#Au!august

[lqveharrington]

Masquerade Ball | D.M.

summary: The Malfoys hold a masquerade ball in hopes of finding Draco a wife.

pairing: prince!draco malfoy x lady!potter!reader

includes: use of Y/N, mutual pinning, both oblivious, really just fluff with a tiny bit of angst

a/n: it’s like a mix of benedict’s story but not

As a child, Draco never understood how important he was to England’s society. He was always confined within the palace walls—forced to attend endless galas and balls hosted by his parents until his feet ached. Perhaps he could have escaped those obligations when he was younger, but now, he was trapped in a cycle of socializing with eligible maidens in hopes of finding a wife.

He had tried running away once at the age of seven but ran back to his mother the moment he encountered a beggar at the palace gates. It was then he realized how sheltered he truly was, unaware of the hardships beyond the gilded walls.

When Draco once questioned his status withing the kingdom, Lucius merely replied, "You will rule when you turn two and twenty." As the sole heir with no sibling, the weight of the kingdom rested squarely on Draco's shoulders.

Yet, as the years ticked closer to his inevitable coronation, he made no progress in finding a bride. Lucius' patience began to wane, culminating in the grand decision to host a masquerade ball to enhance his son's chances of courting a suitable queen.

And of course, Draco had words to say about the situation.

He adjusted his dark suit and spun the silver ring on his finger, meeting his mother's eyes through the standing mirror. "Mother—"

"Do not fuss, Draco," Narcissa chided gently, wiping invisible dust off her son's perfectly pressed suit. "Your father has made up his mind. You are to take the throne in two years. This must be done."

"And if I find no one?" He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, tilting his head at the piece of hair sticking out. It wouldn’t lay flat if he tried gelling it down.

"Then we will try again next month," She said softly, squeezing his arm. She looked between his eyes and sighed, "Please, try, my love."

"They don't care for me, mother," Draco muttered and turned to face her, rolling his shoulders back—already dreading dancing with women who want the fame and fortune. "They care about being a queen."

"Which is why it is a masquerade ball," Narcissa explained and grabbed the mask that resembled a peacock. "You will blend with the crowd, your identity hidden." She slipped the mask over his head and patted his cheek. "Get to know them without the burden of your title."

"And you believe this will work?"

"I do!" She smiled brightly and stepped away from him, ready to make her arrival with her husband. Narcissa gave him a reassuring smile and nodded. "Tu es très beau, Draco. Just... be yourself."

Draco gave her a weak smile and watched her leave his room, letting his shoulders slouch down the second the door shut. He ran his fingers through his hair again and let his mind dwell on thoughts that were unbearable.

"When has that ever worked out for me?" He muttered underneath his breath, looking in the mirror again to notice the only identifiable thing about him was his piercing silver eyes.

"Papa, why are you staring at me like that?" You asked, adjusting your flowing gown while your mother fussed with your hair.

"Yes, James, what are you staring at her for?" Lily inquired with an arched brow, perfectly pinning your hair into a dolled up bun and slipping a silver rose in its center.

"Nothing." James grumbled and fiddled with the peacock feathers on the end of your mask, thumbing the string. "Just... be safe, alright? This is your first time attending one of the King's socials without us. What if you get kidnapped?"

"James!" Lily gasped and smacked her husband on the chest, snatching the mask from him and handing it to you instead.

"Papa!" You laughed and kissed his cheek, pulling the mask over your head. "I'll be fine. Hermione and Ginny will be there, and Harry too." You pull your curls free from the mask and tilt your head at the mirror, touching up minor details such as the skewed mask and stray pieces of hair. "Besides, I doubt I'll dance much. Champagne and people-watching sounds far more appealing."

"Maybe mingle a little," Lily suggested and pinched her fingers together, leaning into her husband’s touch. "It's for the young Malfoy to find a wife, after all."

"I'm not fraternizing with Draco," You huffed and adjusted the silver necklace resting on your collarbone, the setting sun shining across the jewelry. "Harry and he practically hate each other. Not exactly ideal courtship material."

"Imagine you as queen," James mused and pretended to command a group of handmaids to fetch more books for your extensive library. You were always going to be a bookworm like your mother and he bet you would do anything to have a room the size of the palace for your books.

"James!" Lily scolded jokingly once more before smiling softly at you, clasping your hands in hers. "Just be safe, Y/N."

"Of course," You squeezed her hands and smiled back before heading out the door, tilting your head as you called out for your brother. "Harry!"

James winced as your voice echoed throughout the foyer, Lily letting a small laugh slip through. "Bloody hell, that girl can shout.”

"Why does this place look fancier than usual?" Ron grumbled, glancing around the grand ballroom adorned with glittering chandeliers and cascading drapes.

It wasn't odd to see the palace all dolled up, but everything looked so much more expensive and one of a kind. Like it was an even more special experience. There were pyramids of champagne in every corner and in the center of the ballroom was one of the largest orchestra groups you’ve seen in years.

"Because it's a masquerade ball, Ron," Hermione rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on his arm, making him kiss her cheek to make up for his remark. "Honestly."

