#but i think i do work myself up into a frenzy about things and can’t tear myself away

[ionlycareaboutyou]

the older i get the more i realize i might have something going on with my brain that i could potentially get help for but i have no idea where to start and i feel too embarrassed to

[sincerelyneo]

could i request a mark smut 😣😣 where reader and mark just had an intense argument but in the end, they cant be mad at each other for long so they just fck it out of each other 🤐🤐🤐🤐

mad at you | l.mk

“then i try to leave, but baby i just can’t stay mad at you”

💿now playing: mad at you by why don’t we

❯ summary: Mark learns that you’ve made a ‘selfish’ decision that’s bound to put a strain on your relationship. Next thing you know, you're knee-deep in an argument that somehow ends with you sprawled out beneath him; because, let’s be honest, he’s never really been any good at staying mad at you.

❯ pairings: idol!mark x fem!reader

❯ genre: angst, smut, established relationship, make up sex

❯ words: 4.3k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, lots of arguing, swearing, reader is lowkey dramatic, makeup sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), nipple play, dry humping, brief clit play, slight needy mark bc i can't help myself, creampie, reader uses she/her pronouns, reader and mark argue and resolve it by fucking.

an: i love writing angsty arguments (testament to my real relationships lol) so thank you so much for this request. it lowkey brought me out of writer’s block.

The honeymoon stage lasts approximately thirty months or two and a half years – which would make sense considering you and Mark were approaching your third year together and have argued more recently than you ever had. 

But this time it’s different. You’ve never seen Mark like this, so angry that his face is bordering red and his jaw ticks so hard it might crack as the both of you drive in complete silence from your work dinner. He doesn’t even bother sneaking his usual glances at you when he pulls up at stoplights, the hand he likes to place on your thigh is gripping the wheel instead, and the only noise in the car is his rugged and frustrated exhales. 

You could feign ignorance about why he's upset, but you know the reason all too well. And while a part of you acknowledges his right to be angry, another, more prideful part, resists the idea of apologising, especially when you think his reaction seems so disproportionate to your mistake.

So you sit in the passenger seat, arms crossed and body frozen, contributing to the cold silence settling between the two of you. You prepare yourself for the earful of a lecture you’re about to get when he pulls up outside your shared apartment. 

He parks the car, slams the door shut, and strides towards your building without a backward glance. You scoff at his pettiness; he's never been so angry that he wouldn't at least wait for you to get out of the car with him. He doesn't even slow down when you trail behind. And when he nearly lets the elevator doors close without you, any chance he has of receiving an apology from you flies out the window, you think. 

He does, however, show some decency by leaving the front door open for you as you both step out of the elevator and head towards your apartment – how chivalrous. 

The chivalry doesn’t last long because the minute he hears you clasp the door shut, he’s glaring at you, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and you can't help but notice that he's rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt in frustration. If he weren't on the brink of yelling at you, you'd be tempted to make him do more than just roll up those sleeves — you'd want the fabric torn off and thrown on the floor in an instant.

“Paris, Y/N?!” Mark seethes, voice deep and uneven. “You signed a fucking contract to work in Paris?!?”

You pause, attempting to gather your thoughts, but the momentary silence doesn't offer much clarity. Eventually, you settle on, "It's just a six-month gig..." – a statement that seems to send him into a frenzy. 

“Just six months?” He rubs his jaw repeatedly in disbelief, “That’s six months that we won’t get to see each other, did you even think about that huh?”

You scoff, “You’re one to talk, need I remind you that your job takes you away from me for months at a time.”

"That's not fair," he protests. "You knew exactly what you were getting into when you agreed to date me. I didn’t agree to not seeing my girlfriend for months because she’s gallivanting away in Paris without me."

Your eyes narrow and your nostrils flare, “So what? If you would have known, you wouldn’t have wanted to be my boyfriend?”

His eyes widen and he shakes his head. His hands fly to his hair and he tugs at the strands as he huffs out a breath. 

“How the fuck did you get that conclusion from what I said?” He asks, voice sounding baffled. “The reason I’m so mad is because I like being your boyfriend, but I’m not going to see you for the next six months.”

“You’re being a hypocrite right now.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Right, because I’m always the one being unreasonable.”

“Yes, you are,” you scorn, “This job is my dream, don’t you see how selfish you're being?”

“I’m selfish?” He gasps, “That’s rich considering you didn’t even consult me when making this decision, I had to find out from your smug little co-worker in front of everyone. You were thinking solely about yourself, Y/N.”

You're on the verge of screaming. How is he not seeing things from your perspective? He's usually so understanding, so open to hearing your side. But the razor-sharp look in his eyes tells you that there's no getting through to him. He's convinced you're wrong, and nothing will change his mind.

“It’s for my job, Mark,” you cross your arms and shrug. 

“And how many times have I told you that you don’t need to work? How many times do I need to tell you I can look after the both of us?”

“And how many times have I told you that I don’t want that? I don’t want to have to always rely on you!” You snap. 

Your teeth grit as the words spit out of your mouth. They seem to hit Mark, deep, his eyes softening for a fleeting moment before sharpening again. He swallows thickly and blinks before running a hand through his hair. 

“Then what are we doing, Y/N?” He asks deflated, “What are we if you don’t want to rely on me?”

You're not sure what compels you to say it – whether it's the way you're all worked up, the entire context of the argument, or some inner recognition that you're the one who's fucked up this time despite you both having stuff to apologise for. Still, you escalate the situation from zero to one hundred without a second thought. 

“Oh, so you want to break up?”

He shakes his head and tongues the inside of his cheek, “When did I say that?!”

The fight only gets worse after that, the two of you blowing up after every sentence. You run around in circles, throwing accusations and insults at each other to the point the original premise of the argument is lost along the way of a thousand new arguments. It’s like every little thing you’ve both done to irk each other over the last month is brought up; and by the end of it, the two of you swear you’re done with each other. 

Sure, you've had your fair share of arguments, but the biting finality of the word "done" as it leaves his lips sends a sharp pang through your stomach – it hurts like hell. You've reached your limit with this endless cycle of back-and-forth; you've had enough of him. Storming past him, you head towards your shared bedroom.

Mark sighs and reaches out for your arm, but you pull away. He doesn't like this, doesn't like the chilliness he feels from you. He doesn't want to end the argument like this; it's never gone this far without a resolution before.

“You can’t just storm away when we argue Y/N, it’s childish.”

