#The history of the word “fondle” is fun

[burnsopale]

Of late Bibi had been so often and so long absent from home; sometimes weeks⁠—nay! months⁠—would elapse and there would be no Bibi to fondle Fleurette and bring life and animation within those whitewashed walls that held all that was dearest to her in the world. It was undoubtedly heartrending to bid Bibi adieu: but in a way, one knew that the darling would come back to Lou Mas as soon as he was able, come for one of those surprise visits that made Fleurette as gay as a linnet all the while they lasted.

Sir Percy Hits Back (1927) by Baroness Orczy

Don't mind me I'm just dying over Chauvelin petting his daughter and bringing "life and animation" to their cottage.

Also Fleurette thinks of him as "the darling"! Their father-daughter vibe is so good.

[daisyvisions]

Unspoken Words (Pt. 1)

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Pairing: best friend!Sangyeon x afab!reader x enemy!Hyunjae

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Summary: If someone were to tell you that you'd be in a fake relationship with the person you despise the most just to make your best friend jealous, you would've laughed in their face. But here you are... caught up in this exact situation.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Word Count: 4.2K

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Warnings: (18+, minors DNI), fake dating, mutual pining, angst, jealousy, lots of suggestive themes such as: mention of a handjob and orgasm, groping, and fondling with breasts. Mentions of alcohol. Some cursing, lots of kissing and making out, eventual smut in part two. One use of the pet name “baby”. Implied sex and loss of virginity. Lots of time skipping. Let me know if I missed anything! Proofread twice.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. A/N: And just in the nick of time I’ve managed to write out my Secret Santa exchange gift. This one’s for you baby girl @winterchimez / @midnightfantasiez. You nearly sniffed out that it was me writing for you so I had to deviate and lie to you for a moment so sorry about that huhu anyway! A true blessing that you happen to be my recipient because we both love sangmil. A two-part mini series because I just love to keep you on your toes 😈 Hope you enjoy this gift! Thank you so much for your friendship and all the fun moments shared! Special shoutout to @momhwa-agenda / @aimeecarreros for being my accomplice hehe. Finally a sangmil fic has made its debut on the blog!

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Network: @deoboyznet

You never should’ve gone to this stupid spring dance.

The thought in your mind repeating like a broken record as you try to hug yourself from the cold air outside the gymnasium. Tears running down your face as you stare off into the ground trying not to remember the reason why you suddenly ran out of the venue to begin with.

It wasn’t always like this. You were once very content with how things were going on in your life.

With the semester almost ending and all your mid-term grades just enough to pass, you couldn’t wait to celebrate surviving your last year of college with this one magical night. Especially with your best friend Sangyeon by your side.

Right… best friend.

The same best friend that had been ignoring you for the last two months or so (not that you were counting of course). Your mind races as you try to figure out for the nth time what even started this whole issue between you two.

All you could think back to was the beginning of his odd behavior, which started the week after your birthday. At first you thought Sangyeon was just busy with extracurriculars, which was often the case since he was part of numerous clubs and volunteer work.

But then things started to feel off as soon as he would ignore your calls, take too long to reply to texts, hearing from other friends he was just at home when he told you he was “fully booked” to hang out. It was like he was trying to come up with every excuse in the book just to not see your face.

Was he trying to hide something from you perhaps? That idea immediately disappeared as soon as you accidentally overheard his conversation with Haknyeon that one time you were all hanging out at Eric’s apartment.

“What?! You’re not gonna ask her to the spring dance?” You hear Haknyeon’s surprised tone.

“Of course not.” Sangyeon scoffs. “Why would I want to bring her? We’re just friends after all.”

You felt a sudden pang in your heart. Tears threatening to fall down as Sangyeon’s words bore deep holes within your soul. After everything you’ve been through together, this is how he thinks of you?

It shouldn’t have been that deep honestly, but with him ignoring you for the past couple of weeks and remembering the promise you made with each other to go together to the spring dance? It really fucking hurt you. Especially when you and Sangyeon had been by each other’s side since you first met three years ago at your freshman orientation. Instantly hitting it off like two peas in a pod and the rest was history.

Somewhere down the line, you knew you had some sort of feelings for him. Who wouldn’t?

With a smile that can cure any bad feeling you had, how he always took care of you first, the lingering hugs before you had to part ways at the end of the day, the way he would remember even the most insignificant details of a story you were rambling about, and made sure to always message you good night and good morning… He was the dream guy for you.

And even if you had moments wherein you thought he might’ve felt the same way, you didn’t want to sacrifice the strong bond you had with him over a stupid little crush. You just settled with the idea of just staying in the friend zone and not dare to cross any lines with him. Burying any what could’ves and everything else in-between.

Maybe that’s why Sangyeon distancing himself from you hurt more than it should’ve honestly.

So when you were seated at your table during the dance and saw Sangyeon entering the room with his date wrapping her arm around his, you felt massive sting in your chest.

That should’ve been you. It should've been you spending this night with him instead of whoever was currently by his side.

You thought you could go through the night just by avoiding your gaze their table, but the way Sangyeon smiled at his date and at everyone else like nothing was wrong, but his face slightly faltering as he quickly glanced your way, you just had to get out of there before things went downhill.

Your teeth were chattering from the cold air breezing against your exposed skin, nose sniffling and hands wiping whatever tears were leaving marks on your face. Suddenly, a pair of shoes enter your line of vision while your eyes were still glued to the ground.

“You shouldn’t be out here, it’s freezing.” The familiar voice tells you.

As soon as you look up, you find Hyunjae staring down at you. One of his eyebrows slightly raised as he wonders what has gotten you into this depressed state on a special night like this.

“Laugh it up Hyunjae, isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? To see me cry?” You look up at him for a moment with your tear-stained face before looking back down at your feet.

Before you could even continue feeling sorry for yourself, Hyunjae sighs and squats down, his face now at the same level as yours. You feel his fingers lift your chin and gently tap the tears away from your cheeks with his handkerchief. Your eyes widen as he leans in closer, making sure not to ruin your makeup in the process.

“W-what are you doing?” you stutter.

“Pretty girls like you shouldn’t be crying.” He nonchalantly replies.

You’re too stunned to speak at his comment. As far as you know, Hyunjae has been nothing but a pain in your ass ever since he accidentally bumped into you in the hallway causing your diorama to break into tiny pieces as it fell to the ground.

Since then, you wrote him off as your sworn enemy. Always finding ways to annoy the hell out of you and get you to react to his antics, making side comments to one another, and his constant teasing that made you want to rip your hair off.

So no, never in your wildest dreams would you hear such a comment coming out of Hyunjae’s mouth.

“Hello?” Hyunjae waves his hand in front of you.

“What?” You shook your head as you were too distracted from hearing the question he had asked you.

“I said, do you wanna get out of here or what?” He sighs as he lends his hand out for you to grab. You hesitate at first. In any normal situation, you would never even let Hyunjae get as close as he did just now, let alone go somewhere with him.

But what the hell… Anywhere is better than here.

“So… who’s the lucky guy that has you bawling your eyes out? It’s obviously not me.” Hyunjae smirks. You had found yourself seated by the bar, eating french fries as you waited for your drinks to arrive.

“It’s uh- It’s a little complicated.” You try to avoid his eyes.

“Trouble in paradise?” Hyunjae pops a fry into his mouth waiting for your answer. Your eyes widen at his suggestion, knowing who he was referring to.

“What? No! I mean- We were never together if that’s what you’re thinking.” You sigh before carefully explaining to him the whole situation you were currently in with Sangyeon. Hyunjae intently looks into your eyes as you tell your side of the story.

“Huh…” Hyunjae takes a sip of his beer.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” You look at him as he drinks, trying to not to dwell too much at the way his neck looks flexed under the dim light.

“You’re really impatient you know that?” He chuckles before taking another sip. “I was about to tell you an idea I just thought of.”

“Yeah? Let’s hear it then.” You take a sip of your cocktail this time.

“What if you make him jealous? Like really jealous.” Hyunjae suggests.

“Pass. First of all, I don’t think he likes me that way. And second, who the hell would he even be jealous of? Sangyeon hardly gets jealous by anything.” You squint at him. What a silly idea.

“No c’mon. Trust me, he’ll be jealous alright. Especially when it comes to you.” He eyes you up and down subtly.

“What does that even me-” Before you could even finish your sentence you spot behind Hyunjae a group of students dressed in formal attire entering the bar. And like a moth to a flame, you immediately spot Sangyeon and his date amongst the group.

Hyunjae turns around to see what had been the cause of your panic, his eyes immediately spotting Sangyeon from a distance as well. And as soon as Sangyeon had a puzzled look on his face he knew that Sangyeon had spotted the two of you by the bar, wondering what the hell were you doing with Hyunjae of all people.

You hop off the bar stool, attempting to run away like you did during the dance, but you suddenly feel a hand gently grab you by the arm and pull you back before you could even make a run for it.

“C’mere.” Hyunjae asks.

“Wha-”

“Just follow my lead.” He whispers in your ear.

And before you know it, you feel Hyunjae lips pressed against yours. His hands cupping your face before sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer to him. It takes a moment for your brain to process what’s going on, but your body responds faster by wrapping your arms around Hyunjae’s neck and deepening the kiss.

The way his lips perfectly mold against yours, how soft they feel as his hands squeeze your waist. The little groan he lets out as you slip your tongue inside his mouth, tasting the beer he had drank as your fingers run through his hair.

You nearly moan with how he slowly but expertly moves his mouth against yours. As if he’s taking to memory what your lips feel like in case this moment would never happen again. Both you and Hyunjae nearly forget you’re practically sucking each other’s faces off in public, which was surprising considering the nature of your relationship with one another.

No one could even tell the two of you despised the other as you held each other like lovers.

None of you see it, but the way Sangyeon looks at both of you right now is as if he wants to throw daggers at Hyunjae from across the room. Witnessing the both of you passionately kissing each other makes his stomach churn, a feeling he has never felt before. So many questions run in his head as he continues to watch from afar.

Before he even tries to take a step towards your direction, he sees you both pull away from one another. Hyunjae whispering something in your ear as you look too stunned to speak before taking out his wallet, pulling out cash and settling it on the table before whisking you away out of the bar.

Sangyeon really should’ve brought you to the spring dance like he promised… because not only does he feel like an asshole, but a jealous one at that.

The car ride on the way to your house was incredibly silent, as if what had happened between you and Hyunjae was just your imagination. Except it wasn’t. You could still feel his lips lingering on yours as you try to lean your head against the window and looking at anything passing by.

You’re broken from your trance as you hear Hyunjae’s door closing and his figure making its way to your side of the car. He lends out his hand for you to grab once again, helping you get out of the car and walk you to the front of your apartment.

“So… I’ll see you around?” Hyunjae smiles awkwardly says as he puts both his hands in his pockets.

“Hyunjae, wait-” You grab his elbow as he’s about to turn around.

“Hm?” He raises one eyebrow.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but-” You huff in-between, “let’s go with your plan.” You watch the little mischievous smirk appear on Hyunjae’s lips.

“If you just wanted to make out some more you could’ve just asked.” He teases. You’re about to slap him on the arm but he catches your hand and holds it tight.

“I’m kidding! Just… Let me know when and what time we can talk about it more alright?” He squeezes your hand gently. You don’t know why but a tiny little butterfly flutters in your stomach as you feel Hyunjae’s thumb subconsciously stroke the back of your hand.

“Okay… Thank you by the way for tonight-” you tiptoe a bit to hold Hyunjae’s cheek and leave a light peck on his lips. He’s caught off guard by your action, almost leaning forward some more to continue kissing you but you pull away quick enough before he does.

“Y-yeah, sure. Anytime.” Thank god it’s night time he thinks, otherwise you would've easily spotted the redness flaring in his ears and made fun of him for it.

“Call me okay?” He squeezes your hand once more before letting go and walking back to his car. You watch him drive off before heading up to your apartment, leaning against the front door and letting out one big sigh of relief.

“What the hell did I get myself into?”

“If you really want this to work, we have to set a few ground rules.” Hyunjae he pulls out a pen and paper from his bag, immediately writing down a numbered list for you both to fill out.

“Rule one- if one of us wants to stop this thing at any given moment, the contract will end.” Hyunjae says as he writes it down.

“Hmm.. what about rule two- if any of us catch some sort of feelings for one another, the contract is immediately terminated” You add. Hyunjae scoffs at the idea.

“Catch feelings? Seriously?” He looks up at you with a smirk. “Is there something you’ve been meaning to tell me this whole time?” He continues to tease.

“I’m serious! It’s only gonna get complicated for us to execute this plan if feelings are involved. Haven’t you seen the movies?” You ask him.

“Fine, you have a point.” He writes down your suggestion earlier.

“Okay, rule three- kisses are a must if you want this thing to work.” He looks at you in the eyes. “And other things couples do.”

You roll your eyes at him, “Fine, but nothing beyond second base please?” You scrunch your face at the thought.

“Oh?” Hyunjae looks at you with a few twinkles in his eyes. “So does that mean I get to play with your-”

“NO! Not that. Like y’know, just waist touching and maybe the occasional touch of the ass. But definitely and absolutely no touching my chest whatsoever.” You point your finger at him. “I'm serious.”

“Alright alright!” Hyunjae raises his hands up in defense. “Anything else you wanna add?”

“Let me see the list again.” You grab the paper from his hands, carefully examining the words written before nodding.

“This looks good. Yeah, I’m fine with this.” You hand the paper back to Hyunjae.

“It’s a deal.” He says as you both shake on it before getting up to part ways.

Before you have a chance to take a step towards where your class is, Hyunjae pulls you into his chest and leaves a kiss on your lips, making you squeal in surprise.

“Sit with me during lunch. We start this today, okay?” Hyunjae reminds you. You nod your head before shyly giving him a kiss on his cheek and walking away to head to your first class of the day.

Sangyeon could not keep his eyes off you during study period. It had been this way every time you happen to be in the same room as him. You looked beautiful as ever of course but he could feel his blood pressure shooting up every time he would be near you.

Ever since that night he saw you kissing Hyunjae almost two weeks ago, it was like the two of you were everywhere.

He hated the way Hyunjae would always whisper something in your ear and you would laugh at whatever he said. Or the way his hand would find purchase on your lower back. And not to mention the way he would brush any loose hair behind your ear before kissing you goodbye.

It should’ve been him. He should've been the one doing all these things to you. He should've been the guy leaving you all those loving kisses, holding you by your waist, reminding you of how beautiful you look every single chance he got.

If only he was honest with you that night.

Sangyeon’s internal monologuing was cut short when he sees you getting up from your seat and patting Hyunjae on the shoulder before making your way between the bookshelves in the library.

As you slowly search for the book you need for your English paper, your shoulder bumps into a semi hard surface. “Oh! I’m so so-” you whisper but stop mid sentence as the familiar scent of cologne hits your nose.

“Hey….” Sangyeon whispers.

“Uh- Hi.” You back away from him a bit as an awkward silence falls between you two.

“How are things going? We haven’t talked in a while.” He fiddles with his own fingers, trying to think of the next words to say to you.

“Good I guess? Just trying to make it through the semester and stay motivated.” You respond.

“Sure looks like it-” Sangyeon mumbles. But you clearly hear him and scoff at his rudeness.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You cross your arms against your chest.

“Seriously… Hyunjae? Why him?” He loudly whispers. “You’re better than that.”

“Yeah?” You step a little closer to Sangyeon, closing the gap between you two.

“Well where the fuck have you been huh? Where were you when I needed you?” You match the level of his tone.

“You don’t understand-”

“Then explain it to me then Sangyeon! I’m listening.”

He tries to speak but nothing comes out, panicking that this might be the last chance he could get to explain why he’s been so distant.

“I-uh” His eyes look everywhere else except you.

“Nothing? Thought so.” You push past him, making sure to harshly nudge your shoulder against his.

Sangyeon tries to follow you, but as soon as he steps out between the bookshelves he sees you head out of the library while Hyunjae scrambles to grab all your things from the table and chases after you. He sighs out of frustration combing his hair as he mentally curses at himself.

Oh he really fucked things up didn’t he?

“And he had the nerve, THE NERVE to tell me I know better. I can’t believe him!” You pace back and forth in your bedroom as you rant to Hyunjae about the events that took place in the library

“I honestly don’t know if I should feel offended or flattered at his little comment about me.” Hyunjae’s eyes follow you as you continue to move around.

“Think about it this way, at least we know the plan is working. Otherwise he wouldn’t have approached you like that.”

“Maybe? Ugh! Why are men so dumb?” You sigh.

“We think with our dicks that’s why. Well… maybe that’s just me.” He smirks, trying to crack a joke to break the tension. His little joke becomes successful when you look back at him and chuckle.

“Forget about him,” Hyunjae adds. “Tonight we drink to celebrate passing yet another exam and watch movies til we fall asleep or you decide to kick me out. Whichever comes first.”

He pours a full glass of wine for each of you as you plop down beside him and get cozy.

“Fine, but I’m picking the movie okay?” You tell him as you open your laptop and search for your favorite comfort movie.

Hours pass, almost three bottles of wine finished, and the movie long forgotten as you decide to chat with each other about anything and everything instead. It’s been nothing but laughs and mocking each other as you reminisce all the times you pissed each other off and funny stories of one another.

“Oh the look on your face was fucking priceless-” You laugh out loud, trying to catch your breath as you recall one embarrassing moment of Hyunjae.

“Well what the hell was I supposed to do then huh? Tell the professor I was getting a handjob under the table during his class?” His voice raises in defense. “Not my fault she couldn’t resist me.”

“You looked so mortified too holy shit-” You laugh.

“I was nearing a fucking orgasm okay? Then he calls me to the front of the class to write down my answer for the stupid formula. That professor practically edged me!” His cheeks starting to turn even more red as you continue to laugh at him.

“Ow it hurts, wait-” You clutch your stomach from the pain of laughing too much.

“Oh yeah? Let’s see how you like it then-” Hyunjae lunges forward, pulling your arms away to tickle you furiously.

You squeal out his name, trying to push him away while he tackles you. As you try to squirm out of his grip, you don’t even realize the position you’ve gotten yourselves into. Your body caged under his as he grabs your wrists and pins them down at each side of your head.

As the laughter starts to die down, Hyunjae looks down at you with heavy eyelids. You look incredibly pretty under him in this moment, he thinks to himself.

You didn’t even do anything in that moment but it was like he felt so drawn to you. Like you were a siren pulling him in. Your breath hitches as he leans down closer to your face, briefly stopping to search for any sign of consent before fully pressing his lips against yours.

This obviously is not the first time you two have kissed. But for some reason, this kiss felt different than all the other ones. You both kiss each other slowly, lips molding like a perfect dance as his hands let go of your wrist and hold you by your waist instead.

And just like the first time you kissed, you find yourself automatically wrapping your arms around him and running your fingers through his hair, pulling his body closer to yours as kisses travel down from your jaw to the most sensitive part of your neck.

You feel your core blooming in heat as his tongue expertly swirls inside your mouth. How it pulsates for him as you feel his hands go under your shirt, stopping right under your breasts.

You suddenly gasp as his hands start fondling your bra covered chest, gently kneading them as he continues to leave small marks on your sensitive skin with his lips.

A choked moan comes out as you feel his manhood throb against your core, reminding you of the thin layers of clothing, your thin pajama shorts and his sweatpants that stand between you two from crossing any lines.

“Hyunjae, wait-” You try to slowly push him off. His head pulls away to look at your face.

“Oh shit. I’m- fuck sorry no chest stuff-” You see the panic look in his eyes. But before he’s able to pull away, you grab him by the wrists and press his hands deeper into your chest.

A deep groan comes out of his mouth as he squeezes your breasts again, feeling your sensitive buds slowly hardening under your bra.

“No it’s not that. I-” You close your eyes for a moment before swallowing the lump in your throat. You feel your cheeks become warm at what you’re about to confess to him.

"I've never done stuff like this before..." you nervously say.

It takes a few seconds for your words to sink in before Hyunjae looks back at you with widened eyes.

“Oh uh- are you sure? We can stop. We don’t even have to do anything more-” He caresses your cheek.

“The thing is…” You pause to slowly swipe your thumb on his lower lip. “I want to-”

You look up at him with the most innocent looking eyes and Hyunjae swears to himself that he’s never seen anyone look at him the way you do. Like he had hung the moon for you. Hyunjae softly smiles at you before leaning to kiss you once again,

"Then sit tight baby… Because I'm about to rock your world."

(Part 2)

[hyperbole-smut]

Delivery

It had been one of the hottest summers in history, but in the comfort of my home with my air conditioner I couldn't complain. The doorbell rang, and I was eager to answer the door and, in this heat, couldn't really care less that the dress I wore was both thin and quite skimpy. I had anticipated this delivery, and it was too hot to care about decency.

The door opened up, and the delivery girl standing before me almost scared me with her tall, muscular frame. My head barely reached up to her, eye-catchingly huge, chest.

Now don't get me wrong, I was tiny and petite, barely one and a half meters tall, but this girl was still towering at least two meters. She even had to lean down when handing me the package!

You could see the pain of working in this heat on her face. Her hair in a ponytail, covered by her cap, her face was dripping and most of her clothes were almost completely soaked in sweat.

"Must be exhausting working in this heat." She was panting from the heat, and I couldn't help but blush as I looked at her beautiful face. "I have a working AC, want to come in for a minute to cool off and have something to drink?"

"Are you sure?" She seemed surprised, but eager. "I was about to have my break anyway so I can stay if it's alright."

I welcomed her inside, leading her to the sofa where I gave her a glass of water.

She removed her cap and unbuttoned several buttons on her shirt. The sweat visibly dripping down her massive breasts, and I couldn't help but stare at them while she chugged the water down.

Her eyes met mine, making me blush as I realized I was staring. In order to attempt to break the awkwardness I joked.

"Care for something heavier?" Grabbing the bottle of vodka I had started the night before and left on the table.

"Fuck, yes! Please!" Her eagerness surprised me, but since I offered, I had to pour a shot for her as she scoffed in closer to me.

It had barely touched the table before she grabbed it and chugged it down in one go.

"Hit me another!" She exclaimed, and as I refilled it, she drank it just as quickly as the first one.

Still, my eyes couldn't stop but stare at her chest as she unbuttoned it even more, fanning her face with her other hand as the entirety of her cleavage revealed itself.

Once again, she noticed my stare, and a sly smile widened across her face.

"So..." she moved in even closer. "What did you order?" I blushed, stumbled on my words as she jumped in even closer, now sitting pushed up right against me. "Come on, open it up!"

"O... Ok..." I mumbled as I started to peel off the tape, but stopped hesitatingly but her hand grabbed mine, helping me open it up.

"Don't worry." Her coy smile leered at me as she leaned in her face almost right next to mine. "I know it always says subtle packaging, but we always figure out quickly which ones contains the fun stuff."

Holding my hand in hers she helped me peel off the tape holding the box shut before grabbing the lid and pulling it open.

I had to hide my face with my hands as she pulled out the huge, bright pink dildo I had ordered.

"Wow!" She exclaimed excitedly. "This is almost the size of my arm!" She held it up to compare, though right next to her muscular arm it didn't actually compare even though it was huge.

She leaned in over me, dildo in one hand and the other grabbing my thigh as I felt her warm whisper into my ear: "Want to try it out?"

Before I had time to answer her lips kissed my neck, sending a chill down my spine, and I felt her hand on my thigh slowly move its way up my dress. Her muscular hand started to firmly fondle my small, petite breasts and I didn’t even realize I was moaning as her lips moved across neck and shoulder.

With a quick and nimble motion, she unbuckled my bra and pulled my dress of with her one hand while firmly pushing she shaft of the dildo between my now exposed crotch.

Her lips met mine, teeth teasingly nibbling my lips before her tongue moved into my mouth. She unbuttoned her shirt completely, bra removed shortly after, and unbuckled her belt and shorts.

With a forceful grip she grabbed my hand and pushed it down her panties and I could feel how wet she was as her sweat had mixed with her juices when she pushed two of my fingers inside of her.

Carefully she pushed me down on my back, holding my hand in place as she lay down on top of me. Our breasts pushed against each other, sliding easily with her sweat.

The dildo was still pushed against my crotch, but I felt her slowly pull it down across my slit until I felt the tip poke against my soaking pussy.

Pushing it inside she paused quickly to pull of her shorts and panties before pushing her pelvis against the other end of the dildo. The other end pushing inside her, I felt her push it even deeper inside of me until I felt her pussy firmly pressed against mine, our tongues still playing together.

With her entire body pushed against mine, grinding up and down against me I felt the muscles inside my hole tensing up, quickly followed by an orgasm coursing through me. Judging by her moans, there was no doubt she came as well as she kept vigorously grinding our pussies together.

"Fuck, that was good." She smiled as she rose. "But I'm not done with you!"

Grabbing the dildo inside of me she pulled it out before standing herself, up grabbing one hand one each of my hips. With ease she lifted me up, as easily as lifting a small child, and held me against the wall.

Her hands moved down my thighs, still holding me in place, and she forcefully spread my legs as she pushed her face deep into my cunt. Her tongue feeling as if it went surprisingly deep into my hole, and I could feel her lustful moans resonate through my entire pussy as she savored my juices.

Quicker than I had ever before I felt myself cumming once more, even surprising myself as my juices gushed and squirted across her entire, lewd, smiling face.

Making sure I was completely done she seemed to be more than happy to make sure to lick up every last drop of my cum before unexpectedly throwing me down on my back onto the sofa.

Moving over, she put her big, muscular thighs around my head.

"My turn." She pushed her pussy hard against my face, her wet cunt soaking all across my face.

As I let my tongue out, she moaned loudly, clearly enjoying it as I felt her legs tighten around my head, not much air left in my lungs. She let go of her grip slightly for just a moment, letting me catch my breath.

"Well done." She caressed my face with her hand. "Now comes the finale, so hold out!"

With a strong grip she grabbed my head, clenched her thighs even harder than before as she started to grind her pussy up and down my face.

Moaning loudly, she seemed almost in a trance, and she pushed against my face as if I was nothing but a plaything for the moment. Juices gushed all across my face as she moaned in ecstasy, thighs constricting even harder before.

She came all over my face, seemingly repeatedly as my mind went blank as I ran out of air.

I regained consciousness, her lying beside me with her body leaning over me, affectionately kissing my neck and I could feel her hand gently massaging my pussy.

"Sorry, darling." She kissed my lips gently. "But that was the best fucking head I've ever had! No one has ever rocked my world like that before, I couldn't possibly control myself."

Her hands moved down over my hole, and I felt her entire hand starting to push inside of me.

"I guess you're a keeper." Her wet pussy grinded against my thigh as she started kissing me again.

[alarici]

Day 3: First date / new beginnings 𓃗

rating M, chose not to warn, 3k+ words

They went to the same fucked up boarding school in the '90s. That's what's funny about it, when they run into each other, both on vacation in Rome.

They dated for three months before uni. "Dated." As close to dated as a pseudo-goth wonderkind and a punk-going-nowhere-fast can do, one sun-streaked summer in Brighton. They were both working the same job. They were both the rare classmates who weren't summering in the south of France or Andalusia (with the “th”) or the Canary Islands. Matt was working the teller at a little ice cream shop near Preston Park. Mello made fresh Neapolitan in the back, because he was no good with customers and had a mean face. A beautiful, mean face.

At least Matt thought he was beautiful back then. Because he was. Hair cut at the neck, brushing collarbones. Blond. No zits at eighteen. No stubble or razor burns, either. But mean as anything. A circus lion with a few month left ‘till breaking out of the cage.

Which was what Matt always knew he liked about Mello. I am easy, you are not. But that summer, it was nothing serious. They were just kids. It was just a summer.

Your first heartbreak goes like this: The sun rises over the Island. You deal with the gaggle of weekenders or day trippers. Matt falls in love with the idea of a boy who's headed to LSE for Accounting and Finance. Matt falls in love with the idea that he's cool enough to date this guy. Matt loses £40 in paper bills at the register and learns how to swim.

In all, it was a memorable summer. When Matt’s skipping his classes at his University up north, he'll tell stories, like any boy his age, about popping his cherry with a nice girl, a looker, from his sixth form. Matt won’t talk like that to the blond girls he dates—the dyed blondes he makes out with in club bathrooms or the tall upperclassman he fondles in his friend’s living room. He’ll tell them they’re lovely, beautiful. That he likes their earrings and isn’t just desperate to touch their warm skin and compare, and that he doesn't need to be told, dogmatically—you’ve been found wanting, and but isn’t this what it’s all about?

Only when he’s much older, living in Berlin, he'll tell stories closer to the truth. But those take place in more interesting places. As he tells it: His first time was in Naples, Nantes, or a beautiful town in the Austrian Lakes District. “This beautiful guy I worked with. Like a model, right? He let me suck him off in a club bathroom.” “...in a Hostel suite.” “...on the beach.”

But he never said Brighton, never a desperate, messy thing in the staff-only wash closet. He can’t hide he’s English, but he can keep the details of Mello to himself.

Brighton was small. Those memories are for him alone. Or—he thought they were, that he was the only one who treasured them, and it was only his fault that they ended that way. Imagine his surprise when Mello washes into his life again. With a new haircut—longer, less choir boy, more rockstar. Fitting. A scar on his face. Still beautiful, still handsome, etc. Business casual. Leather boots and expensive cotton pants.

They go on their first date—the kind you're supposed to take grown people too, where you dress up nice and pick out the appropriate cologne and aftershave—at 8 at night on a Tuesday in Milan.

By then, everything about Matt, on the surface, pleads, “I’ve grown, or I've tried to.” He lifts weights on occasion. He smokes a lot less than in his early twenties. He has a job that pays him well and only needs him in the office twice a year. He has a nice Computer Science degree, first class, from the University of York. He’s lived in Dresden, Berlin, Glasgow, Amsterdam, and Marseille. He’s living in Vienna now. He’s had a long term girlfriend, two long-term boyfriends, and many situations and short term vacation flings.

Very honestly, he doesn’t think much of Mello from eight years ago. It’s ancient history. It was a fun summer. A summer of firsts and lasts. A summer spent putting the punctuation on their ten years of knowing each other until then. A summer that ended abruptly (though the writing was on the wall). They never agreed not to stay in touch. That’s just how it happened.

Matt would have followed Mello anywhere, which was why he never sent his application to Imperial College London, and watched as years in London with Mello became a parallel future. Never touching.

In the end, Matt only applied to schools in cities he’d never visited and didn’t particularly want to go to. Leeds, Lancaster. He wanted to get far away from the South. Figured the further from London, the better, if he wasn’t there himself.

He’d been told that he’d “succeed wherever he went.” Less, and with more platitude, than Mello had, but he was still called a “bright kid.” Boarding school was teeming with kids who were dumb as rocks, or bright but lacking a family name or a family friend or a family at all. Mello had raged when he hadn’t gotten into Oxford. As though LSE for economics wasn’t just as good.

So, they meet in Rome. Randomly, in a busy cafe. They’re both twenty seven. Matt’s hair is burnt red—a recent dye job at a salon in another city. He hasn’t dyed his own hair in a few years. Sounds like a fun project for a rainy day when the red goes orange and stale.

Back then, Matt threw himself into and out of bouts of insecurity with abandon. A moment of courage. A moment of cowardice. Repeat. He fell into Mello’s bed because of course, it’s you, it’s Mello. He’d been obsessed with Mello since they met as kids. When Mello finally looked back at him that summer, saying yes wasn’t hard.

Fuck, who wouldn’t say yes.

In this nice cafe in Rome, Matt sees the blond hair out of the corner of his eye. And then black gloves in April. And then a striking face. Mello.

He almost doesn’t call out. Almost doesn't catch Mello’s elbow with a cheeky smile. “Mello! Hi! It’s me.” Too cheerful. Too forced. But it gets Mello’s attention when he jerks away, sees Matt, and pauses.

What if he’s in a relationship? That’s fine. It’s not like...

What if he doesn’t want to speak to me? Matt figures this is also okay. It was Matt that let him get away in the first place.

What if he doesn’t recognize me?

Matt smiles down at the double shot in Mello’s hand. Mid-morning espresso. And Mello looks Matt up and down.

“Matt...” Mello’s voice is deeper than sixth form. No shit. It’s still this thing... this thing that catches Matt off guard. Of course we’ve both changed. Of course you sound like...

“Are you...can we talk right now?” Matt is sure he sounds overeager. Mello is probably busy. It’s a Thursday morning in April. Mello’s probably here on Business. Why Rome but not Milan? Why stepping out for coffee in the north of the city when the financial center is in the south? Why not pull a shot of the office coffee machine?

“Yes. I have some time.” Mello is studying him. Matt feels distinctly judged. Mello’s clothing is quality. Expensive in the casual way. A pretty watch winks on his left wrist. A silver OMEGA with a blue face. Matt looks down at the leather cord knotted with beads around his own wrist. A tourist trinket from the Spanish isles two summers ago. He’s wearing his best jeans, though. His teeth are clean.

Matt watches a plaintive smile, a little ironic, almost genuine, cross Mello’s face as they find a row of counter to stand at, shoulder to shoulder.

It feels wrong to just say, “So, how’ve you been?” But it comes out anyway. 

Matt was the one who initiated, back then. A Friday pregame never left the flat, and they were crushed up against each other on a crusted couch. Liquid courage in his veins. Mello’s face flushed. Mello, happy, smiling at the coworker’s dog. A chocolate lab licking cheese balls off the carpet.

Matt was sitting across Mello’s lap. Lack of couch space. Not uncommon, for them, back then. But Matt got daring. Courage bites teenagers like rats. Matt aimed for Mello’s bitten lips, and that was that.

A summer of fun. More snogging than talking. Holding hands on the Ferris wheel where nobody could see. A polaroid in Matt’s wallet until the cheap velcro thing was stolen in Paris three years ago alongside sixty euros and his apartment key.

“I’m on a flight to Taranto tomorrow.” Mello says, of all things. Not, “I’ve been promoted to senior analyst,” or, “I’m thinking about getting an MBA at INSEAD.” In Matt’s imagination, Mello is important and successful and Matt is still too unambitious, soft, lazy, etc. This was part of their conflict, when Mello made it stand between them. The paradox, or maybe the problem, was that Matt was unambitious, and you can’t love someone hard enough to become a tiger to make the great circus escape for them. You were born in the year of the dog. (Matt was actually born in the year of the horse. Mello the snake. That one, at least, was fitting. Cold blooded and pretty. Matt finds himself reliable like a horse. Prone to nervous kicking.)

“Business or pleasure?” Matt smiles with his teeth and rotates his Americano in his hands.

“Both.”

A lapse of silence. Mello looks completely content for Matt to attempt to call the shots at this reunion. Happy to watch Matt flounder for a worthwhile question.

“It’s—it’s been a while.”

“It’s been nine years,” Mello says, half frown, half conceding that yes. It’s been almost ten years. They’re strangers, practically. Matt hasn’t thought about Mello in a long, long time. He remembered him when his girlfriend broke up with him, “I want to settle down, and it’s clear that you don't.” He remembered him in hour thirty of a forty hour bender in Glasgow, lying in a hostel bed, watching the ceiling melt into shapes and colors.

“What are you doing in Rome?” Mello asks. Taking pity or what, Matt’s not sure. But he ends Matt’s clamouring for a decent reply.

“Visiting a friend.”

“Vacation?”

“Nah.”

“What do you do these days?” A twist on Matt’s question. A challenge. Mello must think Matt’s pissing his life away. That he’s actually gone nowhere fast. Mello and his six thousand euro watch. Matt and all his insecurity, his newly dyed hair. The obvious hole near the sleeve on his Jersey cotton T-shirt.

“I’ve got a gig. Tech, ya know. I get my work done and they let me piss around.” 

“All over the continent?”

“Yeah. More or less. I just need to log on once and a while. I have meetings on Fridays and Saturdays sometimes. My permanent address is in Austria right now.”

“Can you speak German?” Instead of anything else, Mello asks something unimportant. A doubting tone.

“Ja. Ich kann Deutsch sprechen.” With a smile. This is the bit. This is where Matt can handle himself. Joking in a few languages. Mello has to know four, conversationally, at least, by now. They’re probably all in one 10-point font line on his CV.  After studying Latin in sixth form and winning some national award for his proficiency. Matt vaguely remembers his pouring over a Mandarin textbook one August night, the both of them sweaty in bed, because Near was learning.

“Everyone in Vienna speaks English, anyway,” Mello says, offhand.

“Not all of my friends,” Matt tries to act cool. I know locals. I know grandmas who don’t know my English. People haven’t made fun of my accent in a few years. 

Benvenuto a Roma!

The wash closet was a spur of the moment thing. When you’re seventeen and horny over god knows what (your boyfriend, your boyfriend you wake up next to some days and pinch yourself and lock yourself in the bathroom over) the wash closet with the janitor kit and the plastic sink and the cobwebs is as good a place as any to get down on your knees. Matt felt Mello’s hands in his damp hair. Felt the short hairs on his upper leg against his cheek. Choking, a little, until Mello let him catch his breath.

The first time was by no means the best, but it holds its place as being the first.

None of Matt’s plans for the day, the week, the month involved hopping on a plane down to the South of Italy. Taranto, a fairly unimportant seaside city. Supposedly a tourist hidden gem. Mello hadn’t offered, but hadn’t said no when Matt said, with this teenage courage, “I’ve never been. Can I come?”

When catching up with words goes nowhere—there’s a lot they understand about each other, even now, like this. That Mello prefers being intuited and hates small talk with people he knows well. That Mello doesn’t want to talk about his past five years of traveling for business and learning Arabic and SAS and bullshitting PowerPoints. That he doesn’t need to ask to catch on that Matt’s totally still into anything. That Mello is waiting for Matt to do something. That Mello, despite practically looking at Matt down his nose, is still looking with the wanting, daring look in his eyes.

Matt hasn’t done well for himself. He’s done ok. He does full stack. He does day drinking and walking across a few national borders with dope haven’t caught up to him, yet. He’s good at his job. He needs to buy a new laptop. He can’t decide between two identical processors. He can get his buddy to build a machine for him, remove the stupid choices and get it done.