"So, Y/N," Ginny nudged your shoulder—a mischievous smile decorating her face—ignoring Harry’s warning look. "Anyone you're hoping to dance with tonight?"

"I don’t think so, Gin.” You push your mask up and stare at all the people entering the palace. Even they were surprised at all the added decorations.

"Boring," Ginny teased before leaning into Harry and whispering something inaudible, making you roll your eyes at the two of them. If they had to be so in love, they shouldn’t do it in front of you.

Just as you opened your mouth to retort the sickening sweet scene, trumpets blared from the top of the staircase, redirecting everyone's attention to the far end of the ballroom where Lucius and Narcissa stood—the couple adorning their own masks.

"Please welcome His Majesty, the King, and Her Majesty, the Queen!"

Lucius made quick remarks about the importance of the evening before a sly grin appeared on his face, earning quiet whispers from the audience. "Enjoy yourselves tonight! For who knows when the prince will arrive..."

The whispers only intensified at the mention of the prince arriving at a later time. Could he possibly be avoiding the event himself? But that would make sense, not when the event was for him.

"Interesting," Hermione murmured as if she read your mind, making your brows raise in amusement.

"What is?" Ron asked.

"Draco isn't here for his own ball," She noted, glancing around the room for any signs of the prince.

You huff and push her toward her beloved. You would make sure Hermione had a good time rather than dwell on something that didn’t matter too much. If you had to see your brother and Ginny be all lovey, you would have Ron and Hermione do the same.

"Go dance with Ron."

Hermione sighed and took Ron's outstretched hand before looking back at you, narrowing her eyes. "Do not be a wallflower tonight. I expect you to dance with someone at least once.”

You shrug your shoulders and watch her disappear into the dancing crowd before spinning toward one of the many towers of champagne. Unfortunately, someone just had to come find you.

"Lady Y/N!" A familiar voice called out, making you freeze at how awful this coincidence was. It wasn’t like you could’ve avoided the man for too long, especially when the whole bloody kingdom was invited to the ball.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." You muttered under your breath and presented a fake smile to him, hands clenching by your sides in annoyance as you gave him a short curtsey. "Lord Cormac."

"How delightful to see you!" Cormac grinned and eyed you up and down like you were his next meal, your mind and body hating everything about him. "Would you like to accompany me this evening?"

Your eyes widened in fear and disgust, mind racing millions per hour to find a plausible excuse. “Actually—“

"Is there a problem?" A smooth, unfamiliar voice interrupted your pathetic excuse, allowing you to recollect your thoughts.

Cormac's grin faltered at the sudden interruption, taking a short step back at the sight of the taller man. "We were talking."

"I believe the lady declined," The newcomer said evenly, keeping his face as schooled as possible.

Cormac huffed but retreated in annoyance, making you grin. You turned to the stranger to find him staring McLaggen down until the boy finally moved to the other side of the ballroom. His mask obscured most of his face, but his silver eyes gleamed with amusement and victory. Funny, you found his McLaggen’s obedience quite amusing as well.

"My knight and shining armor." You quipped and tucked your hands behind your back, taking small steps toward the champagne tower you were supposed to be minutes ago. "Have we met?"

"Not officially," He smirked beneath his mask and followed, copying your small movements. "A masquerade ball is about knowing someone without truly knowing them, isn't it?” He took two glasses from the tower and handed you one—doing his best not to knock any other glasses down. “Forgive me for keeping my identity a secret.”

"Then I'll do the same, my knight." You give june a curt nod before taking a sip, the drink fizzing down your throat.

"Is that what I am now?" He chuckled and looked at you from above the rim of his own drink, silver eyes shining with interest.

You grin, "Yes."

He hummed and tilted his head at you, "Then you shall be my Ivy.”

"Unique." You raise your brows and take another sip of champagne. "Why Ivy?"

"You're dressed in a deep green," He noted. "And as unassuming as you may look, I sense there's poison beneath."

"You say that like you know me already," You narrowed your eyes playfully, placing your glass back on a passing tray as a song finished.

"A quick interaction is all one needs." He countered and finished off his champagne. He waited for the music to start up again before offering you a hand, "Care to dance?"

Without a second thought, you took his hand and readied yourself in the starting position, joining the rest of the partners on the floor. Your right hand was gently clasped in his left and his hand was warm on your waist.

It all felt different than the other times you’ve danced. It felt comfortable.

You tilted your head up as he spun you around, your eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Tell me about yourself."

"Well, I’m an only child," He said as you moved to walk around one another, eyes still locked onto yours. "Rarely left home unless dragged to events like these. Not much of an exciting life."

"Surely there's more. Friends? Acquaintances?" You press and take hold of his hand as he glides you across the ballroom—each note from the orchestra filling the background.

"Most used me for status." He admitted and quickly adjusted his mask and hold on you. "I learned from it.” You nodded and lightly held onto his arms when he dipped you, faces mere inches from one another. He pulled you up, “And you?"

"One older brother. Protective to a fault. Thinks every man is a threat." You rolled your eyes and separate yourself from him, letting him follow before clasping his left hand again. "I’ll admit, I came to the ball to be with friends.” You follow his steps as the dancers created a gorgeous pattern from above. “Dancing wasn't on the agenda, but... this isn't terrible.”

