, teasing you — reminding you, and you feel like you’re steadily going insane.

He pulls back, panting. Rests his forehead on yours.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, plucking at the strap of your bra. You nod furiously. Lift the upper half of your body so that he can undo the clasps.

Breasts suddenly exposed, you feel your nipples begin to harden. Frankie groans at the sight of them, so pert and needing. Wordlessly, he dips his head, buries his face in your chest. His tongue wraps around one of your nipples and you cry out, hand flying to your mouth in an instant. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan into your palm.

“Feel good?” he asks, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he shifts his focus to the other nipple. You feel so sensitive everywhere, the heft of his tongue going straight to your clit, and you can barely answer him. A shaky yes tumbles from your mouth — the best you can do. He hums, so low the vibrations burrow under your skin and barrel through you, and you keen at the sensation.

“God, you sound so pretty,” he sighs as he rolls one of your stiff peaks between two fingers. His other hand drifts down your body, dips between the two of you and pulls your panties aside. 

“Fuck,” he curses, fingertip brushing over your seam just barely. “You’re soaked, bebita. That all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine. “All for you Frankie; fuck-“

He’s shifts down your body, hooks both arms under your legs and drags you toward him in one swift motion, leaving you no time to process before his tongue is on your pussy. “Have to taste you,” he babbles drunkenly, plunging into your leaking cunt and lapping at you.

“Oh, oh shit,” you moan as he drags his tongue up to your clit. “Please baby, please.”

“I know; I got you,” he soothes. Then he begins to lave your clit with the soft flat of his tongue, warm muscle encircling the throbbing nub. Wide eyes staring up at you, he observes intently. Responds to every sound, every tell with a switch in direction or an increase in pressure. He’s so attentive, so desperate to make you come on his mouth, and it sends you into a sort of delirium. 

Your second orgasm hits you out of nowhere, slams through your body with so much intensity, you don’t even have the strength to warn Frankie before your release is gushing all over his face and, undoubtedly, the bed below. 

He growls against your cunt. Comes up for air and kisses you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he tugs his boxers down and frees his aching cock. Notches at your entrance without detaching his lips from yours.

It’s a stretch — you recall it being so last time too — though the alcohol had done wonders to loosen your body. Now, you feel every devastating inch of him as he pushes in. He’s gentle. Tells you how good you’re doing as he feeds you more and more of his cock. There you go, that’s my girl, taking it so well for me. And for some reason, him calling you his nearly makes you come again. 

He notices the way you preen in response. Thumbs across the slope of your jaw as he settles inside you. “You like that, baby? Like me calling you mine?”

“Yes, Frankie — fuck. Want it.”

You don’t specify whether you mean him or his cock. You’re not entirely sure. Not that it matters. You know he’ll give you both, give you anything. Can feel it in the way he gazes at you through heart-shaped eyes as he lets you adjust to him.

 “So fucking beautiful, you know that?”

Your eyes roll back and saliva pools in your mouth. “God,” you breathe.

“I’m serious,” he says, finally beginning to move. The slow drag of his cock brushes your g-spot and you gasp. “Was so stupid before, fucking you drunk. Wanna remember every second, every noise you make, every inch of your perfect fucking body.”

“Jesus, Frankie.”

He pushes back in with one deep thrust. Sets a pace that, while not rough, definitely isn’t gentle. You begin to babble and writhe under him. Hook your legs around him so he can get even deeper.

He groans. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It’s so fucking good,” you cry. “Feels like fucking heaven, Frankie.”

“Nah, that’s you.” He lets his head fall on your shoulder, drives into you faster. Pants into the crook of your neck. “Perfect fucking pussy.” 

It ends all too quickly — with your fingernails dug into his back and his sweaty curls sticking to your forehead. Your cunt clenching around his cock, pulling his orgasm out of him just as yours begins to roll through you. You free fall from the cliff’s edge together, breathless moans spilling between your slotted mouths, his warmth flooding you and leaking from the place you’re still connected.

As the room around you slowly comes back into focus, you hear the sound of distant laughter. Benny’s boisterous chuckle and Mal’s much softer one. Clearly distracted, they’re likely blissfully unaware of what’s just happened. You giggle, covering your face as Frankie pulls out.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, prying your hands away. 

“We’re gonna have to get them a new bedspread. We just defiled this one.”

He stands, then, pulling you upright with him. You squeal as blood rushes to your head and your vision goes staticky. 

“Worth it,” he smirks. Gives you a chaste kiss. “Got my girl back.”

You dress and rejoin the group as inconspicuously as possible. Pray they don’t notice the way you’re wobbling on your feet, or the sheen of sweat that’s coated your skin. 

“You sort everything out?” Santi smirks knowingly as you reassume your place on the couch, Frankie settling back into the corner.

“Yeah,” he mutters, refusing to make eye contact. 

“It’s about time,” Benny shouts from the kitchen. Frankie’s head shoots up, pivots toward his voice.

“What do you mean?”

He emerges in the doorway with a shit-eating grin. Mal stifles a laugh from the loveseat.

“Just saying it’s about time,” he shrugs. “That’s all.” 

Shit; apparently you hadn’t been as quiet as you thought.

The others chuckle as you and Frankie exchange a mortified look. The embarrassment is short lived though, Will clapping his hands together, asking what game you all want to play next.

An hour later, after a couple rounds of Codenames and another wine cooler, you head out the door with Frankie right beside you. It feels odd, not hiding anymore. But more so, it feels right. 

He leans you against your SUV under silver moonlight. Kisses you with plush, soft lips against yours; restless hands roving up your sides. Pulls back with a suspiciously large grin.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just glad I stopped being an idiot.”

“I don’t know about that,” you tease, and he smacks you gently on the arm.

“Come over?” he asks, his hand draped over your waist. 

You think on it for only a second. Nod. “Yeah. As long as you make me a grilled cheese.”

“That can be arranged.” 

end notes: thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider commenting and/or reblogging :)

[peachpitfics]

Loml

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: You have been married six months, and it is fresh hell trying to conceive an heir with somebody you are repulsed by. Luckily, your old friend is willing to help you get through it while your husband is out of town.

Length: 2.6k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Infidelity/adultery, themes allude to SA with unwanted husband (not described or mentioned), cunnilingus, face sitting, oral sex (male & female receiving), penetrative sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, sex for the sake of breeding, breeding kink?, orgasm.

a/n: This is part ii of Wildest Dreams, requested by anon here! This turned out a little more angsty than I had planned!

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

Six months ago, your father inflicted the cruelest curse upon you when he married you off to his vilest friend, Lord Howard. Six months of marriage, six months of scheduled contact, attempting to make an heir. Agreeing to once per month, having to allow Lord Howard access to your body in order to do so, six attempts were far too many already.

As soon as Lord Howard informed you of his business travel plans, you began thinking about Benedict Bridgerton. Somebody you thought about relentlessly, however, in this case, you were hoping to hold him to a promise he had made you earlier in the year.

Immediately penning a letter addressed to him at Bridgerton House, with details regarding location, date and time. The staff had been quite loyal to you since moving into the grand house. Most of your time was spent in the country, avoiding your new husband – the service staff there thought you were a gift from heaven, far too good for the old codger, as they called him. They looked after you, and you ensured the same for them. They would keep your secret.

Benedict arrived by carriage a week later, the afternoon after your husband’s departure, having written to accept your invitation, but only to discuss what had been promised in the past. Benedict looked the same, but cleaner, his hair shorter. He looked grown up. He stepped from the carriage, baring in easeful smile, just for you.

“Lady Howard” He bowed properly, it felt like a jive.

You did not speak a word, jumping forward and into his arms, throwing yours around his neck. It was the first time you’d felt safe in months. Benedict’s eyes flicked between the housekeeper, the footman and you, desperately trying to understand if this was okay.

“They are my friends; they would never harm me. I know it is strange, but they really do help me keep my secrets” You tried to reassure Benedict, whispering in his ear.

“It is not strange, it is very country, I suppose,” His arms tightened around your back, lifting you off the ground slightly, “I have missed you. I did write” Benedict squeezed.