“If you don’t like it then leave!” You slam the door shut after you and lock it. 

Mark hates this more, not being able to talk this out because you’ve put a wall between the two of you. Then your words register in his mind and he’s the most hurt he’s ever felt. You want him to leave. Fuck that, he thinks. He’s not going to watch his relationship go down the drain over a petty argument. 

He knocks on the door a few times, then jiggles the doorknob, calling out your name and pleading for you to let him in. But you remain unmoved, denying him even the satisfaction of hearing your voice telling him to go away. This only adds to his frustration. He's the one you've upset, and yet here he is, begging for you to open up so he can fix things.

After a few more tries he scoffs, your words echoing in his mind once more. Leave. It crosses his mind as he makes his way to the front door of the apartment. He swings it open, ready to clear his head and crash at Johnny's for the night. But just as he's about to step out, he catches sight of a picture of the two of you on the coffee table where he keeps his keys. 

It’s from your honeymoon phase when it was easier for the two of you to say you’d never let anything come between you – when love seemed to blind you both. Mark picks up the photo, memories flooding back to the day it was taken. It was the day you met his parents and shared your aspirations of becoming a fashion designer. You reassured them that you had your own dreams and weren't just with their son for his wealth – though his parents wouldn't have minded either way; they would have been content with any girl that made their son happy. And you made Mark happy – you make Mark so fucking happy. 

Which is why he can’t believe he’s even considering leaving you in this apartment on your own after a fight. He shuts the front door and makes his way to the couch. He's eager to resolve things with you now, but both of you are too caught up in emotions, spouting shit you'll likely regret in the morning. So he opts to grab a few sofa pillows and a blanket from the storage closet instead. He strips down from his dress shirt and pants, throwing them to the floor before lying back and resting his eyes with a heavy mind.

Regret doesn't hit you until 2:00 am the following morning, when you're met with the chill of an empty space beside you as you reach out to cuddle your boyfriend, only to find him absent. Sure you thought he was overreacting to the news, but you're also painfully aware that your own words were uncalled for. You shouldn’t have asked him to leave – you didn’t want him to. 

As you heard the front door open and then close with a clink, a thick lump formed in your throat. The realisation that you had driven him away hit you hard, and you lost all motivation. You lay on your bed, makeup still intact, as you sniffled and sobbed quietly into your pillow. And even now, after tossing and turning from your mind running laps, you’d only managed to sleep for a few minutes. 

You stretch your stiff legs and reluctantly leave your bed, unlocking your bedroom door with sleepy eyes. You're taken aback when you see Mark sleeping soundly on the sofa, his breath steady with his eyes closed. You thought he had left, but there he is, covered only by the blanket from the storage closet. It breaks your heart to see him like this; he's likely cold, and he'll probably have a stiff neck in the morning for practice. And you know it's all your fault.

The guilt eats away at you, and without hesitation, you rush to the bedroom to grab his pillows and an extra blanket. Realistically, you should wake him up and insist he sleeps in bed, but the fear of his lingering anger keeps you from doing so. Instead, you kneel in front of him, attempting to swap the sofa pillows for his own bed pillows.

However, your efforts prove futile because Mark is a light sleeper – a detail you foolishly overlooked in your worried state of mind. He blinks as he wakes up once, then twice, appearing confused to find you in front of him in the living room instead of beside him in bed.

“Baby?” He whispers, his eyes hazy as he tries to make sense of what you're doing. It doesn’t take him long once he spots the sofa cushion in your hand to put the pieces together.  

You bite your lip and sigh, “I know you're mad at me, but I didn’t want you to wake up stiff in the morning.”

Mark's chest constricts. How could he possibly stay mad at you when you're so cute, fussing over him like this? He notices the smudge of black makeup beneath your eye, and his heart tightens once more – this time with sadness rather than affection.

His hand reaches out to touch your cheek, and you’re shocked at the touch. “You’ve been crying?” He asks and you bow your head. 

"I thought you left..."

Mark wants to laugh at the irony. You asked him to leave, and yet here you are, upset at the idea of his departure. He swears if he weren't so in love with you, he'd rant about how much you mess with his head, pushing him to the edge only to pull him back again.

“Would never leave you, baby, you know that,” his voice is soft and comforting as the rough edge of his fingertips finds your jaw. 

You can't control it; tears fall freely from your eyes. He's being incredibly considerate and gentle with you, even after you acted like a bitch. Honestly, you almost wish he'd just yell at you instead. But he doesn’t, his eyes widen and he immediately sits up straight letting the blanket fall to the floor as he pulls you up to sit on his lap. 

He shushes you, his hands finding your waist where he rubs soothing soft circles into the fabric of your tank top, “Hey, why are you crying? I’m here…please don’t get upset, Y/N.”

His kindness only amplifies your guilt. 

"I'm so sorry," you stifle in short sobs, your voice almost cracking. "I should've talked to you about the job offer before signing the contract... I-I didn't mean to act so selfishly. I just... I wasn't thinking."

Mark gives you a half-smile as he runs a hand through your hair. "It's okay, baby... You got caught up in your dream. I'm sorry for not realising that. I'm the one being selfish by always expecting you to put me first."

"No—"

He interrupts you to continue his apology. "You were right, you know. I always expect you to wait for me while I'm on tour. I never considered it from the other side, with me waiting for you... But I will. I'll wait because I know how much this job means to you."

Your face buries itself in the crook of his neck as you cry even harder, and he tuts gently while rubbing your back.

"Please don’t cry, Y/N," he murmurs softly. "I hate seeing you upset."

"Can’t help it," you muffle. "I hate that I upset you…"

Mark pulls you away from his neck, needing to look into your eyes as he speaks. "It's normal for couples to argue, baby. We just need to promise to communicate better, okay?"

His fingers stroke your cheeks again, and you lean into his touch. The warmth of his hand feels so comforting as if he was made to soothe your skin, the only person capable of bringing you relief. You bite your lip and nod against his palm, because you're more than willing to work on your communication if it means never feeling like this again.

"Now, give me a smile. You know, the pretty one I like," he says with a laugh. "If I'm not going to see you for the next six months, I don’t want one of our last moments together to be so... sad."

You smile at him and press your forehead against his with a whisper. "Me neither.”

You’re so close to each other that you’re practically sharing the same breath, if you had said that two hours ago you wouldn’t have believed yourself. But here you are, lips so close that your heavy breathing practically begs him to kiss you.