He smiled at your confession before remembering what the point of this ball was for. "What are your thoughts on the prince?"

"He can be...” You hesitated and looked around like the prince himself could hear you. “Difficult."

"Difficult?" He echoed and tilted his head to the side in interest.

"My brother has always had a grudge against him." You explained before spinning, heels clicking against the marble flooring. "I've had to endure their spats. Not the best memories. But it's not like I'll speak to him tonight."

He chuckled softly, silver eyes glinting behind his mask. "You never know. Masquerades are full of surprises."

And as you danced together, the room blurred began to blur, the weight of titles and expectation fading into the music and laughter. You found yourself relaxing, allowing the mysterious man to guide you across the floor with ease. His hand on your waist was steady yet respectful, and for the first time, you found yourself enjoying a ball.

"You're a good dancer," You remarked, glancing up at him through your mask—his blonde hair perfectly combed except for a small curl at the front.

"I've had years of practice," He replied smoothly. "Though I usually find these events unbearable. This is... different."

You smiled. It’s like you had the same thoughts. "Perhaps the mask makes it easier to be yourself. No judgements. No expectations."

He hummed thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on you. "Perhaps. Or perhaps its the company."

Heat crept up your neck, and you glanced away, spotting Ginny grinning at you from the sidelines. You shot her a playful glare before focusing back on your partner. "Careful, my knight. Flattery might get you into trouble."

"Is that a risk you're willing to let me take?" He teased and dipped you, your eyes quickly darting to his lips before meeting his eyes again with your wide ones.

Before you could respond, the music shifted, signaling the end of the dance. He gently released you, bowing with a flourish. "Thank you for the dance, Ivy."

You curtsied in return, heart pounding from whatever feeling you just experienced. "The pleasure was mine, Knight."

As you parted ways, you found yourself glancing back at him, only to see he was doing the same. You quickly turned, chastising yourself for the flutter in your chest.

Draco leaned against a column, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. There was something about the girl—the way she challenged him, spoke without pretense. He shook his head. It was foolish to dwell on a fleeting interaction. Yet... He couldn't ignore the way his chest tightened at the thought of her laughter.

"Enjoying yourself?" Blaise sidled up next to him, nursing a glass of champagne.

Draco kept his eyes locked on the many guests in the ballroom, scouring the place for his Ivy. He wasn’t sure if this was what his mother told him about when he was younger. That maybe those silly fairy tales were true.

"Surprisingly," Draco admitted and let out a small chuckle. "Met someone... intriguing."

Blaise arched a brow, "Do tell."

Draco merely smirked, "Just someone worth dancing with.”

The night wore on with more dances, laughter, and champagne than you anticipated. Yet, your thoughts kept drifting back to the silver-eyed stranger. When you finally decided to seek fresh air, you slipped out to the palace gardens, the cool breeze a welcome relief.

"Running away?" A familiar voice drawled, your insides warming at the sound.

You turned, finding him seated on a marble bench beneath a canopy of roses. "Escaping," You corrected and fiddled with your necklace. "Balls can be… suffocating."

"Agreed," He nodded and patted the space beside him, tilting his head at you. "Care to join me?"

Hesitating only a moment, you sat down, the silence between you comfortable. Stars glittered above, and for a while, neither of you spoke. It felt nice.

"Why Ivy?" You asked suddenly. You were sure there was something more to the nickname than what he previously said.

He chuckled and leaned back on the bench. "Told you. Your dress. The presence you carry. You cling to walls but have thorns when approached. Fascinating contrast."

You rolled your eyes but smiled, humoring him. "And you? You're alright with Knight?"

"You said it yourself. Rescuing you from McLaggen was quite the heroic act." He grinned and met your eyes.

Laughing, you nudged him with your shoulder. "Hardly slaying dragons."

"Ah, but you never know." He mused, gaze drifting to the sky and tracing the stars his mother taught him about all these years. "Like I said, masquerades are full of surprises."

You glanced at him, wondering what he meant by that, but the sound of the final dance being announced interrupted your thoughts.

"One more?" He offered, standing and extending his hand.

"Why not?" Taking it, you let him lead you back inside with a smile your swore would hurt your cheeks the next day.

The ballroom felt different this time. More intimate. As you danced, you realized you didn't want the night to end. There was something inexplicably magnetic about him, something you couldn't place but didn't want to let go of.

"Do you think we'll meet again after tonight?" You ventured and glance between his eyes.

He hesitated, something flickering in his gaze. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it's best we don't. Some things are better left as a beautiful memory."

Your heart sank at the thought of truly knowing who your knight was. "I suppose that's true."

As the music reached its crescendo, he leaned in, voice a mere whisper against your ear. "Thank you for tonight, Ivy."

Before you could reply, he stepped back, bowing deeply. And then, just like that, he disappeared into the crowd.

You stood frozen, scanning the room, but he was gone.

"Y/N! There you are!" Hermione’s voice suddenly filled the space as she grabbed your arm. "The prince is about to reveal himself. Come on!"