There’s a Mac on the desk in Mello’s five star hotel room. Mello makes him take a shower. They make out wordlessly on the sofa and Matt thinks he’s okay with this. He likes this. The hardness of Mello beneath him, and the familiarity. A new scar on his shoulder, tiny compared to the one on his face, but there. Doubtful he still likes the same things, but Matt can try.

A lot of their mates knew they were shagging, but didn’t really say anything about it. And nobody teased Matt about how in love he was, so he must have hid it well. He went to sleep every night desperate to be holding Mello, or for Mello to be holding him, and only got his wish some of the nights. As August dwindled, Matt remembers a long walk on the beach. Close to midnight. Some of the nightlife was still crawling, tipsy, to another bar, or home, but the shoreline was quiet. The lights still reflected off the water around the pier.

“Are we gonna...do you want to stay in touch?” Matt asks. Waiting for the kick. The no. The, “good dogs stay.”

“Maybe.”

It was practically a no.

Mello looped his arm around Matt’s waist and into his pocket.

“I don’t think this’ll work. After this summer.”

“I know.”

They manage to talk on the flight to Taranto.

“Where do you live?” Matt asks.

“Biel.”

“Not so far from Vienna.”

“Germany is in between.” Mello argues.

“Germany is not so large.” It is, Matt knows it is. Took the regional trains from Hamburg to Munich for all nine hours.

“You sound like an American.”

Matt laughs. “I’m not.”

“Have you been?”

“Of course. I worked in the Flatiron for a few months.” Mello says it as though he assumes Matt doesn’t know what the Flatiron building is.

“What’s that?” Matt humors him. A piss at acting the fool, again.

“A building.”

“Ah. I’ve been to Boston and Palo Alto.”

“That is where all you techie types assemble.”

Mello has the window seat. Matt’s supposed to be sitting four rows ahead, but it’s not a packed flight. It was expensive. Matt’s stock options have been performing well, the past year or so.

And again, Taranto isn’t built to last. Matt has no accommodations of his own when he finds himself by the sea with Mello again. He ends up on Mello’s couch until he’s invited to the bed. But instead of bumping uglies, they just sleep the first night. He’s being held at arm's length. He’s being kissed and then left in the hotel while Mello goes to meet his business associate on a yacht. Well, Matt does have work to do. He opens his laptop and stares at the blinking cursor. At Wednesday night’s error messages. Fuck.

On Sunday, Mello finds a church and Matt finds the sea.

On Monday, they sit down at a cafe, once again. Two grown up strangers.

“Do you ever think about it?”

“What?”

“Wammy’s.”

“No.”

Liar.

“How was LSE?”

Kiss. Not an answer. Matt imagines the answer is something like, “Fine. They didn’t like me. I was too smart, and they were too far up their own asses.” And then he gets distracted by Mello’s lips on his neck. A hand needling at his belt.

They end up on a fisherman’s boat. Mello talks himself into this, and Matt comes along. Matt can swim, but he’s afraid of the open ocean. No truce has been met. They fell asleep in the same bed the night before. They walked the streets of Taranto together after dinner. Matt paid. They talked and talked about a lot of nonsense. A lot of stuff that got at the meat of the time that had passed and revealed nothing at all. If you’re going to be difficult, I can be, too.

Matt doesn’t tell Mello about his trip to Belfast. That he found his uncle. And that he’s been invited to his niece’s wedding. That his mother died six years ago in hospital.

Matt doesn’t ask where Mello got the scar that takes up half of his face. Makes him hotter, in Matt’s subjective opinion. But he wears it less like a badge and more like a dare. I know you’re looking.

The coastline shrinks. The fisherman tells them about dolphins and the lines he’s putting down and the coastline. That is that town. This is the other town. Look at the Rizzos dolphins following the boat.

Mello starts speaking to him in Italian, and Matt rolls his eyes. He catches spare words, cognates from the Spanish and such he knows, but not enough. He considers rolling off the side of the boat and touching a baby dolphin. He thinks of how deep the Mediterranean must be, this close to the shore, still.

When Mello returns to him, eventually, his hair is wind swept. There’s salt spray on his neck.

“I just broke up with my fiance.” Mello says, suddenly.

“Your what.”

“I just broke up with my fiance.”

“Did she cheat on me?”

“No. He was too young.” He.

“How old was he?”

“Twenty six.” Mello says.

“You’re twenty seven.”

“He was too immature.”

“Why did you agree to marry him?” Matt asks the choppy waves.

“His parents have titles and a big house.”

“I never thought you’d be the kind...” to marry rich? I thought about it a lot when I was in York and you were in Oxfordshire. You’d find a girl whose parents parents went way back. Or a boy, and he’d have a family that was okay with it if you wore the right clothes.

“I didn't marry him.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.” Too immature?

“Is that why you’re here?”

“No.”

“Do you even live in Biel?”

“Biel, Bienne.”

“Bienna?”

Matt earns a smile, self effacing, unbidden, from Mello with this. Why not Zurich? Maybe he never stays at home.

They make it back to Milan in a week. They spent the rest of the days in Taranto fucking through early mornings. Being lazy creatures. Matt’s dragged this new Mello, scarred, pantsuits, fisherman-chatting, calf leather shoes Mello, down with him. This newly broken up Mello that seems to have kept the bite from when he was eighteen and baying for blood.

“Is this where I leave you?” Matt asks. It was fun. Nothing like Brighton. Taranto is more scenic. The medieval and classical castles and fortresses on the southern coast. Nothing like Naples or the tourist corridors.

“I had a reservation with my fiancé tonight.”

“Are you asking me to marry you? You haven’t asked me on a date since Cafe Aquila in Rome.”

“You’re buying yourself a suit. I don’t care where. We’re going out.”

“If you insist.”

Snort. Hiss.

And so it goes.

[the-annotated-antichrist]

Act I, Track 03 - Through Dust, Through Rain

Song links: Spotify - YT Music - Apple - Tidal

In this track, we meet Helena Orsini, played by Lori Lewis, and her mother Sophia, played by Melissa Ferlaak. Lori needs no introduction to fans of the band, she's been one of their singers for many years. Melissa is also known as a metal singer - fun fact, both Melissa and Lori were the singer of Aesma Daeva at one point!

Left: Melissa Ferlaak photographed by Emilio Vaquer Right: Lori Lewis photographed by Tim Tronckoe

But back to the song...

In this track, Sophia is on her death bed and Helena, who has been taking care of her, is by her side to ease her passing. Sophia, whose husband is long dead, is an accomplished occultist and Helena is a faithful Christian, so both are sure that death will not be the end for Sophia - and indeed we will meet her again much later in this story. But for now, the sorrow of parting dominates the conversation between the two women.

[Sophia:] Dear child of mine, pain turns to destiny... Down from the mountains, in the form of a rose The thunder of oceans shall bring forth the ghost Of an infinite star that will rest in my tree Like the full moon of night Descending like me Such is my journey No matter where my spirit shall travel You will be there... [Helena:] Winter sheds its grief in snow Summer weeps It must be so Thus let thee live Unseen, unknown Light is the body and no more than a shell Releasing our spirits to heaven or hell While embracing my love to let go of your hand And to reach for a kingdom forgotten by man

The lyrics (or libretto, whichever you prefer) here, as will often be the case in BA, are closer to poetry than to regular conversation and narration. The lyricist, Per Albinsson, also has some history as a filmmaker - fun fact, he directed Therion's Summer Night City video - and personally I get the impression that he has quite a visual imagination. It's like he paints with words. In some cases, I think his words are more easily felt than rationally understood. Some lines tell the story, others are more akin to poetry, maybe meant to evoke emotions rather than communicate facts.

I would have liked to post a photo of Per as well, but I only found pictures that felt too private to use and/or did not credit the photographer. I will instead link an interview with him on YT.

In order to not write a novel for each song and also in order to not over-interpret the lyrics, I won't do much "poetry analysis" in these texts and focus on the coarser approach of storytelling, but I do think much of the imagery in these lyrics deserves to be considered, savoured, thought about, if you so choose. For example, you can follow the thread of dawn/spring symbolism through this entire work.

In the song, the conversation turns to a more practical matter next:

[Helena:] Forgive my sister, she would not come This travel, she said, you must do alone... [Sophia:] Bring to heart Johanna's name Through my blood you share the same To hold, to keep through dust, through rain

Helena's sister Johanna, whom we will meet shortly, did not wish to visit Sophia in her final hour. Why? As it turns out, Johanna is estranged from her family due to her strongly held religious beliefs - she is busy leading a radical Catholic sisterhood in Rome. The text in the inlay also seems to suggest that Johanna might not be there because she considers Sophia a sinner due to her magical work. The scene description goes into more detail, which sadly did not make it into the finished lyrics:

Sophia is fondling Helena's hand in hers. She utters that Johanna cannot yet accept her mother's deep insight in magical work nor in anything that enriches the human spirit. Helena stresses that she understands. The mother says that one day even Johanna will understand that humanity needs both light and darkness. [...] She asks Helena not to reject Johanna, to continually try to bring her into the real light.

The song ends with more poetry:

[Helena:] Say you knew Yes only you could grow the seeds of time Run and flow through silver snow Of mountains spring must climb From this hill, to waters still My heart will guide your way Love and wrath, my epitaph before your name I lay

If you remember the "seeds of time" image for a reeeaaaally long time, you will encounter it again eventually.

[aquagirl1978]

Can I request December 9th with clavis

I could have done so many things with this one, Clavis is so devious and mischievous. I hope you like where this story went.

A/N: This is part of @voltage-vixen's event 'Tis the Season for Smut 2.0 Content Creation Challenge

Prompt: December 9th - “Let’s do something that puts us on the naughty list.”

Warnings: Explicit, NSFW, Minors DNI

Requested by: anon

“This party is boring, I’m not amused one bit,” Clavis whispered in my ear, his hot breath tickling my skin.

I chuckled; it took a lot to amuse my lover. We were dancing, the music drowning out our voices; tonight was the annual holiday party hosted by the royal family – all 8 princes were present. The ballroom was dazzling; although this was not my first ball as Belle, this one was the grandest. The ladies were all dressed in the finest gowns, glittery like sparkling gems; the gentlemen decked out in their fine suits leading their ladies around the dance floor. But dancing among the nobles was not enough for my beast. I nodded, curious as to what amusement he had cooked up this time.

He took my hand, leading me away from the glitz and glamour, and after many twists and turns, we found ourselves in the throne room.

“Do you like me, Belle?” His voice echoed slightly in the empty, cavernous room.

Taken aback by his question, I stilled and took a moment to answer him. “I like you. I think I like you more than I should.” A slight blush creeped onto my cheeks as I averted my eyes.

He smiled, stepping closer and placed a hand on my waist. “Then let's have some fun.”

“What kind of fun?” My voice came out a bit like a squeak. One never knew what fun meant when Clavis was involved.

“The naughty kind.” His amber eyes were alight with mischief. “Let’s do something that puts us on the naughty list.”

He strode to the throne, sat down, and beckoned me, patting his lap. Despite my better judgment, I went to him, and found myself perched on his lap.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head against the high back of the throne. When he opened his eyes, he spoke softly. “I know you’re planning on picking my brother…” His gaze was glassy and on me, but it was clear he was looking straight through me, something else catching his eye. I turned my head slightly and sighed when I saw the rose; only a handful of petals remained. While I was not privy to their entire past, I was well aware of the history of competition between Clavis and Chevalier; however, Clavis was not wrong with his assumption.

“It would give me no greater joy, knowing that every time he sat in this seat, on this throne, that I…” He left the rest of that sentence to my imagination, a wicked gleam returning to those golden eyes, already forgetting his earlier musings.

“You truly are a hellcat,” I chastised him with a teasing kiss. He carded his fingers in my long hair, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss, his tongue tangling with mine. His other hand tugged at my shirt, the material falling off my shoulders easily, granting him access to fondle my breast.

“With everyone else busy with the party, we can do whatever we want,” he whispered against my skin as he left a blazing trail of biting kisses down my neck. I moaned at the thought of the possibilities; there was no denying the heat that was pooling in my core. There was a certain temptation in his words, one that I did not want to turn away.

He shifted me in his lap so my legs straddled his. “There, that’s much better,” he said, rewarding me with a kiss. His hands hiked up the skirts of my dress, one hand sliding between my thighs.

My breath was shaky as I rubbed against his hand, seeking further friction. “Someone’s impatient,” he teased. His fingers danced along the delicate skin of my thighs, providing a delicious sort of torture that seemed to never end. A single finger slid my panties to the side and traced a line along my slit, coating his finger with my slick, coaxing many moans from my lips, until finally sliding a finger deep inside me.

Drunk on lust, my fingers found his belt buckles, franticly fumbling until finally freeing him from the confinements of his pants. He groaned as my fingers wrapped around his already erect cock, slowly stroking him. With a sly smile, he roughly ripped my panties, removing them in on quick move.

“Good girls get rewarded,” he praised, his voice low and sultry. He put his hand on my shoulder, pushing me down firmly, impaling me on his thick cock. I cried out in pleasurable pain as he stretched me until he was fully sheathed inside me.

“Hmmm, you feel so good,” he told me, his fingers firmly planted on my hips, digging into my soft skin, he lifted me up, and pressed me back down, as he thrusted deep inside me.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, clinging to him, as his movements became erratic. Sweat beaded on my brow as my body bounced against his, the fire in my belly blazing throughout, its flames engulfing every inch of my soul.

Rapture rolled through my body in waves, my body so close to the release it so desperately sought. “I want to hear you scream my name,” he whispered in my ear. So I did, until all that came from my mouth was his name, and only his name. He held me tightly, my body close against his, as I spasmed against his shaft. His eyelids fluttered as he began to tremble inside me. “Yes, take all of it,” as he filled me with his seed.

“It feels good to be naughty, doesn’t it?” Clavis asked me once we were both dressed and cleaned up, a smirk spreading on his lips as he scribbled a note on a scrap of paper.

Ignoring his question, I glanced at the note he was writing. “This….what is this? Who can read this chicken scratch?”

"There's one who can read this." Clavis laughed a hearty laugh as he placed the note on the seat of the throne, a sizeable stain noticeable in the distance. “Consider it my calling card.”

[sirius-archive]

Dare or Dare (Prompt)

Pairing: James Potter x Reader, mentioned Sirius Black x Reader

Word Count: 2256

Warnings: Swearing, underage drinking, mentions of sex i guess?

Request: Could you do 13 and 15 of random with James or Sirius maybe? :) - Anonymous

Prompt: 13. “YOU SAID BE HONEST STOP HITTING ME!” 15. “I’m too sober for this.” “You don’t even drink.” “Maybe I should start.” 

A/N: First prompt finally finished!! please send in more! the list is pinned to my blog. Enjoy <3

***

It may have been cliche, but it was a common tradition for you and your friends to steal food from the kitchens, get drunk and play stupid muggle games late at night in the Gryffindor common room.

The fire crackled and popped, emitting shards of amber light that jarred with the dark shadows, creating a golden-warm atmosphere that encompassed you and your friends. You sat crossed-legged on the ground between Mary and Marlene Marlene while the boys - James, Sirius, Remus and Peter - sat opposite you, forming a circle that sort of resembled a seance. Littered in the centre of your ‘Friendship Circle’ (coined affectionately by James) was your plunder; a variety of puddings and treats and left-over sweets from a recent Hogsmeade trip.

Soon enough, two bottles of firewhiskey were brandished and passed around the group, and everyone was taking long sips from the bottle - everyone except for you.

“Boo,” Sirius jeered, “You’re boring.”

“Well excuse me if I don’t want liver failure,” you drawled, rolling your eyes, “Besides, six people sharing from the same bottle? That’s unsanitary.”

“What? You worried you’ll catch boy cooties,” Sirius teased, “Because last time I checked, you didn’t mind boy cooties when I saw you making out with Prongs in the broom closet last week. And trust me, none of that was exactly ‘sanitary’.”

You felt your face glow with embarrassment as laughter bubbled over the group. You glanced at James, at the little curl of his lips that wasn’t quite as mischievous as a smirk, but not as open and carefree as a smile. It was somewhere in between...like he wasn’t embarrassed of kissing you, of even being lumped in the same sentence as you. It made your heart swell, your cheeks no longer warm from embarrassment.

“Why don’t we stop harassing (Y/N) and Potter and get on with some games!” Marlene urged, gracefully saving you from Sirius.

“Yes!” Peter agreed, “I managed to find a load of fun muggle games in this book!”

He pulled out a book from his bag and brandished it before you friends.

“101 Party Games to Play at your Bachelorette Party,” Remus read aloud, frowning, “Some how, I don’t like the sound of that.”

“I do!” Mary said eagerly, leaning forward to get a good look at the book.

“Whats a Bachelorette Party?” asked Marlene, brows knitted in confusion.

“It’s a party where a bride and her bridal party celebrate her last night as a ‘single’ woman,” Mary explained excitedly, “My mums been to loads. She always comes back with weird penis shaped memorabilia.”

“Well, what’s the hold up, Wormtail?” James asked, grinning broadly, “Let’s crack it open!”

Peter dropped the book in the middle of the circle and sat back as Sirius opened the first page. A devilish grin spread slowly across his face as he read the index.

“This is brilliant!” Sirius laughed, flicking the page, “’Stick it in the Hole’ a game inspired by all those sex ed classes you pretended to listen to in High School. Two people are required, much like the real thing.”

“Muggles are insane…” Marlene decided.

“Dunk the Weenie in the Creampie,” Sirius continued, “The only time when it is encouraged to be bad at cooking. Simply tie a sausage to your waist with a short rope and try to dunk the sausage in the centre of a cream pie. Beware, this game is messy.”

“Yeah, I’m not playing that,” said Remus, disapprovingly, “I’m not sure what’s worse; having to embarrass myself by grinding on a cream pie in front of my friends or watching you lot do it.”

“Agreed,” said Peter, who was blushing furiously.

“What about this?” Sirius perked up, reading intently, “Bridal Truth or Dare. A sexy twist on a classic game. Players must reveal deep truths or suffer through scandalous dares. The more debauchery, the better!’”

“I’m down for a game of truth or dare,” Mary piped up excitedly.

“Same!” Marlene chimed.

“Me too!” said Peter.

“I have no shame and I don’t believe in regrets so I’ll play,” said James, winking at you.

“Oh what the hell,” Remus shrugged, sighing, “So long as the fire whiskey’s still flowing.”

“What do you take us for, amateurs?” Sirius gasped, his tone oozing with mock-offence.

Everyone turned to look at you. An unpleasant burning sensation prickled beneath your cheeks.

“Alright,” you sighed, grabbing a sugar quill, “I’ll play.”

Marlene and Mary giggled excitedly as Sirius dropped the book in his lap and skimmed the first page.

“Right,” he said, importantly, “If someone asks for truth, they have to answer or risk being forced to do a dare from the list of Extreme Dares.”

“I like the sound of that,” said James, craning to peer at the list.

“I don’t,” you muttered, glancing at Remus.

You knew beyond a doubt that you’d be asked about you and James’ complicated history by one of your friends and, if you refused to answer, would probably have to do something embarrassing with him like let him fondle your breasts or something stupid like that.

“Alright, so the eldest starts,” said Sirius and he grinned, “Which is me so suck it losers.”

Everyone groaned. Having Sirius start a game of Bridal Truth or Dare was going to be excruciating to say the least.

Sirius feigned a deep look of hurt, clutching his chest in pain, “I had no idea you guys thought so highly of me!”

“Hurry up, Padfoot,” Remus grumbled, taking a swing of fire whiskey, “Lets just rip it off like a band aid.”

Sirius’ lips spread into a wicked, calculating smirk. You knew that look all too well; it was the look of someone who was either barking mad or insanely clever forming a devious master plan.

Tapping his chin thoughtfully, he pretended to think for one attractive moment before narrowing his eyes on you.

“(Y/N), Bridal Truth or Dare? Quickly now, or we’ll all sober up and lose our nerve.”

You thought that was quite impossible for two reasons: one, everyone except you had had enough fire whiskey to drown their veins in alcohol and, two, Gryffindors never lost their nerve.

You sighed long sufferingly, “Alright, truth.”

“Bridal truth,” Sirius corrected and then furrowed his brows in thought. His eyes sparked again with a look of wild excitement, “Have you and Prongs ever reached third base?”

Marlene and Mary stifled their giggles. James shot you an apologetic look, grimacing at Sirius.

Something about the challenging look in Sirius’ eye rankled you, grating obnoxiously on your competitive streak. Usually, you were more rational, more ‘pick-your-battles-carefully’, but now, Sirius was closing in on your relationship-not-relationship with James, something you considered deeply personal. If Sirius wanted to play this game, then he’d better be prepared to lose.

“Padfoot,” James began, glancing at you, “I think that’s-“

“No,” you answered, defiantly, “James and I have not reached third base, and that’s only because we kept getting interrupted by you.”

There was a stunned sort of silence at the tone of your voice. Everyone was used to you denying your relationship-not-relationship with James, so your candor was like a splash of cold water in the middle of winter.

You broke the silence by snatching the bottle from Sirius’ grasp, “I’m too sober for this shit.”

“You don’t even drink,” said Marlene in shock.

You uncorked the bottle, “Maybe I should start.”

Tipping your head back, you took a long drag of the fire whiskey and winced as it seared the back of your throat. A moment later, a tickling warmth kindled in your stomach, and what felt like gold shot through your veins, filling you up.

Everyone was staring at you, shocked and speechless. You - Gryffindor prefect, one of the top performing students in the school, rule abider and teachers pet - were breaking a dozen school rules by drinking fire whiskey and admitting quite blatantly that you and James would have had sex if it weren’t for Sirius.

Their shocked expressions made you smirk.

“Are you lot going to keep staring at me or are we going to play?”

***

An hour into the game, and your brain was swimming in pools of intoxicated bliss. It was like peering through rose-tinted glasses - everything was hilariously funny, and your courage and impulsivity had been dialled up by about a hundred while your common sense had abandoned you.

Everyone had participated in an array of embarrassing truths and even more embarrassing dares. Peter had asked you what it was like to kiss Sirius (you and Sirius had a few…flings…in the past, before you had realised your feelings for James).

“Be honest now,” Sirius winked at you, “You don’t have to lie because ol’ Padfoot is here.”

James looked slightly amused, but there was a glint of something dark, something wild in the mosaic of his eyes.

You took your time, formulating a response.

“Eh, he’s alright” you shrugged, nonchalantly, “I’ve had better. A little overrated, if you ask me.”

That had been a mistake. Without warning, Sirius had launched into a wild tickle attack, scrambling toward you and poking his fingers between your ribs. Laughter erupted from your lips as you keeled backward, lying flat on your back as Sirius clambered on top of you.

“YOU SAID BE HONEST STOP TICKLING ME!” you shrieked, laughing hysterically, “SIRIUS! GEROFF”

James was the first to pull Sirius off you, smacking him around the head.

“Ouch!” Sirius yelped, but he smiled at James’ playful expression.

The hours ebbed away.

Soon, everyone was getting bored with Bridal truth or dare and instead decided to play Dare or Dare. You, Marlene and Mary had been dared to race each other stripping your bras off without taking your tops off. While you had done it a million times before, it had been significantly more difficult to do while drunk.

Remus had been dared to sneak into Filch’s office and leave him a love note and James and Sirius had been dared to kiss - which they did, passionately and unabashed.

“Alright,” James had smirked as he stared at you, “(Y/N). Dare or Dare?”

You pretended to consider your options, “Hmm…Dare!”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” James grinned, dodgy and lopsided, “Alright, I dare you to sprint past Dumbledore’s office, topless.”

You grinned, climbing to your feet, “I’ll do you one better.”

Slowly, while maintaining eye contact with James, you stripped into your underwear. James’ expression cycled rapidly between awe and arousal, and you couldn’t help noticing the way he squirmed, trying to casually cover his lap with a pillow.

Marlene let out a low whistle, startling you. You had forgotten about the others.

Grabbing your cloak, your friends all made your way to Dumbledore’s office, dodging out of Filch’s sight and weaving around Peeves, who was throwing furniture around in Filch’s office.

It was only after you watched Nearly Headless Nick sweep past Dumbledores office when you unclasped your robe and let it pool around your feet. Moonlight soaking into your skin, you stepped into the empty corridor and took a deep breath. The air was cool, prickling your skin with goosebumps. Your cheeks, however, felt hot and flushed from the alcohol and adrenaline.

“Go!” urged Sirius and, without hesitating, you ran.

Arms flailing in the air, you sprinted past Dumbledore’s office while your friends giggled madly. Once you reached the corridor, you turned around and raced back but came to a sudden halt when a figure stepped around the corner.

Severus Snape was standing at the end of the corridor, a look of shock and embarrassment creeping into his thin, pallid face.

You immediately took a step back. Severus had become your friend after meeting him in Diagon Alley before your first year at Hogwarts. You’d stopped associating with him after he had started associating with Death Eaters and you had noticed a definite change in his attitude toward muggleborns.

“(Y/N),” he said, softly, as he drank in the view of you, your skin glowing in the moonlight, “W-What-?”

James and Sirius stepped forward protectively and Remus draped your cloak around your shoulders, forcing you behind him.

“What do you want, Snivellus?” James spat, “Looking for another kitten to drown for Lord Stinkamort, are you?”

Severus’ expression contorted into a look of fury. He grabbed for his wand when you stepped forward, lacing your fingers with James’.

“He’s not worth it,” you whispered, and with another urgent tug, you pulled James away, Sirius following.

Perhaps because you were there, neither James nor Severus attacked one another as you retreated to the Gryffindor common room. James was grasping your hand tightly, still enraged by Severus’ presence, but that changed when you pulled him around a corner and kissed him deeply.

“What was that for?” James asked in surprise.

“You don’t want to kiss me?” you asked, playfully, “Oh, alright then…” you started to saunter off but James pulled you back into his arms and crashed his lips onto yours, stealing the breath from your lungs and the words from your tongue.

Panting as he pulled away, James looked around and spotted something to your left. You followed his gaze, where it landed on the Prefect Bathrooms.

“Fancy a dip?” he asked, a sparkle in his eyes.

“Definitely,” you smirked, tugging on his belt, “And this time, we won’t be interrupted.”

***

@siriusmuch  @beyoncesdragon​ @moon-zodiac @mflufflion​

[solar-bear]

Baby number 4

Ok so here's the finished smut I was talking about, this is the full version, so if the reader insert version seems a little off it's because it's missing the intro lol I know people probably aren't going to read this version but I wrote it for me. The reader insert version should be up on my main blog soon.

I think y'all know I've been kind of obsessed with DILF!Bi-Han lately so under the cut is 6 pages about Bi-Han convincing me to have another baby. There's smut, lots of it, so hopefully, you lovelies enjoy it!

I tuck Shìxuě into his bed, pulling the sheets up over his chest knowing full well we would squirm out of them before morning. “Goodnight my little pumpkin, sleep well,” I lean over and press a kiss to my seven-year-old’s chilly forehead. The only reply I receive is a large yawn and very sleepily slurred, “night mama.” Within moments the young cryomancer is sleeping soundly, cuddled up with his stuffed polar bear. I smile softly at the scene and brush some of the hair out of his face, I adjust the covers one more time and shiver involuntarily as the temperature in the room dips. I look over toward the door where Bi-Han is leaning against the frame with an unusual look on his face, reluctantly I leave Shìxuě‘s side and making my way towards the door. “What?” I ask, pushing him out of the way and securing the door behind me, “what’s that look for.” Bi-Han crinkles his nose, “what look?” His deep voice queries, trying his best to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “The weird half-smile you’re giving me,” he doesn’t give me more time to prod as his cold, strong arms wrap around my waist and pull me close against his cold body, forcing another shiver from me. “It’s nothing, it’s just, you’re so good with our boys, especially Shìxuě, so loving, so doting, it stirs something primal in me.” He rumbles softly as his large hand carcasses my flat stomach, “it makes me want more, I want another child with you, Sol. I want to have a little girl, beautiful and delicate but strong-willed and sassy, just like her mother.” His cold lips fall to my neck as he accentuates his words with chilled kisses, making me shudder. “B-Bi-Han, we already have three children, it’s kind of a lot already, you can’t be serious about wanting a fourth,” I try and reason with him, melting into his soft touches. “The twins are 11 now and can do so much for themselves, they could even help feed and care for their baby sister and Shìxuě doesn’t need much help anymore. He sleeps the whole night through, he can feed himself, hell he even does his homework without being told. Come on Sol, let’s have another baby,” he practically purrs as his cold hands sneak under my shirt to press lightly against my stomach as he kisses his way along my jaw, making his way to my full lips. I whimper softly finding it so hard to deny Bi-Han, “b-but I’m 37 already Bàixiòng, I’m no spring chicken anymore! I-it’s not always a good idea to have a child this late in life,” I sigh loudly as sudden and unwelcome thoughts of my Mother invade my brain, I know full well she was my age when she had me. “Sol you’re in great health, you’ve always been so mindful of yourself when you’ve been pregnant in the past, you’ll be just as careful this time. What’s really bothering you qīn?” He asks, his expression falls from a happy, lustful one to one of concern and something harder to read, the look of a man who knows you better than yourself. I pull him down the hall to our room, not wanting to keep Shìxuě up, I sigh as I sit down on our bed, “my mother had me at 37, almost 38 aì rén, I’m worried that if we have another baby, especially a girl, history will repeat itself.” I bite my lip hard, trying to stifle a cry and I fight to blink back tears. Bi-Han is next to me in an instant, his strong cold arms wrapped around me, pulling me against his burly chest. “You are a wonderful mother Sol, you’re not an alcoholic, narcissistic monster like she is. You won’t raise your older children and then decide you’ve been a Mother long enough and just ignore your youngest, leaving her to raise herself,” I can hear the disgust in his words as he soothes me. “I see the way you are with our boys, how much you love and adore them, how much you dote on them. There is not a shred of that woman in you, you love others more than you love yourself, there is no way another child would be anything other than another blessing for us,” Bi-Han kisses my temple and cradles me in his strong arms, rocking me back and forth. “You sure this isn’t just a bad pick-up attempt? We are married you know, you don’t have to

come up with elaborate rouses to get into my panties,” I laugh and bury my face in between Bi-Han’s massive pecs trying to change the subject and lighten the mood. I don’t want to dwell on my Mother or the past any longer, not when I have my own wonderful little family to give me the love and support I never had. “Tch. I know that. I just want to put a baby in you, I want to hold you down and pump you full of my cum until you’re sobbing and panting for mercy,” he growls lustfully his hands moving to fondle my large breasts. “Not to mention see these bad boys get even bigger, and your belly all swollen with my kid, that’s what I want qīn. If I just wanted to fuck you, I would, I want to claim you,” his lips pull back into his trademark smirk before they descend on mine. I moan into his mouth as my fingers tangle in his hair, how could I possibly deny him when he put it like that. I titter softly against his icy lips, breaking the kiss for a moment, “fine Bi-Han, you win, let’s have a little girl.” He leans me back as his huge body clambers over mine as he pulls his shirt up and off, his muscles bulging and flexing with all of his well-muscled glory. He’s practically beaming, grinning ear to ear before he tries to regain his cool facade, “that’s my good girl,” he licks his lips in anticipation as he leans forward closing the gap between us, our lips moving in a practiced dance. I moan softly as I allow his tongue entrance into my mouth, it’s so cold against mine, but I’m used to it, even without the cold though the way Bi-Han is kissing me would make me tremble with more than just desire. I tilt my head sideways and open my mouth a bit wider as his cold tongue curls and snakes around mine, teasing and luring me into his chilled mouth as my nails rake lightly at the base of his hairline. I suck provocatively on his tongue, earning a guttural groan from the cryomancer, his large hands squeeze my hips as he lays his body flush with mine to roll his hips against my clothed sex. I lose our battle as I gasp and break the kiss, pressing my hips up against the delicious bulge in his pants, “fuck,” I whisper tugging my shirt off hastily. “I mean we kind of have to unless you know another way to make a baby qīn,” he chuckles in a low voice and I can’t help but feel arousal pooling in my lower stomach upon hearing those words. I try and reply with something witty but the words die in my mouth as he rocks his clothed cock against me again and his cold lips find my right breast, the temperature difference causing my nipple to harden and pebble immediately. I inhale sharply as his teeth graze the hard bud as he works one of his hands easily into my loose-fitting sweatpants, his sweatpants; he sucks my breast into his cold mouth causing me to arch my back. Bi-Han’s skilled fingers slip under my panties and teasingly skim over my soaked folds, I curse softly as I feel him spreading the moisture across my hot sex, it’s ridiculous how easily he can get me worked up. “Ngh, Bi-Han,” I moan softly, trying to keep my voice low as to not wake up the boys, I bite my lip as one cold digit pushes inside my hot, tight hole. “Mmm, you’re so wet already qīn, you just love the idea of me putting another baby in you don’t you? You being at my mercy, using you however I want, filling you over and over again with my seed until your tight little pussy can’t hold anymore,” he groans against my ample chest as he presses another finger inside me, he doesn’t hold back as he immediately crooks his fingers finding my sweet spot with practiced precision. “As much fun as it is to try to conceive our daughter I can’t wait to see your swollen belly, knowing it’s my baby and only mine, growing inside you,” he growls as he pumps his fingers in and out, finding a steady rhythm. I can’t help but buck up against his fingers, his words making me wetter and wetter, “of course it’s your baby, who else would knock me up,” I tease him as I tense up around him as his fingers caress my sweet spot with sweet, gentle strokes. Bi-Han pulls away from my tit as his cold

lips graze my collar bone before sinking his sharp teeth into the sensitive skin, causing me to cry out loudly as his fingers thrust harder and deeper inside me and I can feel my walls fluttering with intense desire. He groans as he laps at the angry crescent-shaped wound almost apologetically as he laps lazily at the blood trickling down my breasts. The action forces me to cling tighter to the strong cryomancer, the brief, intense pain heightening my pleasure to a level that makes it impossible to think about anything but Bi-Han and his thick fingers pumping in and out of my dripping, mess of a cunt. “F-fuck, P-polar Bear,” I curse quietly as my desire continues to mount as more delicious heat pools in my core as the cryomancer switches back to curling his fingers inside me, stroking my sweet spot again with firm, rapid movements. He smirks at me and suddenly ceases his movements, “oh I don’t know, maybe you know some hot dilfs from the PTA you’re seeing on the side or something.” The cryomancer pulls his fingers from my aching pussy and holds them up for me to see, “but I doubt it, not with how wet you are for me,” he slowly brings each digit to his mouth, licking them clean with a satisfying smack of his lips. I flush deeply and let out a low whine, “fuuuuuck, come on Bi-Han, stop teasing me,” I beg him, knowing he loves hearing nothing more than the sound of my desperate voice pleading him. “Aww come on qīn you can do better than that,” he coos while pulling my pants and panties off with one easy tug. I puff my cheeks out at him and huff childishly, “you’re the one who wants another baby! Why am I the one having to do the begging? Shouldn’t you be begging me for a chance?