Mark feels it too, so when he does, it's like the softness of his lips is a bandage, mending the angry tension between the two of you. It patches up the last few hours that have transpired, and when he pulls away, it feels as if nothing even happened.

His hands grip your hips firmly, his fingers pressing down as he guides your body to grind against his clothed crotch. His lips find yours again, accompanied by a groan that escapes into your mouth. It's only when you feel him harden beneath you that you remember he was half-naked on the sofa – clearly after you locked him out of the bedroom.

Suddenly feeling suffocated by your own clothes, you pull away from him to strip off your tank top, tossing it over your head before discarding it somewhere in the living room. You yearn to meet his lips again – the only place you truly feel safe – but Mark wants to savour the way you look. Your clothed cunt eagerly grinding against his hard-on, hips chasing a high so eagerly that your bra strap has slid loosely down your arm.

You're a vision, Mark thinks, one that has him salivating and desperate to fuck you. He almost curses at himself for nearly ruining it all, for nearly walking out on the most beautiful person on the planet, the best sex he's ever had – and not only that but also the funniest, sweetest person he knows he'll ever meet.

He leans into your neck, his nose nuzzling into you as he whispers softly, "I'm sorry... so sorry, Y/N." His hand leaves your hips to cup your breast over your bra, massaging the mound with just enough pressure to elicit soft moans from your lips.

“‘s okay,” you whimper. 

Your head falls back as his hand snakes around to unclasp it. He wastes no time brushing his intrusive fingers down your chest, wearing a filthy smirk because he knows just how sensitive you are there. The tip of his finger circles around your nipple until he’s right in the centre, feeling it harden under his touch. He pinches it, and you jolt forward on his cock, making his boxers tighten, and he groans.

He loves how responsive you were to him, watching you writhe over him as he touched you in torturous pleasure. Just the way you arch your back into his touch has pre-cum leaking out of his cock. 

He leans in this time, sucking on your nipple and opening wide to get as much of the tender tissue of your breast in his mouth as possible. He holds your waist in place to keep you grinding on him to entice enough friction for him to feel good too. 

And when he looks down to see where the two of you meet, he moans when he sees the wet patch leaking through your shorts onto his boxers. 

“Fuck, so wet for me, baby. Just for me.”

You whimper, and his hand slips into the hem of your shorts. You’re glad you never wear panties to bed because his fingers find your clit immediately, relieving you of some of the neediness you’ve been feeling from grinding down on him. He rubs small circles as his mouth licks and sucks and nips at your bud. 

“Mark…” 

“Shhh baby,” he coos, “wanna make it up to you. Please let me make it up to you, let me make you feel good.” 

You whimper with a nod of your head, humping into his hand, legs opening wider to give him easier access to the place you’re most sensitive. You let out mild pants, hips bucking more aggressively from the stimulation on both your nipple and clit.

And when Mark notices you getting close, he pulls off your tit to look up at your face. It’s his favourite part — watching your features contort when the bliss is at its highest. It makes his chest swell with pride knowing he’s the one making you cum, knowing his touch is enough to make you shake and moan. And if he wasn’t such a selfish lover, he’d think the sight is something everyone should see at least once.

As you come down from your orgasm, your eyes flutter open to meet him. Mark doesn’t know whether it’s from seeing your orgasm paired with the argument from earlier but he’s the hardest he’s ever been. 

You notice it too, looking down and giggling. “Now it’s my turn to make it up to you.” 

He lets out a soft huff, and a muscle in his jaw twitches with his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat before he nods. You free his cock from his boxers and shimmy yourself out of your shorts. You let out identical gasps when your bare cunt brushes against the tip of his cock. 

Slowly, you sink onto him, fully feeling him inside of you. Your head falls forward, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you take in the size of him, the way he fills you just right — the way he always does. 

The stretch as you take him in never gets old, eliciting the same whimpers and whines. You can feel his hands resting on your hips, then slipping to the bend of your waist, silently urging you to move as he presses you downwards.

You lift your hips, slow and steady as you let the sensations wash over you, drawing a low groan from deep in his chest. His grip on your body tightens as you sink back down, blunt nails digging into your skin. The sounds he makes only drive you further into finding a teasing rhythm because his voice is just so pretty. The sounds are soon muffled to your disappointment when his mouth presses into your skin, so his tongue can slide along the top of your breast — making the disappointment fade away real quick. 

You let out a breathy cry, hands rising from where they’ve been resting, flattening against his chest, to wrap around his shoulders. The slow pace you’d adopted was becoming not enough. And you could tell from the way Mark is rutting his hips up to meet you, he shares the same sentiment. 

Your mouths collide as you pick up the pace, using his shoulders to leverage yourself as you bounce up and down on his cock. When he breaks from the kiss, an unrestrained groan slips past his lips, low and rough, followed by another, and you have to bite back a whimper of your own.

Mark can’t help the noises, he just loves the way you swivel your hips in a way that makes him see stars. He loves watching you work yourself on him for pleasure – he loves when you ride him.

And right when you squeeze around him, he rewards you with a loud, obscene groan, a sound that makes you dizzy and limp. Everything about Mark is intoxicating and downright addicting, and you were in no hurry to kick that addiction. In fact, you craved more of it – needed more. 

You grab his hands and guide them across your body. He squeezes them at your hips, smoothing across your thighs, your stomach. His hands were everywhere, eyes dark and desperate, wordlessly begging for you to give him what he needed, the same thing he’d been kind enough to already give you. 

So you rock yourself forward, providing a new type of friction that makes you whine helplessly into his skin. Blunt nails mark into the plush of your thighs, a futile attempt at grounding himself. The upward thrust of his hips and the strained catch of his breath tells you that he's growing impatient. You know the pace was slow, but damn it, it felt so fucking good to feel him like this, every inch of him sliding into you, hitting all the spots that makes your brain stop working. It also felt like a sick little way to get revenge...

“Faster,” you hear him say. “Please baby, need it faster.”

You could feel his hips bucking up to meet you. Then his thumb finds your clit, working in circles and making you squeeze around him with a shrill, gasping cry. It was his attempt at bargaining with you, doing anything to make you speed up and shamelessly fuck yourself on his cock. Maybe if he pleases you, you’ll let him cum.

“Please fuck me properly baby, need it,” he rasps, “You want me to forgive you right?”