Reluctantly, you followed her to the front of the crowd, mind half-heartedly paying attention to the reveal of the prince. Trumpets blared once more, and the King stepped forward, his wife grinning brightly by his side.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending. Now, allow me to present my son, your future king. Prince Draco."

Your breath caught as a figure ascended the stairs. The crowd parted, and there he stood—silver eyes, blonde hair, and the very same mask now resting in his hand.

Your heart stopped.

No. It couldn't be.

His gaze swept over the crowd... and landed on you. His expression mirrored your shock, realization dawning.

You were Ivy.

And he was Draco.

Neither of you spoke. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the middle of the grand ballroom.

Masquerades, you thought dazedly, really were full of surprises.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[kathaynesart]

Congratulations August and @star-sparkler on winning the TMNT MULTIVERSE ELECTION! I am glad that the multi-verse will be in such good hands!

And thank goodness that we are all safe from Omega's...leadership.

Also want to thank @tizeline, @angelpuns, and all the wonderful competitors that made this such a lovely experience! Last but not least, thank you @tmnt-multiverse-election for putting this all together! Was a ton of fun!

[riuhere]

They are constantly on my mind 24/7. I literally can't get them OuT of my hEad-

...Yup... I'm screwed-

Triad Au belongs to @novelcain

Vault Hunters AU & Eternal Servants AU belongs to @emelinstriker

Twice As Bad AU & Monster Boyfriend belongs to @semisolidmind

Bone King Au belongs to @ninjasmudge

Cross belongs to @jakei95

[feyinvestigations]

Pt1. // Pt.2 // next

Masterpost

Hood would never want to be verified and would actively hate being verified argue with the wall

[kairennart]

pirate gwen x mermaid morgana part 3. she got her little gifts <3

[batfamhastwitter]

Part 13! Happy birthday to Jay and Alf!

Prev ~ Beginning ~ Next

[liss-art]

AU-august!

Day 5. Domestic

[laur-the-cat-prince]

I stared this like a year ago and then came back to it the other night. I’m so glad I did. Modern AU Capri is finally out of my head, I will not apologize. They are your problem now. ❤️

[supd00dle]

​yeah he gets taller every time he copies data or something (or maybe it’s the heels)

Old Extrassss.

[cardierreh15]

Brainstorming a Vampire!August smut fic. 🥰 I gotta get this one out tho in time for spooky season

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Mob Drabbles

A collection of various mob AUs

Thor

Take a Seat | Take It Slow | Take Your Time

August Walker

The Vow | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Loki

A Touch of Sweetness | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Bucky Barnes

Death Wish | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Steve Rogers

Sum of All | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Nick Fowler

Hush | 2

Captain Syverson

The Olde Bakery | 2

Peter Parker

Sense and Sensibility

Frank Castle

In a Place Like This 

[kathaynesart]

The TMNT AU Competition is on between Replica and August AU/Kendratello Childhood! And what better way to celebrate it than with an all out 1930's themed Fashion Show!?

Leo says that now but wait until he sees August!

Be sure to vote HERE!

[moonstruckdraws]

ART DUMP (wish I had more)

I had the same reaction when I learned this about these rabbit-shaped slugs

You can't tell me this guy wouldn't recreate at least ONE Ariel scene

And last put certainly not least, portraits! I had so much fun drawing @somerandomdudelmao's sea turtle au! I just had to draw them when I first saw their designs!! Leo has my favorite design, but Donnie is my favorite to draw. And adding their patterns was just so satisfying. I want to thank Cass for these beautiful designs they made and for letting me make art of them. I can't wait to draw them more in the future!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Vow 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, arranged marriage, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!August Walker

Summary: your father’s murder leaves you in the hands of a dangerous man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The man is quiet. The villain. The boss. The groom. Your... husband. 

The vows were what you would find in a script. Nothing special. Just standard. Just going through the motions. And when he lifted the veil, his kiss was just as prescribed. That’s it. Your life is over and his is just beginning. 

Your hand is in his as he guides you from the hall. He takes you between the pews and out the tall doors. A shower of petals rain down on you as you come out into the sunlight. There’s a car waiting. The people around you are like actors on a screen. It’s all fake. This isn’t a happy day, this is business. 

The car door shuts on the other side of him and you’re closed in with this stranger. The stranger you’ll spend the rest of your life with. You know his name and his bad deeds, but nothing else. 

You fold your hands over the layers of the full skirt. He shifts as he pulls a fold of tulle from beneath him. You watch his large hand and tremble. 

���Sorry,” you breath and snatch the skirt so that it can’t overflow onto his lap. 

He catches your hand and you freeze. You lock up, bones aching, muscles clenched. He tugs on you. You let him draw you closer as you stare at his steely grip. He brings his other hand over to pet your knuckles. The softness of his touch makes you tingle. 

“You’re scared,” he states. It isn’t a question. He knows. “If you are loyal, you don’t need to be.” 

You nod, “yes, sir.” 

He huffs through his nose, “I am your husband.” 

You close your eyes and tempo your heartbeat, “what should I call you?” 