“I know,” You let him go, holding out a hand to walk him into the house, “I have your letters hidden in my dressing room. I do apologise for not replying” Ben took your hand and followed you into the house, leaving his luggage on the carriage for the staff to care for.

Benedict was amazed by the house, its long concrete walls and vaulted ceilings. It felt similar to a castle, empty and cold. After your evening meal, you took Benedict for a walk around the gardens. Two swings hung from the branch of a very old tree nearby, one of your favourite places to hide from Lord Howard.

“Where has he gone to?” Benedict asked, lighting a cigarette and passing it to you.

“France… I think. I was not paying very much attention when he was speaking. I was too focused on getting you here. I have been waiting for months, building rapport with the staff, friendships even. I just needed him to leave, so we could do this right” You stuttered, watching your feet dangle as you swung back and forth.

Benedict paused, taking the cigarette back and drawing in, “It has not been going well then?” The question was serious, but even he snorted when he got the words out.

“We have been intimate too many times already. I thought this was supposed to be easy. Women get pregnant all the time” You sighed.

“Yes, when they do not mean to of course. Also, you must account for your husbands age” Benedicts eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Please, do not call him that” You interrupted.

Benedict exhaled heavily, “That is who he is, y/n. He is your husband. If we do this, we commit infidelity. There are consequences for such acts, are you prepared to accept those consequences?” Benedict asked. You had not ever seen him quite this serious. It scared you, seeing what six months will change in a person.

“I am!” You said adamantly, one stiff nod of assurance. There was no way you could take any more of this. One child, that was all you needed, to make it all stop.

You reached over to Benedict’s swing, his sweet face resting on the rope, thumb caressing his cheek, “Will you be able to live with this? Your child, raised as another mans? Never being their father, or having a role in their lives?” You asked, hoping it was not too cold a question. Benedict pulled slightly away from your touch.

“That is what I wanted to speak to you about…” Benedict whispered, “I know that Lord Howard is your husband and that I am too late, y/n. I will give you a child, if I can. I will give you as many as you damn well want. But I must know that after Lord Howard has passed, you will come to me” Benedicts eyes were soft and glassy in the moonlight, the burning ember of the cigarette fading in his laxed hand.

“Benedict” You shook your head and closed your eyes. How could you make such a promise?

“I do not care if the old bastard lives another 20 years, y/n, I will wait. I will wait in torment for you. Even if I must spend the next decade in hell, learning to bend time, I will. And if we are only allowed a short time together, then so be it because whether it be 5 minutes or 50 years, it will still never be enough time. There is an inexhaustible amount of love for you in my heart. I did not recognize it before, I was selfish and hopeless. The two of you will come home to me, and we will be deliriously happy” Benedict dreamed aloud, starry eyed.

You sat in silence for a moment, looking at each other with tragic longing deep set in your eyes.

Benedict’s eyes cleared, his smile faded, “I know you love me” He breathed boldly.

You jaw clenched shut, your eyes closed over slowly, a single tear running down the far side of your face so Benedict could not see.

“I love you,” He howled toward the moon, “I loved you the moment I saw you. I have adored your passion and cherished your friendship, while cowering in the frozen solitude of my own mind. I have dreamt of you and our life together every day since your marriage date, stirring in agony, every night. Every time I close my eyes, the profound pit of blackness inside consumes me – until I wake again, then my existence is marred by its lack of yours. Your name haunts my tongue, its ineffable song too wistful a sound on my lips. I am left stumbling through life, scattered across the universe, searching for you” His once invincible foolhardiness nowhere to be seen. The peaceful eloquence of his voice so familiar to you, always a poet.

Standing from your swing, hand outstretched to Benedict, you tried to allow your eyes to do the speaking. His sad, desperate eyes, staring up at you in solemn hope, his hand bound for yours. You escorted him inside in silence, the air surrounding dense with disquiet. Leading Benedict into your bedroom, separate from the Master bedroom, you closed the door behind him.

Locking eyes in malicious yearning, your bodies came together, navels pressed, hands roaming across every inch of your torso. Benedict grasped the back of your neck, enchanted look in his eyes as he littered kisses along your jawline and down your throat. You breathed heavily under his lips, breasts heaving against his chest. Reaching around for the bows on your dress, undoing them as quickly as you could, desperate to shed your clothes for him, Benedict palmed at your breasts through your dress. He halted his movements when he noticed your hurry and began stripping himself down also.

“I have been thinking, of one thing in particular, all these months” Benedict panted, leading you over to your bed. You nodded, waiting for him to elaborate. Benedict laid, his back to the bed, your hands in his, guiding you over top of him. You hovered over his nude hips, he smiled cheekily, waving you up higher. You frowned down at him, completely confused by what he was asking. He tugged you upward, your knees resting either side of his head.

“You will have to trust me” He gave a soft, dreamy smile as you gave him a befuddled one back, bare behind resting on his chest. You pursed your lips, Benedicts hands digging into your hips pulling you down onto his face. His breath hot against your skin, his wet tongue sinking betwixt your folds, starting gently at your clit. You jerked in animated surprise, finding yourself lowering back down instinctively. Benedict’s hands kneaded your behind, rolling your hips down onto his tongue. You had done your darndest to replicate the way Benedict made you feel, to no avail, at a complete loss for how you would miss his devastating body.

Your fingers tangled into his hand, drinking in every tangible flick of his tongue against your clit. His lips pressed, sucked and kissed at you, pulling you further into his indulgent dreamland. Benedict’s big, blue eyes staring up at you, grinding down on his face, his premeditated attack on you began, wrapping his flexed arms around your thighs and holding you firmly in place. Blinding pleasure laved over you, your eyes uncontrollably clamping shut so hard you swore you saw every colour imaginable. Screaming Benedict’s name, his amused tongue swirling you to completion, you panted animalistically, unable to move.

“That was incredible. I do not believe I could have prepared myself for how much better that was going to be outside my dreams” Ben moaned into your pussy, lapping at your juices, drinking you in. You rested a moment, watching Benedicts crowning smile, his asinine eyes filled with everything else he wanted to do with you.

Freeing Benedict from beneath you he shuffled up the bed, resting upright against the grand wooden bedhead, his legs out in front of him.

“Shall we try?” Benedict asked delicately.

“Please” You whimpered, crawling to him, taking his cock in your hand.

You laid between his legs a moment, holding him in your hands, moving gently. Leaning forward to kiss his tip, your tongue flicked over his pink flesh, Benedict could not help but moan. Taking him into your mouth, you sunk down in long hot strides, pressing his cock to the back of your throat. His fingers wrapped into your hair, pulling you onto him further. Benedict relished your working on him, libidinous smile engraved on his face, pure bliss.

“I do not think that is how one makes a baby” Benedict chuffed, pulling you up quickly, forcing you to wrap your legs around him. Face to face, you grinned into his splendidly hot kisses, his hand slipping between the two of you to situate himself. You felt his tip nudging against your entrance, hard and waiting, slipping inside of you. You gasped loudly, burying your face into his neck as a biological urge forced you to bounce.

Benedict growled lowly into your ear as you moved into a groove together, slow and tedious in perpetual delight. Benedict placed his hand in the smallest of gaps between you, his thumb adjacent to your clitoris; every movement, sinking to his hilt, he brushed against you softly. You were not aware that it could happen more than once, your heart quickened aggressively, Benedict tongue descending into your mouth as you whimpered louder and louder. Nails embedded into Ben’s shoulders, blood nearly drawn, your eyes holding his gaze, sheer hunger lived in his eyes. Hunger for you. Your pussy began quivering around him, aching, throbbing, trying desperately to take in more of him. Excruciating pleasure erupted from you, grasping his cock hard from within, your legs shook as your wetness spread between the two of you. Benedict did not stop this time, taking his hands to your hips as you ceased moving, manipulating your movements, grunting into your neck. Every time he led you to release, he seemed to get harder, more attracted to you. You did your best to get deep breaths in, to bring yourself back to reality, his cock still pounding into you steadily made it difficult. His teeth edge to edge in painstaking need, his forceful hands and powerful thrust told you he was close.