And then you remember what led you here in the first place. You’d upset him and now you’re teasing him – you suppose it’s only fair if you pick up the pace a little more, fuck him messily and desperately enough to have him dizzying towards his climax. 

And once you do, his thrusts grow sloppier, and your thighs start aching. It feels too fucking good so all that you can do is cling to him and let him take the lead, strong hands guiding you as he sucks against your neck. And even though you’re supposed to be the one making him cum, you find yourself buried in the crook of his neck, gasping as your walls clench and nails dig into the skin of his strong back. 

The slight stinging sensation is enough to work Mark over the edge, and you feel him twitch inside of you, sending shock waves up your spine as he fucks his cum inside of you with a final powerful thrust. You roll your hips to help him along, taking all you can get from him and he moans his appreciation as you do. 

You remain tangled up in one another as you come down from your respective highs with foreheads pressed close. You wrestle to find his hand, lacing your fingers with his as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. He kisses your nose, then your lips, with a tenderness that makes your heart feel like it’s being squeezed. 

You don’t want to move just yet, so you release your hands and wrap them around his neck, nuzzling your nose against his before you speak.

"Mark?" You mumble, your voice tired and hazy. He hums in response.

"I’m sorry," you say softly.

You feel his smile against your mouth before he kisses your lips. "It’s okay, baby. I don’t even remember what we were fighting for."

[simpjaes]

FRENZY ៸៸៸ part two

Jake is experiencing real love for the first time in his life. He’s so infatuated with you that he would do anything to make you understand. And you? Oh, you are in no place to argue with a man who appears to be perfect. 

៸៸៸  part one here ៸៸៸ you must read the first part in order to understand this one!

៸៸៸ sim jake x afab reader 

 ៸៸៸ minors dni

 ៸៸៸ wordcount: 14.2k

 ៸៸៸ genre: stalker au, dark fic, slow burn, smut

 ៸៸៸ content tags: switch!stalker jake, he is gross but on a plus side he’s got a big shlong, obsession, panty stealing/sniffing, toothbrush sucking, shower water tasting, jealousy, manipulation, past trauma involving sa of reader, reader is manipulated into being obsessed with him too, trauma, jake is very insane, he’s thinks you need him to fix you, reader can be lifted and carried by him. 

 ៸៸៸ !WARNINGS! there is intense trauma, past abuse, and conflict in this fic. It’s dark with mentions of noncon and dubcon, and an instance where jake keeps going after reader faints. Everything is consenting between the two but only because he is manipulative and a bad person. if you can’t handle it, don't read it.

 ៸៸៸ a/n: sorry again for the way i had to post this in two parts, still i hope it was worth the wait!

៸៸៸ nsfw tags under cut

៸៸៸ nsfw tags for the whole fic, as in both chapters: masochism (jake), sadism (reader and jake), overstimulation, painful masturbation, praise, worship, dirty talk, blowjob, finger fucking, pussy eating, riding, missionary, mating press,  standing up sex yayyyyy, huge giant fat cock jake, deep penetration, unprotected sex, implied breeding, choking, hair pulling, suffocation, cock warming, crying, begging, hate sex, hitting (m receiving), squirting

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The next morning, you were late waking up to log into your work account but Jake was still there, drowsy and smiling at you from the moment you opened your eyes. 

You briefly remember the early morning pouting he gave you, hard against you and lips all over you, and in turn you remember how you made a promise to yourself swiftly after rejecting his needs.

Your face heated up the second he said good morning to you, flustered over the fact that not only do you want him, but you want him to want you like that again, despite your rejection. After all, you let him sleep over, and he didn’t try to take advantage of you despite sporting an intense boner through the majority of it. 

He sees the way your eyes check him out upon waking up too, but you stay silent after he gives you his good morning greeting. 

“Are you hungry? I can step out and pick up some breakfast so you can work.” He offers, stretching his arms out wide and tapping you to stand up. “I’m staying again today.” 

Your eyes widen at him, but the smile on your face betrays that little red flag in your head that has forced you, up to this point, to struggle to give him what he needs. 

“I’d like that.” You nod to him, cheeks permanently warmed at the image of your shining boyfriend. “Sorry about last night.” You blurt now, standing up and stretching yourself. 

“It’s fine love, it's just hard to keep my hands to myself sometimes.” He says, intensely watching your reaction.

You lend a pause in your stretch at those words, having heard them before when your ex did things that made your body ache for weeks. There is a pull in your gut hearing him say that before you remind yourself that they’re just words. He just really likes you, and he did stop when you told him to.

He is not your ex. 

“I wouldn’t have hurt you though,” He continues, seeing you deep in thought in front of him. “If you’d have let me, I mean.”

“Jake I–” You stop yourself, feeling a flood of words on the tip of your tongue. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” You confirm, now moving forward to hug against him. “I would have–” 

“You would?” His eyes light up, smile brighter than you’ve ever seen before. 

“No, I mean,” You stutter in panic, hugging him tighter. “I would have touched you if you asked.”

His eyes go dark instantly, making his smile seem more eerie than anything as you look up at him. 

“I’m okay with doing the touching, we can work our way up to the other stuff…maybe? If that’s okay?” 

“Oh, baby, that’s more than okay.” He coos out, now losing his appetite for actual food and wanting nothing more than to show you just how good he could really be for you. His arms hug you tightly before releasing you, and he ushers you across the room. “We can talk about this later though, you’re already late, right?”

You nod, feeling a bit better about initially rejecting him and doing just that, moving to the small nook that holds your desk and PC and listening to him slip his shoes on. 

“I’m going to grab breakfast, and I’m gonna stop by my place to grab some clothes.” 

He leaves before you can answer, which is nice because part of you didn’t want to hear your own voice accepting that. 

Accepting that he’s leaving right now, accepting that he’s coming back to stay another night, accepting that you feel perfectly fine with all of this despite your inner demon advising you to run. 

You don’t know who you are in this moment, but what you do know is that you’re safe. That’s what’s driving you to act blatantly against what your own brain is telling you.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You’re clinging and Jake is fucking devoted to the feeling of it.

Devoted to the way your fingers, so much smaller than his own, grab him to kiss him. Devoted to the way you kiss the bruise above his brow, and the way you ask him to stay for another night, and another, and another, up until he finds himself doing his and your laundry together just so he doesn’t have to go back home to grab more clothes to rotate through. 