“You know my name.” 

“Walker.” 

“August,” he insists upon his first name. “Maybe one day, you will have something softer to call me.” 

“Maybe,” you shiver and he squeezes your hand. 

“Your father wrote his own fate, you will write yours,” he raises your hand and lays a kiss on the back of it. “It doesn’t need to be the same.” 

You stare ahead. You can’t let yourself feel or you will feel everything. The fear, the grief, and even, the anger. Once they boil over, you will be lost. 

“I understand, August.” 

Another heavy exhale. 

“You will not act so cold in front of my men.” He takes your hand and forces your fingers open. “You will touch me with kindness.” He puts your palm to his cheek and leads you to cradle his face. His stubble pokes at your delicate gloves. “You will do so without my order. You will behave as a wife, so far as they are concerned. Let your father’s defiance die with him.” 

“I will not resist,” you tell him as much as yourself. 

“Goddamnit, look at me,” he says. 

You turn to look him in the face. The anger you expect is absent. He watches you placidly. Your fingers twitch and he leans into your touch. He takes your other hand and forces you to twist toward him. He leans in and before you can think, his lips are on yours. 

It is different than at the altar. Not just a peck, more. His lips part and his tongue flicks out along yours. He hums and you open your mouth. His hand creeps up the back of your neck and he locks you against him. His tongue invades your mouth and you squeak. 

He draws away and his eyes narrow, “better.” You’re unsure if he means it was better than before or that you need to do better.  

He lets you go and sits back against the seat. He closes his eyes as he pushes his shoulders wide. His feet are planted as he lingers in unspoken thought. You look at the driver then out the window. You turn back to him. 

You touch his sleeve and shimmy closer. He hums again. The tone assures you that you aren’t unwelcome. Play your part, fulfill your vow. That is all that needs to be done.  

This is more than you, there is your mother, and others beyond that. Those that were once loyal to your father. Those you called friends and family. Those who now walk the same tightrope. Those that have already fallen. 

The car stops. A flicker of panic strikes in your chest. The door opens from outside and he pulls you out with him. You keep one hand on your skirt and the other on his arm. He marches ahead. 

You enter the large building and wait in some room. He remains silent, pensive. You’re summoned and after a time. He fixes your arm to hook through his as you stand before the large doors. 

“Head up,” he girds before you enter. 

They watch you, just as before. You can hear them this time, whispering. You don’t look anywhere but ahead of you. He nods at the more notable guests. You will not doubt be met again with those faces through the night. 

He puts you ahead of him to climb onto the platform where the bride and groom’s table stands. He follows closely. He pulls a chair out but puts his hand to your back so you cannot sit. He sidles behind you. Instead, he sits with you, lifting you into his lap. 

You quiver again. Humiliation surges through you. This is his show of victory. He boasting. No, you will not just be beside him, you are his.  

[cupid-tune]

The affectionate boyfriend and the boyfriend who doesn't know how to initiate said affection, but appreciates it nonetheless

[almostfoxglove]

HOLD STILL

written for @punkshort's AU August Challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) PAIRING: Bodyguard!Dave York x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.4k CW: Dave's filthy mouth, pwp, smut (cockwarming, unprotected piv, creampie, sorta soft-dom!dave but really he's just bossy, sorta praise kink, a couple pussy pronouns don’t look at me), and one nonsense tense switch just for the hell of it I guess.

SUMMARY: On your last night together, Dave agrees to compromise.

read on ao3 | main masterlist | get notifs

You want him, but he won’t fuck you. Not once, not even quickly, not even with just his hands. Dave York—ever stoic, unflinching—insists on doing his job and his job alone. And you, as he so enjoys reiterating, are not his job. Protecting you is. 

For three weeks you’ve smothered the calendar hung on the kitchen wall with another red X each morning, whittling the days until you give your polished testimony and say goodbye to him for good. Now the court date looms heavy on the horizon—it’ll rise tomorrow with the sun. 

In the meantime—these last, dwindling hours—you roam the grand rooms of an apartment rented for your protection, your anonymity, at the very skirt of the city where you’d surely have lost your mind if not for him. Stationed diligently at your side, hand never more than a twitch from the grip of his gun. So many hours spent alone you've memorized his form: how he looks scanning the curtained windows for any whisper of danger. How he's never complained when you choose cheesy reality shows from the TV guide. Teaching you how to play Spades with a deck of cards soft and worn—from his home, maybe, though you never ask—and letting you win the first hand, lips quirked when you call him out on it, then unapologetically wiping the floor with you for the rest of your isolation. 

Yes, you know him, though only in image. Broad and sturdy, shirts each neatly ironed and squarely tucked. The hard line of his jaw and the fullness of his bottom lip. His hair always swept neatly from his face, even when you know he’s recently woken up. Never scruffy, never stubbled. Clean shaven and the smell of nice hotel shampoo.

It’s wrong, how you try to prod him to no avail. No matter your efforts, he says nothing of the way you adorn your body: lacy slips and satin sets at night, hugging silhouettes during the day, hair always done, lipstick never out of place even though you can’t leave the apartment or stand too near the windows. Dave is the only one who sees you, save for the days or hours when he leaves you his clumsy understudy to step down from his post.