I’m the one who has to do everything! You just make it!” Bi-Han gives me a sheepish grin as he rids himself of his pants, his hard cock jutting out from a neatly trimmed patch of black hair. His icy blue eyes flutter close for a moment as he drags his hand along his impressive length, smearing glistening pre-cum all over his lust darkened head. “You’re right Sol, you are the one who has to carry it, but you already told me earlier we could have a little girl,” he rubs his icy cock along my velveteen, wet folds, teasing my hole with the thick head of his cold cock. “So please qīn, let me fill you up,” he pauses to slip inside me, his cold hand caressing my cheek, “let me paint that pretty little womb of yours with my cold cum,” he breathes out a low groan as he finishes sinking all the way inside my hot pussy. I throw my head back and arch my back as I feel my cryomancer’s huge cock opening me up, rearranging my insides to make room for him and fuck does it feel good, he always feels good, so perfect. I can’t help but cling to him as his throaty words echo in my mind, “oh Bi-Han,” I sigh lovingly unable to deny him what he wants, “more please,” I give in and go back to begging him. His dick feels even bigger and thicker than usual as my walls stretch and burn slightly trying to accommodate his length. I can’t help but feel almost drunk from arousal already as I gasp and whine his name while I feel the cryomancer’s thick cock filling me inch by delicious inch. I can feel him trembling with restraint as he struggles to retain control of his desires, not wanting to hurt or overwhelm me too quickly. He pants softly atop me as he finally buries his cock to the hilt inside my welcoming pussy. It feels good, so good, better than usual even, everything about Bi-Han right now makes me feel like every nerve is alight with desire, the knowledge of how much he wants me, how much he wants to have another child with me making my emotions feel like they’re spiraling out of control. I sigh blissfully as I squeeze my walls around him loving the feeling of him filling me so entirely, “let’s make another little one,” I whisper in a soft, sweet invitation. “You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to, every time I see you with the boys it’s all I can think of,” he groans as his cold hands ghost over my stomach while he pulls his cock out and presses it back in slowly. He rocks his hips driving his cock deep inside my tight walls, teasing and testing my limits as he fucks me slowly, passionately, it’s a rare moment, but I can actually call the act lovemaking. My breath comes out in visible pants as his lengthy torso drapes over my body, pinning me to our bed, my nails rake down his back as his cock fills me over and over again. I cry out as he begins to thrust slowly and deeply in and out of me as my walls hug and squeeze his cock with each stroke, pressure building up inside me. I whine and whimper his name softly as I try and pull him deeper inside my trembling cunt, each stroke of his cock brushing up against my cervix, so deep. Bi-Han’s lips curl into a pleasured snarl as he thrusts in and out of my wetness, his hands never leaving my stomach as he grunts in time with his actions. “Fuck qīn, you feel so good,” he praises, voice thick with lust. His words pull a loud moan from me and I immediately throw my hand over my mouth to stifle my noise, I screw my eyes shut as my pussy clamps down around his huge cock. I buck my hips up against his thrusts, pushing the cryomancer even deeper inside my wanting cunt, my thighs shake with effort and I know I’m not going to make it much longer. I pull Bi-Han’s head down to mine, frantically crashing my lips against his cold ones in an attempt to quiet myself as he keeps thrusting into me steadily. Each one of his thrusts hitting my sweet spot over and over again, I moan and cry into his mouth, each sound swallowed up by the cryomancer as his tongue dominates my mouth and his teeth tug at my bottom lip. I feel completely blissed out and oblivious to anything other than the cryomancer as

his thick cock makes it nearly impossible to think about anything but how perfect his length feels inside me, but some part of my brain still remembers to try not to wake the boys. My nails bite into the hard flesh of his perfectly muscled back, I gasp into his mouth as blood bubbles up from underneath my fingers as I tremble and shake with my impending orgasm. Bi-Han groans loudly against my mouth as I tighten around him, he breaks the kiss to whisper filthily in my ear, “you ready qīn, I’m about to breed you like the perfect little sow you are.” I bite my lip hard at his words, face flushing deep red as he refers to me as what you call a female polar bear, no doubt a nod to my nickname for him. I bite my fist hard to stifle my cry as his cock continues its onslaught of my pussy, my hips rocking in time as my mind goes blank, I feel my eyes rolling back into my skull as I clamp down hard around his thick cock. He’s so deep inside me I can’t hold back any longer as I give into my desires and cum hard around Bi-Han’s length, my body shudders and shakes hard as my greedy pussy tries to suck the cryomancer’s dick in as deep as possible. Blotchy stars dance before my eyes as I groggily try and force them open to look up at Bi-Han’s handsome face, his brows knitted in concentration as his grip on me tightens and he knows he no longer has to hold back. “That’s it qīn, you’re such a good girl for me, your perfect little pussy’s doing its best to pull my cock in deeper, it knows you’re ready to bare another of my heirs,” he growls against my ear before biting down lightly. His thrusts become shallow and so deep that I feel like he’s opening me up in impossible ways, he’s so determined to cum as deep inside me as possible. “Fuck, I’m going to paint that pretty little womb of yours snow-white, and you’re going to be a good girl and drink up every drop of my seed,” he snarls as his hips snap forward sharply, his cold, heavy body caging mine against the mattress as it creaks and groans under his efforts. I can’t even form coherent sentences as I hear his words, all I can do is whimper and whine pitifully as the cryomancer uses my body, “please, oh please Bi-Han.” My back arches off the bed as his cold fingers find the sensitive nub at the apex of my pussy as he rubs it quickly in time with his animalistic thrusts. Bi-Han lets out a deep, guttural growl as his hips finally still, burying his cock as deep inside me as possible, I whimper as I see his perfect abs contracting with his impending release. Frost spreads from under his fingers across my hips and stomach as his sharp teeth bite into the supple juncture of my shoulder as he quiets his roar of satisfaction. I press my hand against my mouth as my back arches off the bed, I cry his name into my hand until my voice is hoarse and tears prick at my eyes. I shake with exertion as Bi-Han’s final onslaught and release brings me to completion once more. I can’t help but give in to my baser instincts and desires as my walls squeeze and massage his huge cock desperate to milk every drop of cum from the cryomancer as my vision goes white. My eyes roll further back into my skull as my head slumps against the pillow, a combination of my tears and saliva soaking the pillowcase where it lies against my cheek. My body is wracked with great shudders of my blissful aftermath as my legs jerk and toes curl as I ride out the last waves of pleasure. It feels like Bi-Han won’t ever stop filling my spent cunt full of thick, viscous cum and I don’t ever want him to, it feels too good, too perfect. Bi-Han doesn’t pull out right away, I know he’s enjoying my warmth more than he’ll ever admit, he just groans with satisfaction and flops on top of me. “Ya know qīn, it might take a couple attempts to get you pregnant,” he pauses to skim his hands along my belly, “but I think I’m up to the challenge of it.” I don’t have the energy to push my behemoth of a husband off me as I just lay there, feeling his cock softening inside me as I lazily stroke his hair, “I think you’re counting on it taking

more than one attempt.” I laugh softly and shiver slightly, the cold rolling off his perfect body finally starting to get to me now that we’re no longer in the throes of passion. “For now though I’m going to bed,” I start, “I have a parent-teacher conference with the twins in the morning.” Bi-Han just grunts in acknowledgment before finally rolling off and getting comfortable next to me, “those little shits better not be in trouble again.” “Not this time,” I laugh, “though they do take after their father,” I tease wiggling my eyebrows at the now sated cryomancer. “It’s just the routine one they have every semester, and yes I’ve been checking their report cards, no problems there, thank god they don’t need help with math,” I laugh knowing I’m useless to help in that aspect of their education. Bi-Han yawns and pulls me against his body, tucking his head in the crook of my neck, “I’m looking forward to giving them a little sister to look out for, I think it will be good for them.” “Hmm, I think you might be right,” I cradle Bi-Han’s head close and curl up against him as I drift into a very pleasant and satisfying sleep.

[hoseokisgucci]

HIFTB (Hit it from the back)

GENRE: smut

WORD COUNT: 4.2K

PAIRING: Namjoon x reader

SUMMARY: OC moves into a flat, happens upon hot neighboour joon. Gets off to thoughts of said hot neighbour, and the rest is history.

WARNING: Joon hears her get off, theres a lot of consent in there, some slut shaming, some humiliation, some soft stuff. OC might have a size kink.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote something kinky in a long while. Lmk what y'all think. Hmu w requests, i wanna try writing some new stuff.

🐨

"I told you, it's a pretty good flat. I'm glad you're all moved in."

"You were very spot on with this one, thanks once again dude."

"No problem at all. I'll come over in a few days and we can have that binge session, alright?"

"Yes ma'am."

After finally breaking up with your boyfriend, ex-boyfriend now, (who was probably labelled asshat by your friends) you had to be the one to leave your shared apartment, which led to you needing a place ASAP.

Your univeristy friend was the one who had come to your rescue when you had needed a place to stay. At first, when she suggested that she had just the place in mind, you were a bit iffy. But after seeing the place, and the rent, you were willing to move in at any moment. And so you did.

Which brought you to this moment in time, where you have probably just seen Adonis in human form waiting for the lift. When you stop beside the tall serving of man, he turns to you and gives you a small smile, which brings into focus his dimples. And his face. Oh God. His dimples. His fucking face. Yeah, his fucking face would be good to see too. Shut up.

The lift opens, and he gestures for you to walk in first. He enters after you, and stands near the panel, expectantly looking at you.

"Oh, uhh 5th, thank you." You stutter out.

Surprise colors his face as he turns to you and says, "I didn't know my floor had someone this pretty."

Oh? Ohhhhhh.

Looking at him head on, your eyes twinkling, mustering all the confidence and sexual prowess in your being, you reply, "Well sweetheart, now you know."

For a second, his eyes look like they'll pop out of his head. But that moment passes, and he seems to collect himself as he chuckles and nods his head, muttering,

"That I do."

The lift doors open on your floor, and as you walk out, you turn around to coyly give him a look, twiddling your fingers in a wave. He just stands there watching you go.

Oh baby, nothing ever felt this sweet.

The next time you run into Adonis is when you're stepping out of your apartment and he's...stepping out of the apartment...beside you. The sound of you closing your door makes him look towards you, and he smiles.

Screw his face, dear God.

You smile back, hoping that your face doesn't look like that of a raccoon, and turn to face him.

"Hey neighbour," he says.

"Hey, uhhh, neighbour?" you say, trailing off.

"My bad. I'm Namjoon. How have you been?"

"I think, I've been, pretty okay. You?"

"I've been good too. You like it here?"

The way he asks this, it seems like he's hinting at something else entirely and not just asking you a basic question. The low timbre of his voice doesn't make it easier for you to not misinterpret.

Scrabbling for a reply, on autopilot, you say

"Uh yes, yes! I like it. A lot."

His smile turns into one of amusement, and he starts walking to the lift. When you don't follow, he turns to look at you, raising his brows.

"You comin' sweetheart?"

You bet your ass I am.

After running into your neighbour a few more times, you realise that this man, is truly some other being. Aside from being cute as hell and having that voice which makes anyone wanna strip, he is actually, personality wise, very nice. And kind. Everytime you've run into him, he's offered to carry your groceries or asked about your day or suggested going for a walk. This one time, he even came to your door to give you your mail, saying he went to get his and figured he'd get yours too. Other times, you've seen him at the florist, conversing with an old lady, once outside the library with a small boy, and once coming back, probably from the gym. All sweaty and flushed.

Looking at a sweaty Namjoon had triggered something inside your brain. It was as if, seeing him like that added another dimension to him in your head. Earlier he was just, nice hot neighbour. But now, now he was nice hot neighbour who can pound me into the mattress four ways to Thursday. How hot would it be, big palms holding you down, biceps flexing as he thrusted into you, skin glistening, lips rubbed raw? Very fucking hot.

All you could think about that night was Namjoon. And it was all your fucking fault. If you hadn't ogled him, then you wouldn't be wetter than London in the rain right now. And you felt like a weirdo, humiliated and dirty at the thought of what you wanted to do. Not just with him or to him, but also without him. Only if you didnt get off at feeling like this, your predicament could've been a little different. But now, after contemplating (contemplation being, you thinking of one very naked tall man), you had no damn choice. You just had to get one out while your imagination was thriving with your memory of him. So you did what you had to do. You teased yourself, fingers brushing your clit, light touches here and there. Your other hand cupped your breast, a small moan slipping your mouth as you squeezed. Your fingers left your core to traverse up and twist your nipple, gently. When you let out a sigh at feeling some sort of relief, you twisted with purpose, a sound of surprise leaving your mouth when the pain gave way to pleasure. Fondling yourself, your eyes closed and all you could think about was Namjoon. Oh, how good it would feel to have him touch you like this. To have him see you like this.

Would his eyes darken with desire, would he get off at seeing you wanting him?

With this question in your hazy mind, your hand went back to your core, where you first pressed your pointer finger to your clit testingly. Sighing in pleasure, you drew tight circles with your pointer finger as your legs fell open. As the pleasure increased, another finger joined in rubbing your clit. Your back arched, hips stuttering, body seeking more pleasure. With one last sharp twist to your nipple, you dipped your fingers into your mouth. Your imagination went wild at the thought of your mouth being filled by anything. You pressed your fingers to your tongue, eyes watery, mouth sloppy, as you moaned at the thought of Namjoon filling your mouth with his fingers, or his dick.

The hand on your clit pressed harder, but when you knew you couldn't get off with just this, you whined, the sound garbled because of the fingers in your mouth. You thrust one finger into your core at once, feeling the wet heat of your walls, and started pumping it. After a few moments, another finger was added on the way in , and the stretch made you feel good. As you continued pressing in and out, your hips moving to almost ride your fingers, your moans building in volume, the hand in your mouth came down to knead your tits. Both hands messily covered in bodily fluids, hips chasing an orgasm, throat raw from whimpering, you truly felt filthy. When you closed your eyes, you could almost see Namjoon's sweaty face, you could almost hear his groans and feel his cock pounding away. It was this thought, which made your hips move faster, made your hand squeeze harder, and before you knew it, you were writhing and cumming and moaning his name.

Little did you know that the centre of your fantasies was on the other side of the wall, in bed, feeling shocked, aroused and guilty all at once.

You woke the next morning, feeling tired and sated. When you remembered what your body had yearned for, what you had done, you were ashamed. Sure Namjoon flirted with you here and there, but maybe he was just being kind and you were just an idiot who was attracted to him. He was sweet. And very fucking nice. Last night, it felt like you crossed a very big line, and you were pretty sure you couldn't look him in the eye anymore.

After having breakfast, when you were working on laying out the plot for your next documentary project, the doorbell rang. You were pretty sure none of your friends had said they were coming over, so you were wondering who it could be as you opened the door.

Oh. Namjoon.

Your face flushed as you remembered your actions last night. You cleared your throat and smiled.

"H-hey, good morning."

When he didn't say anything, you brought your gaze up to his face, and realised where his eyes were. So, someone else is doing the ogling now. When his eyes met yours, they widened, and he cleared his throat and said,

"Hi, I was wondering if we could talk?"

Confused at his vague statement, you nodded your head. You opened the door wider, gesturing for him to get in. When he closed the door behind him, you turned to walk further inside but a hand gripped yours and yanked. Your yelp of surprise was covered by the thud you made when you were caged against the door, by Namjoon.

What the fuck. Just. Happened.

His foreams rested on either side of your head, one of his hands still holding your wrist. Looking at his face, you could only conclude that he looked wild.

Feral.

"Hey sweetheart, have fun last night?"

His low baritone sent electricity dancing up your spine, arousal stirring in your gut. But when you registered what he actually said, your blood ran cold. How did he know what you were up to last night?

As if he could read your mind, he continued, "You know, the walls are pretty thin. At first I didn't want to listen to your lovely sounds. I thought you were with someone, felt like I was being a pervert, you know? But as you went on, moaned my name, I realised what it was. Little Miss Sunshine was getting off at the thought of me. How sexy. You know what I was going to do?"

With bated breath, head turned down, you wait for him to carry on. But when you realise he was wants you to speak, you meet his gaze and whisper, "What?"

"I wanted to come here and show you how I would do it. Let you take care of the problem you gave me. You would have loved that, right?" His eyes twinkle with mirth and lust, a challenge on his lips.

It's now or never.

You surge forward and kiss the smirk right off of his stupidly attractive face. After a moment of shock, his pillowy lips start kissing you back, body coming impossibly close to yours. His hands trail down and wind around your waist, pressing your lower half to him. When his mouth parts from yours, warm breath filling the space between you, your hand grips his jaw, turning it the other way as you kiss his neck. When your kisses touch sensitive skin, his hands start roaming your body. One of the butterfly kisses you're trailing here and there turn into a hickey when you latch your mouth onto his skin and press you teeth in. The skin gives deliciously and you lave your tongue to sooth the throb. The hand on your ass squeezes as your mouth pops free from his neck, and you fall forward into him. His head dips to whisper in your ear,

"Take me to the bedroom baby."

Wobbly and inebriated, you pull away from him, and start walking towards your bedroom. As he walks in after you and comes closer, you put a hand on his chest and push. No words need to be exchanged as he stays where he is, and watches you get on the bed.

Tantalisingly, you grip your top and take it off, not once breaking eye contact with the man. His jaw ticks as he looks on, tongue teasing the inside of his cheek as you lay back, legs spreading, coqeuttishly batting your lashes at him. Your hands cup your breasts, squeezing them. When you grip one of your nipples and twist, head titling back, eyes closing and lips letting out a whimper, you feel him get on the bed, climbing his way to you. You want to close your legs, to try and save some semblance of integrity but he doesn't let you. He grips the back of your thighs, and urges you to wrap them around him. When he leans over you, you feel his hip press into yours, the onslaught of heat making you sigh. His hands urge you to leave your bosom and wrap around his neck, one of his hands brushing the hair out of your face. Tenderly, he holds your face and kisses you. Slowly, as if he's tasting you, devouring you. The thought you had last night, of him seeing you like this, makes a spark run through you and you grind your hips into his. At the sudden action, he moans into your mouth, the vibrations shaking up your core. He pulls away, fingers touching your face and asks,

"What do you want, baby?"

You contemplate while two of his fingers trace your lips, dipping in around your eager lips. When your tongue stroke his fingers, his eyes darken and he pushes his fingers deeper into your mouth, saliva coating them and making them wetter. As he feels the inside of your mouth, he says,

"Don't even wanna answer, huh? Just want something filling you up. Are you that desperate, doll?"

Of course your inability to form any thoughts, let alone words makes his eyes glint with lust, his fingers reaching the back of your throat with every thrust in. As your mouth opens wider to accommodate his fingers reaching deeper, your legs widen even more and you start grinding into him. He chuckles darkly, face hardening and says,

"Aww baby, just want to cum, don't you? Want someone to hold you down and fuck you stupid? But I haven't even done anything yet, and you're already writhing. You haven't even answered my question, such bad manners."

He ends his statement by thursting deeper, harder into your mouth, making even more drool spill over your chin, and leans down to catch one of your nipples into his mouth, and bite. You mewl, back arching off the bed and into him, tears brimming in your eyes. His tongue soothes your nipple as it swirls around it, and his fingers lessen their vigour in your mouth, stopping altogether and resting on the edge of your mouth. His face comes close to yours and he whispers,

"Tell me what you want, darling."

He patiently waits for you to come back to your senses, allowing the haze to clear from your mind. When you realise what he has said, you grind into him and say,

"Fuck me. Fuck me like you want to, like you've been wanting me."

The words make him crash his lips into yours, passion pushing him to take off your shorts. His wet hand leaves the side of your face marked with saliva and his tongue pushes into your mouth. When he tries to pulls away, you bite into his lower lip, and take it into your mouth. He stills manages to pull away from you, and sits up on his knees. Both of his palms come to rest on the inside of your thighs and massage the soft skin, eyes taking you in. He sighs and says, enamored,

"God, you look like a dream. You feel like a dream, and you sure taste like one."

Ironically, his words make you feel shy, given your state, and you whine out, "Just touch me already."

Your words make him smile, the devil incarnate, and he says, "But I did touch you, and I still am." His hands knead harder into your thighs, emphasising his statement.

You roll your eyes and huff, "If you don't fuck me soon, I'll do it myself, or get someone else to-"

Your words are cut off by a moan as he suddenly thrusts two of his fingers into you, body caging yours as his other hands comes to grasp your jaw into his hands, your mouth shutting up. The only sounds you let out are titillating whimpers. He speaks in your ear, voice darkening with dominance,

"For a slut moaning out my name last night, you sure talk a lot of shit. When I'm done with you, nobody will be able to make you feel this way baby."

When you clench around his fingers, eyes rolled back, he hisses, "Of course you like being called a whore. I shouldn't even be surprised. Desperate little minx."

He adds another finger, carefully thrusting it in and out of you, fingers slick. When your walls flutter and you moan at the stretch, he says, "Shit. Feels so good around my fingers. Can't wait to feel this pussy clenching and cumming on my cock. You want that babygirl?"

His fingers feel amazing inside of you. Longer than yours, hitting all the right spots, they make you want his cock even more. So when he asks you if you want his cock, you nod your head, which makes him loosen his grip on your jaw, and you open your mouth to let out a litany of whines, chanting "Please, please, please!"

His body straightens up again, and his fingers pull out of you. You lean up on your elbows as your eyes try and focus on him. And you see him take off his shirt, revealing toned caramel skin, almost glowing as his muscles move with him. Your mouth waters when you see his pecs, firm and strong, with nipples that are just asking to be latched onto. As he moves to take off his pants, pulling out a square foil packet from one of the pockets, your eyes focus on his bulging biceps and then his bulging thighs, and you just want to take a damn bite. You don't know from where, but you want a bite.

Coming back to the present, away from your visions of biting into honey glazed skin, you see him tearing the packet and pulling the condom onto his dick. Oh shit. Oh god. Thats. You're going to die. You're going to ascend to heaven. His cock is just asking to be sat on. Its fucking perfect. Fuck. If you weren't so delirious right now, you would've let his fuck your mouth, nice and slow and then hard and fast. But you want that cock inside of you. Now.

When he puts the condom on and strokes his dick a few times, eyes trailing up to your face, he smirks in satisfaction when he realises you kept looking at him.

"See something you like?"

"I'm seeing everything I fucking like, but if you don't fuck me right now, I'll make you watch me fuck myself."

He gets on the bed as you say this, grips your legs and yanks you to him. Eyes concentrated on your face, he says,

"As much as I would love to do that, right now, I have something else on my mind."

You sigh in relief when you realise that, finally, you'll get what you want. Only when you're expecting him to enter you, he taps the tip of his dick on your clit. The shock makes you yelp, and he does it again, harder. One of his hands grip your waist and fingers dip inside your cunt, as he spreads your slick across the inside of your labia and starts moving his dick up and down, just rubbing onto your core.

Wound up and sensitive, you arch your back when you feel him so close, and you start begging.

"Please, I've been good. Please, Namjoon plea-"

He thrusts into you, just a little, but the force of it, and his sheer girth has you moaning. The stretch that you feel borders on pain, but you know it'll turn into pleasure soon enough. Your hands find purchase in the pillow above your head, legs spread wide around Namjoon as he thrusts deeper and deeper, still not completely fucking into you.

"Since you asked so nicely, I should give a slut what she wants, huh?"

His words make you moan louder, and you start saying, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, yes, please, thank you!"

"So now that you've got a cock in you, you've remembered your manners?" His voice remains unbothered as his hips work harder to piston into you, your body getting used to him and allowing him to get deeper.

You don't answer him, his movements forcing out a staccato of moans from your mouth. When his hipbones finally touch yours, and he sheaths himself completely into you on one particular thrust, you moan so loud, youre pretty sure the whole floor heard it.

After that, his ministrations get a little bolder, his thrusts get faster, his groans get louder and his hands on your body squeeze harder. When one of your hands creep down to touch yourself, he smacks it lightly and says,

"You're not cumming like this baby. Don't you wanna be on my cock like a little slut, letting me take you from the back?"

You nod your head and say please, fingers coming up to play with your nipples instead. Namjoon slows his thrusts and pulls out completely, flipping you over, hands urging you to get on your knees. When you shakily get on your knees and arch your back, elbows supporting your upper body, you feel Namjoon get behind you, smoothing a hands down your back. Then his hands grip your waist, thumbs touching the dimples in your back and he fucks into you in one quick motion. Its like a dam breaks inside you, as you start downright wailing and cursing, hips moving in tandem as the head of his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust, slick walls fluttering around him.

"Fuck! Fuck yes! Right there, yes, yes, yes, oh God, yes!"

Your voice eggs him on, hips gaining momentum, thighs straining to give you what you want. One of his hands push your head down into the mattress, as he says,

"Looking so beautiful baby, just like a good slut. You're taking me so well, making me feel so good."

When you start mewling, and he feels you start clenching around his dick, he moves the hand on your head to start rubbing your clit. The added stimulation makes you move your hips back onto his dick, chasing the relief that you can almost feel on your fingertips.

"That's it. You gonna let go for me? Let me feel you cum on my cock baby, come on."

His voice, straining with control, mixed with the sound of your his hips slapping into yours, makes you clench and finally orgasm, back bowing and body coiling tight and then sagging as you let yourself go. His hips grind, and his fingers draw light circles on your clit to let you ride your high.

Once the bliss you feel wears off a little, and feel Namjoon still grinding into you, you turn your head to look at him, and you croak,

"Give it to me, please. Fuck me like a slut."

His pupils dilate, jaw ticking, and his hands find purchase on your body as he starts fucking into you in the earnest. The strength behind his thrusts makes your over sensitive core feel him even more, your cunt gripping onto him tight.

When he feels your warm wet heat enveloping his cock, his hips lose momentum as he chases his peak. You start moaning out, "Cum for me Joon, please baby, come on, give it to me, fuck, please!"

Its those words spoken out in your sweet, lust laden voice which pushes him over the edge, and you feel warmth fill you as he cums into the condom inside you.

He slumps over your body, arms still holding your hips, warm breath now hitting your neck. You wince a little as he gets off of you after a moment and pulls out of you. You turn over, body sore and sated as you look at him tie off the condom and throw it in the bin on your bedside.

His body still glistens like a glazed donut, face glowing and smile blinding as he turns to look at you and climb on the bed to cage you in his arms once more. In the most shy voice, he says,

"Hi sweetheart. How you feeling?"

Your cheeks redden as you hear his voice, soft and filling with adoration. You try to keep your voice strong as you reply,

"Like I got fucked four ways to sunday. You fuck like a damn beast. How the hell are you smiling at me like this right now?"

He laughs, "Fucking you four ways to Sunday can be arranged, maybe we can add a few more ways? And I just had sex with someone I've been crushing on. Please allow me to feel the sweet joy envelope me."

For a second, your eyes widen at his words, but as you feel him nuzzle into you, naked body now resting beside you, arm thrown over your torso, you can't help but let the happiness seep into your voice as you say,

"I think I can allow that."

[dudeandduchess]

Teacher!Obanai x School Nurse!F!S/O: Allergies (Fluff + Smut, Taro Commissions, Slight NSFW Scenario)

Summary: Obanai and his cute little girlfriend have a moment in the school’s infirmary.

Note: Thank you so much to the bby who “commissioned” this piece. You really helped me and Taro out; all of you did. Immensely. I hope you like it! 🥰🍉

Warning: Smut, Teasing, Blowjob, Deep throating, Getting Caught in the Act

***

Despite having so much fun at the job that she had been eyeing for a long time, (Y/n) had to admit that she did miss the rush she felt when she used to work shifts at the hospital. Over there, she always had something to do, and so many patients to check up on.

And while she was glad that she didn’t have any patients in the school’s infirmary, she couldn’t help but huff a sigh as she cupped her hands over her face and spun her chair in a circle— if only to alleviate her boredom.

She’d already arranged and rearranged all of the medicine and salves that they had stocked up— in alphabetical order, no less. And she had also folded and re-folded all of the clean linens that were inside one of the cabinets.

Safe to say that she had nothing else to do, as she had also done all of the paperwork that needed to be done yesterday.

“Ughhhh,” (Y/n) groaned aloud, spinning once more in her chair while hoping to knock something over— just to have something to clean up, for something to do.

When her chair had stopped spinning though, she finally took her hands off of her face and stared right at the floor— extremely tempted to spin once more, had it not been for the quiet sound of shoe-clad feet padding against the floor out in the hallway.

Immediately, she perked up at the sound, paying rapt attention to the door and waiting in anticipation for whoever it was going to be. Because she knew that it couldn’t have been just the janitor coming to sweep the hallway.

And when she saw the door open the tiniest crack, she felt herself leaning forward; only to have a wide grin make its way onto her lips when she saw her boyfriend’s mask-clad face. His eyes, as well as the tops of his cheeks, looked a little red— but she didn’t wait any longer to get up from her seat and open up a bed for him.

After all, he was supposed to be teaching a class. So, for him to have gone to the infirmary meant that it wasn’t a simple visit to see her.

Though, her heart still started beating so hard and fast inside her chest; at the mere sight of him. It was such an unexplainable phenomenon, yet it almost always happened when she saw him; especially when he smiled at her.

One day soon, she thought that he was going to do her in with how handsome he looked.

However, she shook her head in real time to focus on the task at hand.

“What happened?” (Y/n) asked, worry coloring her tone as she threw the blanket back and walked towards Obanai— wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and steering him towards the bed she’d prepared for him.

Judging by how he looked alone, it was because of his pollen allergies. But he usually wore a mask to offset that, so it didn’t explain how he got to the state he was in at that moment.

It wasn’t that bad, just something really unusual for someone cool and calculating like Obanai.

“My mask’s strap snapped while I was in the bathroom during lunch time,” He explained quietly, as he sat down on the edge of the bed and toed his shoes off. “And I ran out of that day allergy medicine, so I had to take the ones that put me to sleep.”

“Oh,” (Y/n) answered with an understanding nod, while she closed the curtain around her and her boyfriend; whom had also loosened up his tie before laying on top of the bed— and the blanket. “You should sleep, then. I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go home.”

She then sat down by his side, reaching a hand out and rubbing his chest affectionately; as an attempt to alleviate the discomfort he probably felt from his medicine flowing through his system. However, before she could pull her left hand away, Obanai laid his hand on top of hers; keeping her from moving any further.

“Stay,” The young man whispered, opening his heavy eyes a tad so he could show her those pretty, mismatched irises.

A snort made its way past (Y/n)’s lips at that, yet she still found herself scooting further up the bed so she could press a kiss to her boyfriend’s forehead. “I’m not a dog, you know?”

“I know.”

With those words hanging in the air, the couple lapsed into a comfortable silence; with (Y/n) sorely tempted to take Obanai’s mask off— since he had already taken his meds— but holding herself back, since she knew just how insecure he was about his features.

However, she made do with trailing her lips down to his mask and kissing his lips through it; giggling when his eyes lazily opened. And, just as she opened her mouth to playfully apologize for disturbing him, he had already grabbed her by the waist and pulled her on top of him.

It was just a good thing that she’d decided to wear pants that day, instead of a skirt, since it would have ripped the moment he set her astride his hips.

“Don’t tease me, sweetheart. I can still fuck you even in this state,” Obanai uttered gruffly, all while rubbing his thumbs in circles against her hips.

At those words, (Y/n) felt her entire body begin to warm up. Because not only did that give her more of an initiative to provoke Obanai, but it also made their previous activities on the same infirmary bed play in her mind.

Just the memory of how Obanai had eaten her pussy out— sucking her clit into his mouth and flicking it back and forth with the tip of his tongue— had the young woman clenching her walls to alleviate the need she felt bubbling within her.

It wouldn’t be their first time doing something so naughty in the school infirmary; so, it made her more confident as she pressed her cunt against his crotch, before beginning to grind herself against him— all to work his cock up into a sizeable erection.

“Fuck me, Obanai? Maybe I should take you up on that offer, so you can finally fuck me thoroughly.” It was nothing more than a jab at his pride— as both of them knew just how well he could fuck her— but it still drew out the reaction that (Y/n) anticipated.

Eyes narrowed in irritation, brows furrowed, and body stiff as he angrily pushed her down to straddle his thighs instead.

(Y/n) could only watch with rapt fascination— and undeniable excitement— as her boyfriend angrily unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly, and pulled his half-hard cock out from beneath his boxers. “Suck it.”

Instead of getting offended at the blatant command, a catty smile made its way onto her face as she lowered herself even further down his legs— if only so she could lean down and grasp his cock in her right hand, while the left one anchored itself to Obanai’s hip.

She then began to pump her hand up and down her boyfriend’s length, letting her gaze flicker up to his own as he watched her open her mouth and take the head of his cock between her lips.

The young man’s low exhale filled the quiet room, which only encouraged (Y/n) even more while she swirled her tongue around the blunt cockhead; only to suck even harder, as she ran her tongue up and down the tiny slit.

In response, Obanai’s hands flew to her head— gripping her hair tightly in his fists, all while resisting the urge to lift his hips up off the bed so he could push his cock down her throat.

But if he were to be honest, he would say that it was taking everything in him to not do just that.

He wanted nothing more than to fuck (Y/n)’s mouth— and her pussy— so he could show her just how thoroughly he could pleasure her.

And as if she heard his thoughts, the young woman removed her hand from the base of his cock, and used that to pull his boxers down even more to fondle his balls; cupping them in her palm, and gently kneading his sacs between her fingers.

It had Obanai’s eyes falling shut, while he bit down on his bottom lip to keep himself quiet.

Still, despite all of his efforts, his pleasured sighs still spilled from his lips— spurring his girlfriend on even more. She kept bobbing her head up and down his length, not fully taking him down to the hilt to tease him.

It was driving Obanai crazy.

Just as (Y/n) was about to pull back to rest her jaw, the sound of the door sliding open reached both of their ears— but her boyfriend’s reaction wasn’t to panic, especially when the intruder called out her name.

“(Y/n)-sensei?” It was Rengoku Kyōjurō, much to the raven-haired man’s displeasure. He had nothing against the History teacher, but he just had a knack of always coming at the wrong time.

Everyone in the entire school could attest to that fact.

(Y/n) tried to lift her head up from her lover’s cock, but he held her in place— clearly smirking at her from behind the mask— before pushing her down to earn a soft gagging sound from her.

“She’s busy, Rengoku. Come back later.”

[orbitariums]

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟏𝟏)

notes: y’all !!! this is the smut you have been waiting forrrr, and then some! lemme know yalls thoughts!! luh u. adding tags later! ♡ 

playlist ( always updating! )

warnings: smut!, unprotected sex (but be safe! also miss yn will not be getting pregnant. it ain't that typa story), cuteness and rainy days <3, talk about diets

word count: 14.3k

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧: 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

     When you woke up, your legs were entangled with Steve's, your arms out in front of you and his arms draped over your stomach. He woke up a bit earlier than you had, but he stayed there, not wanting to disrupt you or leave you. It took you a moment to settle into the day, the blur before your eyes disappearing slowly. Then, Steve's touch against your body registered, and you sighed, sprawling out before him, absentmindedly pressing your backside into his crotch. Your eyes shot open when you felt the very obvious and abnormally large bulge prodding into you that Steve was trying to withhold.

     Normally you might have tried to initiate something, tried to tease him even more, but even though the sheer size of the bulge caused a twinge in your stomach, you snapped back to reality easily. Everything became very apparent: where you were, who you were with.

     "You up?" Steve asked, his morning voice quiet and warm with a side of gruff.

     "Mmm," you sighed, turning over to face him. You smiled, fondling his face gently with your fingers. "Yeah. Morning."

Steve returned the smile, almost becoming giddy like a child on Christmas at the touch of your hand on his face and the sound of your slightly raspy yet dulcet morning voice.

     "Did you sleep well?" Steve asked, and you chuckled, patting his cheek once,

     "You're a gentleman. And yes, I did," you leaned in to kiss his lips, sweet and soft.

      You did it casually, as if you always woke up next to each other in the morning, but in reality it was magical. The touch of your lips against his was still so foreign to him, like something he was trying to understand and savor the taste of. And despite all your confidence you still had to work up quite the nerve to kiss him like this.

Steve blinked slowly, taking a good look at you, gazing into your eyes before leaning up against his pillow,

      "Big day. There's not much to unpack, but we're gonna be leaving here and going to my place. We check out in about three hours. If there's anything you wanna do, just let me know. I'm gonna let you get ready."

     "Okay!" you grinned, and sprung out of bed.

You got ready quickly, not wanting to miss a second of your day with Steve.

     All he could do was watch you get ready from the slightly ajar bathroom door with a satisfied grin on his face - you were such a beacon of light and he loved to see that you genuinely enjoyed spending time with him. And you were so cute getting ready, bouncing around on your feet and blushing your face, leaning into the mirror to apply your makeup, which came out rosy and natural when you were done. You didn't often apply a lot of makeup in the mornings anyway, and good for Steve, who liked to be able to really see your face. Then again, in his eyes you were beautiful no matter how you decided to look.

     At some point Steve gave you your privacy, and you came out of the bathroom in your outfit for the day- a tie front white blouse with a lacy black bra that peaked out from underneath, and a pair of loose fitting jeans. And of course, your given accessories - pearl earrings, a small necklace, and a few spritzes of perfume. Steve, as always, was pleased with your appearance, staring with wide, appreciative eyes.

You lifted your arms up, only showing more of the bra you wore beneath, and your tummy, chuckling,

     "You like?"

     "I love. You always look amazing somehow," Steve grinned, getting up himself. He approached you and took your hands in his, giving them both a squeeze. "I'm gonna get ready, then we can do whatever you like until we have to leave."

You decided you wanted to share breakfast with Steve the same way you had shared dinner last night, only a bit more casually and not as elaborate. Steve was down with anything you wanted to do, and even though he tried to apologize because you couldn't necessarily go out for breakfast, you refused to let him. When you got the room service, you ate outside in the same chairs as last night, but you curled up into your chair, pulling your knees into your chest as you ate French toast, fresh fruit and scarfed down a good amount of mimosa.

     "So beautiful being so far up here," your eyes sparkled as you looked out along the New York skyline, above all the business down on the streets, only knowing blue skies twinged with orange, the sun settling in the sky.

Steve looked out at the sky where you were gazing, and squinted in admiration, smiling back softly at you,

     "New York can be beautiful, despite what they say."

You giggled, shaking your head,

     "Believe me, some of my friends would have choice words for me if they knew I was in New York. They still haven't gotten out of their whole: 'west coast is the best coast' mindset."

Steve just chuckled wearily, spouting some of his wisdom as he looked out at the sky,

     "I can't say I believe in any of the rivalry... but I'm Brooklyn born and raised. Can't take it out of me. Even after all this time."

Steve's wistful voice drew you in- you wanted to know more about him. For once, he wasn't just a history project, but he was a human. Everything you learned about him only opened your eyes further, and you were a sucker for learning new things.

     "What was it like?"

Steve turned to face you, nodding slowly,

      "It was... hard. Parents died when I was young, I didn't have many friends besides Bucky. And honestly, I'm not one to pity myself. I made it this far, I guess. And I loved Brooklyn growing up. I was sick as a dog half the time, but the other half of the time I was spending it around the greatest places in the city. And getting my ass beat 'cuz I didn't know when to shut up. Sure, the movie theater got torn down for some mall and the place Buck and I used to go for milkshakes doesn't exist anymore, but... I had that. In the city I loved, and still love."

       You hung on to every last word of Steve's. Everything he said just rang true even though your life experience was nothing like his own. You were gathering that Steve did have a hard life, just like the papers presented, but he made it work in his own fashion. It was what had got him this far: his drive, his belief in himself and others. And although modern life wasn't something he was used to, he was taking it day by day. And he didn't say this, but it was much easier adjusting with someone like you by his side. You were the young old soul Steve needed, and a breath of fresh air at the same time. It was a part of the reason you were so delicate to him, so special.

      "Must've been hard. It doesn't sound like pity to me. I think you just don't like talking about yourself," you grinned softly.

     "Huh," Steve laughed. "You're right. Never have."

A beat passed, then Steve spoke again.

    "You have something," he uttered gently, leaning forward hesitantly until you gave him the go with your reassuring eyes. "Just here."

His eyes were soft and trained as he leaned in across the table, dabbing at the corner of your lip with his finger at the powdered sugar that had landed there. The food on your oblivious face only made you even cuter. And while the action was nonchalant for him, it felt so intimate to you for him to reach out and touch you so gently, to do something so tiny for you. You couldn't help the way your smile grew as you watched him dust off his hand afterwards, leaning back into his own seat.

      "You're honestly so cute, Steve," you sipped at your mimosa, and he chuckled goofily, shaking his head and looking down at his plate.

      "I- I don't try to be-" he stammered.