It’s been a week since he’s been in your apartment, rolling around on your bed with you in it, cleaning himself in your shower, washing himself with your soap. It’s like only the two of you exist in this space, where he is the only one to step out and see the sun, solely so you don’t have to.

Or, solely so you can’t. He doesn’t think he’d let you at this point, now that you’re his and you prove it with each kiss and hug. All you need to do is sit and look pretty, sit and love him. That’s what your purpose is in this relationship, he will do the rest. 

Given, he’s also fucked his fist each second he can get in your bathroom. But goddamn do you cling. You whine when he separates himself from you even for a moment, and day by day he can see you come closer and closer to fulfilling his need to be loved by you entirely. 

Your phone hasn’t received any unsavory messages you’ve noticed as well, they haven’t needed you to come into the office, and all you can manage to think is that…you’re in love with being in this apartment with him.

Only good things happen when Jake is with you and you’re growing so attached that you’ve thought more than once to just move him in with you. Your mother would scold you, your ex would kill you, and arguably, Jake would absolutely do it. 

He waits on you hand and foot. Cooking, cleaning, doing your laundry, holding you and giving you some of the best sleep you’ve had in years. You refrain from considering it seriously though, because this relationship is still so new. You don’t want to freak him out or cause an uproar in your already fucked up and unsteady life. You’re throwing yourself in like you always do, but…is it so bad when he’s doing the exact same thing?

Until he’s not, anyway. 

“Love,” Jake starts, tapping his chin with the tips of his fingers as he lounges on your bed. “I need to go home today.”

Your heart immediately sinks. 

“What? Why?” You ask in a voice that plainly shows your panic.

“Well,” He taps on his chin again before moving his hand through his hair. “I’m pretty sure my mailbox is probably full by now, I need to clean out my fridge, and I should probably check my course work.”

“You’re…in college?” 

Jake nods with a snicker, laughing at how he’s given up his entire life for you. 

“Yeah, probably won’t be soon though.” He laughs, shaking his hair out and then looking at you with big, rounded eyes. “Just for the day, I’ll be back before sunset.”

You look down in a disappointed way before nodding to him. 

“Aww, babe. Don’t be like that–” He mock pouts as he turns to you, grabbing both of your cheeks and squishing them up, forcing your lips to pucker before landing a harsh kiss against them. “I’m coming right back, I promise.” 

You nod again, unable to keep a smile from forming on your face. 

“You’re so cute, it’s going to kill me one of these days.” He smiles back at you, hopping up and preparing himself to head back to his apartment. 

What you don’t know is that, while Jake wasn’t lying and that he should at least clean out his fridge, he needed to go home. 

He needs to unload the footage onto his computer, he needs to watch it back, he needs to fuck something.

And so, he does just that. 

The second he gets back to his apartment, it’s almost uncomfortable. Unfamiliar scents, no warmth, rotting food in the fridge, neglected pillows and bed sheets. 

Even so, it’s like he acts on instinct when he walks past everything he needs to do and lands himself at the window. His mind takes over in an instant.

It felt like so long ago when he first saw you from here, knowing you were the most beautiful, the perfect girl for him. Knowing you would love him too, and that you’d never want to leave him. He smiles at his victory, knowing that you’re sitting in that apartment right now thinking about him too. If he knew where he would be now, he thinks his former self may have very well fucked himself to death. After all, he’s felt you, tasted you, and even seen parts of you based on the little image he sent to himself from your phone. Everything happened better than he knew it would.

If it weren’t for your ex, perhaps you wouldn’t have let him stay with you in your apartment. Perhaps you wouldn’t have clinged to him so immediately. 

In a way, he almost wants to thank the man before he eventually strangles the life out of him. 

He’s tasted almost all of you by this point, and each moment it happened is trapped within the files of that little camera there. All of it, for him to remember. Each kiss and makeout session he made sure happened in the view of this camera, and so badly does he want to watch over and over again the moments where you gave in to him. The moments where you needed him. 

He’s quick to push the camera to his pc, uploading a weeks worth of files before placing it back onto the window sill and immediately shoving his hand down his pants. 

Jake shivers at the first unrestricted graze of his hand against his cock, eyebrows falling into that of probably one of the most pathetic faces he could ever make in his life. The relief is so good, so painful.

He can’t fucking help it. After jerking off multiple times a day before finding himself in your apartment with you, it’s hard to only do it once a day within a short time span of a few minutes. He felt so restricted in terms of his release, and he has so much cum to give right now. He’s aching for it. He wants to bleed it dry. 

He wants you so bad at this point, seeing you dangle yourself in front of him and not yet give in to at least going down on him– he needs this. He needs it now. 

Even if it’s not you touching him, he needs to release before he takes it from you. Before he does something stupid and makes you hate him forever. Before he really does become your ex. It felt like he was going insane in your apartment, surrounded by you, only wanting to fuck you, and still not getting to. 

God, the footage is so grainy but it hits his cock so fucking fast. He memorized each moment as it happened, and now watching it in third person makes him feel as if he’s some sort of ghost. Like he’s having an out of body experience and can see and feel you in a completely different light.

In more ways than he already has, even.

He releases within thirty seconds, barely holding his cock when he doubles over at the footage of that very first, harsh kiss you gave him. Sensitive and twitching, his raging length spilled all in his pants, drenches them through even, as his body shakes with the need for more.

And as if it never happened, he takes a firmer hold of his cock now, fast forwarding the footage to each and every kiss, wondering how good those lips of yours would feel elsewhere on his body. How pretty your moans would sound for him, how cute your hand looked gripping your tit in that little nude of yours, how–

He comes again, forcing him to let out a choked sob and drop his head to his desk. God, it hurts. He’s so sensitive, and still, he wants you so bad. His dick is still raging, aching, and begging, especially when he thinks of how you’ve been clinging. How your hands have fucked yourself, and how badly he wants them to stay on him forever. 

God he wishes your fingers could slice him open, leaving painful and love-filled reminders of not who you belong to, but of who he belongs to. 

When he thinks of how he’s only doing this right now because you have your claws buried into him already, almost refusing to let him leave you, he knows he could come another four or five times within the next thirty minutes solely because you cling, and cling, and fucking cling. Fuck..

That’s so hot to him.

He’d let you cage him up in a heartbeat, he’d let you fuck his entire life up and then laugh at him for it. It’s what you deserve. To have a man willing to do anything for you, someone willing to give up everything just to hear you breathe, to have him be that person. 