“Please,” Your voice rang out, his eyes needy and frenzied, “Please, Benedict, put that baby in me!” You continued to beg, his ragged panting and dreary eye contact wavering as you took control of your body again, bouncing heartily onto his cock. Every muscle in his body seemed to tighten at the same time, his hands aggressively pressing you down, as he groaned and grunted fiercely. You squeezed him inside, gently rolling your hips forward, feeling his cock pulsate inside you.

Benedict’s head rested against the bed head, his breath uneven and heart throbbing in his chest. Attempting to get off him, to allow him room to breathe, Benedict stopped you. He blinked himself back to this plane of existence.

“No, it helps if we stay like this” He explained through puffs.

“Really?” You frowned, never having thought about it.

“Yes,” He nodded frantically, “If we stay like this, everything will stay inside” He explained. You hummed in agreement, thinking perhaps that was what you had been doing wrong. Whatever it was that you were doing wrong, you were glad for it. If this made you an adulterer, a traitor, a betrayer, you did not care. Not for this.

Your hands rest on Benedicts chest, fingers splayed in brown chest hair, your eyes lingering over his collar bones and shoulders.

“What are you doing?” He asked, feeling rather observed.

“Taking you in” You purred, taking mental pictures in case you never saw him again. Benedicts hand rose to your face, his thumb rolling over your bottom lip, sliding down your neck to lure you into his most romantic kiss yet. Moments later, Benedict allowed you to slide off him, laying you with your legs up parallel to the headboard. You wondered how many more times you would get to feel like this.

“Shall I leave in the morning?” Benedict asked, a tremble in his voice.

“Absolutely not!” You exclaimed, Benedict lying next to you, a huge grin on his face.

“I joke, my Lady” Benedict laughed as you shoved him gently.

“You will be staying the entire week. I will hold you prisoner if I must” You chortled.

“Excellent, better treatment than home I expect. I will take it” Benedict stretched, every strained muscle flexing in exhilarating sex appeal. “We need every opportunity if we’re to make this baby” He smiled, thrilled at the chance to say such things, hoping one day his babies would come home to him.

“That is not the only reason I want you to stay” You said mellifluously, your soft, thoughtful eyes inspecting his reactions. Benedict frowned placidly, unsuspecting of your joyful surrender.

“You are the love of my life, Benedict Bridgerton,” Tears welled grievously, guileless love calm in your smile, “We will be together. I will be your wife, and I will bring our children home to you”.

Benedict leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours, unhurried and glorious. Tears streamed down his face, amazed and implicit, his sureness of his love for you unwavering.

“How ever long it takes, whatever I must do, we will be together” Benedict smile was humble, but fearless.

--------------------------------------------

Tag list: @cringycat24 // @blckbarbiedoll // @freyagallileaevans // @junkie05 // @rosabeetroot // @flamewriterr // @marvelouslyme96 // @moreover-clover // @dollarstore-lydia-deetz // @newavenger // @lifealot // @rosie-posie08 // @saintmagx //

If you would like to be tagged in Bridgerton fanfiction written by me, please let me know!

[astrophileous]

Every Single Day

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Synopsis: When his daughter demands him to tell the story of how the two of you met, Spencer can't help but oblige.

Warning(s): dad spencer🥰, established relationship (eventually), parent-child relationships, alcohol consumption, brief interaction with a douchebag, made-up astronomy facts, made-up places, idk if there's any cursing but I'll throw it in here to be safe, implications of sex and nsfw themes (minors be advised), pregnancy, mentions of illness, mentions and/or implications of character death, topics of loss and grief, angst and fluff because I love the best of both worlds👍 (pls lmk if I missed anything)

Word Count: 7700-ish

Author's Note: hi 👋 I'm back again with another dad!spencer fic bc apparently I'm a sucker for him. I got a lil carried away with this one lol but anyways, I'm also writing this for the meet cute challenge hosted by the amazing and talented @imagining-in-the-margins so pls go head to her profile and show some love cause she's a peach ❤️ don't forget to leave a LIKE+COMMENT+REBLOG

Criminal Minds Masterlist

The air smelled of freshly brewed coffee. Against the wind, shades of crimson and orange swayed on the trees. Fallen leaves crunched underneath his feet to the cadence of his leisured steps.

Two deep breaths, in and out. Spencer Reid greeted autumn with the deep longing of an old friend.

Next to him walked a source of light bigger than the sun, jumping and bouncing excitedly on the sidewalk. Her tiny fingers emitted warmth inside of his hand. There was a skip to her step that reminded him of the innocence he had long lost. The innocence she now possessed.

Spencer loved this little girl beyond everything he had ever known.

"Puddle, Dee."

The tiny bundle of joy jumped to escape the small pool of water, grinning up at her father, who then began ruffling her hair until she evaded his onslaught with a shriek.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Pumpkin?"

"You never told me how you met Mommy."

Spencer glanced down at the 6-year-old, dressed gorgeously in her favorite floral dress, complete with a sweater that had entailed a hearty discussion about humans' perception of cold. It was only after he bribed her with the promise of a chocolate cupcake from Wakey Bakey did Spencer finally convince her to wear the woolen piece of clothing.

His daughter stared at him with a radiant smile peeking out behind a curtain of hair. A smile which Spencer always argued had belonged to you, even though the rest of Diana Aurora Reid was the splitting image of her beloved father.

"Surely I've told you before, Dee."

"Nuh-uh."

"Of course I have."

"No, Daddy. You haven't."

"Pumpkin, you know I don't forget stuff ever," Spencer said, looking at the little girl who was swaying along to the rhythm of her footsteps. "I used to tell you that story all the time. Back when you were still a baby."

Just as predicted, Diana let out a dramatic gasp as if Spencer had uttered the most offensive thing known to mankind; like claiming the earth was actually flat, for example. Spencer couldn't contain his grin upon seeing her reaction.

"But Daddy, that was so long ago!"

"Do you not remember, Dee?"

Diana shook her head.

"Fine. But Mommy must've told you the story already, right?"

"She has, but--"

"But?"

"But I wanna hear it from you."

Little Diana knew that her father could never resist her puppy dog eyes, especially garnished with that adorable pout on top. Once upon a time, you declared it sickeningly cute and annoying whenever Spencer would pull the same trick on you. When Dee started doing the same to him, you had simply laughed and kissed his cheek, letting him get a sweet taste of his own medicine.

Spencer smiled at the young girl next to him, squeezing her nose and relishing in the gleeful squeal that echoed from her chest.

"What do you wanna hear, Pumpkin?"

Diana held her chin, seemingly deep in contemplation before deciding, "Everything, Dad! I wanna hear it from the start."

"The start, huh?" Spencer hummed thoughtfully, his mind already reeling back to the first moment he ever laid eyes on you.

The story began on yet another ordinary Friday night.

Luck was on the BAU's side when the team managed to wrap the case they had been working all week just before Friday afternoon. By the time the sun was setting, their jet was already high up in the sky, en route from the state of Delaware to Quantico, Virginia. Spencer was looking forward to going home at a reasonable hour for once--maybe catching up on the four reading materials he had promptly pushed aside after his team was called to Delaware to work on the latest case--but that plan dissipated when Derek Morgan suddenly appeared by his side.

"Drinks. Tonight. Everyone's coming, and I'm not taking no for an answer," Derek said before dragging a reluctant Spencer away with him, ignoring the protests that the younger man kept grumbling under his breath all the way to the team's favorite bar.

Spencer just hadn't known it yet, but later down the road, he would spend the rest of eternity thanking Derek Morgan for dragging him along that night.

The Friday night crowd at Shaw's was borderline brutal, but fortunately for the team, a booth in the corner became vacant the moment they stepped into the threshold.

Two hours later, Spencer's fellow teammates weren't even close to calling it a night. The last chorus of "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" by Whitney Houston had just finished blasting from the speakers when Derek sauntered back to the booth, twirling a flushed Penelope Garcia in front of him. Spencer slipped out of the booth to allow them in--preferring to stay on the most outer seat instead of crammed between his tipsy friends' bodies--before sitting down once more.

"Hey, Genius," Penelope called, waving her empty beer glass in front of Spencer's face. "Be a darling and get me a refill, will you?"