     Steve was so bashful he could hardly form a competent sentence, but all you did was laugh it off, eyeing him from the rim of your mimosa glass. You had him, for sure. Who else could render a grown man, especially him, speechless?

     In the time that you woke up and finished breakfast, the hours had passed by and you and Steve were ready to leave. Packing up again wasn't a hassle as you had only spent the night there and Steve was there to help. You glanced out the window, squinting your eyes before you left the room. Clouds seemed to be settling in the sky, hiding the sun that you had been admiring so highly just a few minutes before. You didn't mind though, in fact it didn't take away from your love for the New York City skyline. Sure, you had cloudy days in SoCal, but you were used to sunshine. This was refreshing, almost. The gloom was comforting, the heavy clouds seemed to close in on you and hug you. It felt cozy.

You pointed it out to Steve as you left the room, your fingers mingling with his until you held his hand gently.

     "Looks like it's gonna rain," you commented.

Steve looked out the window by the elevator and sucked his teeth, frustrated,

     "Ahh, this conflicts with our plans. I was gonna try to get us out somehow, but we can't really do what I planned if it's going to rain."

     "Steve, it's okay," you smiled up at him genuinely, squeezing his hand and stepping into the elevator. "I'm sure whatever you had planned was great, but I'd love to spend the day inside with you in your apartment. If I'm gonna be there for the next two weeks I might as well get settled in, right?"

      "You really don't mind?" Steve asked, wanting to make sure you really were okay with it all, and you nodded.

     "Yeah. When I'm with you, I have fun. I don't mind what we do."

Steve gathered the nerve to reach down and kiss the top of your head, the simple, sweet gesture making your body fill up with excitement like a balloon. The smile on your face only got wider. You wanted to keep count of all the kisses you shared - four thus far. You wouldn't admit it, but this was the most whipped for a man you'd ever been.

     "You're sweet," he praised you, and this time you were the one getting bashful, looking down at your feet.

      You exited the elevator and headed into the same secluded back area as before. Steve put on quite the oblivious show, carrying both your heavy bags to the car, his muscles flexing unforgivably as he reached up and easily put them in the back of the car. Normally you would've offered help but you had no problem leaning against the back door, watching him work his magic. He grunted as he stored away the last of your luggage, and that set your whole body on fire. You doused it out quickly though, when he turned and faced you with an incognizant smile, looking exactly like a golden retriever puppy dog. Steve turned you on, but there was something undeniably adorable about him that made your relationship far more than just sexual.

     "You ready?" he asked, squinting slightly.

     You nodded, smiling softly. As per usual, Steve opened the door for you when you got into the front passenger seat of the car. You wanted to tell him he didn't have to, but you stayed silent, because something in you told you that there was a part of Steve that did it subconsciously, still used to tradition and the art of being a gentleman. When Steve got into the car next to you, you felt your chest swell with excitement knowing that you were on the way to his apartment, and that this was still only the beginning.

     "I'm excited!" you locked eyes with Steve, and that feeling came bubbling up inside of him, that feeling that he couldn't resist you and the bright smile of yours that matched your luminous heart.

He started driving and you looked out the window at the streets passing by, taking in all the morning glory of New York once again. Steve kept stealing glances at you, your head nearly pressed up against the window as you drove past buildings and people. Every once in a while, you'd point in amazement at a particularly expensive or tall building, or point out places you'd just die to visit. Steve noted all of it mentally, resolving to himself that he'd take you to these places somehow, even if you couldn't necessarily be together in the public eye.

     You played soft music in the car, making small talk and mindless conversation during the half hour drive from Brooklyn to Manhattan. It was just as you were pulling into the lot in the back of the apartment that it started to rain, and not just rain, it started to pour. You shrieked with excitement when you ran out of the car like a giddy child, leaving Steve no time to open the door for you. In the rain, you couldn't help but feel free, spreading your arms out like an eagle and yipping. Steve seemed disgruntled, not wanting you to get soaked or even sick from the cold downpour, but you didn't seem to mind.

      "YN, you're gonna get soaked!" Steve warned, opening the trunk and starting to bring both your bags out.

     "That's what she said," you trilled, and you knew you were being childish, but you reassured Steve that you were fine. "Steve, it hardly rains where I live. I need to have this."

Steve shook his head, but he laughed at the reminder that you were a sunshine girl at heart,

     "You're crazy."

     "Okay, okay! I'll help, and don't try to get me not to," you sauntered over to your luggage, dragging it behind you while Steve followed, chuckling to himself.

     You were both soaked, and by the time you got inside to Steve's floor, you had tracked rainwater inside his house. It dripped off the sleeves of your blouse, off your shoulders and hair. But you weren't worried about that right now. You were glad to be inside Steve's apartment, the place you'd be calling home for the next two weeks. His apartment was nothing like the luxury penthouse, but to you it was even better.

     It fit Steve's style, comfortable and homey, full of browns and neutrals with dark wooden floors, and almost rustic in feel. Looking at the apartment, you wouldn't have guessed that it belonged to the same man who put you in a private jet yesterday, but it was still nice and spacious. It gave Steve that human quality, and you could tell that was probably what he was looking for.

     Steve watched as you walked around the apartment, introducing yourself to the new surroundings, and closed the door behind him.

     "Welcome. Hope it's not too dull."

You turned, still soaking, water splashing on the floor as you did so,

     "Never too dull. I like it. It's real homey."

     "Good, because we'll be here for as long as you stay," Steve nodded, remembering again that you'd be here for two weeks, which honestly felt like a long time. He wanted to make sure every second was satisfying.

      "That's fine with me," you smiled. "But uhm, I should probably change. I don't wanna ruin your floors."

      "You won't ruin my floor. Fair though, I should change too. We're both soaked." A beat passed, then mindlessly Steve added, "I can give you one of my shirts."

You paused slightly, not because this was something you didn't want, but because it seemed so intimate to you to wear another guy's clothing. It meant that you would be wrapped in his scent in the form of an oversized t-shirt or whatever he planned to give you. He noticed the way your demeanor shifted and looked up, brows raised inquisitively,

     "Is that okay?"

A goofy smile spread out across your cheeks and you nodded slowly,

     "Yeah, perfect."

      You changed in Steve's bedroom while he changed in the living room, and you couldn't help but linger a bit, looking around at all his things and what was in his room. It was a simple bedroom, not much in it except his bed, dresser, night tables, and a bookshelf full of hefty books he probably hadn't gotten to reading yet. 

      On top of his bookshelf was a drawing pad, but you didn't dare look through it - you knew how personal something like that could be. There was also a photo album with no photos actually in it, but he had tucked a bunch of pictures into the first page of the photo album. You smiled to yourself - you knew he'd probably been meaning to stock the album but just hadn't gotten to it yet. You noted this as something you could help him do while you spent time together.

You heard Steve shuffling outside of the room, so you came out of his bedroom and walked into the living room where he seemed to be setting up, looking for something to do.

     "Hey," he looked over his shoulder at you, occupied with one of the shelves in the living room. He looked over again, making a double take, this time with his brows furrowed and his eyes intense. "Hey," he repeated with some intensity, pausing to take you all in.

      He hadn't thought much about giving you his clothes to wear but now that he saw you in them, it was like he got the wind knocked out of him. His clothes draped around you perfectly, dangling down your legs and leaving plenty of space. His hoodie practically hung to your knees, and underneath you were only wearing a pair of cotton gray booty shorts. And not to mention, you had ditched the bra, so he could see the outline of your breasts through the hoodie he gave you, nipples poking through. 

      He was trying not to be so juvenile about the fact that he could practically feel all of you through your clothes - his clothes - if he were to touch you, but man did you pull it off. Besides, you had obsessed over the smell of his hoodie when you put it on, you wanted to bury your face in it the rest of the day, but you settled for putting the hood over your head instead.

And anyway, you weren't immune from the thirsting. You too looked Steve up and down, dragging your eyes along his figure, which was especially apparent in the t-shirt he wore that seemed to cling onto his muscles just the right way. And who could forget the grey sweatpants that hung almost explicitly low on his hips.

You both were thinking the same thing: "You have no idea."

     You cocked your head to the side, your voice coming out quieter than you'd intended,

      "Hi."

      "Uh," Steve cleared his throat, turning back to the bookshelf. "Sit! I was thinking we could play board games, maybe some cards."

      "I'm down!" you sat with a grunt on the pillow that was by the end of Steve's long coffee table in front of his couch.

      "Cool, so I've got Scrabble, Sorry, Uno..."

      Steve went on with the choices and you eventually settled on Uno. Towards the beginning you said it was a game of luck, but when you won the first two rounds, you started to spout knowledge about strategy and how Uno was a game of supreme genius. It was all in good humor, but Steve was actually competitive like you. 

     You griped at him, warning that you didn't want him to let you win, and he actually laughed at you, replying: "Come on, doll, who do you think you're playing against? We aren't friends right now." Steve's competitiveness was quite fun to see up close and even a turn on. It was game on. You were five games of Uno and two and a half board games in when you yawned, and Steve's ears seemed to perk up as he looked at you.

      "Tired?" he asked, and your eyebrows came together, confused. You didn't even realize that you had yawned.

     "Mm-mm. Tired of beating you, maybe."

Steve snorted, shaking his head,

      "You're hilarious."

      "Right?" you teased, making a face like it was obvious.

       "I do think we should take a break though," Steve sat up and dusted his hands off on his pants, and you refrained from making another sore winner joke, following suit and getting up yourself. "I can make you some tea and we can maybe watch a movie."

      "Sounds good to me," you grinned, following him into the kitchen.

It was still raining outside, and the rain ran down the small window in the kitchen behind the sink. You stood at the window, folding your arms against the counter and placing your chin on top, gazing outside as the rain poured. It was a dreary but cozy day, and who better to spend it inside with than Steve, playing board games with him in his hoodie?

      After putting the kettle on, Steve glanced over at you, your arms perched on the counter, looking out at the rain falling before you. He smiled silently. You were so cute, and he loved catching you in wholesome moments like this, when you were all to yourself, like no one else was there. He got a good scope of what your life was like when you weren't together through Snapchat and everything else, but now you were under such specific circumstances. In particular, you were with him. But in this moment, he could have a real life glimpse of what you were like when you were truly alone.

     He went to go pass by you, and you stood up, turning on your feet to face him, trapping the two of you between the island counter behind Steve and the sink counter behind you. You were so close together, Steve hovering you while his eyes searched your face, before settling on your own eyes.

     "Hey," you grinned softly.

     "Hey," Steve replied, dimples showing when he smiled and you both leaned in, closing the little space between the two of you and letting your lips brush together and then flush, skin against skin.

      The bristle of Steve's growing beard tickled your chin as you pressed your body against his, this time purposefully grinding your waist into the growing bulge as you deepened the kiss. Your lips together were soft and moist, mouths sharing the same breath. The rain seemed to grow even louder then, pattering hard against the window behind you, the skies darkening ever so slowly. You tilted your head, then Steve turned his, your noses sweeping against one another as you tried to find the perfect placement, the perfect pace, settling on this slow, passionate embrace of your lips.

      Last night the kiss had been desperate, almost hot and feverish although slow. This time the sensation was as if you were accustomed to the feeling of your lips against each other's, learning the curvatures of the other's mouths. It was unhurried and sensual, needing more but not digging desperately. It was just apparent what you both wanted.

      And you were all too wrapped up in it, your breaths becoming heavier and filling in the silence outside of the sound of the rain pounding on the window. His hands gripped the small of your back tighter, pulling you in closer to him, while yours explored both sides of his face. Your touch sent the most pleasant churning sensation down into his stomach, making that bulge in his sweatpants even more apparent. A quiet, faint moan left your lips, the sound of it sending Steve into a frenzy. You could feel him gearing to press into you more, telling you without words what you both wanted, revving to kiss you harder, until the shrill whistle of the kettle resounded in the room.

Five times you'd kissed now.

     You both pulled away, alarmed, but Steve still kept his hands on your waist, his erection still poking furiously against you. Just the bulge tucked away in his pants knocked the wind out of you - you couldn't imagine what it would feel like inside you. But now all those hot and heavy feelings were slowly sloughing away as you returned to innocence, feeling sort of flustered at how quick you'd both been to try to veer this congregation of your lips into something more. 

      Since that morning, something had been in the air. Maybe it was the fact that you were inside all day and it was raining outside, so it made you feel like there was nothing better to do than have sex, but whatever it was, it was getting to the both of you. And soon there would only be one thing left to do.

You cleared your throat, your voice settled although your face was frazzled, and you could hear the smile in your voice,

     "You should get that."

Steve seemed to snap out of it at last, blinking fast as he peeled away from you, nodding strongly,

     "Right."

     You bit your lip and sat up on the kitchen sink while Steve prepared the tea. As much as you wanted to help and be close to him, you had to cool off first. You and Steve both knew what you wanted, and you knew if you let it happen, it would simply happen. But you each wanted to hold it out just a little while longer. It was just a question of how much longer that would actually be.

     It seemed that you had enough time to compose yourself while Steve made the tea, asking you faintly how many spoonfuls of sugar you liked and if you wanted milk or cream, and you replied with your preferences. Steve walked over, handing you your tea, and leaned against the island behind him while you swung your legs back and forth on the counter in front of him.

He reached out his mug,

     "A toast."

     "To rainy days," you decided.

     "To rainy days."

You sat in silence while you took the first sips of your tea, delightfully warm and settling in your stomach in just the right way.

     "How about... I order some pizza, and we watch a movie," Steve suggested.

     "Deal," you bit your lip, grinning at him and hopping down from the counter.

The pizza came once you finished your tea, and during that time you had both been sitting together on the couch watching junk TV, like those fake court shows that you found yourselves unusually invested in.

Steve set the pizza on the coffee table in front of the couch and opened up the box, and you leaned in to give it a whiff.

     “Okay. I have a... kinda stupid question," you said after a little while, while Steve put pizza slices on plates for the both of you.

     "There are no stupid questions here."

     "I know, but it's stupid anyway," you bit down, wringing your hands together a bit nervously - you didn't want to come off the wrong way.

     Steve noticed how your whole demeanor changed as you turned towards him, cross legged and wringing your hands together, and he couldn't help but chuckle, trying to calm you down,

     "What are you about to ask me, doll?"

     You laughed at how weird you realized you were behaving, and shook your head,

     "I was just wondering, you know. Do you ever, like... have to diet?"

Steve actually burst out laughing, and you couldn't help but giggle along. You knew you were silly to think that he would actually be upset with you asking him something like that. And as he was laughing, you really relished the sound of his laughter. He'd chuckled before here and there and it brought you little bursts of joy, but here he was giving you a genuine belly laugh, sonorous and fully amused. It was nice to see him loosen up a little bit. He finally regained his composure, but a hand was still on his belly as he shook his head.

     "I can't believe that was what you were asking me. I thought it was gonna be something difficult and soul searching the way you were acting," he teased you, but then he placed his hands over yours. "You know you can ask me anything, doll. I won't get offended."

      "Promise?"

      "You have my word. Besides, I don't think I could ever get mad at you. To answer your question though... I guess I have to regulate myself. But, you know, the serum... gosh, it sounds so weird to say that... it makes things a lot easier. I can't just pig out all the time though, and I still have to train. 'S not something I worry about too much, but it's not like I'm eating junk food that often anyway."

      "Oh," you nodded, actually intrigued to hear this information. You didn't want to treat him like a Captain America encyclopedia, but you, like thousands of others, had very curious questions about him. It was just your luck that you could actually ask him these things, the most reliable source there was. "That makes sense."

      "Uh huh," Steve passed you a plate, topped with the cheesiest pizza you'd ever seen - it was true, New Yorkers didn't play with their pizza. "You know you don't have to diet though, right? Not if you don't want to."

Your heart warmed at Steve's unwarranted kindness. Of course he would think you were wondering this for yourself, and the fact that he checked in just in case made you want to squeal.

     "You're so lovely," you couldn't help but reach over and stroke his cheek before letting your hand fall back in your own lap. "I know. I really just got curious, that's all."

     "It's real cute," Steve commented, laying back on the couch. "Now, what movie do you wanna watch?"

     "Hmm... well have you ever seen Harry Potter?" you asked, your voice going up a pitch as you got suddenly very excited, realizing that if things went as planned and Steve liked the Harry Potter movies, you could spend your two weeks binge watching and rewatching them on your inside days, and watching even more movies with him that he hadn't seen.

     "I haven't. It's been written down in my little book for so long," Steve said, not realizing he let the existence of this "little book" slip.

     "Little book?" you raised your eyebrows, and he turned his head to face you, smiling sheepishly.

     "It's a little lame, but I keep a bunch of pop culture stuff that people recommend to me in this little notebook. It's how I keep up with the times. God, I sound like an old man."

     Your heart soared at the knowledge of this notebook's purpose. You found it so endearing that Steve kept a record of the things people recommended to him, even if it was a little sad that he still felt like he had to adjust. You wanted to pour suggestions into this little notebook and treat it like a bucket list in the two weeks you had together, without adding too much pressure on him. One of the things on that bucket list would for sure be to watch the Harry Potter movies in their entirety.

     "No!" you nearly growled, your voice raising louder than you had expected, rushing closer to him and putting your hands on both his shoulders. Steve's eyes were wide as he watched you, not expecting this sudden surge in energy. "Not lame, Steve."

      You often restricted him from deprecating himself, always reminding him who he was as both a figure and as a human being, and he appreciated that. But this time around you seemed extremely ardent and sincere, adding some bass in your voice as you tried to get him to see.

     "Okay," Steve nodded slowly, still wide-eyed and a bit shocked.

You blinked hard.

     "Not lame." You realized you were being intense, and relaxed a bit, but Steve had no idea how happy the knowledge of that list made you just now, and you never wanted him to feel like it was silly or lame. It was just a reminder that he was in a world so strange and new to him, and he was making the effort to fit in. That was all that mattered for you. "I'm sorry, it's just... I really find that very sweet. Literally never stop doing that."

Steve grinned, patting your knee to reassure you,

      "I promise I won't stop."

      "Good... 'cuz if you do I'm just gonna make you a new list," you smirked, and you settled back down, Steve shaking his head playfully as he put on the first movie.

     Your eyes glowed with excitement as the opening began, the notorious fanfare twinkling in your ears, and you scooched in close to him, wanting to cuddle. He obliged and placed his broad arm over your shoulders, pulling a plush blanket over the both of you while you snuggled your cheek into his chest. You'd cuddled the night before but you hadn't had the chance to really take it in. 

      Now you were doing just that, and it felt so right being so close to Steve, being so laid up like this. It was romantic. It was what couples did. And although Steve's heart was beating, trying to make sure he was doing every little thing right, you settled in immediately, your head on his chest calming his pulsating heart.

      He was quite invested in the movie. In all honesty, he'd heard lots of good things about the Harry Potter series, but he never took the time, because he never had the time to watch them. He was glad you seemed adamant on getting him to watch the movies and catch up on all the references he missed out on. And watching the movies was entertaining. But even better than just watching the movies was getting to be around you. 

     You snuggled into Steve like you were just meant to be tucked under him, and you weren't afraid to get close to him, your head on his heart and your legs in between his. Steve kept peeking down at you, your eyes glued animatedly to the TV as Harry, Ron and Hermione explored the dark halls of Hogwarts Castle. You even quoted the characters at times. And honestly, your commentary was the best part of all.

     You spent four hours sitting through the first two movies, just huddled in together, away from the rain, the empty box of pizza sitting in front of you. You felt safe with each other in the dim lighting of Steve's living room, alone together in the most intimate of ways. And while it was wholesome, being so close and locked in together was sure to make those feelings from earlier spring up again. It was in the background of both of your minds, though you each worked so hard to keep the movie and the innocent touching at the forefront.

      Steve didn't want to initiate anything until he knew you were ready, because he didn't want it to feel rushed. The both of you knew that your relationship was built on this very sexual and physical basis, so you weren't exactly shying away from it. But there was a difference in doing it online and doing it in real life, and this was something you both understood without having to say it aloud. So you were each tentative, because you both wanted it, but you weren't sure when it should happen or how to say it explicitly.

     Being locked in like this the whole day, though, when it was so dark and rainy outside, definitely got you both in the mood quicker. Your desires were unspoken, but they drifted in the air when you were together, even during these innocuous, wholesome moments. It was why when you got up from the couch to get ready for bed, you had this one thing hounding your brain, fighting to come up to the forefront. You tried to tell yourself you were just being a horny 20 something, but god did you want him. In every sense of the word you wanted him, and it made you feel a lot better about wanting to get physical with him. There were actually strings attached, and you wouldn't have accepted that if it were anybody else. But with Steve you were glad the connection went beyond the physical.

     But that physical connection? You wanted to plug into it very soon.

     "I think I'm gonna take a shower," you said after you got up from the couch, stretching a bit.

     Steve's hoodie stretched up your legs, showing the tiny pair of shorts you were wearing underneath. You followed Steve's eyes as they raked up your thighs all the way to your face. Flustered, he replied,

     "Yeah, that's- that's fine. I'll uh, clean up, and we can go to bed."

     "That sounds great," you smiled warmly, again feeling that cozy surge in your tummy and heart that reminded you that you had Steve all to yourself, that you were doing these intimate things like sharing the bed and wearing his clothes, cuddling while watching movies on a rainy day.

     It all honestly felt like the beginning of a relationship, without all the pressures of a typical relationship. The uniqueness of your situation made a lot of things different, but that didn't always mean harder.

     You had made up your mind about the physical intimacy, though. It was why you snuck that lingerie set into the bathroom when you got ready for your shower.

     As you showered, you mulled over your mind how you would approach Steve. You didn't want to catch him entirely off guard or take him by surprise. Your confidence reassured you that you hadn't been reading the signs wrong, that this was something you both wanted. You still wanted to approach this the right way. And although you weren't exactly nervous, you hadn't had sex in a long time, hadn't felt the touch of someone else's hands on you more intimately for a while.

     But, neither had Steve. In fact, he was sitting in his bed outside the bathroom attached to his room, his jaw clenched as he stared at the space ahead of him waiting for you to come out, his mind returning to that heated moment you shared earlier. He was a bit embarrassed at the way he'd reacted so quickly, but amazed at how fast you turned him on without even really trying. And he knew that it was in both of your minds, and he was thinking of how and when he could bring it up to you respectfully. He was beginning to realize that these things were easier online.

     You took a good look at yourself in the mirror after you had changed into the set Steve bought you, and honestly, you were digging it. You figured you'd just approach him outright, let him think about it and make it clear what you wanted - what you both wanted. You had done so much together through a screen. You couldn't wait for that to become real much longer. Steve had even said it himself: "I can't wait to fuck you." That moment was emblazoned in your mind at this point.

     The set fit you perfectly. You had tried it on only once before, in front of the mirror in your apartment, admiring how it fit your body, taking hundreds of pictures but not sending them to anyone, not even Steve. He'd see it when he saw it, you had decided.

     But looking in the mirror now, you felt like you were on fire. Steve had picked this out himself, so you knew it would drive him crazy. The white color of the cut out lingerie bodysuit was translucent against your skin so tantalizingly, and the way the straps at the bottom hugged up your waist highlighted the shape of your hips so well. And even though it was cut out, it left just enough to the imagination. The pink satin robe over it was just an accent, left slightly open just for show.

You bit down on your lip, doing your final primp and polish before you took in a deep breath and walked out.

     "Steve," you said as you stood in front of the bathroom door, facing him in his bed.

      When Steve turned to face you, his entire face and body changed. He hadn't been expecting this at all, and what made it even better was that you were wearing the lingerie he bought for you. The thought of you being in something he bought you made some part of his brain light up, the part that discovered new likings. 

     And god, you looked gorgeous. Your body could be seen in just the right way in the piece, and he couldn't forget the way it just barely covered your breasts, and the flesh right between your thighs. But more than surprised, he was turned on. That was why he wasted no time like he usually might have by being bashful and googly eyed. He was all those things, but he wanted you the most out of all that.

     "Wow," Steve said, dragging his words out. He turned so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyebrows raised as he looked you up and down, taking you all in.

You giggled, feeling Steve's eyes burning into you.

      You realized how long it had been since someone looked at you that way in person. Almost every night of the week, you had all eyes on you in your shows. But it just wasn't the same. There was never that special feeling. And with Steve, you knew his reactions were genuine.

       And the look in Steve's eyes, hungry in the needy sense and hungry in the commanding sense, nearly made your knees buckle. Just the thought of what was coming next seemed to have you throbbing. He seemed to have no problem making eye contact this time around, there was no sense that he was being shy.

     "You look... fucking amazing," Steve breathed out, letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding in.

And while you knew it was true, some part of you had you folding your hands together as if you were hoping he'd think that.

     "Yeah?" you asked, tilting your head and slowly shrugging off the robe, letting it drop to your waist.

Steve's breath got caught in his throat as you fully revealed the lingerie beneath, the robe pooling around your arms and waist. All he could do was nod before he found his voice again, gulping,

      "Yeah." He beckoned you to him, outstretching his arm. "Come here, doll."

      You inched towards him, unafraid despite how much the pounding in your chest may have indicated that you weren't. You understood your power, knew how to utilize your spectacular sexual prowess. You may have both been a little rough when it came to real life interactions, but your chemistry together was explosive. It would knock any awkwardness out of the park, or enhance it in a way that made the experience a lot less nerve wracking.

     You stood in front of him, looking down at him with lust in your hooded eyes as you took in all of him.

     "Take that off for me?" Steve's hand brushed against the robe. 

     His voice was low and teetering on the edge of desperate. You soaked in all that need, wasting no time with teasing like you usually might have, because you wanted this just as much as he did.

     You took it off, letting it fall to your feet on the floor. Removing the robe showed off your legs, smooth and elongated. He took in a sharp breath, his chest hurting from how badly he wanted you. He inched his hands forward, resting them on your waist and running his hands up and down the sheer fabric of the lingerie piece. The feeling of his hands on you was so different from the feeling before, because you knew exactly what was going to happen next, the realization burning in your stomach.

Steve took his time with you, his hands on you making it so hard for you to wait. He saw the way your eyes glimmered with desire and he grinned almost devilishly.

      "I know, puppy," he called you, and his hands lowered on your hips to settle you down onto his lap. Despite how wide his legs were, you straddled him with ease. He nudged his knee into your clothed center, pushing your legs even further and making you let out a loud huff. Steve let his fingers run along your cheeks as his eyes searched yours. "So goddamn beautiful."

     "Steve," you panted, and he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours and letting your lips meet in yet another kiss. Six times you'd kissed now, and you weren't counting all those cute pecks on the couch earlier.

     His lips sunk into yours with ease, both your mouths wet and hungry for kissing. Your bodies seemed to meld into each other's, neither of you very conscious of your movement, just knowing that you were getting closer and closer to each other. You could feel Steve breathing hard against your face, and the touch of his hands on your body felt like they were burning prints into your hot skin. You moaned into his mouth when his hands traveled down your back to cup your ass, almost tentatively, like he didn't know what to do with it.

     You wanted to encourage him to go for it, and you succeeded, because he squeezed the sensitive flesh, kneading it in his hands which were larger than life. You could feel his cock through his boxers, closer than you'd ever felt it before, and you couldn't help but whimper when you rolled your hips against his length, because the friction was so unbelievable.

      Steve's eyes nearly shot open when you rolled your clothed cunt against the erection still growing in his boxers, forgetting how apparent it was that he was hard, and forgetting that you would actually do something about it. Too many times he'd been left to handle things on his own. The fact that you were actually there to help him release all that tension got him going like nothing else. And he could feel the shape of you against his cock, feel your slick folds beneath what you wore like it was your bare flesh. He grunted in your mouth, eventually opening his eyes where they hung low, pulling away so your eyes met.

     "You do know what you're doing, right?" he asked, not as a warning or an expression of doubt but as a confirmation that you knew the things that you were making him feel.

You rolled your eyes playfully, your smile lazy and hazy eyed,

      "No, Steve, I'm grinding against your dick for no reason."

When you put it that way, it made Steve blush, returning to that bashful disposition for just a minute before he came back to the space he was in again.

     "I-"

     "Shh," you shushed him lightly, putting your finger over his lips, making him look up at you with almost innocent eyes. You shook your head gently. "Don't talk."

     You leaned in again, taking control of the situation as your fingers squeezed at tufts of his hair, pulling gently and summoning soft groans from his lips into yours, kissing him harder this time. Hard enough that you pushed him back onto the bed, him following under your lead, overwhelmed with the feeling of your body up against him, laying his entire body down.

     You kept on kissing, hot and heavy and full of touching, but it wasn't enough to satisfy the craving you both had, no matter how many times you brushed against Steve's cock, no matter how much Steve's hand creeped past your ass and his fingers brushed against your core, which was practically soaking through your lingerie. You pulled away from his lips with a pop sound, your face suddenly emerging from being buried in his as you straddled Steve’s lap, who was now shirtless and starting to get a bit hot.

      "Steve," you breathed heavily, trying to catch your breath. You needed to say it aloud. "I... wanna have sex with you. I just... I think we're both ready."

Steve knew that was what you wanted but he wasn't sure when either of you would actually advance things further. You watched him as he blinked, biting down on his lip.

     "You're- you're sure?"

     "I need it," you practically whined without meaning to, and fuck, Steve couldn't say no even if he wanted to - how could he when whining sounded so good coming from your lips, swollen and wet from kissing.

His eyes nearly glazed over at the sight of you on top of him, in that flimsy little piece, so frustrated and so needy, almost pouting. There was no way he could try to tempt you even more - he didn't have it in him to wait by teasing you.

     "You really can't wait? You need it that bad?" he drawled, not because he wanted to taunt you, but because he wanted to hear how badly you wanted him, the way you expressed it on camera.

You couldn't resist, not when he was running his thumb along your bare thighs the way that he was, looking up at you with a sort of unintentionally cocky smirk set on his lips.

     "I need you, Stevie," your face gave it all away, brows furrowed and your eyes full of desperation. You rolled your hips against him again like you were trying to prove it, nearly paralyzing yourself with the pleasure you felt just from the outline of his cock. Your legs shook and your jaw clenched. The sound of your pouty voice was almost agonizing. "You need me too."

Steve groaned at the repeated feeling, teeth grit as he decided to take matters into his own hands. You landed on your back neatly as he flipped you over with ease, now hovering over you. He was big and strong and his build was intimidating. He covered you completely and then some, and you quaked at how his body over yours almost cast a shadow. There was no innocence left in Steve's eyes, only burning desire and a need to control and be controlled. All that was running through his mind was thoughts of pleasuring you, making you cum around his tongue, his fingers, and his cock. Words couldn't express how much he wanted to bring you to that point and actually be able to touch you.

     "Fuck," he uttered out, his throat tight and constricted. "I need to get you out of this."

      A part of Steve wanted to rip it off, and another part of him wanted to keep some control of his senses and savor the way it looked on you. But he settled for burying his face in your neck, kissing you and leaving tiny little love bites to remind the both of you of this night. Steve's lips against your skin had you feeling so sensitive, the way he toyed at your neck and earlobe, making you shudder into his ears. Your hands flew to his back and gripped the tight muscle there, exploring the broad surface. The taste of your skin, that light sheen of sweat mixed with your natural taste had Steve aching for more - all he wanted was to bury his face in your pussy right now, then bury even more of him inside of you.

      He moved onto your chest, peeling the top part off with ease, reeling back to take a good look at you. You let out a sharp intake at the feeling of the flush of air against your tits, realizing how exposed you were to Steve, who seemed ultra focused on the curve of your breasts. You looked so beautiful, half naked, writhing underneath him, waiting for what was next. 

      He took one of your breasts into his mouth, kissing and suckling at your nipple and making you cry out for the first time, your eyes shutting closed at the feeling of his warm lips closing against the flesh. He carried on with this until your nipples were hard stiff in his mouth, reveling in the taste of you and the noises his mouth made against you, as well as all the pleasured breaths that left your mouth as your chest rose and fell.

     "So fucking beautiful, baby," he whispered kissing down the expanse of your tummy until he reached the happy trail.

      You wondered if he could feel the butterflies swarming in your stomach at the sound of his praise. You watched through blurred eyes as Steve's head ducked further down your stomach, reaching that v-line that was almost covered by the bottom half of your lingerie. You almost moaned when he peeled that off with his teeth, looking dead at you as he did so.

      "Steve, fuck, you swear you're not that experienced and then you do shit like this," you panted, though you couldn't stop your amusement from breaking through.

      He laughed quietly, but in his blue eyes there was more dominance than there was cheeriness. 

     "I do my research," was all he said, the assertive nature of it all sending those butterflies swarming again.

       He finally looked down at the bare flesh that was between your legs, a low groan escaping his throat as he did so. Your pussy was dripping wet and glistening, and though he'd seen it onscreen, absolutely nothing compared to the way it looked in real life. All he could think was that he was where he belonged, in between your legs. The sight of you made his cock twitch, precum practically leaking out of the tip and probably leaving a dark wet spot in his boxers.

You whimpered when you saw him looking at your pussy as it pulsed around nothing but air, needing him to say something, do something, anything. His eyes flashed up to you momentarily and he smiled slightly at the needy pout on your face, then back to your soaking pussy right in front of him. He couldn't say that he was all confident — he had a lot of things on his mind because he wanted to make sure his inexperience wouldn't hinder your pleasure. But some part of him also knew he'd make you scream.

     "Such a pretty pussy," he grumbled, and reached his fingers out, gathering slick from the very entrance of your slit and running it between your folds, eliciting a gasp from you as your toes curled from the unexpected sensation.

     "Fucking hell, Steve," you moaned, watching as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, tasting just the very beginnings of you and seeming to savor it.

He wished that he could lock away in his mind the noises he made come out of you, and keep on his tongue the taste of you. The sound of his name on your lips was so enticing.

      "That good?" he asked, genuinely wanting to make sure - he was still so sweet even with his head between your legs.

You ran your fingers through his hair, praising him like he was a good dog,

     "Mhm. So good."

     He tried and failed to hide the almost giddy grin that appeared on his face, then began to kiss and suck around your inner thighs, a relaxing touch that made your head loll and your eyes roll back in your head. Then that kissing at your thighs, those wet and chaste butterfly kisses became so much closer, his lips wrapping around your clit and giving it a soft kiss. He looked up at you for reassurance,

     "That okay?"

     "Fuck, yes, Steve," you cried out at that zinging sensation, desperate for him to really get going. "More."

     You pulled at his hair, which seemed to be a good indicator of what you wanted, and he smirked to himself, satisfied, and dove right in, not wasting anymore time.

The sound that came out of your mouth when Steve buried his face in your pussy, the tip of his tongue dragging along your entrance as he kept his lips suckling at your clit, was probably the most angelic thing Steve had ever heard. It had been so long since you'd been granted the simple luxury of getting your pussy eaten, and Steve was proving more and more by the minute that he was going to provide you with that luxury and more. The sounds you made egged him on, and he let that gentle prodding of his tongue become lapping, using his whole tongue against your wet entrance and lapping away, reveling in your bittersweet taste.

      You writhed around his head, your back already arching up off the bed. You were feeling everything - Steve's mouth at your throbbing clit, his wide tongue lapping fat stripes up your slit which was coated in your thick arousal, the bristles of his growing beard against your inner thighs, the feeling of his hands at your thighs, spreading your legs apart the perfect amount for him.

    "Oh," you moaned, and Steve moaned back, the vibrations of his moan running right up your core. "Mm, fuck, Stevie. Feels so fucking good."

     Steve breathed out heavily, his hot breath against your core adding to the many sensations you were feeling at the moment. With each movement Steve made, your hand tugging at his hair grew tighter, only revving him up further. He wanted to make every inch of your body quake with pleasure and know that he was the reason why, he wanted to drag out all the moans he could from you until you lost your voice.

     When he pulled his tongue and mouth away you whimpered, but he was right there making up for it, running his fingers along your clit in slow, tempting circles. He seemed to understand the way your pleasure operated right away, seemed to know exactly how to hold you over until you got to that point. And when he looked up, his beard and his lips glinting with your arousal, it was to your amazement that you remembered this wasn't just any old guy, but Captain America who was eating you out with such finesse. If that wasn't a sexual feat, you didn't know what was. Steve's eyes seemed feral with a glint of concentration, studying your face and the way your chest heaved up and down.

      "Feels nice, doesn't it, doll?" he asked, dragging his fingers up and down on your clit and teasing your slit, making your face flex in a needy frown.

    All you can do is let out a strangled moan as he keeps teasing with his fingers, running them along your pulsing slit until he dips the pad of one of his fingers in, feeling around until he slips it in entirely, earning a slight moan from you as his finger slides in. He savored the feeling of your walls, so warm and wet, hugging his finger, wanting to duplicate the feeling around his cock - but not yet. And fuck, just Steve's one finger is huge, more filling than your own fingers could be, reaching inside of you deeper than you could ever manage. You absolutely squealed when he dipped another finger inside, having to stretch you out a slight amount to even fit another finger. He raised his brows at the effort, realizing again how big every part of him was compared to you.

     Then he found a pace with his fingers, pushing them in and out slowly, gently, scissoring you open and stretching you out as much as his fingers could. You moaned as he fingered you properly, thrusting his fingers in deep and slow, in and out and curving upwards at the spongy bit of flesh inside of you that made you squirm each time he pressed his fingers against it. He studied your reactions, probing at that spot inside of you with just the right amount of pressure once he understood your body.

     "Yes," you mewl when he added his lips into the mix, lapping and sucking away at your clit, his own spit mingling with your arousal as the combination seemed to drip off his tongue and down his own chin.

He looked up at you, his eyes darker and lustier than you'd ever seen them, and you whimpered, combing your fingers through his hair in praise until he looked back down and closed his eyes, soft lashes pressing against his face.

     He continued with this, drawing all kinds of moans and groans from your sweating throat until he lost all technique, his tongue sloppily lapping against you while he started to fuck you with his fingers, still just as deep but growing faster now. He was messy with it, losing himself in the taste of you and the feeling of your throbbing heat, closing his eyes and just going to town on you. He was really getting into the groove of pleasuring you, disregarding technicality and neatness, which was the only request you had for him: to let go. His only focus was getting you to come undone, and when Steve made a plan, he stuck to it.