Third release, forcing him to hold his breath to the point of feeling faint.

The veins on his neck protrude, sweat now dripping down his brow. 

It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts.

But it doesn’t hurt enough.

And all day he does this. Until the sun is telling him that he needs to go back to you, until his hair is drenched in sweat and his arm is sore. Until his body feels weak and his cock feels spent, raw, and still throbbing for more. 

It hurts when he puts on a new pair of pants, hurts even more when he forces himself to squat in front of his fridge to clean it out, opting to toss everything into a bag rather than sifting through what’s good and what isn’t. 

Now more than ever does he want you against him, knowing that he’s fucked himself half to death solely to keep himself from scaring you, and still he isn’t satisfied.

At this point, nothing will satisfy him but you. He knows this now.

He’s quick to lock up, even quicker to toss his trash, and finds himself inside of your lobby at a loss.

Goddamn his libido. Goddamn this love for you. 

He can’t stop wanting you, and he can’t just fuck the need away himself at this point. He needs you to fuck his brain quiet, only you can satiate this horrifyingly deep hunger. 

Waiting, watching, waiting, waiting, waiting. 

He’s waited enough. He’s done waiting. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake appears at your door right on time, and you were expecting to see his smiling face and big stretched out arms to greet you as you open the door for him.

You didn’t get that though. In fact, you found yourself frozen with the door half open as you stared at your boyfriend and the way his terrifyingly small pupils looked back at you before instantly growing twice the size. So different from this morning, heaving, lips shaking, eyes darker than they’ve ever been. 

Before you can even ask why he’s looking at you like that, you learn exactly why. 

“I’m going fucking insane.” Jake says shortly in a hot whisper, stepping forward and slamming the door behind him. You feel his hands on you instantly, slipping under your shirt and grabbing your waist tightly. “Can’t be away from you, can’t be with you, I can’t stand it.” 

You just listen, feeling him walk you into the living room, fluttering his lips all over your face and neck, only to press you up and against the window with his entire body pinning you there with a slam. 

You’re shocked, unable to do anything but listen to him and feel the way his hands grip and search your entire body for something to hold onto. 

“All fucking day,” Jake seethes out angrily, pulling back from you and grabbing your face to turn it. Almost pissed that you simply exist in front of him right now. “Right there.” He says, pointing directly to his apartment. “I sat right there trying to deal with this.” He presses his hips against you, letting you feel exactly what he’s talking about. “And still, I need more.”

Your brain goes numb. Or maybe it goes hot, you’re not sure. You’ve only recently realized that he turns you on beyond belief, it’s difficult to decipher the difference between horniness and fear right now. 

“Jake–” You turn back to him, now using your own hands to grab his face, forcing his eyes to steady and look at you, as if to bring him back to reality. “Do you need–”

He cuts you off with a harsh kiss, hands running up just to press you harder against the window, his hips chasing whatever he can get from you. Like he’s using you in this moment, as if you’re not real and simply a doll for him to release against and inside of. 

He’s fucking gone. Outside of himself, and you, and the universe as a whole. 

“What I need,” He says, pulling back and stating in an almost demanding tone. “Is for you to take care of me.”

You knew this would come sooner or later, and you’d been trying to work up the courage to do it. You’ve run his patience dry, and you guess it’s now or never at this point.

“Just tell me.” You whisper submissively, wanting to give him whatever he needs solely so that he won’t leave you.

You see his expression soften within a split second, his hips release their pressure against you, and he pulls his hands back.

“Fuck.” He lets out apologetically, demeaning himself for losing his control and being so blatant. Pointing out his fucking apartment to you. “Baby, I’m sorry, I–”

You’ve already made your decision, understanding exactly why your boyfriend broke his composure. This past week proved enough to you that he wasn’t in it to fuck you, and even though his needs weren’t being met, he still worked hard to meet yours, you feel…

Yeah, you’re happy he did this. Even the force didn’t scare you entirely. The only thing that scares you is him leaving you over this. And he watches as you do it, sinking to your knees and reaching out to hook your fingers into the loops on his pants. 

“Baby,” He warns you, feeling you pull him straight to you. “Wait, wait.”

You don’t, knowing that if you were to stop now you might end up talking yourself out of doing this again.

“No,” You shake your head, lifting on your knees just to rub your cheek against the length in his pants. “Let me take care of you, I’ve neglected you enough.”

God, he fucking buckles. Dropping right to his knees in front of you, pulling you in by the face, and kissing you as hard as he possibly can. His entire body quivers, bursting in a euphoric sense of arousal as the hairs rise on his body at the very image of you on your knees for him. 

“You’re so good to me,” He mumbles through kissing you. “So, so good to me.”

And you just let yourself feel it. Intensely, to the point that even your stomach flips at knowing what’s about to happen.

Strangely enough, it flips in a good way. You haven’t felt like this in years, and it brings so much glee to you knowing that Jake is right here, willing to let you make him feel good. Willing to let you feel these things again, willing to make you feel good if you work up the courage to ask for it. And most of all, he’s staying. 

“Stand up then.” You whisper in a smile. “I’ll take care of you, so don’t run back home to do it yourself anymore.”

Jake shakes his head with a smirk, happy to get what he not only wants at this moment, but what he so desperately needs. 

“I did that for you, and look where it got me.” He says, standing and staring down at you. “Nothing will ever satisfy me, only you can.” 

You chuckle shyly, reaching up to fumble with his button only to have him take over for you, dropping his pants and gripping himself. 

“Don’t be so sure though.” You swallow around a lump in your throat at the size of him, proving why you were always able to feel it and not quite ignore it. “I don’t have a lot of practice with this.”

Oh, could you be any more perfect? Any more fucking endearing? With those pretty eyes staring down what he wants to put in you so bad, not even knowing how he’s only ever gotten this hard for you and you alone. Fuck, he could give it to you so good, he could fill you until you can’t breathe, he could keep you forever.

You look so pretty like this, with your lips trembling as you wet them, with the way your smaller hands swat him away as if to ask him to let you try and hold it yourself. 

He could shoot his load right now if you asked him to, looking so fucking docile on the floor for him. He needs to look away, he needs to prepare for this.

“I don’t know if I can, um,” You start, gripping him and noting that he’s thick, there’s no way it will all fit in your mouth without absolutely suffocating you. “Jake, I genuinely don’t know if I can fit all of it.”