"Garcia--" Spencer quickly snatched the glass from her hand before she could send it smashing against someone's head, "--are you sure you want a refill?"

Penelope scrunched her nose. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I think you're plenty drunk already."

"I'm not that drunk," Penelope denied, giggling when an unexpected hiccup interrupted her slurred words. "Derek, tell the beautiful Doctor I'm not that drunk."

"She's not that drunk, Reid." Derek grinned. "While you're at it..."

Spencer could only sigh when Derek slid his own empty glass across the table.

It was past 10 o'clock at night, and the crowd of people in the establishment seemed to have doubled in the couple of hours that the team had been there. Spencer had to squeeze himself through the ocean of patrons flooding the bar, barely able to move his limbs without other people's arms or elbows bumping against his ribcage.

Spencer was waiting for the bartender to complete his order when he happened to glance towards his right, catching sight of the concealed panic that triggered every profiler bone in his body.

Any other person would have taken one look at your face and presumed that everything was alright, but Spencer knew better. He recognized the frantic movement of your eyes, the tight press of your lips, and the impatient knocking of your fingertips on the counter. He only caught the tail end of your voice before discreetly listening to what the man you were talking to had to say.

"--so, unfortunately, I can't."

"I told you, Baby. My Veyron runs at over 260 miles per hour. We can go to Red Clover Hill and get you back home safely by twelve. It's simple math," the guy slurred smugly.

"Actually, that's not true."

The drunken man turned around at Spencer's interruption.

"Excuse me?"

"The Red Clover Hill State Park is approximately 229 miles away from here. Though theoretically, you could drive your Veyron at its maximum velocity, which is around 268 miles per hour, it's very unlikely you'll be able to maintain that speed for the entirety of the ride, considering the terrain you would have to go through between here and there. The fastest you can probably get to the park is in 60 minutes, give or take, and that's being generous. You would have to drive back to D.C. as soon as you arrive at the park if you wish to be back by twelve. It's just realistically impossible."

The man in front of him couldn't be less impressed by Spencer's lengthy rant.

"And who the hell are you?" the drunken guy said, pinning Spencer with a stare that was clearly supposed to be intimidating.

Spencer didn't even flinch. "No one. Just a guy who happens to know a lot about... simple math."

Your loud cough tore Spencer's attention away from the drunk man and towards you, who looked ready to burst from the laughter you were holding underneath. Even under the terrible lighting of the bar, Spencer could still pinpoint the hint of unspoken amusement glimmering inside your eyes.

"Sorry, Bill," you said to the man. "I really do need to be back home by twelve tonight. Maybe some other time?"

Bill didn't need to be told twice. He received the message loud and clear.

Spencer watched the other man scurry away, tail between his legs, before your charming smile enraptured him once more.

"Thank you for that. I was beginning to think he might never leave."

"Happy to help." Spencer smiled thinly, scratching the back of his neck even though the spot wasn't itchy. "What did, uh, why did he want to take you to Red Clover Hill, of all places?"

"Oh. That was... partially my fault." You grinned innocently. "I didn't know he was gonna be an insufferable drunk when he came over, and I was in the middle of watching this."

You pulled out a silver tablet from your lap. Spencer took a peek at the screen, seeing what looked like a live feed of the night sky--over North Carolina, judging by the visible constellations on the vast scene--stamped with the day's date at the bottom of the footage.

"You're watching the Roux-Nell?" Spencer deduced after gathering the facts: the live feed of North Carolina sky, the mention of Red Clover Hill State Park that harbored one of the highest grounds in North Carolina, including a collection of some of the most sophisticated telescopes in the country; you must have been planning to view that night's sighting of the Roux-Nell comet, its first time since the last one in 1927, and only its third one in history.

"Yes! How did you... don't tell me. You're an avid astronomy fan, too?"

Spencer's responding smile only made you beam even brighter.

"Anyway, that guy earlier, Bill, he approached me and asked what I was watching. So, I started talking about the Roux-Nell and about how I wish I was at Red Clover Hill right now since everyone keeps saying it's one of the best spots to view tonight's sighting. I thought he was genuinely interested until he started talking about his Veyron this, his Veyron that. I didn't even realize until a whole five minutes later that he was talking about his car!"

When you finally finished explaining, your eyes locked with Spencer's hazel ones before you seemed to cower shyly.

"Sorry. I can get a little excited when I'm talking sometimes."

"No! Don't be, it was--" Spencer stopped himself before he could complete his sentence.

What was he about to say?

Insightful? Entertaining?

Endearing?

Eventually, Spencer opted to settle for something safe and simple. "I get that way too, sometimes. A lot of the times, actually. So you don't have to apologize."

The fire flickered back inside your gaze following Spencer's admission. It burned brilliantly beneath the kindness you radiated, forged by the sharp intelligence he could see shining out of your eyes.

"So--" Spencer cleared his throat, attempting to shift the conversation in order to distract his racing mind, "--why did you tell him you needed to be back home by twelve?"

"Oh, that? I told him I'm donating blood tomorrow morning, so I need to at least get seven hours of sleep for the night."

"That's a clever lie."

You tilted your head slightly at his statement. "What makes you think it's a lie?"

"Because you're here. Nobody drinks alcohol before they're supposed to donate blood."

Your eyes flashed with surprise. "Not bad, Mister. You're very perceptive."

Spencer shrugged, trying not to appear too flustered by your casual compliment. "It's what I do."

You raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his reply.

"I'm a profiler."

"Profiler?"

"With the FBI."

"FBI, huh?" You hummed, something akin to intrigue swirling in your eyes. "So, you study criminals? Trying to decipher their way of thinking, why they do what they do. Dissect their past history for any related trauma, maybe even pinpoint a psychological stressor that could trigger a criminal behavior, that kind of stuff?"

Upon hearing your response, it was Spencer's turn to be intrigued. "Exactly that kind of stuff. How did you...?"

Grinning sheepishly, you pulled a professional badge out of your pocket, holding it up in front of Spencer so he could see the emblem covering its surface.

"Edgewater Psychology Center," Spencer read the words aloud, understanding dawning on him as he found your eyes once more. "You're a psychologist."

"Guilty as charged."

Spencer couldn't fight off his amused smile. "That explains it, then."

"You know," you began, leaning further against the bar counter to shorten the distance between you and Spencer, "I've never met a profiler in person before. Most of my colleagues, they have consulted on a federal case at least once in the past few years, but the bureau hasn't yet contacted me so far."

"Really?" Spencer took a step forward, closing the distance by a mere inch. "Sounds like a big loss for us. We're idiots."

You bit down on your bottom lip to suppress a smile, your gaze flicking between Spencer's own lips and eyes. For the shortest of minutes, nothing else existed in Spencer's world but you; your smile, your scent, and your kind eyes. You were a magnet carved out of his wildest dreams, and Spencer, well, he might as well have been made out of the purest of irons.

But before Spencer could get lost deeper in your relentless gaze, a shout of his name slashed through the air from across the bar. Back at the booth, Derek was waving his hand frantically in the air, stopping only when Spencer signaled him to sit back down and that he was returning in a minute.

"I have to go." He smiled tentatively, apologetically.

"Oh?"

Spencer tried not to revel too much over the small dip of disappointment at the edge of your voice.

"My friends. They, uh--"

"Oh, no, it's alright. You don't have to explain," you told him gently. "See you around, Mr. Profiler. Hope you have a great night."

With that said, you went back to watching the live feed on your tablet while Spencer, begrudgingly, trudged across the room with two refilled beer glasses in his hands, back to where his friends--minus Rossi and Hotch who were conversing among themselves at one of the standing tables--were waiting.

"Finally," Derek groaned once Spencer slammed the glasses down on the table.

"Who was that?" Emily asked as he slipped into the booth.

"Huh?" Spencer followed Emily's gaze, finding you perched up at the very end of it. "No one."

"No one?" Emily's eyebrows rose. "She didn't seem like no one from where I was sitting."

Spencer took an insanely large sip of his leftover beer.

"Holy shit, you like her, " Derek muttered. "He likes her. Pretty boy's got a crush."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah? Tell that to those red cheeks of yours." JJ chuckled.