     "Oh, right there," the feeling of his tongue and his fingers against that spot had you spiraling in a good way — a sated moan bubbled up your throat, your hand gripping his hair hard, bringing a satisfying stinging sensation to his scalp.

Your orgasm came fast, your toes literally curling and your knees coming up, your feet sliding against the sheets. An open-mouthed, pleased moan escaped from your lips, white flashing behind your shut eyes as Steve drew the first orgasm of the night from you. And honestly, just the feeling of you coming on Steve's face was almost enough to make himself come, but he held back.

     "Oh!" you exclaimed, the only word that could escape your strained chest, trying to make sense of everything that Steve was bringing out of you.

Even as you were coming, Steve didn't stop, still lapping away at your juices and fucking his fingers in and out of you at an absurd speed, drawing out your pleasure as long as he could. But you were quite honestly winded, not sure how much more of this you could take.

      "S-Steve," you muttered, garnering the energy to stutter his name.

     "Mm?" he hummed, his lips still against your clit, the sensation making you come again. It seemed like it shouldn't have been possible for you to come twice in such a short amount of time, but Steve's fingers still buried inside of you begged to differ. He drew back right when that happened, his brows furrowed in amazement as he watched your arousal pool out from you, his head pounding at the squelching sound your pussy made when his fingers slid out of you. "Oh, sweetheart. You're so wet."

He looked up at you, and the combination of the look in his eyes and the crease in his brow would've seemed concerned if it weren't for the fact that he was just genuinely amazed and surprised that you came twice in such a short amount of time.

     "Mmph," you humphed, coming down and blinking, dazed.

     "You okay, doll?" he asked, laughing quietly.

You were still shaking, still in recovery, but at least you could speak now, loosening the grip on his hair and beckoning him towards you. He gladly hovered back over you, face to face with you yet again. He blushed at the amount of slick he could feel dripping all down your thighs and legs against his own legs when he hovered over you.

      "Come here," you cooed, awe shining in your eyes.

Steve leaned in and let you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him, sweet and slow, an appreciation kiss for what he'd done. You could taste all of you on just his lips. When he pulled away, he found your eyes boring deep into his, serious again.

      "I'm ready," you bit down on your lip, and your voice became quieter. "I need you inside me. Please?"

     "Oh, princess," Steve cupped your chin, and face, grazing his thumb along your lips. "You don't have to ask."

You held Steve's gaze, comprehending all the absolute adoration in his eyes, all of it held there for you.

      "So glad I got you here all to myself, doll," he murmured lovingly, vast hands stroking your face.

You smiled,

     "Me too."

He took in a deep breath as he stood on his knees between your legs, pulling down his boxers and letting his cock spring out. You'd seen it before, only once, and it was huge in person, veiny and throbbing, curved just the right way. The tip was leaking with his precum, the entire shaft engorged with a particular longing. You almost felt bad, you couldn't imagine how long it had been aching, because it was especially hard. 

     He noticed the bewildered look on your face. You were sort of prepping yourself with the knowledge that that was going inside of you. He couldn't help but wrap his hand around the shaft, stroking his cock slowly, only allowing that slight tug as a form of relief.

     "You got me," he grunted, holding back just for you.

     "Let me," you practically commanded, reaching forward to take him in your hands and feel him for yourself, biting down on your lip as you indulged in the feeling of your hands wrapped around him.

He took in a sharp intake of breath when you started slowly stroking up and down, but as much as he loved the feeling, he pushed your hand away at some point, shaking his head,

     "Later. Right now I need to be inside you."

     You couldn't stop the sinful grin that spread across your lips when he said that and dove back down, hovering over you yet again. His forehead brushed against yours as he positioned himself at your slit, just the feeling of his tip poking against you making you whimper loudly.

     "Shit," he hissed, teasing your folds in earnest now. He used his hands to guide himself, sliding the tip of his cock up and down between your folds, which were soaked in your arousal. This alone could make him come. "You're dripping, sweetheart."

You whined, bucking your hips up as you tried to get him inside of you for real, and he snapped out of it and realigned to your pleasure.

      "'S okay," he reassured you, and connected his lips to yours yet again, in that sweet, heart wrenching way because you only wanted one thing. "I got you," he promised, finally sliding the tip in.

Just at the feeling of the tip buried inside of your needy cunt, your eyes shot open and you looked up at Steve, who was doing everything in his power to take it slow. Your hand flung to his shoulder and you nodded, your voice faint and coming out in whispers like you were reaching for something,

      "More."

     He slid in even further, going past the tip. He wasn't even halfway in, and his shaft nearly filled you up, making you squeak out in pleasure. Meanwhile, a knot was nearly formed at Steve's temple as he focused on going further and not letting go regardless of how good you felt around him, tight and slowly being stretched out. He cherished the feeling of his cock going deeper inside of you, how wet and warm you felt, walls closing around him like your pussy was designed for him. It was more than sexual, it was euphoric, making his mind go blank as you wrapped around him so graciously.

     You on the other hand, were scrunching your eyes shut, overwhelmed with pleasure and need. You wanted him all inside of you, but you were adjusting to the feeling, his cock thick and long and filling you up without even being all the way inside of you. You were silent, besides the whimpers that left your quivering lips as he pushed deeper inside of you, slowly and with the steadiest hips he could manage.

     “You okay, doll?" he questioned, glancing up from where you were connected and at your face instead.

     "Mhm," you opened your eyes and nodded, though you were blinking away tears - the pleasure was insurmountable, twinged with a bit of pain as you tried to get used to his length.

     You were no virgin, but with how big Steve was, of course you needed the guidance. He seemed to understand that without having to communicate it, which made you want to joke about how cocky he was being without even realizing. But mainly, you were just appreciative.

     You kept your hand at his back for comfort, your nails lightly scratching the sweaty skin that felt like an expanse of new land to you.

     "Almost there, princess, I promise," Steve's voice was low and restrained, but he was trying to reassure you, stroking your jaw with his thumb and kissing gently at your neck, sending shivers down your spine at the sensation.

     He finally bottomed out, pushing all the way inside of you, and you cried out in ecstasy, your nails digging little half moons into his back. Your hands relished the feeling of the muscles in his back flexing as he made slow, tentative movements. You could feel yourself clenching around him, your walls stretched out to grow accustomed to him - not just his cock, but him. You had to adjust your whole body to him, this masterpiece of a man, and Steve felt the same way. You looked beautiful, a luster of sweat that could easily be mistaken for a natural glow painted on your body and face, your puckered nipples brushing against his own chest. His hips dug into your own as he buried himself inside of you, forcing your legs to spread out.

      He liked the way he had this sort of control over you, couldn't deny the fiendish delight he got from seeing you underneath him, so fucked out and almost delicate in that way, having to accommodate to his size. But larger than that sinful delight was the way his heart swelled at your beauty, and the fact that the thing he had longed for so greatly was finally catching up to him. The sound of your moans, whimpers, all those little pants you let out without realizing, he could finally hear in real life, in the safe haven of his own ears. 

      And being so close to you felt incredibly intimate - it didn't feel like he was hooking up with someone for a quick intake of pleasure, which was what he had sought you out for at the start of it all. It felt like he was with someone who he belonged with.

And he was inside of you. The sound of your strangled cries brought him back to real life. Not only was Steve big, his dick had the perfect curve, reaching depths and angles that no one had ever reached before - only your toys had this power, and it was still incomparable to him. He hadn't moved, he was just letting his body sink into you and become acclimated to the delirious feeling of being all the way inside of you, unforgivably deep, your weeping pussy throbbing around his length.

     "Fuck," he let out a throaty groan, his voice harsh and raspy. His mind had gone blank again, focused on only one thing. Your pussy was so tight, holding onto him like a perfect, firm handshake. He had to choke out his words, so enveloped in ecstasy. "That's... so-"

     "Mm, Steve," you blinked away tears, finally acclimated to the feeling of him all the way inside of you, needing him to move. "Move, please. I can take it."

     "You can take it?" he rasped out, looking down and directly into your eyes, finally moving his hips almost all the way out and then burying himself in again, feeling your wetness slide up and down his cock. "You like taking my cock?"

     "Yes, you know I do. It's so fucking good, Stevie," you moaned out, bucking your hips up as you yearned for him to create a rhythm, getting the air knocked out of you when he did the same thing, this time slamming back inside of you, his hips stuttering. "Oh fuck!"

You realized how loud you were being and your hand flew to your mouth without meaning to, but Steve was quick to remove it, shaking his head,

     "Be as loud as you need to, princess. Got the whole floor to myself."

You whined at the prospect, and from then on you held nothing back. Steve was fucking you now, settled on a slow, steady pace. He listened to every groan that left those pretty lips of yours, set on giving you your third orgasm of the night. And no one held out better than Steve. His endurance was impressive, you knew that. But you wanted to test him on something else.

     "That all you can do, Captain?" the title rolled off your tongue so sickly sweet, causing Steve to pause before he just glared at you and set off again, this time relentlessly, pounding into you hard and fast.

      You were caught off guard by the change in pace although it was what you were looking to pull out of him, and your mouth dropped open into an o-shape. This was nothing you could achieve on your own, and not even with anyone else. No, because Steve really was a supersoldier, showing off that speed you had been so in awe of even outside of the bedroom. 

     What made it even better was that he didn't seem to realize he was fucking you in an almost enhanced way, utilizing his powers in a way no one else could. His name seemed glued to your lips as you mewled out, nails scraping down his back like you were a cat and he was a scratching post.

     "Is that enough for you, doll?" Steve asked, his lips brushing against your ear as he buried his face in your neck, even bringing a thumb to your clit and rubbing hard circles that made you feel like you were seeing stars. You could only moan in response and he shook his head slowly. "I need a yes or no, darling. Or is it too much, hmm?"

Steve's dominating purr had you shivering, had your back arching up off the bed, feeling everything so intensely.

      "I-it's too much, but it's so - fucking good, oh my god," you blabbered, eyes rolling back in your head as your hands on his back explored the nape of his neck. You tugged at his hair in that way that seemed to signal that whatever he was doing, he had better keep doing it.

     He kept slamming into you, rough and hard yet somehow deep and loving at the same time, his hips snapping into yours. The bedroom was filled with the lewd sounds your wet pussy made each time he slammed into you, making Steve blush despite the circumstances. And even with the amount of pleasure you were in, all the dominance Steve had over you in the moment, you fucked him back. You'd never been one to just lay there during sex, or during anything. You liked to be in charge, too. 

      Steve was ultimately impressed by the way you seemed to sync up with him, inching your hips forward as you slid up and down his cock, your breasts bouncing deliciously with each motion. You were both all moans and groans and hearts swelled with adoration. It felt so surreal to hear the deep moans you longed for through the screen right here in your ear. In the midst of it all you kept staring down at where you were connected, drunk on the sight of him disappearing inside of you.

      "You close doll?" Steve asked when he noticed all the tell tale signs of your orgasm approaching: the way your breath sped up, the intonations of your moans, the way you clenched around him like you clenched around his fingers.

     "Yes, don't stop," you practically begged him, tears welling up in your eyes from the absolute intoxication you felt, a euphoric feeling that was so new.

     "'M not gonna stop," Steve chuckled, shaking his head slowly.

Even if he teased you or assumed a more dominant disposition, all Steve wanted was for you to ride out that pleasure. He didn't know if he had the heart to really make you work for it. And besides, he was getting close himself. He was surprised anyone could last very long with you to begin with, but he set his mind on your pleasure and that was exactly what he would be giving you.

     Steve knew he was done for when you wrapped your legs around his waist, slowing his thrusts and forcing him to be practically submerged inside of you. He switched from pounding into you to grinding his hips against yours, moaning darkly as he watched his cock disappear completely inside of you. He seemed to reach your stomach, rearranging your guts. You grabbed onto the back of his head, forcing his face into your neck. When you came, it was like you and Steve were colliding stars, creating a supernova that shone so bright, its light traveling all through your body. You were babbling curse words and praise, moans spilling out of you as you tightened around him and came on his cock.

     Steve rubbed gentle circles onto your clit as you rode the orgasm out, nodding and encouraging you, bringing you back down to earth slowly,

     "That's it princess, come for me. That's it, you're good. You're perfect."

Steve kept slowly pushing and grinding his hips inside of you, letting you enjoy your orgasm until he approached his own, grit teeth and all.

     "Fuck," he cried out, the loudest you'd ever heard him moan, your name tumbling out of his lips like a beautiful lyric.

     Steve didn't pull out though, he just slowly lowered himself on top of you, careful not to crush you, keeping his cock inside of you as his cum filled you up in hot, long spurts. You felt ropes of cum disappearing inside of you, biting your lip at the feeling. And what a feeling it was to come inside of you, the only place he wanted to be from now on. It made him feel like you belonged with him, like he had this special privilege that no one else got. You just lay there together, heavy breathing and silence until Steve finally moved, all his cum safe inside of you.

     "Fuck," he shuddered again, glancing down briefly at the mess he'd made of your completely ruined pussy. (Ruined with love.)

     The comedown left you both with positive thoughts, none of the profound melancholy that could sometimes settle in after sex. Finally it had happened. The thing you'd both wanted since day one, but had never actually expected to be possible. Again you were both filled with amazement at the other, at the knowledge that either one of you actually existed. Steve was laying on the bed besides you and you were both looking up at the ceiling. He glanced over at you, his cheeks still flushed.

     "Did you uh... like that?" he asked, back to the humble old Steve he'd always be, making your head snap over to look at him.

You chuckled, still out of breath,

     "What do you think?"

Steve grinned to himself, feeling accomplished. All he wanted was for you to feel good with him, in every sense of the word.

     "Good," he placed his hands behind his head. He glanced over at you and saw that your body was jittery, almost shaking, your legs especially. He smirked to himself, washed over with that fiendish delight once again. "Do you always shake when you come?"

You narrowed your eyes playfully, rolling towards him and kissing his neck,

     "Sometimes... depends."

     "Huh... good to know," Steve's lip twitched upward into a smile.

     "Mm. I'm too tired to get up," you breathed out, but you had to force yourself to anyways. "But I should pee."

Steve laughed,

     "Yeah. You do that."

When you came back from the bathroom after rinsing off slightly, you crawled into bed, not falling asleep immediately. Instead you turned to face Steve, your eyes twinkling even in the dark of his room.

     "Steve..."

     "Yeah, doll?" he replied.

     "I... I really like you, okay? And I know you know that already, and I know you like me too, but it's been a while since I've been in... anything with anybody. And right now, this feels really special. I... want this to be good," you choked out, trying to organize your words, because you didn't want to be too mushy but communication was always important to you and you needed to express yourself.

Steve's heart pounded with adulation for you, and he cupped your face in his hands,

     "Of course. Anything, YN. Anything, I'll do it for you. I want this to be good too. Fuck, I've been trying so hard to make everything perfect. I hope that doesn't take away from it being good."

You smiled. You knew you were in the right hands.

     "I know you have. And it has been better than perfect, and it's only the second day. I really love every second we've been spending time together. I just... I like you, okay?"

     "I like you," Steve repeated, and you had to stop yourself from tearing up.

     "Mkay," you nodded, and Steve squeezed your cheeks, making you giggle. "Good night."

     "Goodnight," Steve let you go, but ended up pulling you close anyway, the both of you facing each other as you cuddled together, Steve tucking you under his arm, fused together.

Steve didn't want to leave you in the morning although he had to go into the office, so he waited for you to wake up. And when you stirred, he kissed your forehead, waiting for you to come to.

     "Morning, sweetheart," he doted on you, and you swallowed, eyes blinking open.

     "Morning," your voice was all used up from moaning so much last night, and you could already tell from the feeling between your legs that you were going to be sore.

Steve noticed the way you winced slightly when you shifted your legs forward, and pouted slightly,

     “You okay?"

     "You're fuckin’ huuuge," you chuckled, sprawling out and stretching out your arms. "I think my cervix is wrecked. Like, indefinitely."

Steve, although he was thrown off by your aggressively dirty humor, laughed, rubbing his eyes. He looked down at his boxers under the sheets, then at you with a faux apologetic face,

     "Sorry."

     "Never apologize for having a big dick," you smirked.

     "Noted," Steve shook his head playfully. "Hate to have to leave you, but I gotta go in this morning. Just briefly."

     "That's okay," you smiled understandingly, stretching and letting the covers flop over, exposing your naked upper half which Steve glanced at tentatively, the puckered nipples and smooth skin. You were unknowingly tempting him to stay in, but he knew he couldn't. Besides, you'd need the rest - then again, he could just go down on you, that would be pleasure enough for him too- "Earth to Steve!"

     "Sorry, I got distracted," he muttered, and you chortled.

     "I noticed. Hey, but you should go, the quicker you leave the quicker you can come back, right?"

      "Uh huh. If you need anything, text me. I got something nice planned for us later after this."

     "Cool," you grinned wide, and Steve leaned forward to receive a sweet kiss from you. It all felt so domestic and lighthearted.

     "Alright, I'll see you."

     Steve got dressed and was out the door, driving slow on his way to the tower, his mind flashing back to moments from last night and this morning, fluctuating from burning hot to wholesomely warm. He couldn't help the etch of a smile on his lips even as he walked back into the building. He made his way to his office without seeing anyone yet, but Bucky was standing outside his door, leaning against it with a set look on his face. His arms were crossed and his eyes were narrowed - he looked like he had some serious business to take care of.

Steve raised his brows at the sight. Bucky was already a scary looking guy if you didn't know him, so the fact that he looked so determined right now made Steve think something was up, but he didn't think it had anything to do with him.

     "Hey Buck," he chirped. "What's goin' on?"

Bucky didn't skip a beat, certainty ringing clear in his voice,

     “I know what you've been doing.”

bonk. share your thoughts!

hope y’all loved this chapter <3

[arrivisting]

wip amnesty: versailles

Did anyone else watch Versailles?

[crickets, probably]

I loved the first season of that show. The WIGS. The DRAMA. The GILT. It helped a lot that @gofuckinggentle and I watched the first season together in Paris, after a day-trip to Versailles, and in the after-throes of Les Mis/George Blagden passion. It was tremendous fun: the right show at the right place, at the right time, with the right person (<3). Season two was a tragic waste of potential and made me furious, and season three was unwatchable. But I adored season one - it was just the right mix of silliness, EMOTION, history, and fake history. I went off the deep end reading Bourbon history and began a lot of stories set after season one (and then season two happened and murdered them). Here is one:

We're leaving, Philippe said to the Chevalier, and we’re never coming back. He meant it at the time.

There are different types of wounds. Philippe’s no doctor, but he saw enough of them on the field to know; some you live through, and some you don’t. Some heal clean, without needing much fussing. Others need hot iron or tar to stop the bleeding. Still others fester, musket-holes where fragments of grapeshot, mud, and cloth linger; unexpected scratches that suddenly belch pus when you press on the hot and heated skin.

You die fast, or you die slow, or you get better.

At Saint-Cloud, Philippe gives orders to open up only his rooms, and then, after a moment’s thought, the kitchens.

“Are we not planning to entertain?” the Chevalier asks. “Silly me, I packed silk, not sackcloth and ashes.” When Philippe stares at him, appalled, he shrugs. “We’re expecting the king, aren’t we? Sooner or later.”

“I’m in mourning. Tell him I don’t want to see him.”

“That won’t work.”

“I won’t see him.”

“You’ll have to,” the Chevalier says. “I mean, for the funeral–”

“I won’t see him,” Philippe shouts. He shuts his eyes for a moment. When he speaks again, he’s in control of himself. “I only want to see you.”

The Chevalier blinks, then smolders at him. The effect is more affected than genuine, but that’s what Philippe wants from him right now. “Ah. Shall we christen the place, then, my love?”

Around them servants – his servants, not Louis’ - have been opening the shutters, removing the holland covers from the furniture, bringing in armfuls of new linen. They’re all not looking at him so pointedly it feels like he’s being stuck with pins. Someone he pays to attend to the niceties has begun hanging black cloth over the mirrors. Philippe should care about the example he’s setting.

“Take off your coat,” he says, and the room clears. Eventually.

-

Louis doesn’t come to Saint-Cloud. Which is a pity, really. Philippe would have liked to bar him from his rooms with pikesmen. They could see how he likes it.

“You wouldn’t,” the Chevalier says, languidly amused. The way he says it sounds like he’s saying you should.

“I wouldn’t,” Philippe agrees, giving it just the same intonation.

“You should order your mourning clothes,” the Chevalier adds, like he thinks Philippe won’t take offense if he slips it into the conversation in the same careless tone.

“We’re not discussing that.”

 “But you like new clothing–”

Philippe says nothing, but he takes the Chevalier’s chin in his fingers and pulls his face close like he might kiss him just to shut him up. Then he tightens his hold until the Chevalier’s smirk turns into a grimace. “We’re not discussing that.”

“We’re not discussing that,” the Chevalier repeats, and when Philippe lets his grip relax he shakes his head, tossing his long blond curls over his shoulder. After a moment, for effect, he gets to his feet, brushing invisible dust off his cuffs in the way that means he’s piqued and he wants Philippe to know it.

Well, the dust could be real. Saint-Cloud has been shut up for months while the court festered at Versailles in the marshes. Philippe will allow him the benefit of the doubt this time.

“All the same,” the Chevalier says softly. When he speaks that low, Philippe is allowed to pretend not to hear him, and the Chevalier to pretend not to have spoken. “You will need to do something, my darling.”

-

Louis doesn’t come to Saint-Cloud, because he’s too awful to give Philippe the satisfaction of having his entrance barred, or to suffer the displeasure of crooking his little finger and not having Philippe obey. Instead, because Louis is awful, he sends Bontemps himself, and two royal heralds in most stiff and ancient costumes, little portraits of Louis set around their necks.

“Oh,” the Chevalier says, sucking in his breath with intent. “How charming.”

Philippe batts his nose fondly, like he’s chastening a lapdog. “Shall I get you one for your birthday?”

“A necklace, or...?”

“I prefer the one on the left, don’t you? I know how you feel about redheads.”

“Your highness,” Bontemps says, sounding and looking pained and disappointed. Luckily, Philippe doesn’t share Louis’s transparent yearning for a father-figure, so it has no effect on him. If he’s wished that Louis had some similar need for a brother – well, that’s the past, and he left that behind at Versailles. “His majesty wishes you to know that the funeral of Madame will be held this Sunday. You are expected.”

“I am busy,” Philippe says, and gestures at his surroundings like they speak for his overwhelming state of preoccupation.

Bontemps glances at the lake – calm as a mill-pond, a clear mirror for a clear sky – and at the chateau – shut up like an abandoned property, or a house under siege, a house in mourning – and at the Chevalier, who wiggles two fingers at him.

He says, “You must attend, your highness.”

“I must do nothing, unless my brother commands me. Does he command me?”

He wouldn’t dare.

“He does,” Bontemps says.

-

The journey to Paris is miserable. Philippe only manages to vent a little of his spleen by loudly ordering Cosnac to expect his return to Saint-Cloud within the next week. Bontemps, block of wood that he is, doesn’t change expression, but he manages to radiate the tranquil assumption that as soon as Philippe is back in Louis’s orbit, his plans will change.

If Philippe has to spend the next two hours shut up in a landau with his brother’s valet, he’s going to stab someone. “And it might be you,” he tells the Chevalier, who has started exuding an irritating smugness that his sotto voce avocations about the need for action have been proved correct. If he has to spend that two hours with the pair of them, bouncing over the ruts in the dry, cracking road with the Chevalier fondling his knee and Bontemps staring straight ahead, he’ll definitely arrive in Paris in more of a murdering mood than a burying one. “I’m riding.”

“Don’t you think you’re arriving under enough of a disadvantage without arriving in dishabille?”

Philippe ignores him.

-

His thighs are burning by the time they reach the Palais Royal. He’s dusty, the pervasive white dust of the road thick on his boots, but it’s not like he’s going to be receiving in these clothes, in any case. The guards at the Palais are wearing black. He’s going to need to outfit his own men properly. He should have done it at Saint-Cloud.

He hadn’t wanted to bring death into the house where he and Henriette had been young. That’s no excuse for ignoring etiquette.

“My rooms,” he says curtly over his shoulder, tossing the reins of his horse to a waiting groom in the second courtyard. Louis isn’t there to greet him.

He should have draped the damn horse in black; he should have ridden in with a black cloak that covered its hindquarters, a black feather in his hat as long as his arm, and a face nearly as long. That’s what everyone expects from him. Drama.

“Of course, your highness,” the waiting equerry says. Philippe doesn’t know him. Versailles has sucked up all the best personnel from the residences, the way it’s sucked up all the money from Louis’s coffers, all the freedom from France. “My condolences, Monsieur.”

It’s better that Philippe doesn’t know him; doesn’t know any of the bowing black-clad guards and servants and maids he passes as he stalks down the familiar corridors to his own suite. They’d been young here too, once.

 There are white lilies and roses in clusters in their accustomed vases in the first of his rooms. Philippe stops dead for a moment.

They’re fresh; cut this morning, from the perfection of their petals. Their scent hangs heavy in the air, spring itself despite the late summer outside. It’s sweet and thick, and so familiar his throat closes for a moment and his fist clenches on the flower he’d reached out to touch, crushing it.

Did someone have them put out on purpose? For a moment, Philippe wonders. A mourning lady-in-waiting who’d admired his wife, perhaps.

Louis?

He shakes his head, angry at himself for the thought. It’s an order Henriette gave with a decisive clap of her hands a decade ago, and never revoked. Part of the pattern of this place, the pattern they all follow, weaving something greater together. The court hasn’t been at the Palais-Royal since his mother died, but the curtains are still drawn open and closed each day by the staff that remain, in case Louis should come: the gardens cared for, the flowers placed in his rooms as part of the usual preparation for Monsieur’s residence.

-

“There you are,” the Chevalier says, sounding aggrieved. “Do you know, I had to be quite firm with the guard on your doors before they would let me pass? You shouldn’t have ridden ahead like that and left the poor old fellow and I in your dust – Oh, good, you’ve found something suitable.”

Philippe turns around. The long black train of his mantle swirls around his ankles. “I’m being thrifty,” he says, the word in his mouth an unpleasant thing. “Am I quite out of fashion?”

The Chevalier smiles. “You look magnificent,” he says, and touches Philippe’s cheek with a fingertip. He smells like musk and ambergris, the scent of him usually enough to make Philippe’s stomach warm, his cock stir. Strong, powerful. Male. “Down to your shoe buckles. Jet?”

“Black diamonds,” Philippe says, giving him an appalled glance for the suggestion. “Oh, of course; you weren’t here for Mother’s funeral.”

“This is what you wore then?”

“I didn’t have time to order new clothes,” Philippe says, and the Chevalier glances at him, but forbears to mention the past three weeks at Saint-Cloud, enough time to turn out a full trousseau for even the least endowed of heiresses. “That will have to be attended to. There will be –” he swallows – “Ceremonies. Formal visits of condolence from members of the family, dignitaries of the court.”

“And then the funeral,” the Chevalier says. His eyes have gone soft, honey-hazel, salt-caramel. Henriette’s eyes were darker. 

“And then the funeral,” Philippe says, and closes his eyes. Admitting that feels like one of Louis’s victories; a humiliating defeat. A painful thing, lodging in his throat like a stone. It was easier in Saint-Cloud to pretend that Henriette was still at Versailles, where he left her. Alive, only in the next room. He doesn’t want the Chevalier to look at him like that.

“I’ll be by your side,” the Chevalier says, and his voice has gone soft, too. Gentle. It’s not a common tone for him, although he’s not incapable of careless kindness when it suits him. Genuine tenderness is rarer still.

“I shouldn’t have brought you,” Philippe says, and opens his eyes. “You can’t be by my side. Not for this.”

The Chevalier looks like he’s been slapped. “Philippe –”

“We have to be serious. I have to be serious.”

“I only want to help–”

“You can’t.” Philippe smiles, unhappily. “This time is for family.”

“God help you, then,” the Chevalier says, in a tone Philippe's more familiar with, and takes a step back.

-

Henriette is dead. His wife died in Louis’s bed, the way she lived, choking on black bile and her own blood and then the air itself, thick with the smell of lilies.

-

As soon as Philippe is officially in residence, the visits begin. They continue with monotonous regularity for the next three days. Philippe is scrupulously well-behaved with most of the useless courtiers, lies rolling around their mouths like marble. There are a few who look genuinely sorry. He’s icily, regally Bourbon with the ambassadors from Spain and from Venice and from Genoa, from the German princelings and Scandinavias. With the cardinal from Rome. He’s a little less well-behaved with the two-tongued lying bastard from the Netherlands who condoles with him, saying how the stories of Madame's beauty and grace gone before her; what a loss she must be to France!

"She is a great loss to me," Philippe says. "She had already brought the greatest possible glory to France."

 "Truly, your highness," the Dutchman says, and turns the sweaty colour of one of his pale cheeses. Philippe can only hope that he reports the conversation to his master verbatim. If William of Orange doesn't understand his meaning now, he'll understand it soon. 

"Philippe," the Queen says, and kisses his cheek. Of course she looks good in mourning. She's Spanish. She's at her most comfortable in a black mantilla and clutching a crucifix. 

Marie-Therese fills the formal role of queen admirably in court ceremonials, but she draws back her dignified skirts from the day-to-day of the court, the theatricals and the dances and the back-biting. It was Henriette's responsibility to be the female energy of the court, at the heart of each banquet, dancing the lead of each masque and court ballet. Louis overflows with meaning, produces it in excess, and one wife alone isn't enough to channel it for him, to fill all roles female for France the way Louis fills all male roles.

It'll be the Montespan's job, soon, if Philippe knows his brother - and he does. The women themselves are interchangeable to Louis. The work goes on.

"Sister," Philippe says, and kisses her cheek in turn. The lace of her veil is gritty under his lips. 

Marie-Therese regards him soberly when he draws back. She doesn't like him. Philippe's always known that she doesn't approve of him, even before she made it clear in the regency conseil chamber.

She looks tired. Her face is drawn more tightly than usual, her dark eyes heavy. It would touch Philippe, if he thought it was truly for Henriette. "My husband sends his regards."

"Funny, then, that he sends them through you," Philippe says.

Marie-Therese stares at him. People think Louis has poise, but he's easy enough to upset if you know his weak places and aren't afraid to put your fingers in them - which, in all fairness, most people are. Louis has nothing on his wife. "He has been otherwise engaged."

"I do believe I could put money on just how he's been engaging himself," Philippe says. "How is dear Athénaïs?"

"She is well," Marie-Therese says. "And the Chevalier de Lorraine?"

 "Prostrate with grief."

"Henriette is a great loss." 

"It was her left side," Philippe says. "I was trying to help. It was her left."

Marie-Therese’s face, still and regal as a wooden Madonna, doesn’t change. He can’t read in her face whether she believes him or not. He wants to shake her until a real emotion comes out. “It’s in God’s hands now.”

“You of all people should know better than to confuse the king with God,” he says.

-

 “Your highness,” Masson says. Her hands are clutched behind her back. She really is absurdly plain, brown from the sun and strained from whatever books she spends her time on. The male attire makes her look plainer. “Monsieur.”

There’s some kind of irony in the fact that Louis has made a pet of this girl dressed in boy’s clothing, but treats Philippe with such colossal scorn over his female finery. What’s her actual name? He can’t ask her that. Louis has forbidden it. The king states she is a man, and – voila! She is a man.  “Monsieur Masson.”

“I wanted to tell you how sorry I am.” Her eyes are earnest and blue in her simple face. Far too earnest for Louis’s court. “The damage done by the poison was simply too much. I wished so much – but I did all that could be done for her highness.”

“I’m sure you did,” Philippe says lightly. He holds his hand out to her to be kissed and looks pointedly to his left. “I thank you for your service.”

She doesn’t move.

Honestly.

“Etiquette,” Philippe says, “for male members of the King’s household, states that you go to one knee when dismissed by a son of France, mutter ‘It was my honor, your highness,’ kiss my rings, and get to your feet in one smooth motion. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Come now.”

“I came to make my report to you,” the boy-girl says, hands still clenched behind her. “About Madame la Duchesse’s death.”

“I was there. I know what happened.”

“Yes, your highness,” Masson says. Her eyes are still too sorry. He remembers them from that night.

What a horrid, intimate vigil it had been.

Henriette’s left hand in his, her blood gurgling in her throat; Louis on the other side of the bed, holding her right. She’d reached for him first, of course. Philippe had been the afterthought, her gesture to him the last attempt in a lifetime to balance the equation belatedly.

“You left the court after her highness’s death -"

 “I was there while she was alive.”

“Yes, your highness. What I meant is that you were not there to receive my report on her death.”

“You report to Louis.”

“I must also report to you.”

“Well, that’s a new line,” Philippe says. He recrosses his legs, one gleaming shin in its black silk stocking replacing its partner in the ascendant. “I assume he told you to come here today. When is my dear brother planning to make his own sympathy call?”

Masson says nothing. What can someone outside their particular knot of Bourbon blood and loyalty and fear say? It’s best to say nothing at all. Philippe would approve, if he didn’t read her adamant loyalty to Louis into her strained face.

Louis trusts her. How unfair that she seems to be worthy of it.

 “Well?”

 “I conducted the autopsy on Madame la Duchesse, on the king’s orders. The stomach was flooded with a fermented bile, and the organs of the abdominal cavity were in an advanced state of gangrene –”

“Stop,” Philippe says. 

He’s going to be sick. The room swims. His shoe-buckles glisten up at him, the dark diamonds in their silver settings performing marvelous feats of multiplication, dividing into twos and fours and eights.

Masson is holding his arm and saying, “Keep your head low, your highness. Take a full breath. And another. Do you have any scent?”

He needs her to stop touching him. No wonder she came into his apartments with her hands behind her back. Those hands had cut Henriette apart and opened her for study, had exposed the shadowy places in her heart, the secrets and the sadness. 

Masson’s advice helps, and after a few lungfuls Philippe has a hold on himself enough to wave her aside. “Finish your report. It was poison?”

“Antimony,” Masson says. She’s still too close, still watching him as though he’s her patient, but she drops back into her report. “As we had suspected, but my tests have now confirmed it. She would have felt pain in her right, your highness, as well as her left. I could not have saved her once the poison was ingested.” That helps, somewhat; and not at all. “That is my private report, known to the king and the queen, and to Marchal and Louvois. His majesty has had it given out that her highness died of a colic in an attack of cholera morbus.”

“Of course he has.” Louis can’t be blamed for it if Henriette died a natural death. “He sent you to tell me this.”

“He wished you to know.”

“How thoughtful of him.”

Masson is still looking at him with earnest, diagnostic eyes. Philippe offers his hand again, in distance and in dismissal, and this time she manages an almost acceptable bow before leaving.

-

[timextoxhajima]

Playlist Feels

*SHORT SERIES

Member: JUYEON

Genre: romantic smut or whatever you call a romantic version of having sex + drama with chaebol/lawyer juyeon

A/N: *IMPORTANT* i wrote this chapter whilst communicating with a part of my history that has caused both physical and emotional trauma to me. right now, i’m a safe mixture of upset/depressed/on the verge of a break down and it’s definitely going to show in my work, so i apologise if it doesn’t turn out well/uncomfortable. 

Links to other parts:

I Never Wanna See You Again

Frustrated (light smut)

Love Somebody (light smut)

Play With Fire (smut)

Stigma

Bourbon

~

“you want to run from being a chaebol? that’s fine.” 

“but know that you can’t run from me.”

“do you have any suites available?” juyeon holds you behind him, and it takes you awhile to understand what was happening. your fingers were tightly interlocked with his, and you could feel something burning in your abdomen.

maybe it was the realisation that there was nothing that could tear you away from him, and the way he fueled your assurance gave you a sense of security you don’t think you’ve ever felt before.

he’s defended you in the face of his mother, chose you over an engagement with another chaebol, and gave you the love you never received from your mother.

you wonder if he was only doing it because he knew you were a chaebol.

but he didn’t. 

not until an hour ago.

“yes, sir, we have the king, deluxe and premium suite. the premium suite comes with a city view and it’s on the top floor.”

he’s definitely going for that last one.

“the premium suite please,” he pulls out his wallet and takes out a black and silver card. the receptionist takes it with such grace, and you remember the last time you touched a black and silver card. 

you hurled it back at your parents and ran out the door the night they gave it to you.

keeping that stupid card meant accepting your chaebol role, and that was not going to happen. 

juyeon gets the door open, and he closes it by gently pushing you against it, lips connecting with yours without hesitation. your hands find the lining of the blazer and you begin pushing it off his shoulder, but he gets the deed done even before you realise it. 

he pulls away and lowers his head into your neck, but you stop him abruptly, and he looks up at you with worried eyes, the lust and need disappearing in an instant.

“oh, nothing’s wrong baby,” you chuckle softly, pecking him on the lips. “your... little marks haven’t healed in two days and i had to put concealer to hide them. i wouldn’t want you to eat up that shit,” you push against his chest and help yourself into the bathroom. 

it wasn’t as pretty as his bathroom, and you suddenly can’t remember seeing any other bathroom that’s as impressive as his. 

juyeon pouts a little, picking up his blazer from the ground and hanging it somewhere, a tad bit annoyed that you broke off the momentum just because you didn’t want him to ingest concealer. 

by the time you clean the concealer off, the collar rim of your dress was already wet and you’ve lost all the need to get it on with juyeon. you couldn’t help but to laugh while you watch him sit idly on the single seater chair, scrolling through his phone. 

“i’m sorry for ruining the moment,” you stroll over, gathering your gown material high enough for you to lift your leg over him and straddle his lap. 

“i’d be pissed, but i can’t if you were just worried about me swallowing your concealer, can i?” he grins, tracing the circumference of your waist with his arms. you expect him to kiss you and pick up the pace from there, but instead, he presses his head on your chest, ear against your cleavage. 

he’s never hugged you like this before, but the warmth his hold provides you naturally cues you to wrap your arms around his neck. you twirl his hair around your fingers, leaning your chin on the crown of his head. 