He must know you do it for him.

It’s wrong, but you asked once, early on. Tonight? 

And Dave’s mouth pinched into a flat, polite line. Unreadable, his face drained of its emotion. His declination drawled deep and heady, a voice that curled your toes and more than once kept you panting alone in your bed that’s not yours at all, just two doors away from his, fingers needy and swirling. No, honey. Not tonight.

Repeated in your mind until it warped like an overplayed tape.

No, honey.

Honey.

Honey.

Not tonight.

Tonight.

Tonight, he is gone—your last together before the trial—leaving you in the hollow apartment with his proxy, stung. Same dark clothes, same holstered gun, same little piece nestled in his ear, but not half of what you want. You want Dave: a man as solid as he is driven, immutable as he is tempting. Assigned to protect you until you deliver the account that’ll send a monster away.

Perhaps you’ve liked the game—how he watches you, but never gives in—but now it’s lost its shimmer.

Lights dimmed for the evening, all black curtains drawn, the vaulted ceilings of the kitchen feel miles high as you perch on a barstool at the breakfast counter to stare at the calendar taunting you across the quiet room. Beyond the pristine halls you’ve lapped all day like an anxious dog, the city serenades you. Traffic squealing through streets, sirens singing in the distance, the occasional shout of someone walking by outside, eight floors below. 

You are not, at night, permitted to part the curtains, lest someone get a glimpse of your illuminated face, but you long to open one now, see if Dave is out there, returning to your little castle turret one final time. Because it’s possible he won’t come back at all—that his coworker will escort you between lobby and truck, between truck and courthouse, between courthouse and whatever comes next. Maybe home. That you’ll never see Dave again, let alone throw caution to the wind and ask once more, tonight?

And then, just then, as your stomach begins to sink with disappointment, you hear the sudden crack of the front door unlocking and the creak of its surrender. You’ve conjured him, somehow, past the stroke of midnight. Then low, rumbled whispers, the unmistakable tone of Dave’s voice mumbling to his understudy. Your heart speeds as the door closes again and his stand-in retreats into the hall. How dizzying, the sound of locks settling into their rightful places, turned by Dave’s unerring hands. 

When he appears in the dining room behind you, bomber jacket hanging from one arm, he tucks a tiny apology into the twitch of his lips—or maybe it’s meant to be a smile. “It’s late,” he says, as your eyes drink him in. Polished as ever, despite the hour, not a stitch out of place. “Should be in bed.”

You shrug, hoping you might appear indifferent. “Couldn’t sleep,” you say, aware of how the satin of your robe slopes off your shoulder with no intention of righting it.

Does something darken in his face then, or do you imagine it? You can’t be sure, not in this umbra, at this time of night. Jaw ticking, Dave strides cautiously toward the dining table, drapes his jacket over the back of one glossy chair, and sinks into the seat at the head of the sleek table, same as usual. A quiet kind of reign, his claiming this position, always, for every meal. He scratches his cheek, slips the gun from the holster at his belt to rest on the table, and as he leans back you indulge yourself—how can you not—in the slight buck of his hips as he shifts to stretch out his legs. 

“Need your rest,” Dave chides softly. No edge to his tone.

Sighing before you can stop yourself, disappointed all over again as his gaze draws off you to the windows and drapes. On duty, still. On duty, always. Not you. Not tonight. “S’the last night,” you reply, staring at the calendar again. One little red X to go. “You weren’t here.”

Behind you, his deep and measured breath. The shiver of that unflappable restraint, you hope, but you don’t yet dare to look back. He might spook.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You don’t budge. Don’t move.

“You hear me?” Voice a little harder now, solidifying. When he speaks to you, you always look him in the eye—or you always have before.

Electric, your heart. Revving just a breath faster, just a hair harder, at the sound of him huffing in frustration. Your lips tick up in one corner, hidden, a secret meant only for you. When Dave says your name, your whole body purrs and you at last turn your head enough to let him glimpse your profile, still withholding your gaze.

“Pouting,” he scolds, this time meaning it. “That what this is?”

“Avoiding me,” you counter. “That where you were?”

Dave hmphs, darkness fading and softness returning to his tone. “Course not, honey.”

You look at him now, properly. Barstool spinning as you push off the counter to face him. Under the dusk of dimmed pendant lights over the dining table, Dave glows. In the time you’ve looked away, he’s unbuttoned his shirt one button lower than it’d been when he walked in.

One button lower than you’ve ever seen him wear before.

“Said I’m sorry,” he says again, head tilted. His foot comes out to nudge the leg of the chair beside his, angling it in your direction. “Come here.”

He means for you to sit, maybe play a hand of Spades, but as you slink off the barstool you have no intention of taking the seat. Warmth flushing in your chest, cool, conditioned air greeting your bare legs and collarbones, all the skin not covered by your sleekest sleep set. You swear he drinks the sight of you, for once, as you cross the kitchen toward him. Eyes dark not only from shadows, from the time. Or else you hope, as you come to a stop between Dave’s knees, that the way he’s not yet blinked means what you want it to.