Instinctively, Spencer touched his own cheeks as if he could physically feel the change of colors on his skin.

"I'm just tipsy," he tried to reason.

A collective scoff reverberated through the entire booth.

"What's her name, Spence?" JJ asked.

When a full minute ticked by without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment from Spencer, Penelope reached out and slapped the man right across his shoulder.

"Ow!"

"You didn't ask for her name?!" Penelope exclaimed.

"It didn't come up!"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say, Reid," Emily noted before sipping her margarita.

"Nope. I'm not having this. Not tonight. Look at me, Sunshine." Penelope grabbed Spencer's face in her hands, forcing him to stare directly into her glasses-rimmed eyes. "I'm not letting you spend the rest of the night like this. You will get your cute little tushy out there and talk to that girl. You will get her name and also her number, maybe even ask the nice pretty lady out while you're at it. Now, have I made myself clear?"

Spencer barely managed to swallow his nerves before he offered Penelope two tiny nods.

"Good. I don't wanna see your face back here if you're not at least pocketing her phone number. Now shoo."

Penelope sent Spencer flying across the bar with a dramatic stumble. By the time he reached your side, Spencer was nothing less than a stuttering mess and a thundering heart.

"Hi," Spencer breathed out once he found your welcoming eyes.

"Um, hi?"

"I'm Spencer."

"Okay... Spencer?"

"Reid. Spencer Reid." He cleared his throat. "Sorry, it's just... I realized while I was sitting over there--well, my friends actually made me realize--that I, uh, never got your name. Which, you know, of course I never got it because I didn't ask. So, I was coming here, wondering if maybe you'd like to give it... to me?"

You blinked once. Twice.

By the third blink, Spencer wished the earth would open up and devour him whole.

"You want my name?"

Spencer nodded.

"What are you planning to do with it?"

"Call you?" At your bemused expression, Spencer quickly elaborated, "Not call like call. I meant referring. Yep. That's it. Although, maybe if you want to, I would love to call you as well. Sometime. And perhaps, you know, ask you out... on a date?"

Spencer swallowed the lump of nervousness in his throat. In front of him, you were pretty, even with the conspicuous scrutiny in your eyes as they assessed Spencer as if he was some sort of an enigma. Embarrassment burned hotter through his veins with every second that passed by. He was merely two exhales of breath away from dashing out of the door when you finally spoke up.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Smiling, you produced an old receipt seemingly out of thin air and asked the bartender to lend you a pen, scribbling something down as soon as you had it between your fingers. When the tiny piece of paper emigrated to Spencer's hand, the Cheshire cat in him jumped out once he noticed the ten digit numbers written neatly underneath a name he could only assume as yours.

"Will that be enough, Spencer Reid?"

"For now," Spencer replied before grabbing his wallet and shoving the paper containing your name inside. "I'll call you."

"You better."

After Spencer's departure, you returned your attention back to the tablet in front of you. Barely five minutes later, though, your serene watching session was once again interrupted. Only this time, it was by the ringing of your phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Spencer."*

Surprised, you swiveled your head left and right, stopping once you spotted Spencer standing on the other side of the room. His eyes were trained towards you, and behind him, a booth of four people seemed to have directed their attention at you as well.

"Spencer?"

"I know this is very untoward," he began, "but would you like to go out with me?"

"Boy, you certainly don't waste any time at all, do you?"

"I believe it's called being efficient," he countered, making you laugh. "So, what do you say?"

"Sure," you answered, enjoying the way Spencer beam at you from across the room. "I would love to, Spencer."

A breeze blew gently against Spencer's face, caressing the tendrils of curly hair that had fallen over his forehead. Diana's little fingers started to grip his tighter as the wind strengthened.

"Did you take Mommy on that date, Daddy?"

"Of course," Spencer replied, reminiscing the exact day when he had picked you up in your apartment, sweat glistening on his palm as he clutched the bouquet of flowers in his right hand. "We went to see a Mark Rothko exhibition at the National Gallery of Art, and before I took her home, we stopped by Wakey Bakey to buy some lemon tarts."

Diana gasped. "Wakey Bakey?!"

The little girl's reaction compelled a chuckle from Spencer's chest. "Yes, Pumpkin. Wakey Bakey."

"What happened after that, Daddy?"

"What do you think happened after that, Dee?"

"Um--" Diana pursed her lips, deeply lost in thought, "--did you become girlfriend and boyfriend?"

"Yes, we did."

"And you got married?!"

Spencer laughed at Diana's apparent excitement over the prospect of her parents getting married. "We did, yeah, eventually. After I proposed to her."

"Oh! Oh! The proposal!" Diana exclaimed, jumping up and down in the middle of the sidewalk without a care in the world. Spencer had to tug her back towards him before she could harm herself or the other pedestrians. "Tell me! Tell me! Tell me about the proposal, Daddy!"

"You wanna hear the story about how I proposed to your mother?"

"Yes, please!"

Chuckling to himself, Spencer mumbled a quick fine before his gears had started turning towards a specific memory in his mind. Spencer was sure, even without his eidetic ability, there was no way he could have ever forgotten about the day in question.

The day you agreed to have him as your forever.

Spencer had fallen in love with you during the first date, right around the time of yet another one of his animated ramblings, where instead of shaming him to shut the hell up, you had simply stared at him in awe and said, "You're pretty when you talk."

The young agent was sure he couldn't get rid of the blush adorning his cheeks for at least an entire week.

By the time the fifth date rolled around, Spencer was absolutely certain that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. It wasn't a surprise, then, that a few weeks before your first anniversary came up, Spencer had pocketed a diamond ring with a promise of forever on the tip of his tongue.

Combing the courage to take this historical leap was easy. Difficult was trying to conjure up the perfect proposal plan that he would deem worthy enough for someone like you. There were no rooms for mistakes. Spencer wanted everything to be perfect because he believed you deserved nothing less.

Which was why, in moments of desperation, Spencer ended up turning to his fellow teammates in the FBI for help.

"I don't know if I'm the right person to ask about this, Spence. Will only ever proposed to me after finding out about Henry, and we only got married after I thought he was gonna die on the field," JJ explained. "It was never the most ideal of situations, but I would never change a thing even if I could."

Unsatisfied with JJ's answer, Spencer proceeded to find the BAU's tech genius in her bat cave.

"Go big or go home, my friend," Penelope said following a 10-minute hysteria she erupted into upon learning about Spencer's intent to propose. "Splash out on the bottle. Don't hold back on the grandeur. Spend all of your savings if you have to."

"Garcia--"

"Fine, maybe not all of your savings. You should leave some for the wedding."

Spencer spent weeks mulling over Penelope's advice.

Working as an FBI agent didn't pay as well as most people thought it would, and Spencer's tendency to collect first edition books wasn't exactly an affordable hobby. It meant that as much as Spencer wanted a proposal filled with the greatest grandeur--just as Penelope had suggested--he didn't have a fat enough balance in his bank account to make his ideal proposal concept a reality.

And Spencer probably would have spent the limited fund in his savings down to its very last cent, had it not been for Derek catching him browsing through the internet for the cost of a hot air balloon ride.

"I just want to give her the perfect proposal," Spencer admitted after he finished revealing everything.

"Kid, it doesn't matter," Derek said. "Don't you see? She doesn't care about hot air balloons or any kind of grandeur. She only cares about you. There's no such thing as a perfect proposal. You're just using it as an excuse to put off asking her 'cause you're scared of what she's gonna say. But you don't need to. You two are so devastatingly in love, it's disgusting."

In the end, grandeur wasn't even present in the room when Spencer decided to pop the question.

On that particular night, Spencer arrived in his apartment just a few minutes before midnight. His aching muscles were calling for sleep as he toed his shoes off, but his footsteps soon ceased when he caught sight of his dimly lit living room.

You were fast asleep on the couch, face illuminated by the television light. Spencer's movements were careful as he knelt in front of you, studying the soft and hard edges of your features like historians would an ancient scripture. He couldn't help it when his fingers reached out on their own accord, brushing the softest of touches against the high point of your cheekbone. Inside its cage, Spencer's heart started to stir.