“can i tell you something, but you gotta swear not to tell anybody else?” you hear him say, the movement of his jaw pressing against your chest. 

you laugh, leaning backwards and brushing his fringe out of his forehead. “what, you killed someone?”

he scoffs, eyes halving into little crescents as he reaches up and tucks your hair behind your ear. 

“i told your mother that you were my fiance not because i wanted to hide the fact that your mother was the director, but because i wanted her approval.”

you feel the smile disappear off your lips, desperately trying to search his face for any hint of mischief that he was messing with you.

“...huh?” your mind was completely blank while your supposed law-abled brain feels like it’s being dragged across a minefield. juyeon’s eyes never leave yours, his hands now trailing along the edges of your ear and your jaw.

there was no hint of lust or need, and if you could see love, that was what you were looking at right now. 

“stay with me forever,” his hands leave your jaw and find your hands. “i know it’s been like two days since i asked you to be my girlfriend, but...”

he plants a kiss on the back of your hand. 

“i can’t pretend you’re not the best thing that’s happened to me.”

it’s another one of his speeches.

“just last friday, you saw through me, and the entire time after that prior to today, i simply saw you as a capable lawyer, and someone i needed to protect and keep close... but after finding out you are a chaebol...”

oh, no.

“i now know you are more of a person than i ever was. you had the guts and determination to run away from a life that most people would want, and you treat everything you see with care and caution. not to mention my house staff who consistently made fun of me the weekend for bringing home such a nice girl, as compared to my ‘cold’ complexity.”

the smile returns to your lips and you feel your heart melt into a puddle of goop. 

“you are the person i need in my life, and i don’t think i’ll be able to reach the version of myself i want without your help.”

you inhale sharply, hands reaching for his cheek and his hands follow yours. 

“can i tell you something too, but you promise not to tell anybody else?” you cock your head to the side, noticing him tilting his head into your palm and nodding. 

“you talk too much.”

a chuckle escapes his lips and it warms you to see him smile. he finds your lips and kisses you so slowly, so sensuously, that you don’t recognise it. 

“i love you.”

you feel tears collect in the corners of your eyes, and the words naturally roll off your tongue in response to his confession.

“i love you too.”

you feel him smile into the kiss, your heads tilted the opposite direction while he picks you up and walks over to the bed. your back hits the soft mattress, and he leans over you, arms supporting himself as the mattress around your head sinks. 

he starts kissing you again as his hand pulls up the gown, trying to find your skin. your fingers start fiddling with the buttons on his dress shirt, and you start undoing them slowly. 

his touch was so gentle and careful compared to the session in his bathroom, and you feel the love and affection he has for you ooze out through his fingertips and over your skin, the sensation causing your skin to crawl all over your body. 

you arch your back when his hands try to go under you in attempt to find the zipper of your dress, and he dips his nose into your collarbones and the remnants of his marks. 

you feel the wrap around your torso loosening, and he pushes it off your skin, exposing all the fading bruises that he left on you. 

he takes a second to admire his fading artwork, as if contemplating if he should make more. 

you finally get his dress shirt undone, and he lets you pull it off, exposing his arms and the veins that lined his skin. 

“you’re too hot for my own good, lee juyeon.”

his lips find the skin of your cleavage, sucking on a spot that wasn’t already painted. with one hand still supporting himself, his free hand gets rid of your gown and he tosses it aside, leaving you only in your lingerie. 

the sight of your bare skin and the marks on your chest and neck sends him over an edge, and he roughly lifts you from the mattress by the waist. you feel your head land on a pillow and he fits his hips between your knees, hands reaching to your back and undoing your bra. 

“also,” your words leave your lips sounding like a moan as he gets your bra off and begins sucking on your tip. “please don’t make me beg like the previous time. i haven’t really--” you arch your back at the sensation of his tongue around your sensitive tip while his left hand fondles with your other breast. 

“restored my pride yet--” 

you begin to mewl and whine under him, and your hands recklessly find his belt, mindlessly yanking on it just to get it loose.

“i liked it when you beg though, especially now that i know your last name is technically worth more than mine... there’s a kick to that,” he breathes against your skin before pulling backwards and sitting on his heels, undoing his belt between your knees. the angle gives you a perfect view of his toned body, and your feasted your eyes on the way his pants hugged his thighs while he leaned back. 

oh, good god, what a sight.

“so what if my last name is worth more than yours? i’m pretty sure you’ve earned more money for your family than i have anyway,” you wrap your arm over your chest, watching him get his pants off. the view of the contours of his hips dipping under his boxers creates butterflies in your stomach, and you wanted nothing more than for him to prove his love for you. 

“you really have no clue how that works,” he gives you a low chuckle, crawling back towards you and resting some of his body weight on your pelvis. his growing manhood was pressing against your inner thigh as he hungrily but gently tastes you, hands caressing your waist and fingers slipping under the only piece of clothing you had on. 

he leaves light kisses on your collarbone, chest and stomach, trailing his way south as his fingers drag your underwear off your hips. you feel the cold air hit your already wet core, and juyeon doesn’t bother to say anything to rile you up.

your voice comes out strained and it probably sounded like you were in pain when he presses his tongue flat against your heat. digging your fingers into the sheets, you feel his hands press down on your thighs to keep your legs apart. 

he fits a finger into you, then two, with his tongue circling around your sensitive nub. the sensation rids your head of any coherent thought, and you find yourself arching your back and your hips shivering against the mattress. 

he pulls away, sticking his fingers into his mouth and makes you watch. the sight doesn’t do much besides make you want him even more. your eyes find the tent on his groin, and it cues you to start tugging on the rim on his pelvis, desperately trying to get rid of the material.

he senses your urgency, and does it for you, giving you the perfect view of his length. you realise you haven’t actually seen it because the first time you slept with him, he fucked you from the back on his couch. the second time he was already buried inside you before he completely ruined you in his bathroom. 

seeing it for yourself with a clear mind ironically makes you lose all sense of thought. 

“that’s what you’re staring at... after you let me ruin you two times over?” his low voice rumbles into your neck, and his hands find yours to interlock your fingers. 

“i’d spend all my free time staring at you if i could,” a moan runs out of your throat when you feel him right at the entrance of your core. you feel his weight pressing into your palms on the mattress on either side of your head. 

“gladly,” he smiles into your skin. he looks up back at you with soft eyes, and the lack of lust surprises you. 

he’s not going to ruin you today.

he was going to show you that he loved you.

you feel him push into you, and your voice disappears as you look up at the ceiling. he finds your lips and starts making out with you like high school lovers, hands on your hips and fingers digging into your skin as he thrusts into you. 

they weren’t harsh like you remembered them to be, and the thought of him making love to you created butterflies in your stomach. the heat inside you intensifies with each gentle thrust, and you hear his breathing start to become irregular by your ear. 

you eyes were closed, mouth held open as he keeps your hands pinned to the bed, and your legs wrapped around his waist, trying to push him deeper and deeper inside you. 

the room starts to fill with louder and harder breaths, every now and then a moan escapes from your lips that he seals with a kiss. 

you hear his breathing halt for a split second just as he thrusts into you, and you feel something inside start to snap as well.

“juyeon, i’m gonna--”

“me too--” he groans into your ear, his pace picking up as the both of you mindlessly chase your high. “can i--”

“do it.”

he lifts himself to look at you in the eye for a moment, his hips not showing any signs of slowing down. 

“do it, juyeon.”

your approval gives him one last push, and you feel him all over your walls inside you. your wetness mixed with his as you huff and pant, your vision turned white while your body goes into a spasm. 

his grunts and growls help you ride out your high, his thrusts losing power and pace as he rides out his. 

finding your lips, he releases his hold on your hands and dig his fingers into your hair behind your ear. he holds your face as he lets himself finish inside you, and you could feel the load slowly seeping out of you and around his length. 

he presses his forehead on you, your pants hitting each other in your faces and a smile appears on his lips. 

“how’s that for a no-begging session?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

your eyes flutter open as the sleepy realisation that you didn’t jerk awake enters your mind. light was shining into the room, but it was raining outside and the soft pitter-patter of the rain drops encourage you not to freak out and wonder about the time.

it shouldn’t have mattered, but the rain does affect your decision. 

the blanket was pulled all the way up to your collarbone, and you feel your breasts against the soft material. you subtly shift your leg, and you realise you were only in your underwear. 

juyeon had helped you clean up and you spent nearly an hour with him in the bathtub, doing nothing but eat each other’s faces without having anymore sex. 

three times in five days was a little excessive. 

the only clothes the both of you had were your formal wear from the night before, so it wasn’t a curious case why the both of you were nearly fully naked and pressed against each other. 

you notice the weight of his arm on your waist over the blanket, so you turn carefully, trying not to wake him. 

your eyes trail along his forearm, up to his biceps and his shoulder. his chest disappears under the blanket, and you couldn’t resist the urge to brush your thumb over his cheekbone. 

the thought of his mother knowing how often her son was having sex with someone he wasn’t even married to tickles a funny bone in you, and there was nothing that could stop you from feeling the pride and glory when you remember you were, by blood, a chaebol of a higher rank than him.

even if this love wasn’t real, you could’ve ordered him to be your fiance and they wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

but because this is real, you didn’t want your relationship with him to be decided based on your family backgrounds. 

you could only picture how confused she would be if the two of you got married before she found out you were a chaebol. 

maybe then she’d believe your feelings for juyeon were true. 

she’d find some excuse and say she was worried you were some ‘normal’ girl digging for his wealth. she’d probably apologise, even. but the thought of it sickens you. 

why should it matter if you were a chaebol or not? it’s not like you identified as one. in fact, you were so good at hiding who you really were, even juyeon didn’t know until you told him. 

your thoughts come to screeching stop when you notice juyeon’s eyes shift under his lids. he sucks in a deep breath, smacking his lips and turning his head a little. 

his eyes finally open and meet yours, his hand going under the blanket and snaking around your bare waist to pull you in. 

“good morning, my love.”

Part 8: I Like Me Better

[broadcastbabe]

There’s no subterfuge in my attire and we’re both pretending it is appropriate for our afternoon plans. Your brother has arranged for a private wine tasting at his new restaurant to celebrate his birthday. You know the two of us have a history… a couple of dates before he made the mistake of introducing me to you. All is forgiven, but you also know I hold onto a bit of a curiosity for the ‘road not taken’. What I don’t know… he does too… and you are conspiring to remedy our regrets. You compliment my choice of blouse as the perfect gift for your brother and I blush wondering why you approve. Your own thrills have often been fed by dangling me as a playful tease to trigger lusts in other men, but I question the brotherly bond you’re testing. You assure me he will be a respectful gentleman and secretly appreciative of the less-than-subtle exhibition of such a voluptuous gem of a woman, not to mention his dear brother’s generosity of spirit. I gaze out the window to conceal my apprehension and significant arousal that has already warmed and moistened my thong. We arrive, but before we leave the car you kiss me deeply as you fondle me playfully, twisting my ‘irresistible’ nipples to darken the blush. Marveling at how sexy I look today, you profess your desire to facilitate my adventurous heart… encouraging my exploration of my lingering curiosity, and hinting how hot watching me flirt with your brother would be. Your last words seem like foreshadowing and I take them to heart.Br>“Let’s all have some fun…” Understandably, I’m already aroused and feeling over-exposed as we greet your brother so I offer a lingering hug to conceal my near nudity in his arms. You smile at my familiarity and hug us both to prolong the connection. No mention is made of my overt display, so I relax as he proudly shows us the layout of the darkened candle-lit lounge. There are intimate booths, a stately old bar with a large mirror and small tables for two… all making for a comfortably alluring environment. Charmed by his hospitality, we gather at the mahogany bar where he has assumed the role of sommelier. We are first offered a flight of exquisite champagnes to taste and compare. As I daintily sip from the flutes, he explains the provenance of each in detail. My mind wanders and I remember how soft his lips were when we first kissed. Not unlike yours, moments ago in the car, but different. I catch my reflection in the mirror and correct my posture to adjust my blouse for a modicum of modesty. He takes note of our preferences as we offer our opinions, and prepares the next course of whites and rosés as we finish up. Feeling a slight buzz, I take the first Chardonnay away from the bar to explore the decorative touches in the room, while the two of you banter back and forth. I’m faintly aware you’re both watching me as I secretly reminisce about how adoring his gaze was when we first met. So dark and dreamy, when he asked my name and murmured it to himself to see how it felt in his mouth. When I return, a blushing rosé is offered and he suggests we take our glasses along for a tour of the wine cellar. You are enthusiastic and hook my arm into his so he can escort me there. I feel goosebumps as we connect and decide a large swig of the rosé will quash the unleashed shivers. You juggle the rest of our flights onto a tray and follow close behind. It’s even darker in the cellar and chilly, although the various wines we’ve consumed is keeping me toasty. Nevertheless, your brother drapes his jacket over my shoulders and looks into my eyes to check my state of comfort. I reflexively peck his cheek for the gallantry and he blushes with a smile, as he voices his concerns about my lightweight blouse. Our eyes meet as he slowly drags a finger down the lapel of what he refers to as his ‘lucky jacket’. His finger grazes the fullness of my breast and an involuntary gasp catches in my throat. Another healthy swig to drain my glass, and I am ready for the next. His shift in conduct makes me wonder if you have given him the same pep talk I received in the car. You offer a heavy pour of a Riesling whose nose is oaky and as intoxicating as the volume in my goblet. It is long past time to acknowledge your brother’s birthday, so proposing a toast to your handsome sibling, I raise a glass high, while I extol his gracious hosting of his own party. No surprise the jacket falls from my shoulders, exposing my sheer shirt and my extremely taut nipples drawing attention to themselves. You both clink glasses with mine, but your eyes are now focused at the vision beneath my blouse. We are all just tipsy enough to giggle at my ‘barely wrapped gift’ and I suddenly feel the need to kiss you affectionately… then your brother. He pulls me into his arms as I linger for a deeper, more lusting kiss. He whispers my name in a moment we disengage before he returns his soft lips to mine for an extended smothering. I hear you exclaim an astonished “Damn!” and encourage your brother with my preferences and turn-ons. “How can I resist making you happy?” he whispers as his trembling hands find their way inside my blouse, pinching the tips with an insistence that makes me moan low. Within moments his tongue is flittering their throbbing heat as his lips envelop a substantial mouthful of flesh. His muffled moans seem in harmony with mine as he savors both breasts. I have opened my eyes to meet yours, wild with arousal and pride, while running my fingers through your brother’s thick hair to urge him to feast. I watch as you touch your stiffened self and am doubly turned on. I work the zipper down on my jeans to vent the heat and entice your brother with my scent. He needs no guidance to drag them down over my hips as he loosens the knot of my blouse with his teeth. When the shirt hangs loosely, offering no cover, he steps back in awe, murmuring my name over and over as he drops to his knees in adoration. I look to you for consent and you nod without hesitation, offering yet another insight about my responsive body for your brother to exploit. I am in a state of extreme arousal revisiting this missed opportunity while you encourage us both towards our greatest gratifications. While you both watch rapt with desire, I shimmy my jeans to the floor and step out of the denim puddle at my ankles. My knees are weak so I lean back against a tall stool near your brother and breathlessly ask for another glass of wine. You swiftly pour a full glass of the next dry white. Offering it to my lips, I tip your hand to let the liquid slowly cascade down my torso and suggest this serving is actually for your brother. He gazes into my eyes while he dutifully laps at the trickles, following most of them as they pool between my open thighs. I watch as his tongue teases the swelling folds, quivering with desire each time it ventures within. Stroking my thighs, he pulls my lips apart with his thumbs to delve unobstructed, prompting an animal growl from both of us. You are now standing at a short distance, drinking directly from an open bottle, watching with a lust I’ve never seen in your eyes. You hear the delirious joy in my escalating whimpers as each thrust finds its home. It’s hard to discern in my state, if the priority of pleasure is for mine or yours… but at this moment, the point is moot. The culmination of the inevitable is on the horizon and you are psyched and resigned… “She wants you now, brother. She always has…” Your dear sweet dreamy-eyed brother kisses me delicately as he withdraws his tongue slowly, and murmurs my name like a questioning prayer. I’m startled to hear my sober voice acknowledge the truth. He is on his feet now, my face is in his hands as he searches my eyes for sincerity. We kiss and share the taste of me between us, but the sexual tension and lust has dissipated with the revelation. He gathers his jacket from the floor to offer its cover to me. I am suddenly blushing and apologetic for my debauchery, but you both absolve my actions as innocent to your plotting mixed with the effects of high priced intoxicants. Your explanations of the protracted subterfuge confuse me on many levels, until you confess to your competitive nature. Apparently, I am the spoils of your life-long one-upmanship with your brother. Telepathically, he profusely apologizes as our eyes meet across the shadowy room. It is his turn to chug wine from a bottle as he shakes his head in disbelief and dishonor for your actions. You realize the temperature in the room has changed and the consensus is not in your favor. There is nothing left for me to say as I calculate the betrayal and consequences to my true happiness.

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip - Pt 35: Itaewon

NOTICE: this is the newest chapter of Business Trip (I’ve been crossposting the earlier chapters on here from AFF). If you want to get caught up, read the rest of the chapters here before reading this. Otherwise, spoiler warning!

---

“I’m not gonna whip out my dick in public for no reason, ladies.”

“Right, of course,” Seulgi answers, “not without some motivation.”

Seulgi’s left arm, still wrapped around Yeri’s back, drifts down to the younger girl’s chest. Her right hand joins it, and together she pulls down her friend’s low-cut pink top, revealing more and more of her chest until her breasts, round and full, bounce free - leaving her chest exposed.

Yeri, for her part, looks up at you and licks her lips, her face written now with lust. Gone is the cheerful, bright girl you’d only known briefly - this was another girl altogether, one that didn’t mind in the slightest that she had her breasts out in public.

She’d done a good job of hiding her assets, that was for sure. Her breasts were perfectly shaped, large for her frame, tipped with enticing looking nipples that were clearly already stiff with arousal. Her pink top, bunched up beneath them, did a good job of pushing them up and together, creating a delicious looking cleavage.

Seulgi’s hands leave her friend’s top and dance slowly towards her nipples, where she begins to fondle the stiff buds, circling them and pinching them with the tips of her index finger and thumb. 

Yeri’s eyes close, a soft, wordless sound of desire leaving her lips.

“What about now?” Seulgi asks.

Seoul’s Itaewon neighborhood was probably your favorite, with the hip bar scene and plentiful foreigners from all over the world helping you feel a little more comfortable than you were in the other neighborhoods of Korea’s sprawling capital. You’d spent more time in Korea over the past few months than you had your own home, and while you quickly found yourself falling in love with the country’s charms, the imported beer on your table and the occasional sound of familiar language in the air made Itaewon feel, just a little, like you were back at home.

It was a bit of a struggle to leave Nayeon’s hotel room - the girl seemed to have a boundless supply of energy, combined with a self-admitted reserve of pent-up sexual frustration that she wanted to release on you. Her tight, perfect little body and the history you shared with her made it all too easy for you to oblige her whims and desires, and you spent the following day and much of the morning after happily entangled in those perfect arms and legs of hers.

But you had an appointment to keep with Momo, and although Nayeon followed you all the way to the hotel’s entrance and tried to entice you with one more quickie in the lobby’s bathroom, you had to tear yourself away from her and hop into a waiting car.

Momo had sent Chaeyoung to pick you up, and despite the way she’d left you tied up and unfulfilled during your impromptu session in their van the last time you’d seen her, she still made for fun, relaxed conversation on your way to Itaewon. It was refreshing to speak with someone who had little stake in what was going on, even if she was directly involved in it - she was so detached, so relaxed and easy going that you were more than happy to chat with her about her favorite craft beers and her growing collection of tattoos, if for no other reason than that it took your mind off of what was probably going to be an intense meeting.

She dropped you off at the bar with a wink and a finger gun, telling you Momo was already waiting for you inside. It didn’t take you long to find her, although she wasn’t alone; Seulgi and Yeri were there as well, the former with her trademark resting bitch face plastered all over what would otherwise be beautiful features - you found yourself wondering if you’d ever seen her wear anything other than a constant frown. Seulgi had a cold aloofness to her that reminded you somewhat of Mina; but whereas Mina possessed a warm, princess-like quality beneath her prim and proper exterior, Seulgi was more like an ice queen, always icy and unsympathetic, always seeming to look down on you.

She was well balanced by Yeri, who greeted you warmly with a bright smile, in stark contrast to her friend.

Almost as soon as you reach their table a waiter approaches with a bottle of your favorite beer from back home - Momo must have ordered it in advance for you. You instinctively give her a smile in appreciation, but it quickly fades when you see the serious look she has on her face.

It pained you, somewhat, to see her lacking the brightness that was such a trademark of her personality. She was so serious these days, so focused on bringing Irene down that she almost seemed like a different person. Her hair was blonde now, parted near the middle and without bangs; her physical transformation mirrored her internal one, and while she was even more stunning now than she’d ever been, you found yourself missing the old, clumsy, ditzy Momo you’d shared so many easy days and passionate nights with.

“Well?” she asks, forgoing any sort of formal greeting, her tone so different from the one she used to use with you, “What do you want to talk about?”

“We’ve had the chance to look over the data Nayeon retrieved from SM,” you answer, doing your best to overlook her cold welcome, “and it’s more than enough to put Irene away for a while.”

“But you don’t know here she is, and your partners in the police are just as clueless,” Seulgi chirps. She sighs and looks away dismissively.

“Yes,” you admit reluctantly, “Which is why I’m here. I’m hoping we can work together to find her. Once we do, Seoul PD can arrest her and we’ll be done with all this.”

“So you want to do the cops’ job for them, is that it?” Momo says disdainfully.

“No, I want to help them. We can bring her down together.”

Momo lets out a huff and crosses her arms. “A lot of good that’s done so far,” she says under her breath.

You are a little taken aback by Momo’s attitude, but you decide to let it pass for now. There were more important things at stake.

“Regardless of how you feel about working with the cops, the fact is we need them to arrest Irene at some point if we’re going to finally get rid of her. We can’t go arrest her ourselves. We’re not cops.”

“Why do we need to arrest her at all?” Seulgi says.

Her question stuns you, mostly because you had no idea what she meant by it. What was her goal, if not to arrest Irene? It takes you a few long moments to digest her words and formulate a follow up question.

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean. When we capture her, who says we need to turn her over to the cops, or let them arrest her?”

Seulgi’s words seem to surprise even Momo, who is looking at her team member with a look of surprise, her mouth slightly agape.

“Irene deserves to pay for what she’s done,” Seulgi continues, “and sitting in a nice cushy jail cell for the rest of her life doesn’t begin to make up for what she’s guilty of.”

“She’s ruined lives,” Yeri begins, “including ours.” The youngest girl at the table suddenly looks sad and sullen, as if she were reliving unpleasant memories behind eyes that had become forlorn.

It takes both you and Momo a few moments to digest Seulgi and Yeri’s words; it surprised you somewhat that this was probably the first time Momo had fully realized their intentions when it came to Irene’s ultimate fate. You weren’t sure just what Seulgi was getting at, but you were sure you didn’t like it.

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Seulgi, but-”

“You must’ve seen the tape,” she interrupts, her voice straight and stern, her face lacking any sort of sympathy or warmth. Her eyes, piercing and direct, are locked to yours.

“...Yes,” you admit, knowing she was referring to the tape of Red Velvet’s escape from YG, and how she and Yeri were left behind, seemingly on Irene’s orders.

“Then you know she left us behind.”

“Yes.”

“We worked with her for a decade. We bled and sweat and cried together. We on YG and Blackpink for years. And when it came down to it, once she had what she needed from us, she left us behind like we were broken tools. Maybe she decided we were liabilities, that we knew too much and wouldn’t blindly follow her like Wendy and Joy did. The SM mission was a perfect opportunity to get rid of us.”

“The YG guards-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yeri snaps, her cold tone now matching Seulgi’s. Her face was deadly serious now, all semblance of the cheeriness you’d usually associated with her completely absent. “She could have still stayed and fought with us, even if it meant we all got caught. Even Wendy and Joy wanted to stay. I heard them shouting at Irene, asking her for permission to stay and fight. But now that she had the Blackpink girls, she had what she needed. They would replace us. She ordered them to leave us behind, and what happened after-”

The girl’s voice wavers, and Seulgi reaches over and grasps her hands on the table in a rare show of affection.

“We would have all been captured, all five of us, if she’d stayed. The mission would’ve been a complete failure and SM wouldn’t have the Blackpink girls. But at least we’d know we were really the sisters we thought we were, and not just unneeded tools she’d cast aside.”

“We managed to escape three months later. But those three months were hell. They hurt us,” Yeri says, her voice wavering as she relives painful memories. On the table her hands clench into fists, and Seulgi covers them with her own, stroking the younger girl’s knuckles with calming fingertips.

“Now you understand why putting her in jail isn’t enough,” Seulgi states, not looking up from where she is cradling Yeri’s hands in her own.

There is silence at the table for a few long moments as you and Momo digest Seulgi and Yeri’s story. You are both speechless, dumbfounded by the girls’ story and the depth of their desire for revenge. 

You found yourself thinking of the getaway with Nayeon and Jeongyeon - the situation was so similar. And Jeongyeon stayed, while-

“I need a smoke,” Seulgi declares, and Yeri nods as they both leave the booth and make their way out of the bar.

“Jesus,” you swear once the girls are out of earshot, “that was heavy.”

“Yeah,” Momo agrees, her expression one of concern for her team members, “I had no idea about any of that stuff. Irene really left them behind? Is that what it looked like on the tape?”

“It sure looked that way,” you answer, “I don’t even want to think about what YG put them through.”

“God,” Momo sighs, rubbing her forehead with a hand, “this is going to get complicated. My assumption was that they wanted to get Irene arrested, like we did. What the hell do they want to do with her? Torture her? What if they want to k-”

“No, don’t assume that,” you say quickly, “that’s something I don’t even want to think about.”

Momo sighs again, rubbing her face now with both hands. She seemed genuinely surprised - she was definitely hearing all of this for the first time and seemed a bit overwhelmed by it.

“I wanted to take the gloves off when it came to capturing her, but I was operating under the assumption that the goal was just to put her behind bars,” she admits.

“So you agree, the endgame here is to have her arrested.”

“Well, yes. But Seulgi and Yeri-”

“We’ll deal with them once we have Irene. I think we should focus on that first.”

---

When a half hour passed without Seulgi or Yeri returning to the table, you and Momo decided to settle the bill and head outside in search of them. Momo had tried without luck to contact them on their phones, and so the two of you had decided to split up in search of the two ex-Red Velvet members.

It being a Friday night, Itaewon was bustling with bar hoppers and partygoers. You tried your best to find the two girls amidst the rowdy crowd of youth in various states of intoxication, and were about to give up and turn around to regroup with Momo when you caught, by chance, a glimpse of Seulgi through the window of a slightly quieter cafe off the main streets. 

The small coffee shop was only half-filled with half a dozen patrons - a couple of students cramming for an exam and a few partygoers seeking some slight reprieve from the constant party going on a block or two away. Seulgi and Yeri had snagged a corner booth that provided a modicum of privacy from the other patrons, divided from the rest of the seating area by a vintage bookshelf filled with old toys and knick knacks. Seulgi has her arm wrapped protectively around the younger girl’s shoulder as she takes a few sips from the oversized mug of coffee she has on the table.

“There you both are,” you say as you approach.

“Tell Momo she’s draining our phone batteries with all her calls and texts,” Yeri says, her eyes red with recent tears even as she smiles softly at you. Her tone, at least, had regained a little of the bright cheeriness you’d associated with her.

You return her smile as you take a seat in the booth opposite the two.

“I’m sorry about making you relive those memories,” you say, “that wasn’t my intention.”

“It’s not your fault,” Seulgi answers in between sips of coffee, “It’s no one’s fault but YG and Irene’s. And since Irene’s done us the courtesy of taking YG down, I guess she’s the only one left to blame.”

The three of you spend a few moments in silence, eyes unwilling or unable to meet each others’ gaze. You play idly with a napkin on the table, not quite wanting or even knowing how to broach the topic of what would happen to Irene once you’d captured her. When the waitress approaches, you order a coffee - thankfully, she saw that you were a foreigner and took your order in only slightly accented English.

Before the waitress leaves, Seulgi reaches into her jacket and retrieves a few bills. She slides them across the table to the waitress, a serious look on her face.

“For privacy,” she says softly but sternly, and the waitress gives her a small nod of understanding before turning and leaving.

You are left only a few moments to process her request before Yeri speaks up again.

“Enough about us and our shitty past,” Yeri says, her voice slowly regaining more and more of her brightness, “tell us about you and Momo. You two have plenty of history, it looks like.”

You are a little surprised at Yeri’s request, but there is an underlying desire to change the subject in her young face that convinces you a swap in topic was probably the right thing to do.

“Um, where to begin? We’ve worked together for years now. She’s a good friend of mine.”

“That’s it?” Seulgi quips.

“Well, to be perfectly honest we were fuck buddies for a bit. Then we dated for awhile - seriously - before all this started. But shit hit the fan and things got complicated… now we’re back to being friends. Once this is all over, we’ll see where we stand.”

“Just friends? Because I’m pretty sure she’s still carrying a torch for you,” Yeri says with all the enthusiasm of a schoolgirl engaging in locker room gossip, leaning forward with a smile.

“Yeah, she still loves you,” Seulgi states, “God, men are so stupid.”

“And blind,” Yeri adds with a smile. “She’s been pretty tense lately, especially ever since we rescued you and your friend - what was her name, Jeongyeon? Anyway, when she saw you and how close you were to her, I think it freaked her out a little. She’s been on edge ever since. She probably thinks you two are together.”

“I bet you’ve got a nice dick,” Seulgi states bluntly to Yeri’s shy giggles, “Otherwise why else would a ten like her fuck a guy like you?”

“Why does everyone say that?” you say, a little exasperated, “Everyone thinks the only reason I get girls is because I can fuck. I’m not just a dick on legs. I have a great personality, too. I’m also really a humble guy.”

Yeri lets out a healthy laugh, and even Seulgi cracks a rare smile. You were happy to lighten the mood, even if it meant a joke at your own expense. 

“So,” Seulgi says, her eyes locked on yours now, her face suddenly a little more serious. She takes another sip of her coffee before placing it off to the side of the table. 

“Let’s see it,” she says.

“Uh, what?”

“Your dick. Let’s see it.”

“What-”

“That thing between your legs,” Yeri says, a mischievous look appearing on her face, “let’s see it.”

You take a glance around - while the cafe was relatively quiet and the bookcase kept most of its patrons from having a direct line of sight to your booth, it wasn’t exactly empty. Just anyone, including the waitress, could still walk by your booth and see what was going on.

“I’m not gonna whip out my dick in public for no reason, ladies.”

“Right, of course,” Seulgi answers, “not without some motivation.”

Seulgi’s left arm, still wrapped around Yeri’s back, drifts down to the younger girl’s chest. Her right hand joins it, and together she pulls down her friend’s low-cut pink top, revealing more and more of her chest until her breasts, round and full, bounce free - leaving her chest exposed.

Yeri, for her part, looks up at you and licks her lips, her face written now with lust. Gone is the cheerful, bright girl you’d only known briefly - this was another girl altogether, one that didn’t mind in the slightest that she had her breasts out in public.

She’d done a good job of hiding her assets, that was for sure. Her breasts were perfectly shaped, large for her frame, tipped with enticing looking nipples that were clearly already stiff with arousal. Her pink top, bunched up beneath them, did a good job of pushing them up and together, creating a delicious looking cleavage.

Seulgi’s hands leave her friend’s top and dance slowly towards her nipples, where she begins to fondle the stiff buds, circling them and pinching them with the tips of her index finger and thumb. Yeri’s eyes close, a soft, wordless sound of desire leaving her lips.

“What about now?” Seulgi asks.

The audacity of what was happening in front of you drives you insane - you were in a public, half full coffee shop, and here you were in front of two girls, watching as one of them played with the others’ breasts. You quickly feel yourself hardening beneath your shorts.

You reach down and unbutton and then unzip the cotton shorts you were wearing, revealing the quickly growing bulge beneath your boxers.

“That’s… not enough,” Yeri says, her words a half-sigh as Seulgi continues to fondle her chest, “Let’s see all of it.”

Another quick glance around confirmed there was no one within direct eyesight, and no trace of the waitress either - Seulgi’s request for privacy appeared to have kept her on the other side of the cafe. Most of the other patrons of the cafe were either some distance away or too absorbed in their phones or textbooks to notice.

You reach down and pull your shorts halfway down your thighs, dragging your boxers along with them. Your cock, almost fully erect, springs free from its cotton prison, immediately catching the eyes of both girls in front of you.

“Mmm, I guess I was right. She loves you for your dick, after all,” Seulgi states with a smirk after she leans over the table and gives your cock an appraisal.

You return her smirk with one of your own.

“It’s not very fair that you’re the only one enjoying those tits, Seulgi,” you state, gaining some aggression now that you had committed to exposing yourself. If you were taking the risk, you wanted to get something out of it, and Seulgi seemed all too willing to indulge you.

“I suppose he’s right. How about you let him see what these can do, Yeri?”

The younger girl, already reduced to putty by Seulgi’s ministrations on her sensitive breasts, wastes no time in following the orders she is given. Leaving Seulgi’s embrace, she slides under the table, crawls over to you, kneels between your spread legs, and takes your cock into her wet, warm mouth.

The very idea of it - getting a surprise blowjob from a gorgeous young girl under the table at a coffee shop - drove you utterly insane; and the feel of Yeri’s wet, slick tongue lathering your shaft from base to tip with her saliva before beginning her blowjob in earnest quickly drove away all of the tension that had been building in your mind.

You look down and watch as Yeri’s blonde head slowly begins to bob up and down on your stiff shaft, her lips pursed tightly around it, leaving it glistening in the low light of the coffee shop. She lets it pop out from her mouth before poking out her tongue and swirling it around your head, tracing the tip and underside of it with the very tip of her tongue.

It’s your turn now to let a soft, wordless sigh escape your lips. You reach down and stroke the young blonde girl’s hair as she makes eye contact with you, her innocent features in stark contrast to the actions of her altogether sinful pink tongue. You let your fingers comb her hair, cupping the back of her skull, ostensibly to keep her from banging her head against the table, but also to push her slightly further down your cock with each entry into that succulent, wet mouth of hers. Her tongue wreaks delicious havoc on your sensitive head, swirling it around the tip before dipping under it, pressing against the underside of your dock everytime she takes your shaft into her mouth.

“Now now, Yeri,” Seulgi begins, eyes locked on yours as she watches the pleasure worming its way throughout your brain, “I did say you should show him what you can do with those tits.” Seulgi pulls the table towards her, leaving Yeri a little more room to poke her head and most of her chest out from beneath the table.

“Right,” Yeri answers as she straightens up in front of you, eyes locked on yours, “I was just getting his dick ready.”

Yeri takes a moment to spit on your cock, a long rope of her glistening saliva landing squarely on your head. She pumps your shaft a few times with a small hand, ensuring it was wet from base to tip.

When she leans forward and captures your shaft between her soft, warm breasts, your breath catches in your throat - and at that moment you couldn’t have cared less that you were just a few metres away from half a dozen people.

Yeri was just a little less endowed than Jihyo, who was the only other girl large enough to give you a titjob - but Yeri’s breasts were softer than the detective’s, and Yeri was better able to wrap them around your glistening dick, trapping it in a tunnel of warmth and wetness as she begins to bounce her mounds up along on your length, thrusting the shaft between her breasts, up and down, up and down.

You are left powerless to do anything but watch the scene play out in front of you as you enjoy the pleasure radiating from your shaft, travelling up your spine and intoxicating your brain. Yeri’s hands travel towards the front of her breasts as she captures her own nipples with her index finger and thumb, pinching the stiff peaks even as she bounces her mounds up and down on your dick.

“Does that feel good?” Seulgi asks, and you tear your gaze away from the young girl between your legs to lock eyes with the older girl.

“Fuck yeah it does,” you hiss, reaching down with your right hand to stroke Yeri’s cheek. She nuzzles her face in your palm like an obedient pet, not breaking her rhythm, pushing your stiff shaft into her cleavage over and over again.

“I… I want to touch myself,” Yeri hisses, her face flushed, her features lustful.

“Her tits are sensitive as fuck - look at her get off on giving you a titjob. Pinch her fucking nipples,” Seulgi orders, and you are happy to oblige, reaching down with both hands to the front of Yeri’s breasts, capturing her brown tips in each hand before pinching both peaks, eliciting a sharp gasp from the young girl. Her hands freed, she reaches down and slips a hand beneath her skirt, and the soft moan that leaves her mouth tells you all you need to know about what she is doing to herself.

You squeeze her large breasts together around your shaft, thrusting up as best you could between her delicious cleavage given your sitting position. The friction is delicious, and you savor each thrust between the girl’s tits.

You are so lost in enjoying Yeri’s breasts, watching the expression on the girls’ face glaze over into full pleasure as she fingers herself - that you almost don’t realize Seulgi is leaning over the table, watching intently.

“Enough, Yeri - we don’t have all day. Make him cum.”

It embarasses you, somewhere in the back of your mind, that it only took a few minutes of a blowjob and titjob to get you to cum. But you weren’t one to fight the pleasure coursing throughout your body, not when it was so delicious, and not when it was given to you under such dangerous circumstances - right out in public.

Yeri’s hands pull yours away from her tits, and you have only a split second to lament the loss of her large, warm mounds around your cock before she replaces them with her mouth. Grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other, Yeri quickly launches into a hard and fast blowjob, taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with a rapid pace.

It all becomes too much, and it hits you all at once - getting a blowjob from a beautiful young girl, in a public coffee shop, while another equally hot woman watches - and you quickly find yourself nearing that inevitable peak.