Lips parting, a breath from speaking when you beat him to the punch and ask, “Tonight?” Your chin lowered and eyes searching his. It’s the last night. Might as well show your hand while you still can, before he slinks back into the underbelly of a city where you know he’s lived for years but you’ve never once glimpsed him, and not just because it’s busy.

Because invisible is what he’s paid to be, what he’s good at. Unseen until the fist of him is needed, the gun.

Pink striping his bottom lip, a swipe of his tongue, eyes boring into you. The slightest shake of his head, clean-shaven cheeks sharked in the shadow and golden light. “Honey.” Not a no, honey. Not a not tonight. Just honey, like you’ve imagined.

Emboldened, you caress of your fingertips across his shoulder, tracing the seam of his crisp, pale blue dress shirt. So handsome, always so handsome. A man who takes care of himself, who tidies and cleans without your needing to ask. Spotless, always. Reserved, always. Killing you, always, with every brush of his gaze. 

You draw your fingers towards his shirt collar.

“Can’t,” says Dave, softer still. Breathy, almost. You pet the knife-cut of his pressed collar, the button just below it, and his Adam’s apple bobs slowly in his throat. Again, he shakes his head so slightly it looks more like a twitch. A reflex to say no. Not a desire to. “Can’t fuck you, honey. Wouldn’t be right.”

You bite your lip, brows drawing together, not lifting your hand from the button placket of his shirt. “Just tonight,” you breathe, and bat your eyes a little.

At last Dave’s dark eyes drop from yours, scanning the length of you above him with searing precision. Consideration. You slant your head to one side as his gaze slides back up, hesitating on your silk-draped chest, and you suck a sharper breath before it returns to meet yours. He cuffs your wrist with his hand to halt your teasing as he shakes his head once more, licking his bottom lip again with greater meaning. A glint in his eyes, lust finally flaring. 

Pride swirls in your stomach, honeyed and wanting. Then he tugs you by the hips with such reflexes you hardly register the movement of his hands before you’re on him, straddling him in the chair, your thighs framing his hips. Held. Your robe fanning behind you, over his knees. Heart pounding dangerously close to a cardiac event.

Dave tsks softly, smirking when you whimper, trying to roll your hips over the heat of his crotch. Those careful, deadly hands lock them in a vice as he clicks his tongue. “Not gonna fuck you,” he murmurs, and you lean in to kiss him but he pulls his head away. “Not gonna kiss you either. Not right.”

You don’t care about right. Now you pout for real, forehead wrinkling, staring at his upturned lips. You feel the unmistakable twitch of him growing hard against you and your cunt throbs in reply, needy and slick. You try to wiggle again but Dave pinches your hips in warning. “Look at me,” he repeats, that edge to his voice that curls your toes, and your eyes snap to his.

“Good girl.”

You moan quietly, made liquid by the tender swipe of his thumb over the satin of your sleep shorts. Your eyes fluttering at such a tiny stroke, not even the meeting of skin. 

“You can’t move, okay? Only allowed to sit.” When you don’t answer, too lost to the throb of his cock against your begging core, Dave pinches you again, voice gravelly in a way you’ve not heard before. “You hear me?”

Nodding, you hum. Can’t quite get out the word. 

“Need to hear you, honey. Gonna hold still for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine, fighting your every instinct to grind down against him as you meet his lust-blown eyes. “Yes. Only allowed to sit.”

Dave puffs a hot breath out that sends a wake of goosebumps across your chest. “Good girl,” he coos, and your brows pinch at the praise. “Soaking me already, honey. Can’t sleep like this, can you? Just need to turn your brain off, hm?” The movement of his hips below yours is so slight you might imagine it, that tiny grind as his cock grows. You nod, whine softly, and both his thumbs stroke your hips gently before stilling again.

“Show me, honey.” So quiet. So little air between you, and yet too much.

You scan his face until he offers a small nod. Those brown eyes hooded by dark lashes, devouring you without need for the press of his mouth. It’d be soft, you’re certain. The caress of his lips. Maybe the rest of him is hard and deadly, but those would be tender, careful—they’d take you apart, breath by breath. With the same precision with which he darts between shadows and cleans his gun and beats you at cards and tucks your hair behind your ear when you’re falling asleep on the couch, he’d dissolve you kiss by kiss with a kind of grace.

It’s his lips on which you pin your gaze as you let one hand drift between your legs, dipping easily between silk and skin—your body made jelly so quickly and by so little contact, already wet. You pray you don’t imagine the sharpness of his breath when your knuckles accidentally graze against his slacks as you slip your fingers between dewy folds. Then: your hand rising in the dim light, shining, honeyed. Dave watching them, the corner of his mouth cracking just a little. Tensing into his cheek.

He grunts, good girl, and then he’s lifting you just enough to peel down the zip of his slacks, flick open the button, but when your eyes fall hopeful for a glimpse of him he tsks, hooks one finger beneath your chin to tilt your face up, whispers a soft eyes on me, honey as he pulls himself out where you can’t see.