You were so beautiful.

Even after one year of being together, Spencer was often still taken back by how lovely you were. He adored every detail of your being, most fervently the scars that littered your skin in a constellation of stars. All of the places in your body where your scrutiny had wandered in a fleet of insecurity were the same places that Spencer wanted to worship for the rest of his life. In his eyes, you were eternally magnificent, and this thought clouded Spencer's mind as he went to shake your shoulder gently.

"Spencer?" Your groggy voice sounded meek in the comfort of Spencer's apartment, the same one he had been sharing with you since you moved in three months prior. Your lips tilted with the tiniest hint of a smile at the sight of him, and Spencer thought he would melt when your fingers instinctively reached for his face. "You're back."

"I'm back," he confirmed, leaving a trail of kisses on your palm. "Why aren't you in bed, my love?"

"I was waiting for you," you admitted. "I have something to say."

"Really? Me too."

"Hm?" Curiosity flared in the center of your eyes. "You first."

Smiling, Spencer leaned down to steal a quick kiss before saying, "Marry me."

Your breath hitched.

After a few seconds of silence, your nervous laughter filled his ears. "Right. That's a nice one, Spencer. Very funny."

"I'm not joking, sweetheart."

Spencer reached into the inside pocket of his satchel, pulling out the velvet box that had weighed down his bag by several grams for the past few weeks. Any remnant of sleep you still had in your eyes was instantly washed away the moment he opened the box to reveal a pretty ring sitting inside.

"I've had this for a while now," Spencer admitted. "I kept putting off asking you because I believed I wanted everything to be perfect, until Derek knocked some sense into my head and made me realize that I was just afraid of taking the leap. He's right, as always, but don't tell him I said that."

Spencer paused at your teary laugh, relishing in the melodic sound that made his heart nearly burst in two. "My love, I don't need the perfect proposal when you're the promise of a perfect life. Any life with you is the one I want to live for the rest of my time, and I want to start living that life from this point onward. What do you say, sweetheart? Will you marry me?"

Spencer never thought the word yes could sound so incredibly spectacular.

The celebration had started right away, commemorated by the shedding of clothes from each other's bodies, finalized by panting breaths and entangled limbs beneath rumpled sheets. You lay on the bed with your palm on Spencer's chest, his own hand tracing invisible patterns on the vast canvass of your skin.

Spencer watched as you stared at the ring circling your finger. "Do you like it? We can exchange it for a new one if--"

"Spencer Reid, don't you dare."

"Apologies, ma'am." He grinned, continuing the random patterns he was drawing on your skin before he spoke again, "By the way, you said you also have something to tell me."

You looked up at him with a blinding smile before scooting out of Spencer's arm and reaching for the nightstand. When Spencer saw what you had rummaged out of the bedside drawer, Spencer thought his heart had forgotten how to beat.

"Is that--"

"Surprise," you murmured giddily, handing over the object in your hand into Spencer's awaiting palm. "I found out yesterday, but I wanted to tell you in person."

Spencer sat up on the bed, staring with disbelief at the small item in his hand. He only realized he had started to cry when a drop of tears fell down, blurring the two tiny pink lines in his vision.

"This is... you're..."

"I'm pregnant, Spencer," you professed.

Just an hour earlier, Spencer thought the word yes was the best thing he could ever hear falling from your mouth. But as he held you in his arms, his lips catching yours once more in a heated kiss, Spencer realized that you had many more surprising admissions waiting to be said out loud.

And Spencer couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life listening to every single one of them.

"Daddy, are you saying I was already in Mommy's belly when you proposed to her?"

"Yes, you were, Pumpkin," Spencer said, smiling at the blatant curiosity in Little Dee's eyes. "You were a surprise we didn't see coming."

Diana's responding smile was a picture of satisfaction. The father-daughter pair continued to walk down the street until Dee's voice tore through the silence once again, "Daddy?"

"Hm?"

"I thought you said a man and a woman can only make babies after they're married."

Spencer's footsteps halted on the pavement.

The silence must have stretched for only a partial of a minute, but the expectant stare Dee was nailing against his face, along with the internal panic that had short-circuited Spencer's brain made it seem as if the world had skidded into a standstill. Frantic eyes darted everywhere for a chance at rectification, and Spencer couldn't stop the words from tumbling off his lips when he saw the worn-down sign of a florist up ahead.

"Dee, would you like to buy some flowers for Mommy?"

The little girl squealed an excited yes before skipping the few steps left towards the flower shop. Spencer let out a relieved breath at having narrowly escaped such a harrowing crisis.

Once Spencer stepped into the shop, a multitude of fragrances immediately enveloped his surroundings. Diana was lingering back and forth around the vibrant displays when Spencer approached, her tiny eyebrows frowning in the most adorable way as she assessed the rows of flowers in front of her.

"Have you decided yet, Pumpkin?"

"Can we get some of Mommy's favorites, Dad?" Diana requested, pointing her tiny finger at the display of flowers she knew to be your favorites. "And then we can add some of these daisies, too!"

Spencer couldn't fight the smile blossoming on his face as he asked the florist to assemble a bouquet made out of daisies--Dee's favorite type of flowers, the same one printed all over the dress she was wearing--along with your favorite flowers in the center. Diana stared in awe at the deft work administered by the florist, her mouth forming an "O" once the bouquet was wrapped and ready to go.

"Do you think Mommy will like them, Daddy?"

"I know she will, Pumpkin," Spencer answered earnestly, his memory replaying that first time he had come home bringing the same arrangement of flowers in his hand.

Spencer came home to the apartment in utter disarray, and yet, it still was the best view that he had ever witnessed in his entire life.

Ever since his office was transformed into a nursery, the books he previously kept in there had to be relocated to the living area. Most of them had gone by now--some donated, and some others sold at second-hand bookstores--but piles of them still littered in various corners of the room.

Apart from his mountainous collection of books, small trinkets also covered every available surface of the place. From the empty nursing bottles in the kitchen sink to the breast pump on the counter, and the tiny socks on the coffee table to the pacifier jammed between the sofa cushions; every single one of them contributed to the mess that his apartment had become. Yet as he paused to inspect every inch of the place, Spencer couldn't find any other emotion besides warmth flooding his chest.

Muffled footsteps padded towards the living room before you appeared from the hallway with a freshly bathed Diana in your arms. As soon as your eyes locked with his, the crease between your eyebrows automatically vanished.

"You're home."

"I'm home." Spencer grinned before welcoming you into his embrace.

He stole a quick kiss from your lips before bending down to smother a 7-month-old Diana who yelped in glee when Spencer began attacking her with kisses all over her face.

"She's been fussy since yesterday," you told him. "I think she missed you."

"Did you, baby? Did you miss Daddy?" Spencer cooed. "I can take her for a few while you rest. You look tired. Are you feeling okay?"

"Gee, Spence. What a way to a girl's heart."

"You know what I meant, sweetheart."

"It's fine, Spencer. I just got a headache, but it's all better now that you're here."

Spencer smiled as he kissed your free knuckles. "If it's any consolation, you're still the most heavenly creature that I've ever laid eyes upon."

A sneaky laughter rumbled past your chest. "Fine. I'll let you go just this once," you said before letting Spencer take a yawning Diana into his arms.

As Spencer carried Dee towards the couch, you noticed a bouquet of flowers lying next to the kitchen sink in the corner of your eye. You glanced at the young genius with a discreet smile before aptly transferring the flowers into a vase.

"These are pretty," you commented, joining your family in the living room. You put the vase in the middle of the coffee table amidst the books and various baby clutters before dropping yourself against Spencer's side.

"They're your favorites."

"I know. As usual." You smiled affectionately. "And daisies. You've never bought me daisies before."

Spencer's eyes gleamed. "I bought the daisies for Dee."

"Oh?"

"I think daisies are gonna be her favorite."

"You do, huh?"

"One hundred percent."