“Fuck, Yeri-” is all you manage to say before your orgasm overtakes your world.

Yeri releases your cock from her mouth a split second before you erupt, shooting long, thick strands of hot semen all over her pretty little face. Yeri’s face glazes over in pleasure and you are all too happy to watch as strand after strand of cum lands on her cheeks, her pretty little nose, and finally her open mouth and jaw. You watch, through half-lidded eyes drunk with pleasure, as the thick streams of cum flow down her face, dripping onto her upper chest and those perfect breasts of hers. Her face is flushed and her mouth open, as though she herself was on the verge of orgasm.

The next few seconds pass by in a blur, your mind still trying to make sense of what just happened. But when you manage to pull yourself together you realize that Yeri is sitting next to Seulgi again - and that the two are making out passionately, Yeri’s cum covered face pressed against Seulgi’s even as their tongues duel between their locked mouths.

Seulgi breaks the kiss to lick strands of your semen from her friend’s face, which elicits a look of pleasure to wash over Yeri’s features. It takes you another moment to notice that the older girl’s hand is working busily between Yeri’s legs, and it only takes another moment or two before Yeri is reduced to a quivering, shaking mess, cumming hard on Seulgi’s fingers even as your fresh, hot cum is licked from her face. She buries her face in the crook of Seulgi’s neck and lets out a sharp, wordless cry - one that temporarily worries you with its volume.

It is a scene that would have been utterly spellbinding in the privacy of a bedroom. But the audacity of the two girls to do so out in public - in an open, half-filled coffee shop, no less - completely overwhelms you, and you can do nothing but watch as Seulgi finishes her work between Yeri’s legs and licks the last large strand of semen from her face. 

Seulgi gives her friend one last soft kiss on the lips before turning once more to face you, using a finger to capture a stray strand of semen from the corner of her lips. She licks it and Yeri’s juices from her glistening fingertips, the same way a cat would lick milk from its paw, her eyes locked on you the whole time, filled with a sly lustiness that you found utterly captivating.

Yeri is a disheveled mess, her face still flushed and pink, but she finally manages to gather herself enough to stuff her breasts back into her top. She gingerly takes a napkin off the table and wipes the last remnants of your cum from her face and upper chest, still breathing heavily, still quivering occasionally as her orgasm finally winds down.

It’s at that moment that the waitress finally arrives with your coffee order, placing the large mug on the table. You couldn’t help but notice that her face was flushed and red as well - was she watching the whole thing?

The waitress catches Seulgi’s eyes for a moment, and the ex-Red Velvet member winks at her, before taking one last sip of her now-room temperature coffee, a sly, devilish smile on her lips that you found both arousing and frightening all at the same time.

---

It didn’t take Momo long to arrive after you’d texted her with the location of the coffee shop. She’d called Chaeyoung for a ride back to their safehouse and the four of you were waiting outside the coffee shop for her to show up in the van. Jeongyeon, who happened to be in the same neighborhood, had texted you an invitation to shoot some pool and she was likewise on her way.

“I trust the three of you got to know each other better,” Momo says, and you are heartened to find no malice on her tone - it was more of a tease than anything else, which led you to hope that perhaps the common ground you’d found regarding Irene’s arrest had warmed up her attitude towards you.

“He got to know Yeri pretty well,” Seulgi replies as she casually lights up a cigarette and takes a drag, “He still owes me one, though.”

“I get why you kept him around for so long,” Yeri adds, blushing.

Momo rolls her eyes and gives you a look, to which you can only shrug. You remembered how much she loved hearing about your sexual adventures with other women when you were together, and you wondered whether those feelings remained.

“So, boss,” Seulgi begins as she taps the ashes off her cigarette, “are you gonna tell him about our big operation next week?”

There is a moment of hesitation from Momo as she weighs Seulgi’s question, but she eventually relents.

“We have a plan in motion to catch Irene. We have a confirmed time and location where she’ll be.”

“What?” you blurt, more than a little surprised that she had taken this long to tell you, “When exactly were you going to tell me?”

“I wanted to see what you wanted to meet about first,” Momo explains. “Now that I know you have the evidence we need to arrest her, I can tell you about it.”

Seulgi lets a hiss of smoke leave the corner of her mouth. She gives you a sharp look at the use of the word ‘arrest.’

“We’ve decided to use Seulgi’s old Red Velvet email address to send Irene a meeting invitation,” Momo continues. “We told her to show up at an old Red Velvet safehouse next week. Alone.”

“She’s not going to show up alone. She’s going to have that place bugged and under surveillance way before we get there,” you state.

“Not this one,” Yeri says, “This is a special place. Irene may be a scheming traitor of a bitch but even she wouldn’t bring other people here. She doesn’t know what happened to us after YG, and she probably doesn’t know we’ve escaped. She would want to know who sent this email. There’s no way she would just ignore an invitation like that.”

“What if she thinks it’s a trap? What if she thinks YG broke you, or got into your email accounts, and someone is setting her up?”

“She wouldn’t. There’s few things that are sacred in that girl’s life, but this place is one of them.”

“Where is it?” you ask, curious.

“Our old dorm,” Seulgi answers, “From when we were just lowly little paper pushers at SM. We all started there at the same time and were poor as fuck, so we decided to room together in company housing. It’s where the five of us became friends and decided to form Red Velvet. It became our base of operations and even after we moved out we kept it as a safehouse - the one we treasured the most, where we went when we needed to feel secure.”

“When we were in that apartment, we were just friends,” Yeri adds, “just young girls. We spent so many happy nights in that place. We felt like sisters there.”

There is a sudden sad wistfulness in her eyes and in Yeri’s that spoke of better days long past.

“She’ll show up alone,” Seulgi continues, “I guarantee it.”

“My team will help out,” you say, convinced, “we’ll do whatever you need.”

“Good,” Momo agrees, “we’ll be in touch. Get ready.”

At that moment Chaeyoung arrived in her van, shooting you a smile and a finger gun. The girls pile into the vehicle, although Seulgi lingers at the sliding door with one leg inside the van. When she turns to speak to you, the coldness in her eyes matches the iciness in her tone.

“When we get Irene, don’t get in my way.”

Even when the sliding door slams shut and van peels away, you are left with a chill at her words. Jeongyeon appears at your side a few moments later, breathing heavily after evidently having jogged there.

“Was that Momo and her team? Damn, I would’ve liked to thank them for saving our asses last week,” she says, oblivious to the weight of the evening’s previous events.

You smile at her and change the subject. She hooks her arm in yours and you both begin to stroll down Itaewon’s still-busy streets towards a local pool hall - but even her warm smile and bright aura do little to dismiss the impending sense of dread looming over you.

---

Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay!

Hope you’re all staying well in these times. Be safe :)

[noir0neko]

Crime and Creation | m

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 15.5k

Summary: The Crow Club. One of the University of Ketterdam’s secret societies aimed at recruiting the finest students who want a taste of more than just lectures. Meet Kaz, the founder and president, whose self-made millions come from his dealings on Wall Street. Nina, a girl who is aching for more than the fortune and husband her family has laid out for her. Inej, whose observant nature and ability to be invisible makes her the perfect spy. Jesper, a childhood friend of Kaz’s who can’t resist getting into a little trouble joined by his boyfriend, Wylan, son of the University dean. And Cataleya, an Upper West side journalism major who has a special way with words. When Kaz finds out the Crow Club’s dealings have been infiltrated by an unknown rival, his crew enlists the help of outsiders to ruin reputations, throw lavish parties, and do what the New York City Crows do best: heist. Until something goes very wrong. 

Characters: Cataleya (OC), Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Alina Starkov, Zoya Nazyalensky, Nikolai Lantsov, Aleksander Morosova and honorable Leoni mention.

Warnings: Death. Highly detailed emotion and inner thoughts that have memories of parental abuse and self harm, nothing very detailed. Mentions of murder, drugs, and illegal activity. General debauchery and scheming. Some romance, mostly implied, light kissing, fondling, and the use of expletives.

A/N: You do not need to have read any of the books in this world to understand this fic! I spent so much time and poured my heart and soul into this story and the development of my original character and building these characters into a new, modern world. Please read it and give me your thoughts! This piece was written for the @grishaversebigbang. Also, check out the art work made for my fic by these amazing artists: @corpsecro, @nantosuelta-art, @discountscoobygang, @lady-ekatherina-de-mika and @mikanviola! It is such an honor to be a part of something like this and I had so much fun! I encourage anyone and everyone to read the Six of Crows/Shadow and Bone series by Leigh Bardugo! It’ll be on Netflix soon!

I used to love cats. 

Until one showed up dead on my window sill. 

I’m still not sure how it got there. Perhaps it climbed the fire escape and lept from the metal railing onto the ledge. But once the animal had the orange pollen and poisonous petals of the lilies sticking out of my window in its mouth, it was only a matter of time before it died. I had the good sense to keep my crying quiet, at eleven years old, so that my father would not stumble in to yell or push the cat hundreds of feet to the street below. I did not know he was already gone. That I was alone.

I hid the orange tabby in my backpack and went to bury her in the backyard garden the next chance I got. 

But when I used my small children’s shovel to dig into the earth, soft from the recent rain, it wasn’t what I went to bury that changed my life. But what was already buried there. And right then, with my cheeks stained with tears and hands shaking with anger, I swore to never stop hunting. To never stop chasing the people who ruined me. 

That was one promise I kept. 

I haven’t kept many others. 

Sitting in the foyer with the rest of the Crows, wind coming in from the autumn afternoon and the scent of freshly made waffles mixing with dusty books, I don’t know if I can keep this one either. Kaz looks at me pointedly, waiting for me to answer. I glance at all of them, Nina, Inej, Jesper, and Wylan. It is rare that anyone outright refuses Kaz on anything, especially not with his position or to risk the weight of his disapproval. Nina once told Kaz to go to Hell and she paid for it with two weeks of silence and banishment from the Crow Library until she relented to do her assignment. 

Jesper clears his throat, trying to relieve the awkward vibe getting thicker with each passing moment of silence. I can’t help but allow a small smile to reach my lips, grateful for him trying to save me from the tension that I could slice with a knife. Swallowing and meeting Kaz’s dark eyes, I sigh. 

“Fine,” I relent. “I’m in.” 

The strain dissolves from the space and the other Crows break into smiles and start to chatter. Relaxing back in my chair, I watch Inej spring up and take her place next to Kaz, her lithe frame complimenting his perfectly. Kaz moves around his large oak desk, gaze fixated on something in the distance. Definitely scheming face. Best to wait it out until he speaks first.

The Crow Library is lit with the afternoon sunlight, warming the leather of our chairs and illuminating the dust gathering along the rows of books. Shelves line the walls beneath the window, behind Kaz’s study area, and underneath the stairwell, which leads to an upstairs reading room and parlor area. Nobody has bothered to read any of the books, weathered and dusted with age, but they lend the room an air of sophistication and a homey comforting smell. Kaz’s desk is littered with papers, the dark wood barely visible beneath the jumble of stock investment deals, new heists, and class assignments waiting to be done. On the front face of the desk, a large crow is carved into the surface, black and red paint covering the indentations in the wood. 

Inej puts a tender hand on Kaz’s forearm, her lips moving quickly and silently, as if whispering to him. Inej has her hair down today, an unusual occurrence from her braided coil, and the dark strands spill like silky oil over her shoulders and her waist. She must have come from the studio, sweat still gleaming on her brow and black leotard disappearing beneath dark navy leggings. Her lithe frame seems to be floating, always so modest and reserved, yet her brown eyes are intuitive and unrelenting as she studies Kaz. She has been with him since the founding of the Crow Club, never missing a beat between helping him, chastising him, watching out for him, and caring for herself all the same. It’s no wonder she’s been able to double major in both Global History and Ballet, two completely different worlds, but complimenting each other perfectly for Inej. 

And Kaz. What an interesting man he’s proven to be. 

Business major. Self made millionaire. First student to be admitted into the University of Ketterdam - UOK for short, without a full high school education. A man full of mysteries. 

Jesper moves to perch himself on the arm of Wylan’s chair and adjusts his Queen shirt, the old black leather groaning under his weight. Jesper says something quietly to his boyfriend before running a hand through Wylan’s curly red hair and kissing his pale pert nose. Jesper has his hair buzzed short to his scalp, dark arms lean with muscle and legs long, his jeans riding up at the ankles to reveal bright yellow socks and black high tops. Wylan releases a wide smile, looking up at Jesper with untamed admiration. Wylan has on a pair of pressed dark wash jeans, his collared shirt maroon red with small white dots, accentuating his bright hair and pale skin. 

It just reminds me of blood. 

They are quite a pair. Wylan, being the son of the University dean and Jesper, one of the most intelligent and talented students in the Economics department. He is studying Game Theory, an extremely intense and complicated subject full of strategy, confidence, and risk: coincidentally Jesper’s three favorite words. 

Wylan, much to his father’s chagrin, is an Art History student with a hidden passion for chemistry and physics. I often find him gazing at the long since forgotten portraits on the walls of the Crow Library upstairs, reminiscing of a different time, of discovery and excitement. Of different people with different secrets. Wylan usually seems lost in thought, often internally reflecting rather than being outwardly vocal like the rest of the Crows. He is another mystery, especially because of the tenuous relationship he has with his father. 

Jesper’s brown skin glimmers in the sun, inclining his eyebrows in mischief before taking a toffee from the bowl next to him and flinging it across Wylan’s chair to Nina. 

Her tongue flicks out as it hits her arm, thick lips smirking before unwrapping the plastic wrapper and popping the candy in her mouth. Nina is one of the only Crows who was forced into attending the University of Ketterdam. Her parents, with her father being an extremely rich and powerful Russian politician and her mother, an aristocratic woman supposedly descending from ancient Russian royalty, had been raising Nina to marry a high ranking Scandinavian commander since she was eleven. The marriage was supposed to secure better relations between the two nations, as well as provide Nina with a life of security, wealth, and status for her and her children. All her parents want for her. 

In true Nina fashion, this is unacceptable. 

Her family said the marriage could wait if she wanted to go to school and get a degree, which may better serve her husband and their families prestige in the future. Seeing no other viable option, especially because she did not want to marry a “white haired barbarian” as she called her husband-to-be, she enrolled in a prestigious university as far away from Russia as she could get. Despite her parents beliefs that she is a culinary student - “because a good wife knows how to cook”, according to her parents, Nina has been studying Performing Arts and Theatre. A perfect major to fit her personality and her beauty, with her tall, curvy frame and piercing green eyes. Today, she is wearing an olive bodysuit, the neck low cutting and her legs hugged by a pair of black flare jeans. Casual and entrancing. Her style seems to change depending on her mood, from modest foreigner to vivacious party girl to preppy student. New each day. 

“We will need others,” Kaz mumbles to Inej, furrowing his dark eyebrows in thought. 

I have only been with the Crows for a few months, but I already know how unusual that is. Kaz rarely asks for help, especially from those outside of the Crow Club. But whatever he has planned seems to be a lot more serious than the other jobs, more personal than merely ousting insider trading, or infiltrating various museums and mansions, or spying on the Upper East and West Side elite to gain intel and use it to our advantage. 

Each of us has a unique purpose to Kaz. His investments. And while it has been easier to see where the others’ talents fit in, I am still baffled by my own. I adjust the sleeves of my lavender shirt, the ruffled material smooth on my shoulders. 

I had known the Crow Club existed before I set foot on campus. As a journalism major, secrets have always intrigued me. Not just the secrets. The challenge of uncovering them, of working from the inside to reveal some of the deepest and darkest parts of humanity. I had always heard whispers of the club amongst the Upper West side elite, whispers about Kaz Brekker and his Crows. Always watching. Always ready to catch you red-handed. But I didn’t even need to go out of my way to find the Crow Club.

Kaz found me first. Called me an asset. He and Inej invited me to join starting the summer before my second term. I have surprised myself by warming up to the rest of the Crows so quickly, even the ones who aren’t active members and are just extra recruits for Kaz to call if he needs them. We all mean something here, we all have a purpose, more than what the world is trying to force upon us.  

A family. Especially since most of ours are broken or nonexistent. 

After a few minutes of waiting, Kaz snaps to attention and we follow suit, like trained soldiers, eager for him to share whatever small slice of his plan that he decides to. His crisp suit is pure black, a small crow brooch pinned to his lapel. The shaved hair on the side of his head is beginning to grow out, the top slicked back with a deep, oaky smelling gel. He always looks like he is dressed for a business meeting, even when it’s just us. Inej always muses that there is an irony to it, but how, I don’t know. I suppose everything is business to Kaz. 

“Okay,” he begins, voice gruff and deep. “This is what we’ll do.” 

----

Nina and I weave our way through the busy streets, blessing the cool wind as it kisses our faces in the dying summer heat. Her hair is down, the sun illuminating the many shades of brown running through the waves and her dress is high on her thighs, the red cotton fabric hugging the curves of her waist. Being in America has done wonders for Nina, brightened her complexion, improved her spirit, and turned her from a wafer-thin girl to a full-bodied, thick thighed woman. Everywhere she goes, people stare. She is otherworldly, like a saint on Earth. 

“Where did Kaz send us this time?” Nina complains, sucking the dripping strawberry ice cream from her fingers before chucking the cone into a nearby trash. 

“He didn’t,” I grin, dodging a guy with suspicious looking flyers on the sidewalk. “He gave us his card and very vague instructions to find a wardrobe for the event.” 

Nina’s eyes sparkle, cleaning off the rest of her fingers before she entwines her elbow in mine. New York City seems to breathe with our every step, the wind moving, the heat unfurling, and the trees swaying. Taxis and cars whiz by on the avenue, the honking of horns and the laughter of tourists crossing into Central Park filling the air. Everything about New York is alive, even the concrete holds stories it’s waiting to tell. 

“Then let’s go down Fifth,” Nina begins, mischief in her tone. “I know a few places.” 

“I bet you do,” I flash her a smile, crossing the street so we walk parallel to the park. 

We trek down the street, stopping into a macaron shop in the Plaza Hotel to get a bright blue bag full of sweets for us to eat on our journey. Nina and I are bouncing on our heels, excited to have a day to ourselves, away from the Crow Club and the University and being responsible for buying dresses for not only ourselves, but for Inej, Alina, and Zoya, as well. 

Kaz had three extra students brought in for this assignment, all a part of the secret network of Crows that don’t sit in regular meetings. First is Alina, who has an international reputation for rebuilding schools and orphanages across the world since she was thirteen, and who has been a Crow since her first step onto campus. She transferred here as a graduate student from some extremely prestigious school in California to complete her PhD and teaching credentials. Every time I have seen Alina, she has been so kind and so helpful, always eager to teach, serve, and build in any way she can. It’s beyond me why she wants to be a part of these operations. Maybe every good girl has a naughty streak. 

Zoya, on the other hand, seems like the opposite of Alina. A close friend, confidant, and suspected girlfriend, of another one of Kaz’s network of Crows, Zoya is an overly intelligent, intimidating, and obscenely beautiful law student. Her hair is always smooth, a jet black slate against her back and her eyes are always piercing, judging and observing in their ice blue. Her skin always looks perfectly tanned, a deep brown that makes the pink of her lips more enticing. Her grades are pristine, her ability to argue is unparalleled, and if there were ever a force to be reckoned with, it is her. It’s a lot more obvious to understand why she agreed to join the Crows, for the prestige, the knowledge, the power. But truly puzzling, is her relationship with Nikolai. 

Nikolai, or Nik, as I like to call him, is one of the best - and funniest, Crows. Clever, self-deprecating, friendly, handsome, the list goes on. His blonde hair is a shaggy mop of artsy goodness, his skin is creamy, his style completely unmatched and his wealth bottomless. Nik and Kaz are always butting heads; most of the time it’s the only comedic relief the Crow Club has when they’re together. Nik met Zoya during undergrad, in a political science course, where apparently their discussions were lively enough to earn them A’s and lengthy enough to last entire class sessions. Nik has one of those family names that are revered in every elite social circle, making him an obvious addition for Kaz’s team and from what I have gleaned from Nik, he decided to join the Crows to give him something interesting to do besides follow in his father’s footsteps. I wish I wanted to be a Crow out of boredom. 

“God,” Nina groans, shoving her phone back into her five thousand dollar purse. “If I get one more message from my parents asking if I’ve heard from that white-haired, rule-following, stick-up-his-ass, Scandinavian inbred, I am going to drown my phone in the Hudson River.” 

“Wow,” I clap for her, avoiding the incredulous gapes of tourists at her language. “So many adjectives and I don’t even think you’ve ever said his name.”

A man opens up the glass doors to Bergdorf Goodman’s, where cool air and white marble greet us. Immediately, we drift to the dress racks, combing through all of the latest trends.

“Matthias,” she almost growls. “His letters are so proper, telling me that he has heard of my exemplary womanly skills from my parents. That he would delight to see my drawings and sewing and hear me play the piano. It’s ridiculous. I don’t do any of those things by choice.” 

I stifle a laugh. “He seems very… traditional.” 

“Seems?” She throws her hands up, shoving a silk dress back onto the rack with too much force. “He is the definition of the word! And worst of all, he’s attractive! He has snow white hair and is built like one of those huge wrestler guys that people watch on TV.” 

“Why is that a problem?” 

“Because his complete lack of competence makes him a barbarian! A man who thinks the perfect wife is silent and docile. He’s going to have another thing coming when I show up.” 

“He comes from old money in an old country,” I begin, wondering whether I need to tread lightly. “Don’t you think he’s just taught to think that way?” 

She sighs, holding up a stunning evergreen gown against her figure. “I know he is. That’s what’s even worse. I know that everyone where he is from has been taught those values. So even if he came to love me, to understand me, no one on the outside would. His station, his reputation, his fortune, all of it is dependent on how I perform. How I reflect him.” 

“That doesn’t seem fair,” I muse, holding out another red silk dress for her. 

“Money isn’t fair.” 

I blink, surprised at her words. Money is just an object. It has no preference, no deference, no opinions. But I guess the idea of money is more important and tangible than the paper itself. Money has value and expectations beyond the faces staring back at you from the press. It expects manners, it breeds tradition and hierarchy and perfect wives who aren’t allowed to make any. I wonder if Nina will end up bending to those wills, to the one’s she has been raised to. America is such a different place, but I guess money everywhere is the same. It controls you. 

“This.” 

I turn around, face breaking out into a huge smile at the dress Nina is holding. It is a deep purple, with sheer shoulder sleeves and a deep plunging neckline covered in diamond flowers. The waist is cinched, belted by more glittering gems, before it falls and flows in layers of purple silk and satin to the floor, flowers and vines curling around the skirt. Nina’s hair and eyes and skin would look angelic in the dress. I nod fervently, unable to cap my smile as she waves over an employee to open the dressing room. 

While in the dressing rooms, Nina and I talk through the divider. 

“Where was Wylan off to earlier?” I ask, taking off my clothes and folding them neatly on the small leather bench. “He never really seems to be around these days.” 

“Yeah,” Nina says, with a grunt. “He’s been trying to rekindle his relationship with his father, studying a lot. You know, the usual dysfunctional family stuff.” 

I laugh. “My family wasn’t dysfunctional in that way.” 

“I would say you were lucky,” Nina begins and I can hear her zipper up as mine does. “But I know you weren’t.” 

At the same time, we step out of the dressing room, identical smiles breaking open our faces before we clasp our hands together and squeal with happiness. The dresses look perfect, we look perfect, everything looks perfect. 

And now we just have to find dresses for Alina and Zoya. 

With these price tags, Kaz is going to regret lending us his credit card. 

----

“Something Kaz Brekker doesn’t know how to do,” I tease a few days later,“drive.” 

He shoots me a healthy side glare, uncurling his fingers from around the steering wheel. The sun is shining through the left side of the car, illuminating his high cheeks and arched brow bones with dazzling light. If Kaz weren’t so… him, I’m confident he would have made an amazing Calvin Klein model. Especially because his lips are always relaxed in a bit of a natural pout and his resting stance is so relaxed, yet also confident. He is striking. 

And he doesn’t belong to me. Nor do I think he ever will. 

Despite their claims and attempts to put distance between their relationship, it has become common knowledge in the Crow Club that Kaz and Inej are a package deal. And it doesn’t take a trained Journalism major to read between those lines. It is blindingly obvious in the subtle ways she touches him, the way his gaze softens when he looks at her. She is the ice to his fire, and when needed, he is the same for her. A complimentary pair in every way, even if it seems unlikely on the surface. 

“Okay,” I begin, gesturing to the automatic gears between us. I explain what each of the letters stand for, instructing him to move the clutch into reverse and slowly ease up on the brake. With a bit of a jerk, Kaz obeys, turning the wheel to back us out of the spot in the empty parking lot. It had taken a bit of a road trip to find this place outside of the city. I had driven Kaz and myself into New Jersey, where the early morning dawn had just begun to crest, giving our driving lessons an advantage. Kaz had immediately, and somewhat reluctantly, urged me to teach him, claiming we would need it for this assignment. Inej had pushed him along with the conversation, rolling her eyes at how his own pride blocked up his request. 

“Now go back into drive,” I say, lurching forward when he does and pushes his foot down too forcefully on the gas pedal. He turns in circles around the empty lot, taking care to avoid the lamp posts. On every straight away, Kaz seems to hit the gas with a little more force, graceful turns giving way to concussion-inducing races. It seems he has the turning part down, but the lurching and jerking of the car would get him pulled over quickly. 

And although Kaz will no doubt be having a new fake I.D. made by one of our extra Crows, the risk of involving a police officer is not one any of us want to take. 

“Slow down there, Nascar.” I laugh.

He eases up, taking his time to get used to the ebb and flow of the vehicle. Where he got the car is beyond me, but I am also beyond questioning Kaz’s ability to secure random and often, complicated, objects for our heists. He has become my biggest puzzle, my biggest mystery to solve. And if it hasn’t been one hell of an adventure trying to figure him out. Observing him and listening and learning his subtle tells when he is angry or pleased or scheming. Lately, though, it feels as if the obsession for uncovering his truths have blossomed into something else, something that makes my heart race a little faster and my palms sweat. Something I haven’t been able to control. And how I hate not being in control. 

“Turn out onto the street,” I instruct, forcing myself to speak and get out of my own head. 

He obliges, the car absorbing the bumps in the curb as Kaz makes a graceful right turn. His black gloves glide smoothly along the steering wheel, the sleeve of his shirt riding up to expose a sliver of his pale wrist. My mind begins to wander again, to whether or not Inej has touched them, if she has held his wrists down as she gracefully slid on top of him. I wonder if she has kissed him, if he whispers her secrets to her like some sort of sexy spy pillow talk. 

“Cataleya,” Kaz is saying, the four syllables of my name like chimes from his mouth. 

“Sorry,” I shake my head, swallowing and casting him a glance. “What?” 

“Where are we going?” He repeats, monotone and bored. 

His driving has already gotten smoother, his feet steady on the brake and gas as I tell him to pull onto the dirt on the side of the two-lane road and turn around. There are still no cars out here at this hour, an Amtrak just beginning its morning route on a station in the distance. I can see the outline of the city beyond the valley, half blocked by trees and tall grass. The skyscrapers are haloed by the rising sun, like a safe haven calling me back home. 

“Who taught you to drive?” Kaz says, his raspy voice surprisingly light. 

“A friend I had growing up,” I reply, surprised.

“That’s a nice friend,” he comments, voice taking on an edge I don’t understand. 

I snort. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have any family to do it.”

His hands tighten on the steering wheel ever so slightly and if I weren’t observant I probably would have missed it. The way he tenses up. The way his jaw clenches and the car begins to move a bit faster as his foot locks onto the gas. “Me either.” 

“I found my mother dead.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize it. Kaz’s gaze shifts a bit, but he keeps his focus on the road as I continue. “I went to bury a dead cat in my mother’s old garden. We never touched it, my father never tended to it, or let me, after he said she left us. But when I went out to the garden and began to dig, I lost track of time, I dug far deeper than I intended. My father wasn’t home, I wanted to be there, in that garden, and away from him if he came home, for as long as possible. I didn’t realize how far I had dug until,” I swallow, inhaling and turning to Kaz. “Until a hand began to form beneath the dirt, and then an arm, and I saw the wedding ring, the bruises, the blue of her dress…” 

Kaz’s lips part, the only admission of emotion he gives. 

“The coroner said she had been dead for four months. Four months,” my voice broke, splintered on the fragments of my memories. “That she had been beaten and buried there. They couldn’t… couldn’t prove it was my father. He had money, lots of it. And he paid a lot of people to keep quiet.” 

“Is that why you love journalism?” Kaz asks, slowing the car to ready his turn back into the empty lot. “Exposing them? Making them pay with more than their blood money and with plain blood?”

I inhale, lips curling back in more of a snarl than a smile. “Everyone I knew. Everyone I knew who was involved. I have made them pay. In some form.” I throw Kaz a true smile, a devilish gleam in my eyes. “Although I suppose you already know that. It’s why Inej noticed me in the first place.” 

“One of the many reasons,” Kaz replies, words back to being clipped, tight. 

With a smooth arc of the steering wheel, Kaz turns the car into the same spot as before, hitting a little too hard on the brake before coming to a stop. My hair moves in front of my face at the jolt, a blessed curtain separating me from him. I can feel him thinking, churning over my words, assessing me. 

Kaz hardly seems fazed as I peek at him around my hair. His dark eyes are far away, his gloved hands slack on the wheel. I still myself, hearing the purr of the car engine, hearing Kaz’s breathing, shallow and uneven, as he goes into the place he so rarely dives. His eyes are almost glazed, like he’s been drinking, completely lost in his own thoughts. I know some of his story already. From Nina. From Jesper. From my research. 

“Your brother,” I murmur, soft and low. 

His hands tighten on the wheel until they are bone white, staring straight ahead at the tree lined landscape. “Jordie,” he pushes through his teeth. “His name was Jordie.” 

My spine straightens. Kaz has never said anything about his brother, and has never allowed any of the Crows besides Inej into his life in this way. And I wonder how far he has even let her in. I swallow, questioning if I should press or let it be. I am just about to get out and switch places with him to take us back into the city, when he opens his mouth and to my bewilderment, continues to speak. 

“My parents were mixed up in some bad stuff before we came here. We lived in the countryside, with a bit of land and no one around us for miles. My brother was older than me, only by four years, but enough to know how to keep me from looking where I shouldn’t. From keeping me happy and sheltered.” A muscle flickers in Kaz’s jaw, his pale skin going ashier with each word, “I didn’t know what was happening when they came. The thugs my parents had been hopping between towns, cities, and states to avoid for over a decade. Jordie took me, the remaining cash from the safe, that my father had stolen, and fled to New York City. He hoped we would be invisible among so many people.” 

I don’t know I am holding my breath until I release it, low and shaky. Kaz is silent again, staring off, flexing and unflexing his fingers against the steering wheel, like a silent reminder that he is here. 

“Are they alive?” I ask, voice so silent it’s almost nothing. 

“I don’t know,” Kaz admits. “But we never heard from them. I’ve never heard. So I can only assume not. And I don’t think I would want to see them if they were.”  

“And Jordie…?” I venture, terrified to hear more, but also terrified he’ll clam up. I am desperate for more. Desperate to know him. 

“We weren’t safe here. They found us. Or, found Jordie. While I was gone.” Every single syllable from his lips are forced and painful, laced with self loathing and regret. Survivor's guilt. “I was supposed to be there, but Jordie had sent me away. On an errand down in Brooklyn. He knew we were trapped, and wanted me to live, if he couldn’t. If Jordie could convince them he was alone and I had been shipped somewhere else... ” He breathes in and out, slowly and deeply, focusing on some point in the distance. “They ruled it as a suicide. He had cut his own throat, only his DNA on the knife, only his blood… I don’t know if he did it before they came. Or if they staged it. The not knowing. The guessing. That’s what makes it worse.” 

“So you look for control in other places.” I say. “In the market. In investment. In the Crows. I do the same thing.” 

“The Crows stand for the same thing you do, Cataleya.” Kaz says, looking at me with an intense stare. “Exposure. We want things to be different. We want people to pay, truly pay, for what they have done. Instead of buying silence. Buying lies. We want the truth. Only the truth.” 

His words pierce me, his black hair stark against his forehead, shaved sides longer than he normally keeps them. His eyebrows are set in a hard determined line, lips closed, and jaw locked in determination. I know he made those people pay, the ones who took his brother from him. I can see it on his face. 

“How did you survive?” I begin, “without him?”

Kaz licked his lips and let out a low chuckle. “Our money was gone. But we knew some people. Kids we met on the street. They made me a fake to get into bars with; I was barely sixteen by that time, but I looked older. Rougher. I had a skill for counting cards and made a small fortune quickly by playing in run down joints and eventually, working my way into larger, more expensive establishments. It was hard, I lived and breathed revenge, for Jordie. I wanted to have him back. To have something that was mine. I built up a small fortune, studied the market, and began investing. By the time I applied to the University of Ketterdam it didn’t matter that I only had my GED and no family, my self-made fortune was enough.” 

“But why here?” I ask, furrowing my brows in confusion. “Why school at all?” 

Kaz continues to look at me, eyes blazing. “Because we had a dream. Jordie and I. We had a dream that we would never forget what happened. That we had to run. And that when we were older, more settled, we would build something here. In New York City, something that would last. Something with a legacy. Like Crows, Jordie had said, symbolizing death but themselves being alive. We were dealt bad luck and would bestow it on others who deserve it.” 

“Thus, The Crow Club,” I finish his sentence, gaze roaming his face. “A secret society at one of the world’s best universities that would have a legacy. Have prestige. Have a family.” 

“Something that is mine,” Kaz’s lips part, wet from his tongue. 

“Yes, yours.” I echo. 

We are both silent for a few moments. Weighing our words. Our truths. Even the trees outside seem to stop in the wind, leaves quiet and branches unwavering. Kaz has opened up in a way I have never seen before. Never expected. He has been through so much. So much like me. Dealt with death. Loss. Life. We aren’t so different. None of the Crows are. 

“What about the others?” 

“Those aren’t my stories to tell,” Kaz responds, voice returning to its detached state.

I nod, once, accepting. I know a few of them already. Nina. Wylan. The new recruits. But Inej and Jesper are mysteries. Complete and whole geniuses shrouded in questions. I don’t like questions. Especially ones I can’t answer. 

“How did you survive? With him?” Kaz’s voice rings again, reflecting my earlier question. His words are too big for the small car, inhaling deeply through my nose as a small smile graces my lips. His long fingers move the shift into reverse to back out of the spot to drive us back to the city himself. The true test of his skill on the Manhattan streets.  

“That friend. The one who taught me how to drive,” I reply, a bit of wistful nostalgia filling my tone. “He helped me. Took care of me. Looked after me.” 

“Past tense?” He inquires, feet smooth as he presses on the gas pedal. 

“We are still friends,” I say. “I think. Things are just… different.” 

“Different. That’s an understatement.” He replies, voice drenched with irony. “Everything is different, isn’t it, depending on how you look at it.”

I nod and laugh, giving him a compliment on how swiftly he picked up driving before we settle into a comfortable silence. Crows. Allies. Friends. If we can call ourselves that. 

I hope we can. 

----

Today, I am supposed to meet the enemy. 

Kaz told me yesterday he set up a rendezvous at one of the campus coffee spots and that there would be someone waiting for me there. Someone he wouldn’t name. Someone that I am supposed to gather information from. Someone who thinks we are on a date. 

I had almost hit him when he pulled up his phone to show me the fake dating profile that was made for me. Pictures of me smiling, laughing, most of them pictures I didn’t even remember taking, all glowed brightly at me, accentuated by a bio that said I liked my men tall, dark, and tortured. 

How cliche. 

“Nina made it,” Kaz had shrugged then returned his phone back to his pocket. 

“And you would be surprised by how many matches you made,” Inej’s voice was laced with humor, lilting into the room without a trace. 

“She’ll walk you over,” Kaz said, gesturing around the room to her unknown location. “Like any dutiful girl would for her best friend about to go on a date from an app. Then, you’ll just need to proceed as normal. Ask him about his life, his job, his degree, his connection to UOK. All the basics. The main concern is reading him out for a vibe, his family has had a lot of influence in some shady shit and he’s from another society here.”

So that’s what this was about? Some sour deals that probably put Kaz out of some easy money and a rival society that was challenging Kaz’s position in the control of campus secrets and his standing legacy? I don’t feel like that is the whole story, but that’s all that Kaz was willing to give me at the time. 

And he hadn’t said anything this afternoon when I had gone into the Crow Library to meet Inej. He acted like nothing ever happened, like he hadn’t revealed some of his darkest secrets to me. Like we hadn’t shared a moment of… something. He barely looked at me from his desk, hair rumpled and face flushed from stress, in my tight long sleeve dress and tights, combat boots laced up around my ankles in case this random guy got the wrong idea. 

The air outside had turned to autumn, giving us an unusually cold and windy day. I was puttering around and trying to think of something to say to Kaz, when Inej came down the staircase with silent feet, dressed in a pair of black leggings and a cream knit sweater. Her hair had been mused in the back and her face also looked a bit red. I had almost laughed, looking between her flushed state and Kaz’s slightly red cheeks, before giving Inej a knowing quirk of my eyebrows. 

And now, outside of the library and alone, walking across the cobblestoned campus paths with autumn leaves falling around us, I turn to her. “Do I even want to know?” 

“It’s college,” she replies, so quiet it’s almost to herself. “Things happen.” 

“Things don’t just happen with Kaz Brekker.” 

She looks at me, face breaking out into a blinding smile that splits her beautifully baked face. “They do when he’s in a rather… compromising position.” 

“Inej!” I release the laugh I’ve been holding, the now pulled back coil of her hair showing off the reddened tips of her ears. Since I have known of Inej, she has always been rather modest. Sure of herself in a quiet way. The kind of confidence that doesn’t need reassurance or shields. Inej herself is a shield, a force of silent secrets she keeps hidden beneath the unsuspecting lithe of her dancer’s frame. 