He lends you a short chuckle as he takes in a breath, his fingers going down to tip your chin up at him. You feel it pulse in your hand as he looks at you, almost feeling his quickened heartbeat through the vein that runs up the underside of it. 

“Love, I don’t need it to fit.” He smiles, pressing it harder into your palm. “Even this is enough right now.” He lies, pressing his hips forward as if to show you that he’s lying.

He needs it to fit so bad.

You eye him down, feeling the twitch release a little dribble of precum that rolls down and onto your circled fist. It’s been a long time since you’ve looked at another person this way, wanting to taste it, almost needing to. 

Rubbing your legs together, almost uncomfortably, you swallow again as you keep your eyes trained on his before glancing back down. You pull your hands back just to see the way it drops. God, it’s so heavy. You can imagine he’s full of resentment for how long it’s taken you to simply look at it. His cock rages at you, darkened in color and glistening in the light of the setting sun through the window. 

All you can do is stare.

And all Jake can do is stare too, watching you do math in your head of what you need to do with him. He’d take anything, fucking anything, from you right now.

“Mm,” Jake hums for a moment, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tighter. “Like this.” He instructs.

“I know how to give a hand job, you know.” You roll your eyes playfully, despite totally forgetting how to do it now that, you know, you want to. 

“Yeah, don’t tell me that.” He warns, annoyed that you’d even say that right now. “Just, grip me harder–” He closes his eyes, pretending that you’ve never touched a cock that wasn’t his own, noting how your hands have always been gentle with him, save for that day you dragged him around by the shirt in a kiss.

You listen, trying to grip the girth of it as tightly as you can while dragging your hand forward and back, forcing little grunts out of him.

“Yeah,baby–” he encourages you, “Just like that.” He continues to lose himself to the feeling in soft moans, blinking down and now moving his hips in your grasp, fucking forward a bit harder. “Use your other hand too..”

You listen intently, never having to use both hands on a man like this before. You try to squeeze him, offering as much pressure as you can as he swivels his hips forward and back, slicking your hands up nice and wet with his precum. Unbelievable how much he has, actually. 

 You look up when he lolls his head back in a drawn out moan, staring at the expanse of his neck and the way it tenses when he swallows around the same moan. And then, suddenly, in a split second he hangs his head back down and looks at you as if he can see everything you are, everything you ever have been, and everything you ever could be. You gasp at his expression, feeling totally lost and in awe when you see that gaze go dead as he stares back. 

His lips fall slack when his hips pick up pace, essentially fucking your fists rather than letting you do the work. And when you glance away from him, tuning in to the consistent pre-cum spilling out of him, he sees you lick your lips. 

He watches, he sees you want it. 

So, very gently, he places one of his hands on the back of your head, encouraging you to do it. And it’s like he can taste colors when you let him and instantly wrap your lips around the big, swollen head of his leaking length.

The half-moan-half-amazed-chuckle that falls out of him only comes from the fact that you instantly stretch your lips around it, lapping at his tip in an almost hungry way. 

“God, fuck–” He keeps his head hanging forward, watching intently as you take him further and further into your mouth, up until you release one hand and grasp his thigh to hold onto. “I’ve dreamed of this.” He admits, shocked that you’re really going to do this for him.

You blink up at him, trying to smile around the heavy length pressing your tongue down. If you’re going to do this, the least you can do is make sure he fucking loves it. Not to mention, the fact that you’re also enjoying it only drives you to do more. Like the wall inside of you has been shattered and nothing could ever stop you from wanting him in any and every way possible.

He smiles through a deep groan at the way your lips still curl around him.

Never in his fucking life did he imagine you smiling while sliding his cock down your throat. Really, you did that entirely on your own and somehow, he feels even more insane than he did walking into your apartment earlier. 

You’re making it fit, and all he can do is help you, now bracing that same hand on your head and pressing further into your mouth.. 

More, more. 

And when he feels your fingernails dig into his thigh and his cock hit the back of your gagging throat, he chokes out, eyes tearing up, and he sobs out your name in a desperate attempt to compliment you for it. 

That sound alone from him went straight through you, igniting a long awaited arousal within your belly. You feel the drip, relishing in the feeling of being wet for the first time in fucking years. He’s so big, and he’s so suffocating. You want to do this, you want to hear him cry out your name again.

Even when he tries to pull his hips back, you grab onto him and hold his hips in place, pushing your lips further down, depressing your tongue even more as the thickest part of him cuts off your airways. Your throat restricts around him, and you feel proud of it. Proud of choking on him, happy to keep doing it. 

He stutters in awe, gripping the windowsill with his free hand and using the other to feel your hollowed out cheeks. Shit, you’re going to taste him, he’s going to give you all of it, he’s going to–

Shocked, floored, entirely drunk for you, all he can do is watch as you choke. His body did not warn him at all when his cum shoots into your throat, warming your belly with that first swallow around him. 

Your reaction to it is immediate though, as he watches with half-crossed eyes the way you pull off of him and let his cum spurt out and drip all over your face. Down those beautiful cheeks, onto your plush lips, and down your neck.

It won't stop. He just keeps coming. His entire body trembles as he stares at you, and you stare back before closing one eye due to the fact that there is now cum in your eyelashes, and you fucking smile at him.

The image alone keeps him hard as his body finally stops twitching. You, there on your knees, smiling up at him drenched in him. 

“Baby,” He soothes out with a raspy tone. “Fuck, you didn’t have to do–”

“I’m wet. Jake.” You smile, as if you’re admitting this to him to gain some sort of congratulations for it. And in a way, you are. He has no idea how amazing it is to you right now that you can feel your panties go sticky. It feels amazing to admit to him, actually. 

It’s so relieving, it’s so warm, it’s something you never should have missed out on in the first place.

“What?” He asks with uneven breath, dropping to his knees in front of you again, rubbing the cum into your skin with his thumb as he caresses your face. “You are?”

You beam at him, smiling with a nod.

“Really?” He asks again, in disbelief because this was all it took? 

You nod again, leaning back on your arms and watching him follow, hovering over you and slotting himself between your legs with a hungry gaze. 

“Can I feel?” He asks abruptly, crawling over you to the point that your back hits the side table behind you, keeping you from lying all the way down. 

And you nod before you think about it. Wondering if this is how it’s always supposed to be. Always willing, always wanting, always needing. 