Spencer's eyes looked up from Diana to you then, whose own gaze had been kept intently on your husband and daughter. Darkness embellished the area underneath your eyes, and Spencer couldn't help but count the lines of fatigue that seemed to have multiplied on the contours of your face. Even then, Spencer thought you had never looked more stunning than you did at that moment; as his wife, the mother of his child, and the woman who owned the sole reign of his heart.

Confusion wandered into your eyes when you noticed Spencer's stubborn stare. A surprised squawk escaped your lips as Spencer unexpectedly captured them in a rather long kiss. When he pulled back, Spencer looked the very image of a man who was drunk on love.

"I love you. You know that, right?" Spencer confessed as he squeezed your hand twice in his palm.

"Spencer, what's going on with you?"

"Nothing. I just--" he paused for a chuckle, seemingly trying to find the right words to say before he could continue, "--I owe my life to you, sweetheart. For all of the times you have pulled me out of the darkness, to the light you've brought into my life. You and Dee are the reason I keep on breathing. Without the two of you, I'm nothing."

"Spencer," you breathed out. "Where did all of this come from?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I just wanted you to know how grateful I am to have you in my life and that you've brought Dee into ours. Everything worth fighting for about me is because of you."

The telltale signs of tears began to cast a shadow over your eyes. You pressed your hand to Spencer's cheek, feeling the rugged sensation of his newly shaved stubble stroking your skin. Spencer melted into the warmth of your touch.

"You're giving me far too much credit here, Spencer," you whispered. "Everything you are has always been your own doing rather than mine. All I ever did was cheer you on from the sideline. You would still have become the person that you are today even if I weren't in your life."

Spencer physically shuddered at your last statement. "Don't say that. I can't even begin to imagine a life without you in it."

"Well, even if such day does come, when I won't be a part of your life anymore, I know you're gonna be just fine. Because you'll have Dee with you--" you stroked Diana's head lovingly, "--and I know that the two of you will give each other enough love and strength that you won't even notice I'm not around anymore."

The frown on Spencer's face deepened.

"You're not allowed to leave me. Ever," Spencer decided childishly.

"Fine. I won't. But you have to remember--" you brought your palm towards Spencer's chest, feeling each rhythmic thrum of his heart which seemed to flutter ever so slightly underneath your fingers, "--I'll be right here if you need me. Always."

Spencer's own hand landed on top of your hand, entwining your fingers together without ever tearing his fierce gaze away from yours.

"Always."

The sun was shining down in flimsy rays when Spencer and Dee finally walked past the familiar gate. Glimmers of gold sneaked past the reddish leaves on branches before falling upon the ground.

Next to him, Diana was humming a melody that Spencer recognized from one of your specially curated playlists. Her little hands struggled to carry the gigantic bouquet that she couldn't wait to present to you. It didn't matter that the bouquet itself was nearly as tall as she was, Diana still refused to let Spencer assist her.

"I wanna give Mommy the flowers myself," she had told Spencer in a manner that reminded him too much of your own stubbornness.

After a couple more minutes of walking, Spencer's reverie was soon broken by the excited squeal coming from the little girl beside him.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Diana dashed into a sprint before words of warning could fall from Spencer's lips. He watched intensely as Diana's little feet moved upon the ocean of fallen leaves on the ground. Her tight grip around the bouquet never wavered even when she ran up the grassed hill, all the way towards the destination in her mind.

All the way towards the headstone with your name written on it.

When Spencer finally got there, Diana was kneeling next to your grave with panting breaths, but the smile stretched on her lips was the biggest one that Spencer had ever seen.

"Hi, Mommy. I'm back with Daddy," Diana announced. "Daddy, go say hi to Mommy."

"Hello, my love." Spencer smiled before taking a seat next to his daughter.

"We brought flowers, Mommy! They're your favorites. I added daisies to make them prettier." Diana beamed before putting the bouquet against your headstone. "You're not gonna believe what happened in class yesterday!"

As Diana animatedly began to recount the funny incident in her classroom--somehow involving a boy named Patrick and a cup of slushie--Spencer watched over her with a permanent smile on his lips. The little girl loved to talk--a trait she obviously acquired from both of her parents--and Spencer knew just how much you used to adore listening to Dee's rambling at any time of day.

It must have been at least ten minutes later when Diana's story eventually whirled to an end. Her attention instantly shifted to the family who was paying their own respect just two headstones over, a small squeak of puppy tumbled from Dee's lips before she dashed towards the boy with a golden retriever pup beside his legs.

Spencer shook his head affectionately at his daughter's antics.

"I know we were just here a couple of weeks ago, but Dee wanted to tell you about the slushie incident herself," he said. "And, well, I can never deny the chance to visit you, love."

A loud laughter boomed a few feet away. Spencer watched as Diana ran around jubilantly with the little boy and his dog. The boy's father waved at Spencer from the distance, which he replied with an acknowledging nod.

"She's getting so big, sweetheart. Sometimes, I just wanna stop time and keep her as my little girl forever. I wish you were around to see how much she's grown." Spencer smiled ruefully. "I can't believe that it's been more than a year since you were gone."

Spencer thought back to the last few moments you spent on this earth. How just a few months prior, the doctor had advised you to stop the treatment and take a rest at home instead.

The chemo isn't working, was what the doctor was really saying. You should be spending as much time as you can with your family.

So, that was exactly what you ended up doing.

Spencer had quit his job at the FBI shortly after you were diagnosed, opting to take a full-time job of teaching where the hours were more humane and reasonable. The day you were discharged from the hospital, Spencer made a vow to himself to make every day as memorable as he could, and he was keeping true to it. Those last few months were filled with countless road trips, an unforgettable weekend at Disneyland, and visits to various museums across the states. Spencer made sure that each day was charged with love and laughter, a perfect day culminated by an equally perfect night, with you falling asleep in the safety of his arms.

Until one morning, when Spencer woke up to your cold and lifeless body lying by his side.

"Do you remember what you told me once? About how Dee and I would never notice you were gone because we would have each other?" Spencer recalled. "You were wrong about that, sweetheart. Your absence is the first thing I notice every time I start my day. The moment I open my eyes, I notice that you aren't lying next to me on the bed like you're supposed to be. I notice the cold imprints on the sheets where your warmth used to linger. I notice you in every corner of our home, but most importantly, I notice you in Dee."

Spencer glanced at his little girl, playing and running around a pile of fallen leaves with her newfound friend and his pet dog. His heart floundered at the scene.

"Everyone keeps saying that she's an exact copy of me, but I see glimpses of you in her more and more every single day," Spencer admitted. "She's the only anchor I have left now, my love. Without her, I'm lost. I try constantly, with whatever strength still resides in me, to give her everything she would ever need. Shower her with every ounce of love I have left in my heart."

A lone tear cascaded down Spencer's cheek. He quickly erased it away with a wry chuckle.

"What I would do to have a minute with you again, my love. I hope you know I'd give my heart and soul to have those extra sixty seconds just to stare at your beautiful face. To hold you in my arms one last time. I try my best to fill the void that you left for Dee's sake. Some days are difficult, and I keep thinking about how much better it would be--how much better off she would be--if it were you here with her instead of me. I'd trade places with you if I could. I fear that all of me would never be enough for her, because she needs you. We both do."

Spencer inhaled a breath, forcing the imminent wave of tears from breaking the dam he had masterfully crafted since the moment you were gone. He promised a long time ago never to allow the grief to consume him.

He still had his daughter to think about.

"I'm beginning to think people are wrong when they say time makes everything better. The pain never lessens. It just becomes bearable with time. Dee makes it bearable," Spencer confessed. "I can only hope I'm doing the same for her."

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Spencer hurriedly wiped away any sign of tears from his face before he caught Diana in his arms. Her innocent laughter was a balm to the gaping wound in his chest, and Spencer allowed himself to bask in the bliss that his little girl brought to his life.

"What is it, Pumpkin?"

"Look what Brian's mom gave me!"

Spencer looked at her tiny hand to see a plastic daisy ring gracing one of her fingers. He looked up towards the family in the distance, mouthing a thank you to the mother who waved him off with a smile.

"It's very pretty, Dee."

"Like me?"

The young dad chuckled. "Yes, very much like you."

"Like Mommy, too?"

Spencer's smile softened. "Very much like Mommy, too. Yes."