As his knuckles brush against the wet gusset of your shorts, nudging them to the side. Finding no panties to move.

As the head of his cock—plush, warm, weeping—nudges against the ache of you, the thrum of your longing.

He grins, wicked.

Then pressure, a moan lost to the air you’re hardly conscious of and the stretch of him, the slow press in and the ache of your cunt swallowing his girth inch by inch. You whimper, eyelids shuddering like old film, catching only still frames of Dave’s expression as he lowers you gently, burying himself in your drooling heat until you come to rest at his base, flush and full.

So full. Light-headed, sparkling. Your hips must rock because he squeezes your waist. “Hold still, honey,” he coos. “Remember?”

The terms of his touch sounded alright just a breath ago, but now you can’t imagine how you ever agreed. How you’re supposed to stay still with him throbbing inside you like this, heavy and sweet, exactly what you need. A flicker in his eyes like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, how he’s scrubbing out every thought in your head. Cocky, yes. But earning it.

“Dave,” you sigh, breathy and desperate. Your cunt clenching and squeezing and pushing out slick, probably ruining his slacks but he won’t let you look down, just tilts your head up gently every time it hangs slack. “Please.”

His breathing catches for a beat, then it’s steady again. “I know, I know,” he murmurs, keeping his finger under your chin to keep your eyes on him—but he hardly needs to. You’d swear the whole world drained away the second he slid into you. There’s nothing else past your bodies, past this one dining room chair. Everything else disappears like magic. The trial, the dread, the drone of city noise. The slow leak of your heart knowing this is goodbye—all of it. Gone.

You’d have sworn it impossible to come like this, with no movement at all, but you will. You do. And months from now—safe in the swaddle of your actual apartment that for weeks has stood hollow and dusty, plants withering sadly on their windowsills—you’ll lie in bed longing, missing, remembering. Trying to recreate the swipe of his thick thumb on your clit as you replay this moment in your head. How you whined, wanna take care of you when Dave still wouldn’t let you move, even when you were close, just swiped and swiped his thumb until you were something more than alive, transcending.

How his pupils had set ablaze with your whispered plea. How you’d realized that was the point, for him. The begging and the not giving in.

How he’d growled, “Taking care of you is taking care of me. You don’t think I’m gonna come the second this pussy strangles my cock? ‘Cause I am. S’all I need, honey, just give it to me—”

His voice the thunder to your body’s crackle and lightning.

“Let her take care of me, that’a girl, that’s it, just like that honey, she’s so tight—fuck—so fuckin’ tight around me, just squeezin’ me, gonna come when you do, pretty girl, let me have it.”

How it hit you like a white bolt of heat and light, every cell in you tense and flaming, then melting, boneless on his lap as he murmured sweetly, grunted, tried to lift you off him just in time and you’d finally, finally touched him—lucid in an instant, hands slammed down on the muscle of his shoulders. Mumbling amidst your aftershocks, inside, inside, inside. Eyelids stuttering again, back to picture frames as your cunt seized and begged in tandem.

The snarl of his upper lip.

His knotted jaw.

Tongue sucked against his front teeth, resolve crumbling.

The allowance granted to your hands to stay right there, fisting his shirt collar as his locked your waist in a bruising vice. His hips bucking only once, grinding the head of his cock deeper, deliciously, almost too good to take. 

“Fuck, fuckfuck—yeah, that what she needs, honey? Needs me to fill her up?”

You’ll remember your own reply as you near a second-rate heaven in the nest of your duvet at home, all frantic hands and thrusting digits and eyes slammed shut, repainting him in your head. Golden in that gloomy light, hair straying out of position across his misted forehead for the first time. Yes. Please. Dave. Yes. Inside. Please—and his grunt, dark and sweet as caramel, as burnt brown sugar. That tiny grin dragging at his soft lips, pleased. You’d pleased him, surprised him maybe. 

That can make you sparkle now, to remember.

“Okay, honey. Okay—shit—gonna give it to you, hm? Gonna give you all of it, baby—she’s squeezing me so goddamn tight, fuck, wanna stay here all night—”

Then the granting of a wish, the heat of him spilling into your cunt, the unmistakable slide of slick leaking between your thighs and onto his; you didn’t have to look to know. You could feel it, that wholeness overflowing. You can almost feel it now; three fingers might be a poor attempt at recreation, but you fall off the cliff all the same, his name on your tongue, a cry in the night, all the curtains dark and drawn as you come down breathless and drowsy, your whole body limp and spent as it’d been that night with him—when he’d tucked himself away and petted your hair back from your face, so gentle with you, cooing that you did so good, honey. Such a good girl. Gonna get you into bed now, hm? Need your sleep, honey. Come on. 

Carrying you into your not-real bedroom, tucking you in so tenderly, like he hadn’t just taken you apart at the molecules. And Dave’s lips were just as plush as you’d imagined when they grazed your forehead, his big hand petting your cheek once more, then turning out the lights. That deep timbre whispering from the doorway, goodnight. The door clicking shut. All of it perfect. How you’d known you mattered more than a job for just one moment in time.

dividers by @saradika-graphics