We take a right turn down one of the main campus paths, small walkways opening up into a large courtyard. Students mill about, sitting on statues, kissing underneath the garden archways, reading books on their way into classes. The University of Ketterdam has always been such an eclectic place, not only because of its location in New York City, but because of its campus. Lush, green, beautiful. An ode to history and architecture and modernity all the same. The programs here are some of the best in the world and while tuition isn’t cheap, the value of a Ketterdam degree is worth it. 

“Is it bad that I kind of do want to know though?” I begin, not even sure what I’m saying. 

“No,” Inej says, voice thoughtful and not defensive in any way. This is why I love Inej. So honest and unafraid. “I think everyone wants to know about Kaz. Everyone wants to be the hero that solves the mystery or the lover that turns a prince from darkness.” She pauses, looking around at the students, seeming lost in thought. Her dark eyebrows crease together, as if in thought or sadness. “Some people just can’t be saved.” 

I can tell she’s referring to Kaz. But I’m not sure if I agree. I think everyone can be saved. I think darkness lives in everyone and all a person needs is a bit of light to show them through. People weren’t born into darkness, or evil, they were made that way. Through that, they could be unmade. And Inej has enough light and strength in one of her hands to see any person through the blackest of tunnels. I think of what Kaz had said to me, in the car, about his story, about his desire for revenge. For retribution. Maybe I want to believe we can be saved from the darkness because I want to be saved. Because like calls to like. And there is a deep chasm within Kaz that sings to me. 

Inej moves her head to look at me, a full and unabashed gaze that somehow makes me uncomfortable. Like she can see straight to my soul. Like she can see every lie I have told or every promise I have broken or every secret I have kept. Like she can see my desires and my shame and my longing for things I can’t have.

“But we love them anyway, don’t we?” She finishes, giving me a contemplative look. 

I think of the people I love, the people I did love, when there were still people in my life that were capable of receiving such a thing; people who were dark and painful and I still loved them anyway. Love can be such a blinding thing. Blinding and binding. 

“Yeah,” I echo, her reflective tone rubbing off onto my voice. “We do.” 

The both of us descend into silence as we continue to walk across the quad. I begin to feel my stomach turn, my palms sweat. No matter how many times I have done this, not dates, but encounter new people, this feeling returns. Every time I have to meet someone new, report on something, present something for a class, I would feel anxiety grip my insides and twist. When I was younger, that anxiety was terrifying, it made me cower, it made me scared. But as I got older, I began to use it and cling to it. I began to form it into an entity that gave me courage instead of taking it, something that would ground me to myself and propel me into my fears. 

Inej begins, “Kaz texted and said he’s outside. Reading. Good luck.” Then she’s gone.

Steadying my breath, the smell of coffee hits my nostrils as I round the library steps to the small path beside it. The coffee shop is nestled into the side of the huge, brick building, almost like a tumor sprouting from the side. Inej has completely disappeared, only leaving the familiar scent of herbs in her wake. She is supposed to be going up the library steps to find a good vantage point from one of the many windows facing the coffee shop on the building’s side. Students move around through the cafe windows, in and out of the doors, little bell ringing to signal both arrival and departure. 

But I am not paying attention to any of them. 

Because there is a boy. A man. Sitting at one of the tables outside, his long legs stretched underneath the opposite chair, wearing a pair of leather sneakers. His long fingers are thumbing through a novel, covers worn and pages yellow with age. He can feel someone there, looking, sitting up and turning in that little metal chair to see who. To see me. 

It’s Alek. 

I blanch, mouth going dry and jaw slackening. I know him. I more than know him. I- 

“Cataleya,” his voice is pure night, laced and dripping with stars. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me, not even phased. Not that I have ever seen him look surprised. I flash back to that day in the garden, to his hands on my face, wiping my tears, to his arms around me, murmuring condolences, to the face that I could see through my blurred tears. Dark hair, pale skin, beautifully big gray eyes. I had barely known him, barely seen him despite our houses being right next door, despite our windows being on opposite sides of the alley and me being able to spy on him when his curtains were parted at night. 

“Aleksander?” I stand a little straighter, gathering my shock and shoving it deep down. 

He smiles, standing up from the chair on the patio of the coffee shop. He is so tall, taller than I remember. His dark jeans are fitted against his legs and the black long sleeve button down he is wearing shows off a large portion of his impeccable chest. I don’t remember when the last time I saw him was, but I definitely don’t recall feeling the pulsing and intense heat that flashes through my body when I look at him. I suddenly feel naked. And stupid. 

Is Kaz trying to kill me?

Swallowing thickly, I scan the windows on the side of the library for Inej, wondering if she has already found a perch to play spy. The sun reflects off of each glass surface in the afternoon light, making it impossible to see through any of them. Blowing a breath through my lips, I attempt to quell the storm brewing and churning in my stomach. 

“What a wonderful surprise this is,” Alek starts. 

I catch the edge in his voice, the way the tone lilts at the end. A tell of how much this encounter is not a surprise. For him anyway. But I smile, I nod and I watch as he fluidly closes the distance between us and takes me in his arms. 

I hate how I exhale. 

How my whole body relaxes. 

I hate how good it feels. 

Like coming home. 

He smells like winter and barren tree branches, like snow and absence of light. Like a dark night wrapping me in its embrace and taking away the pain that days bring. Peaceful and mysterious all the same. Just as I remember it. Just as I remember him. 

“Since when did you start wearing all black?” I joke as he pulls away, gesturing to his outfit. “Are you some kind of darkling now?” 

He gives me a blinding grin, chuckling under his breath. 

“Something like that.” 

He gestures us back over to the table and I sit across from him, back rigid and legs crossed. I feel like a mannequin, still and stoic, despite the intense pounding of my heart and rush of blood through my veins. 

“How have you been?” He asks, leaning back in his chair with an amused look on his face. “I must say I was very surprised when your profile popped up Tinder.” 

I clench my jaw, working my teeth against each other. “Yeah, so was I.” 

Tilting his head to the side, Alek studies me, eyes unabashedly roaming from my face to my chest to my waist, to my legs visible on the side of the table. I swallow, trying to clear the unfamiliar lump in my throat before I speak. 

“But I’m good. Great, even. But I didn’t even know you are here. That you went here in the first place.” 

“It’s a temporary thing,” Alek responds. 

“Temporary?” I push. 

“I’m just getting a business credential for the semester,” he says, airy and dismissive. 

I narrow my eyes at him, hoping he can feel the suspicion and annoyance radiating from my look. He drums his fingers on the table, weighing my stare with a measured, even gaze that infuriates me further. I always hated when he did this when we were kids. Always challenging me. Always trying to get me to back down. Luckily, our time apart has sharpened my detective skills and my comfort with confrontation. 

Alek sighs, blinking slowly. “Fine. I’m here because of you.” 

My jaw slackens. 

Because of me? 

“I missed you,” he whispers, in a rare display of vulnerability and affection, before reaching across the table to take my hand. 

Fire lashes up my wrist and arm, chills spreading in its wake. His touch is electrifying me, his skin like a hot branding iron pushing into me with delicious pain. Alek’s jaw is set, the hard lines on his chin lined with stubble. I want to take his face in my hands and kiss him. I want to feel him against me and get lost in the impossibly deep gray ocean of his eyes. 

“Where were you then?” I venture, pushing down the pressing anxiety. 

“I had a lot to deal with after my dad died,” he responds, voice detached and noncommittal. “I’m really sorry I let our relationship fall away, but I didn’t want to drag you down into my grief. You’ve always had enough on your plate.” 

“You helped me through grief.” My tone steadies. “I wanted to help you.” 

He huffs, “I didn’t want your help.” 

The words are like a slap in the face, pulling my hand from his with a start. His dad’s death had been very abrupt and unexpected, launching Alek into a world of unknown wealth and property and an accumulation of other assets he wasn’t even aware his father had. His death was ruled under suspicious circumstances, but no leads were ever found for a murderer or any other sort of foul play. And with Alek’s mother long gone to cancer, he found himself newly eighteen and alone in the world. Except he wasn’t alone. He always had me. 

Alek releases a breath, eyes softening as he leans back in his chair, aware of the mistake in his harsh words. He pushes a hand through his hair, the dark waves parting for his hand like a saint in the sea. 

“I don’t mean it like that. I wanted you to be there, Cataleya. But some things you have to do on your own, you know? I had so much to figure out and sort through and… it was overwhelming.” 

I nod, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Alek was never the kind of guy to ask for help, especially not from people he is close to. He always did things alone, always felt weak for not building his own empire, his own legacy, his own destiny, without anyone else. But two years, I haven’t heard from him in two years and now here he is. In front of me. Asking for some sort of forgiveness. Is there anything to forgive? The pit in my stomach says yes. But my throbbing heart and other throbbing parts of me say no. 

“I missed you, too.” 

A small smile blossoms across his face, the sight beautiful and stupefying. 

“I can’t help but notice you walked here with Inej Ghafa,” he starts and my alert senses begin to tingle. “Isn’t she a part of Kaz Brekker’s Crow Club?” 

“How do you know about that?” I ask before I can help myself.

“Anyone who is anyone knows about Kaz,” he responds, almost spitting his name. 

“Okay…” I begin, unease settling into my stomach like a stone. “But why do you?” 

“He has something I need.” 

The stone becomes a boulder. 

“Are you-” I stop, then start again. “You’re the one that this is for.” 

“If by “this”, you mean whatever scheme he is planning to trap me in, then yes.”

“But why? How do you even know him? Don’t you know who he is and what he does? What are you thinking going against Kaz?” I ask urgently, struggling to keep my voice low. 

He pins me to the chair with a dead look. “He has debts he needs to pay.” 

“You’re going vague again?” I shake my head, irritated with his bipolar intensity then flippancy. “You need to back down. Or you’re going to end up hurt.” 

A smirk tugs at his full lips, “Your lack of faith in me is really inspiring, Cataleya.” 

“It’s not that,” I retort, exasperated, crossing my arms. “Kaz is really powerful. With more networks and connections than you know. If you don’t stop whatever crusade you have on him, you’re the one that’s going to end up indebted.” 

He laughs this time, a full and deep laugh that surprises me. “Has he really dug his talons that deep in you? That you’ve forgotten how wide my own connections spread? How cunning I can be?” 

“We haven’t spoken in two years,” I respond, pettily. “I don’t know you at all anymore.” 

He leans forward, eyes incredibly dark and face serious. “You know that’s not true.”

I hold his stare, raising my eyebrows, feeling satisfied that I made my point. Alek reaches across the table and places his palm up on it in invitation. I can see the veins of his inner wrist, with dark ink snaking across the blue and disappearing under his shirt sleeve. He didn’t have any tattoos when I last talked to him. My fingers itch to push back the fabric and see them. His secrets. Like Kaz’s, they are so plain on his skin yet hidden through metaphors and signs. 

Licking my lips, I push out a breath and put my hand atop his, feeling his eyes follow mine to where the ink is displayed. Without saying anything, he pushes the sleeve of his shirt up his forearm, stopping at the inner crook of his elbow. 

Inhaling and holding, I blink at the constellation on the inside of his forearm. A night sky, swirling with black and dead space, with creatures in between zombies and ghosts with huge demon wings flying through it. There is a ship at the base of his wrist, a small stern gliding through dark sand, a tiny speck compared to the massive size of the creatures flying above it. It is dark and torturing and incredibly impassioned. I let the pads of my fingers drift softly up Alek’s arm, watching goosebumps form on his skin. 

“What are they?” I ask. 

“They’re called volcra,” Alek says. “Beings that live in darkness and are afraid of light. They feed on those who come into their path, who are unable to see or defend themselves in the black sea of sand.” 

“It’s so… intense.” I search for the right word to describe it, coming up short. 

“I want to remind myself to not be afraid of light. Of happiness. That the things that I may think make me weak, really make me strong. I need to find more light, to find my light. I have been full of darkness for a long time, Cataelya. I’ve lived in a thousand moments of it.” 

I tilt my head, fingers pressed into the inside of his elbow and looking up at him through my lashes. His eyes are trained to the spot where our skin is meeting, his lips parted and eyebrows furrowed a bit in the middle. I resist the urge to flatten it with my thumb, letting the wind and the sound of other students fill the silence between us. 

“You were the only light in my life for a long time,” I say to him, tracing the volcra’s deformed bodies with my index finger. “I had nothing. I had no one. You pulled me from that nothingness. From the darkness. And held me in your arms. Brought me up to somewhere better. Where I can hope. Where I can not only see light, but make my own. That is invaluable to me.” 

He catches my hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Can you help me, then? Can you bring me back my light, too?” 

My breathing stalls. I know what he’s asking from me. I know it’s more than just offering a flashlight through the tunnel. I know it’s more complicated than I can currently imagine. Alek stands up, coming around the table to kneel in front of my chair. Some students stare, wondering if they’re about to witness a proposal. I ignore them, keeping my eyes trained on Alek’s imploring gaze. I know in this moment, I will give him the world, the moon, and all of its stars. I will give him all of my sun and then some, I will summon everything I have to fill the darkest parts of him. 

He takes my face in his hands, palms impossibly soft on my cheeks. Subtly, slowly, I nod, watching his face break a part into a smile. Without pausing, Alek leans forward and kisses me. His lips are smooth and plush, completely stunning me into inaction as he runs his fingers along the sides of my throat. I sigh into his mouth, body realizing what is happening just as he is pulling away. Parting my lips, I stupidly sit in my chair as he gets up in one flowing movement.

Alek looks down at me with a smile. “I hope to see you soon then, Cataleya.” 

Just like that, he scoops up his book and walks away. Gone as quickly as he appeared. 

----

The room is completely aglow with light, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and candles lit around the room. Everything has a soft, burnt hue, like the room is on fire from below and the blaze is lighting the space. It must be the size of the University of Ketterdam quad, with hundreds of people talking, dancing, eating, and drinking. I recognize some students and faculty, but most are a blur of unfamiliar gowns and tuxedos. 

“They know how to throw a party,” Nik says appreciatively. 

“If they didn’t, no one would take them seriously.” Zoya retorts, leaving Nik’s side without so much as a glance to drift into the crowd. The smell of honey and sweet drinks spreads through the room, long tables lining either wall stacked with a massive spread. 

“That’s where I’ll be,” whispers Nina. 

I smile at her, gathering my dress in my hands and descending the few flat stairs to the main rooms. The floor is a beautiful tile, mosaics and colors that I can’t decipher flowing from the entry way beneath the mass of bodies. There is something magical about it all, something historic, like stepping into a time machine. The walls are lined with thick tapestries, with small halls leading into different areas of grandeur. I shouldn’t be surprised that wealth like this still exists, but every time I see it, I am. 

Scanning the space, I see Alek from across the ballroom, near one of the food tables, his gaze drifting across my body before a smile forms on his lips. He is wearing an all black suit, lapels crisp and smooth, with a single blood rose pinned above his heart. It mimics the read of my dress, the stain of my lips, the seduction in his eyes. He cocks his head slightly, dark hair falling over one of his beautifully arched eyebrows. 

I hold his stare, letting the bubbling pit of fire burn deeply in my stomach. The pit that forms when he looks at me, seated low and hot. The pit that would cackle and seethe if he would touch me, if his pale hands would settle on my hips and his lips would touch the shell of my ear, whispering sweet nothings and dirty everythings into my ear. Snaking my tongue between my lips, I watch as Aleksander tracks the motion, his posture straightening ever so slightly. 

And then Kaz is there. In my line of vision. 

The fire sputters out, replaced by something else. Something that grips my lungs and forces my heart to beat faster. His suit is a deep navy, bringing out the smooth pearl of his skin and accenting the night of his hair. He looks like a shooting star, dark and light at the same time. I wonder who picked it out for him, or if he selected it himself. I can’t imagine Kaz in a tailor’s shop, trying on suits and drinking bourbon with the upper elites with him. 

But then again, maybe I can. He is a business man after all. And great at faking it. 

Kaz catches my stare, tipping his head up in greeting before disappearing into the crowd. Nina and Nik dissolve from my side as well, going to observe and mingle before the drama begins. Alina is the only one left next to me, her golden dress sparkling in the chandelier light. She turns to me and sets her hand on my arm gingerly, sun earrings dangling from her ears. 

“Be careful,” she whispers. “He’s not who you think he is.” 

I open my mouth, about to ask her what she means before her hand is gone, and so is she. I watch her move into a group of people, hugging a man in a dark gray tuxedo from behind before giving him a kiss. Must be Mal. I don’t feel right, especially after what Alina said to me. I feel like something is amiss, but I don’t know what. 

I spot Kaz again, whispering something to Inej along the back wall. Her dark eyes drift to me, cementing the feeling in place. 

Alone, I cross the space to Alek. I had seen him twice since our fateful coffee date and both times had been very formal and full of business. Full of me trying to help him get his light back. Through some sort of grand scheme, it seems. One that required me to also recruit Nik, Alina, and Zoya to help Alek while seeming like they are helping Kaz. Sort of like a double agent, except I don’t know which side I want to be standing on at the end. 

“How are you?” Alek asks, tone casual to an untrained ear, but clipped enough for me to hear the true question behind his words. 

“Something’s wrong,” I respond under my breath before I loudly declare my happiness.

He lets his gaze linger on my face for a moment, schooling his features into neutrality. 

“Can you handle it?” 

“I’m not sure,” I admit, dropping my fake smile. “I might need help.” 

Vague enough, but he clearly gets the message, rolling his shoulders before giving me a dazzling grin. Alek reaches a long arm to stop the waiter passing by, grabbing two flutes of sparkling gold champagne and extending one to me. As if this is only our second time meeting. As if we both happened here by incident and he is looking to get lucky.

“I could never refuse such a beautiful woman.” 

I return his smile, throwing back the entire drink for some liquid courage. It tastes sweet and fizzy against my tongue, a faint acidity coating the roof of my mouth. Alek takes a long and thoughtful sip of his own champagne, much more graceful than me and folds my arm into the crook of his elbow. He begins to lead me from the ballroom, towards the Crow’s meeting spot. I look behind my shoulder, searching for their familiar faces. But all I see is Nina, already watching, her eyes focused intently on the joining of my arm with Alek’s while she pretends to listen to Nik, whose lips are moving with passionate fervor. Her mouth parts ever so slightly as she catches my eye. 

“Careful,” Alek mutters, forcing me to turn my head back in front of me. 

Dread and fear coil in my gut. I have never seen Nina look that way. I have never seen her look at me and not see me. I still don’t spot any of the other Crows at their reported positions around the room, where they were supposed to stay until I could get Alek alone and before I could lead Kaz to Alek and they could duel it out and I could decide who to side with then.

 I swallow, mind racing, trying to calm myself by believing that there’s a reason for their absence. 

 Alek seems to sense my trepidation, holding my arm a bit tighter as we meander from the crowded room into a near empty hallway. 

“Something’s wrong,” I repeat, trying to unravel everything quickly. Too quickly. 

Kaz, pushing everyone into this heist with such force. The others, more quiet than usual, less pressing for Kaz to give them details. Kaz, letting me teach him to drive, letting himself be vulnerable for me. Inej, barely talking to me a week into our plan. Nina, completely open and honest and warm until she saw me with Alek. Jesper, less happy than usual, less enthusiastic, more solemn and quiet, often excusing himself when I came into the room. And Wylan, always seeming to be off rekindling his relationship with his father. 

I didn’t need to help them with appearances at all. 

When fear arrives, something is about to happen. 

“It’s a trap,” I breathe, clenching my jaw and letting my stomach pit out inside of me. 

“I know,” Alek replies, cool and distant. 

My blood turns to ice. “What do you mean, “I know”?” 

He doesn’t respond, turning right down the hallway that leads to a back patio exit, and not to the left, to that private seating area where the Crows were supposed to be waiting. Alek increases his pace ever so slightly, giving me a glazed and lusted look when people come out of the rooms to pass us by, too high or drunk or exhausted to care. 

I try to stamp down the panic in my bones. How could I be so stupid? How could I get so caught up playing both sides that I didn’t see what was right in front of me? This is not the part where things are supposed to go wrong. I am supposed to get to choose. I am supposed to see them interact, gauge my feelings, myself, my words, and decide which side I want to be on. If I want to be a Raven or a Crow. If I want to be crime or creation. Of course, Alek is one step ahead. And so is Kaz. 

“We need to be more casual, less uptight,” Alek states as he pushes through the glass doors leading into the large mansion courtyard at the end of the corridor. “If any of them are watching, they’ll hurry things along if they sense we’re onto them.” 

“I think they already know,” I swallow, the night air turning cold and bitter. We hover on the cramped patio for a moment, not descending the small set of stone stairs into the gardens beyond. I can hear voices from inside, music drifting about, people laughing and heavy breathing from behind bushes. I wish I could have gone to this party with no other intentions than for fun. 

Maybe in a different life.  

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” Alek shrugs. 

And then I am up against the thin black railing behind me, Alek’s hands settling into the curve of my hips. I can feel his warmth through the satin of my dress, bleeding fire into my skin, my heart, my core. He licks his lips and pushes me tighter against him. Our bodies are flush in all of the right places; hard and soft in all of the right places. 

“Kiss me, Cataleya,” he baits me, voice low and raspy. 

He doesn’t have to say it twice. 

I surge forward, his lips plush and velvet against mine. He smells like winter, like snow and frosty tree branches and endless starry nights. I grew up with this smell, revelled in it, fell in love with it. His dark hair brushes against my forehead, the strands so soft and gentle in a way I had never known Alek to be. He is always pushing, moving, plotting. 

He reminds me of Kaz in that way. 

Kaz. 

Alek’s tongue slips along mine, sparks flying and thundering in my ears. Haven’t I wanted him like this for so long? Haven’t I imagined what this would feel like since our first kiss, being barely a peck? Haven’t I dreamed that he would want me? That he would have me in the way I desired? 

So why is this falling so flat now? 

Kaz. 

The voice reverberates through me, like a Crow picking from a dead body, peeling flesh from bone until I am stripped bare. My head begins to pound, a dull ache in the base of my skull. Alek runs his fingers up my bare arms, drawing goosebumps in his wake until I am shivering beneath him. 

“Cataleya,” he murmurs, deep and throaty. 

The old feeling returns, the burning desire, the expectant eyes. The little girl waiting for her master to approve. The little girl waiting for someone bigger, someone better, to grab her hand and drag her from the dirt. I feel ridiculous for not being able to squash it down, to tamper it. I don’t know if that feeling would ever die. The feeling of dependence. Of unworthiness. 

Alek seems as if he’s about to say something, but his head whips to the side. I follow the movement, the stone of dread in my stomach sinking deeper when I realize the courtyard has gone quiet around us. Not a single sound from behind the bushes, not a giggle or a whisper or a moan. Too quiet. The sound of death. 

The headache threatens to split my brain a part, eyes blurring as I watch Alek attempt to stumble down the stairs. He gets one step in before a figure blocks his path. My breathing becomes laborious, squinting through black spots clouding my vision before I can see who it is. 

Wylan. 

His suit is a forest green, dark velvet tailored for his tall lanky frame. The color perfectly offsets the ruddiness of his hair and his shoes are a deep brown leather, squeaky clean and new. Leave it to Kaz to outfit all of the Crows with his endless bank account. 

“I’m sorry,” Wylan says, face truly betraying some measure of regret. 

The pieces click together, like a lock sliding into place. 

He hasn’t been working with his father all these weeks. He has been working on something else entirely. Something that would take lots of time, lots of care, and lots of studying. When Nina said those things I thought she was talking about how he was mending the relationship with his father. She was not. And not just that, but his studies most likely required more than himself for success. Probably Leoni, the incredibly kind and intelligent biochemical engineering major who Kaz sometimes recruited for special missions that required more stealth, less blood. 

Wylan was studying poison. 

And we had ingested it from the champagne. 

----

My head is throbbing when I come to, the sound of a car engine roaring in my ears. I don’t know how I got here. All I remember is Alek, his hands on me, his warmth leaving me to spin me into the arms of someone else. The shaved hair, the deep brown eyes, the palor of his skin, the stability of his grip around my waist. Then Alek again, his lips on mine, my back against the wall.

 I force myself to swallow, trying to see anything through the blindfold at my eyes. I am still in my dress, the silk smooth on my skin, and I can feel the car coming to a stop as I struggle to find the strength to say something. 

My bones feel like liquid, muscles weak and shaking. But Alek had been the only one who offered me a drink, he had been the only one I trusted enough to gulp heartily. Wylan. I remember Wylan. Standing at the ledge of the stairs in the courtyard. Me and Alek. 

Poisoned. 

The car’s back door opens and I feel a rush of the cold night air as two gloved hands drag me by my feet from the vehicle and out onto the street. Dread coils in my stomach and my skin pricks with goosebumps, the cobble stones ripping at my exposed ankles and arms. After being dragged a few hundred feet, hissing at the burn of scapes and tearing on my skin from the uneven street, I am forced onto my knees.  I don’t feel right. Nothing feels right. Where is Kaz? 

As if in answer, the blindfold is yanked down my face from behind, my eyes blurring and struggling to adjust to the dark light of my surroundings. I am in an alley, wedged between two buildings built of collapsing brick. I can hear the faint whiz of cars, but in front of me is only a few hundred paces of the alleyway and then trees. I am not being brought here to talk. It’s too secluded. Too quiet. And the smell, bark and sap and something else… I clench my jaw. 

A shadow fills my periphery and I struggle to stay up on my knees as a figure takes shape in front of me. The navy suit, clean white shirt, the black leather gloves, the hard lines of his jaw and set of his eyes. I know why I am here. I know what this is. His stare is furious, rage and ice and merciless vengeful eyes boring into mine. 

He made the choice for me.

“Kaz,” I rasp, voice cracking and broken. 

He snarls at his name from my mouth, shoving me up into the nearest building. I stumble in my heels, his movements fast and forceful enough to drive my back into the wall with no problem. The rough edges of the brick dig into my back, clawing at my skin. This is nowhere near the last experience I had against a wall, with Alek. Caressing me, kissing me, igniting me. I try to stay calm. I try to think. But all I can see is Kaz’s face in front of me, burning with hatred and disdain as he rams me harder into the unforgiving bricks. 

I try to hold in my scream as a knife plunges into my side from one of the roofs above, deep and intense pain bursting through me. I don’t know who threw it, I don’t know how many of them are up there and how many stayed behind. I don’t know how long they’ve been in on it, I don’t know if Kaz has been aware the entire time. But I do know that now he knows, they all do. And that I won’t be leaving here alive. 

I can’t move enough to take the knife from my side, the hilt small, but the blade curved and lodged deep above the bone of my hip. Blood seeps through my dress, the red becoming impossibly darker, and the drip drip of the liquid pings against the stone street as it runs down my legs. It’s the only sound between us besides my ragged breathing, pained and desperate. 

“This was all a test of loyalty,” he says evenly. “You failed.”

And I would die for it. 

Kaz’s hands close around my throat, gaze steely and intent. I try not to panic, my jaw locking and lungs constricting with the pressure of his grip. The warmth of the blood continues spreading and soaking through my side, red and sticky and filling my nostrils with the scent of copper. I can already barely breathe, trying and failing to make it through the pain. It makes sense how loose Kaz’s lips had been with me, all the questions he had asked to try and taunt me, to reveal my relationship to Alek, how he let me teach him; he thought I would be a dead woman soon. And dead women don’t spill secrets. Or give lessons beyond the grave.

“We knew it was you all along,” Kaz says in my face, tone even as he chokes me. “Funny. You didn’t even know he was here until we flushed him out for you. Until we set up that date and watched you become the person we suspected you were. Until you crawled back to him and pretended he was the only light in the pit of darkness that’s been your life.” Kaz’s gloved fingers are hot against my pulse and his hair is falling down his forehead, sides freshly shaved. I can see every prick of stubble along his chin, see the muscles feathering in his jaw. I’ve never been this close to him before. Not even in the car. A day that felt so long ago. Like a lifetime. 

“Don’t you know why we scouted you in the first place? We knew he would try to ruin us from the inside out and use you to do it, it was only a matter of time. But that game can be played by both sides.” His voice is low, a snarl that roars in my ears, my side throbbing. “Nikolai, Alina, Zoya… you thought that you were bringing in new recruits to then turn against us. We had them first. They were always Crows, not one of Aleksander Morosova’s ravens. They have even more of a reason to want revenge on him than I do. And I’ll bet they’re being even less pleasant with him than I am with you right now.” 

A pit burns inside of me, low and feral, deepening with each of his words. 

“But even before that, I wanted you.” 

And I know, at the tenor of his voice, it’s not the kind of want that I would ever seek. At how his voice drops, so no one else can possibly hear, that I will not like what he is going to say. 

“I wanted you the moment I saw you and your father’s face in the news. When I heard what he did to your mother even though no one would believe he could have done it. I knew he did.” He is seething, spitting on me as he goes on. “I knew that he was capable of ordering violence. Of committing it and buying people’s silence. I could see it in his eyes, I could see it in the way he held you against him. Possessive and consuming.”

I have gone completely still, the very blood in my veins seeming to stop, the pulsing at my side ebbing into a dull ache. His words are in a bubble, trapped between our lips. Each syllable pops and rebuilds it, over and over. Trapping me, over and over. 

“I didn’t leave the day they came to kill Jordie.” He continues, “I thought something was wrong, for him to force me out the way he did. I hid on the roof of our building and climbed down the stairs of the fire escape a few hours later. Then I saw him. Your father. Positioning my brother’s body on our couch, I saw him take the bloodied knife and place it on the floor, beneath Jordie’s fingers. I watched as he cleaned off any fingerprints, stole away any evidence. He had no blood on him and by the two men that stumbled onto the street and disappeared down an alley, I knew he hadn’t done the actual act...

“But what’s worse? Following an order for murder or sanctioning it?” 

I feel tears slipping down my cheeks, dropping like flies on Kaz’s gloves. 

“I followed him. Learned everything I could. I learned that he had been involved with an underground drug operation for decades. That my parents had been in debt with them due to some bad decisions in my dad’s twenties. And that your father had been sent to collect or kill. To send a message to the other debtors. Little did your father know that the victims had two children, that they escaped. And that they would be coming for him.” 

The air around me turns infinitely colder, everything still and quiet except Kaz’s voice. 

“I watched you too.” He continues, fingers losing their grip a bit on my throat. “I watched to see who you would be. If we would indeed become enemies, as our parents were. I observed you grow with Morosova, how he controlled you, how he led you away all those years, how he kept you quiet and kept you in the dark so you would never find out the truth and be killed, like your mother was.” 

His words stab me deeper than the knife, my heart in ribbons. Hearing him confirm my darkest fears unleashes the worst parts of me, the parts I tried so hard to keep hidden. Terrified. Insecure. Silent. Obedient. The little girl with an abusive father and dead mother. I hadn’t been her in so long, but Kaz is stripping me down. Shredding me. 

 Kaz’s voice drops lower, as if he’s telling me a horrible secret. “He knew about it, Cataleya. Aleksander,” he purrs the name like a curse, “he knew everything. His father was one of the men your father ordered to kill Jordie. Who was a part of the team dispatched to eradicate those who didn’t pay, eradicate my parents. Your parents were working together, how fitting that you and Aleksander would, as well. Fate is funny that way.” 

The world shatters around me, broken and splintering into a million pieces. Alek knew. He sat there and listened to me while I cried about my mother, how I had desperately wanted his help to look into what happened. He had warned me to want anything was to give myself up. That the only way for me to find peace was to move forward and never look back. That if I continued to want for closure, I would never find it.

 “The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak.” He had said, over and over. 

How ironically true that had become. 

Kaz isn’t done. He continues to pick at me, the Crow in him unable to stop, his dark eyes burning with hate. “Where your own father failed, Aleksander’s father succeeded. He remembered seeing pictures in my house, of me and of Jordie. He remembered that there were two boys. And when I killed him by placing a bomb under his car to be rigged as an oil problem, his son stepped into the role to finish what his father started. To silence me too. But he didn’t and for me, for Jordie, I swore I would destroy them, brick by brick.” 

My breathing is coming out in short rasps, eyes blurred with tears of anger and embarrassment and white hot pain. I have been played. So horribly. By everyone in my life. Lied to. By every single person I had known. Even Alek. Alek, who had been the one person I thought would save me. Would be the one in the end to stand by me, to see me, to understand me. But he didn’t. He never did. He used me. Just like my father did. To be a sweet, obedient girl. 

In the few months I had known Kaz, he has seen more of me than Alek ever did. 

All we ever wanted, me and Alek and Kaz, was to feel safe and be loved. But we never trusted anyone enough to be either. So we fought and resisted and pushed. Into darkness. 

A whistle sounds from above, quick and melodic. Inej. Signaling Kaz that he needs to hurry. That enough is enough. But I can see it in his eyes. The hardness. The black pits of revenge and hatred and loathing he feels when he looks at me. It would never be enough. This retribution that he savored for years will never last as long as he wishes it to. I want to wither away into nothing under his stare. Not enough. Not his. Never his. Never a Crow.

“I know you love him,” he whispers so none of the others lurking can hear. “I know he’s the one who saved you. But he used you, Cataleya. He controlled you. You could’ve been so much better, so much bigger. It’s a shame the apple never falls far from the tree.”

I wish it had been you to save me instead. I think, shoving the words down my constricted throat. Maybe if it were Kaz, all those years ago, then things wouldn’t have gotten so messed up. Then maybe I would have been more like Inej, graceful, strong, full of more purpose than what Alek gave me. Maybe I could have meant something. To someone. To the Crows. 

But Kaz didn’t find me. Alek did. Alek led me from the garden and held my hand. Alek stroked my hair and told me it would be okay. That I would be okay. Alek raised me to be unforgiving, to scheme and stab people in the back to fill the empty hole in my life. Control. Kaz had said. How he controlled me. How he deceived me. With love. Love. Fake. Love. Fake love. I want to cry or scream at all of them, shaking with rage. I have been a pawn this whole time. 

“We are all controlled by something.” I push out, my voice weak. 

I try to swallow and fail at the reapplied pressure of Kaz’s palms, drool and spit bubbling from my lips. The alley wall is hard against my back, the night sky black and endless above me. The smog cover is so thick I can’t see the stars, despite the bright spots beginning to dance in my vision. I feel something prick at my spine with the pressure of my position like a silent reminder, mind sharpening and resolve strengthening. Love or no love. I have to finish what I started. I have to complete my assignment. Even if it isn’t one from Kaz. 

Even if it is from a liar. 

Lies are all I have known. 

All I have to hold on to. 

I can’t be saved. From darkness. My own or from others. I have waded too deep, gone too far. I may not be a true Raven, but I am definitely not a Crow. No matter how much I wish I could be. No matter how much I came to appreciate them, to care for them, to trust them. 

Trust is the most dangerous weapon of all. 

Slipping my hands behind my back as if I am trying to scramble against the wall, I reach for the cool metal of the blade attached along the zipper of my dress, letting out a choking cry to cover the unsheathing of my knife. The movement burns my side, ripping open my wound further to pour more blood. It runs over Kaz’s dress shoes, stains my legs. I am losing it too quickly, too much of it ebbing from me at once. Kaz’s hands press harder to my throat, forcing me, willing me, begging me to die now that his speech is over. I know he doesn’t enjoy this. I know he doesn’t relish in murder. Neither do I. 

But love is love.

Control is control. 

And business is business. 

Kaz would agree on that. 

“If I’m going down, Kaz,” I begin, voice barely a whisper. “You’re coming with me.” 

Without wasting another second, I shove the tip of my knife deep between Kaz’s ribs, watching his face contort in pain and dark eyebrows shoot up in surprise, then furrow in agony. Almost immediately, I hear a scream tear from somewhere on the roofs above and feel a pang of sorrow course through me. Inej just watched me stab the love of her life. Inej, the strong, graceful warrior who had been through more than all of us. She had screamed. Wailed.

I hear her words echo around my brain. The autumn leaves. Her cream sweater. The weight of her stare. “Some people just can’t be saved. But we love them anyway.”  

My sight falters.

 Kaz’s grip on my neck loosens, then completely disappears as he stumbles back and I fall towards the concrete without him holding me in place. An arrow pierces my shoulder from above, Jesper no doubt. With that incredible skill for landing true. The impact pushes me forward into Kaz’s already falling body, his white tux shirt now stained with blood. 

The world spins, my head making hard contact with the street. 

“This action will have no echo.” The rough words leak from Kaz’s lips, voice faint and faraway. If I could cry now I would, remembering the meaning of those words that Inej had told me just days ago. We would repeat nothing now. No more harm. To ourselves or others. This is our repentance. Our forgiveness.

Kaz is close to me, for I can feel the warmth of his body and the slick of his blood as it mixes with mine and stains the concrete.

If someone told me nine years ago, when I buried that cat and found my mother buried instead, that this is where I would end up, I wonder how differently my life would have been. I wonder if I would have chosen a different path. One full of forgiveness and happiness. The one of creation instead of crime. Instead of revenge and retribution. The weight of those decisions hang over me like a cloak, protecting and exposing me at the same time. Using the last bits of my strength, I turn my head to the side to look at him. 

Kaz is on his back beside me, so close that I can reach out and touch him. Touch his hand that is limp with resignation, his side that is red with blood, his lips that are white with death. He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Even as a small line of blood trickles from the corner of his lips and pings onto the stones. I let my eyes close, pretending the stars behind my eyelids belong to the sky and not to the Grim Reaper. Pretending the stars are his eyes.

We’ve all had hard lives. We’ve all taken on assignments that were too big for us. We’ve all done things we regretted and we all leaned on each other too much for our own good while leaning on no one at all. We all let the ghosts of our pasts haunt us into our future. Especially Kaz. And that’s the problem with trusting ghosts, in the end you become one. 

You become transparent, empty, without an echo. 

“No mourners.” I manage to mumble into the night. 

“No funerals.” A disembodied voice murmurs back, but I’m not sure who it belongs to. 

And then there is nothing but darkness. 

---

~Admin Eggplant