The exhilarated smile Diana rewarded him could probably light up the entire state of Virginia at night.

Five minutes later, Spencer found himself bidding you a goodbye, with Diana promising to visit again very soon to give you an update over the slushie incident that supposedly got Patrick in a lot of trouble at school. The air was getting even chillier as the two walked the path they had taken after arriving at the cemetery. Spencer tugged Diana closer to his side once he saw the familiar gate lurking a few feet ahead, keeping her safe while simultaneously seeking her warmth.

"Daddy?" Dee's voice arose shyly once the pair had reached the main street.

"Yes, Pumpkin?"

"I miss Mommy," she admitted quietly.

Spencer's fingers instinctively tightened for a split second around his daughter's hand. "I know you do, Pumpkin. You just need to remember, even if she's not physically with us anymore, that she's always watching over you and keeping you safe."

Diana nodded her head understandingly. "Do you miss her, too, Daddy?"

"Every day, Dee." Spencer smiled, glancing back towards the gate of the cemetery behind him. "Every single day."

[beneathashadytree]

A TASTE OF HONEY - SYLUS QIN X READER

Warnings : insecurities & body image issues, chubby & curvy!reader, mentions of stretch marks, body worship, praise kink, marking, very mild breast & nipple play, implied cunnilingus, reader is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns!

Genre : smut n loooots of comfort☹️🫶🏽

Word count : 1.4K words

Additional notes : This was a paid commission I made of a lovely OC with Sylus, and this version is just the slightly more non-specific version I took permission from my commissioner to post, so that all fem!readers can see what my commissions are like! If you’re interested let me know💗

Commissions are open here!

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Masterlist

“Another event, another dress with your name on it, sweetie.” Sylus’ grin as he walked into their bedroom would’ve almost been infectious, had her mood been entirely different than it currently was. Right now, though? His words seemed to have cast a curse onto her.

She had to fight against her growing irritation. It’s not his fault, he didn’t do anything to deserve it—unlike the majority of the times he’d earned her ire. This time, the dismayed feeling in her chest at the sight of the exquisite dress draped onto the back of the dresser’s chair was entirely because of her own racing thoughts.

“Skipping out tonight,” she simply mumbled under her breath, collapsing onto the bed with weary bones and an exhausted expression like she’d run a hundred miles. And she really had, just inside her head.

Sylus—ever perceptive Sylus—frowned at that, taking a seat at the edge of the bed beside her. “Tired?” Concern filled his eyes, and it only grew worse as she seemed to curl in on herself and burrow deeper into the mattress. “I could cancel.”

With a sigh, she shook her head “You’re Onychinus’ leader. You have to be there. My moods shouldn’t dictate whether or not you go.”

“You have the privilege of commanding me to do whatever you want. I say you abuse that right.” It was clear from his teasing tone that he was trying to get a lighthearted reaction from her, and upon receiving none, his voice turned softer. “Seriously, what’s wrong, darling?”

Her grip tightened on the bedsheet, blinking back the tears as she trained her gaze on her fingers. “I just… don’t want to wear that dress.”

Sylus was silent for a few moments, before he nodded. “Okay. Is it not to your liking?”

“Not really.” With a shuddering breath, she sniffled a little, trying to calm herself down as Sylus�� hand gently stroked her calves in a soothing motion. There was no point in getting so worked up after all, it’s always been the same. “Those types of dresses always show my stretch marks. They’re… kind of short. And tight. And weird-looking on me.”

Screw not getting worked up; her tears were dripping down her face at this point, her vision blurry and her heart heavy with each word that spilled forth. “It feels like every single one of these outfits makes my thighs look big, and my body’s not made for wearing them. It’s just… wrong, like I’m unworthy,” she choked on the last word in despair.

She could hear Sylus sighing, a twinge of sadness she’d never heard before lacing his words. “You couldn’t be more wrong.” Firm in tone, yet not unkind, her boyfriend leaned in and rubbed her forearms gently, making sure to meet her watery eyes as he did. “These dresses only show just how breathtaking you are, and how you belong by my side.” A crooked grin made its way on his face. “If anything, it feels like I have to earn my place next to you.”

“No! You—”

“See how absurd it sounds?” His deep voice was soft as he gently nudged her on her back, climbing in on top of her as his fingers delicately brushed back her hair. “I can never get enough of you. Of every inch of you. I almost refuse to believe you.” His gaze grew impossibly softer, voice even quieter, and his hand even gentler as it traced down her ear, rhythmically stroking at her neck. “But I know that really is what you’ve driven yourself to believe. And I can’t blame you for that.”

Wiping at her own cheeks, she tried her best to make herself feel less sorry. “It’s no one’s fault but mine. It’s not like anyone else has been telling these things to me.” What on earth was she doing, crying to him over dresses? Or her appearance at some stupid events? Or was it simply her body? She didn’t know at this point. All she knew was that she wanted to stop feeling so distraught over something so…

Before she could continue that train of thought, Sylus had silenced her rushing brain with a slow, open-mouthed kiss and a steady grip on her waist. Even now, he was ever the tease, nipping at her lower lip and huffing out a fond laugh as he heard her breath hitch, before pulling back. In half-defeat, he said, “Maybe I’m the one to blame for neglecting to remind you of what I think of you.”

He peppered kisses down her jaw and to her neck, his teeth grazing and sucking at the warm skin there. With a hiss, her hand reached out to pull him closer by the back of his head, and all he could breathe out against her was a stilted, “How often I think of you.” Practiced hands almost blindly pulled down the strap of her silk slip for more access, as he left his bold marks across her neck. His hair tickled her, but she reveled in the feeling even more as he traced a path down the top of her breasts.

They were heaving with the effort of having to pretend she wasn’t falling apart at the seams with his mere touch, and he let out a half-groan as his hand reached out to cup one, while he sucked more hickeys onto the flushed skin of the other. It was too much, but somehow not enough to ease the growing ache between her legs. “Sy,” she whispered, a plea in his name, quickly turning into a whimper of pleasure as his tongue boldly flicked at her nipple through the silk. “Don’t be cruel.”

“Mm. I could never. My pretty girl likes it when I indulge her, I know,” he muttered, ruby eyes flicking up to meet hers and pinning her down with just a gaze as he kneaded at her soft breasts through the thin fabric, his touch burning through her like wildfire. “Tell me where you want me. What you want me to do, to show you how I could never stop wanting you and your body.”

Swallowing thickly, her fingers dug into his silvery hair, like it was second nature, guiding him where she needed him the most. “Want your lips on me, please,” she whispered, as if it were explanation enough for the sudden dizzying heat of the room, and her eyes swimming with unwrought desire. “Tell me you want me like this. I… I need it. Need you.”

The chuckle that spilled from Sylus’ lips was lovesick, and then his large palms pushed her smooth slip up to her waist and expertly tugged down the ruined lacy underwear. “As if I could stop wanting someone so divine.” He sweetly kissed her navel, then completely diverted from his path for a second to squeeze at her thighs, hooking them up on his broad shoulders.

Even between her legs, he looked invincible—more so when he maintained their intense, passion-riddled eye contact as he suckled at the skin of her inner thighs. “So sweet, so perfect right in front of me,” he sighed, almost in just as much pleasure as she was while he brushed his thumb back and forth near the apex of her thighs, mapping out every stretch mark under his adoring touch, and giving her hips a firm squeeze as his hands wandered everywhere they could reach.

Her head was filled with cotton, all her senses consumed by him and all he was. “I can spell out just what you want me to say with my tongue instead.” The very prospect of it sent even more molten heat pooling to her core. Sylus’ tongue would be her undoing. She knew it, her body knew it, and his grin that turned wicked meant that he could see perfectly well just how dripping wet the idea made her.

That smirk was almost predatory; like she was his prey, all prepped and prettily pinned for him. It shouldn’t have aroused her so badly, knowing that he’d torture her with sheer blinding pleasure and a sinful tongue, and yet she could feel herself clench around nothing. He was her undoing, and always would be, especially when his voice was such a low purr. “And you can ride my face until you can translate every filthy word. What do you say, sweetie?”

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