He stares at you when you nod, glancing down to your middle then back at you as if to gain another confirmation. 

You nod again, this time wanting to hide your face in your arms. You anticipate it, wondering what it’ll feel like to be touched there again by a hand that isn’t your own after all this time. And when you feel his shaking hand dip into your sweat pants, you don’t even shutter. You don’t shy away.

You’re surprising yourself even, letting out a gasp when he cups your core and looks down at you with a cautious smile. 

“You’re dripping, baby.” He smiles as he balances himself on one arm over you, rubbing his hand back and forth and memorizing the dips and folds he can feel through this flimsy fabric. Then, his more intrusive thoughts spill in an unintentional and needy groan. “Fuck, I bet you’re so tight.”

Words that would make you recoil are no longer scaring you. You can tell he wants to apologize for saying it too, but goddamn, you loved hearing it. In fact, your entire body pulses at the words, feeling his hand do nothing more than hold you there and gently rub. His eyes are pleading though, with his lips pouting as he relishes in thoughts of probably fucking his fingers into you just to see if he’s right. 

Or maybe it’s just you hoping that’s what he’s thinking about. You can’t help the way you clench, letting out a strained breath as you lurch forward and hug him around his neck, squeezing so tightly as you whisper against the shell of his ear. 

“You can touch me– if you want.” You whisper, physically feeling the goosebumps against his neck raise to your lips. “Just go slow.”

You still need to go slow, after all, you don’t know how your brain may react to this, despite loving it at the moment. Relishing in the fact that someone managed to make you feel horny again. You feared that you never could again. God, he’s amazing. 

“I’ll go so slow for you,” He whispers back, twisting his hand in your pants to hook his fingers around your panties to pull them to the side. “Oh, baby, you really do want this, don’t you?” He whispers again upon really feeling you drip, trying to slide his fingers through the slick mess before rubbing circles around your hole. He’s lost his train of thought now, only able to feel one sense at a time so that he can fucking memorize how you coat his fingers entirely.

He moans again from deep in his chest along with you, despite knowing you’re the only one feeling the pleasure of his fingers. You feel his moan vibrate through his throat when you kiss him there, anticipating what it’s going to feel like when he slides a finger in.

And it’s like you see stars when he does, slowly pressing one into you as he wraps his other arm around your waist to hold you in place, sitting back on his knees and forcing you to stand on your own infront of him. 

There he holds you as if he’s afraid you’ll start to fight, relishing the feeling of your wet walls hugging his finger all while you cling to him through it. He was right, you are tight despite how wet you’ve gotten. It’s almost like you’re a virgin despite knowing that you’re not. 

Your body is reacting this way for him, and you’re hugging him, and your pussy is clenching for him. He just knows that if he manages to fit his cock into you, he’d fucking lose it. You’d squeeze him so tight, and he’d fuck it so deep. Fill you up, deeper, deeper, until the only name you know is his. 

He’s losing it again, hearing your little whispered moans against his ear, hanging on him like a fucking pet, god, he wants you to squeeze the fucking blood out of him. You’re being so compliant, so submissive, so–

“Do you even know…” He starts babbling, trying to silence his thoughts by giving them straight to you as his finger slides out, eagerly shoving two back in at a much quicker, much harsher pace. “How much I’ve dreamed about this?” 

You shake your head noting how he’s already mentioned dreaming of you once. The thought has you spreading your legs out to feel how deep his fingers reach inside of you. There’s no pain involved in this, despite his pace not being nearly as slow as he said he would go. You’re not upset, you want him to go faster, you want him deeper, you want to hear him talk.

“So many times, baby, so many times.” He soothes himself more than you through these words, losing himself more and more each second to the feeling of your core clenching his fingers. “You’re even prettier to me right now,” He continues to babble, listening to you hum in his ear at the pleasure you feel. “I want you to take everything from me.” 

“I want you to wrap your legs around my neck, I want you to rub my nose in it, I want you to suffocate me, I want—”

“Shit, Jake.” You moan out his name for the first time at the dirty words. They’re a lot to take in only because you know it truly is a lot, or rather, it should be. But you fucking want that too. You want everything from him, you want everything he wants. Everything. “What else?” You urge him to keep talking.

“I want you to pull my hair,” He says, instantly feeling your fingers slide up his neck and into the thick of it, tugging immediately. “I want you to make it fit here too.” He continues, curling his fingers inside of you, thrusting his own hips against the dense air in your apartment. 

You moan again at his hot words. You’re overwhelmed by how much you want more, how much you’d let him, right here, right now. 

“Keep going,” You sing out, feeling it in your stomach and knowing that this familiar feeling is so much better than you’ve ever felt before. “Tell me, Jakey, fuck–” You continue, huffing at the way his fingers quicken even more. 

“Sound so pretty saying my name, fuck,” He groans now, more level than before as he feels your legs close around his arm, fingers relentlessly hitting the soft spot inside of you. “Tell me that I’d never hurt you, that only I can make you feel like this.”

You nod aggressively as your brain hits a wall, unable to fulfill his request. Every muscle in your body tenses in pleasure as you begin to shake, moving your own hips against his fingers and tugging his hair harder without intention. 

He moans out at how tight you hold him, wanting nothing more than to lay you out and bury himself into you, to feel your pussy jerk him off. 

“Feels so good, baby, right?” He continues to talk, feeling your tight walls try to push his fingers out with each threat of your build up, his mind is spinning. “Say it–” He stutters, feeling his own body react the same way yours is. “Fuck, please, say that you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” You whisper out of breath against his ear, the hot breath sending him overboard as he immediately pulls his fingers from you and grips his cock instead, ignoring your whimper of the lost build up.

“Yeah,” He cries out, thrusting his hips against his hand. “So let me– please, please let me.” 

His face looks so broken when you stare at him in shock, eyes pleading for you to give him all of it. To give him everything right now. How could you fucking say no to that expression? How could you ever say no to him? 

And still, with your orgasm half-fulfilled, you’re entirely enamored with the way you instantly want it too. As if you’re rushing head first into a brick wall with him, and you stop just to think for a moment.

Should you? 

Do you intend to keep this man forever? Do you want him to leave? Would you be able to picture a day without him? 

It confirms in your brain right then and there. You do intend to keep him. You don’t want him to leave. You could never picture a day without him at this point. 

If he wants to have sex with you right now? Why not? You’re sure that if he is truly wanting to stay, sooner or later you’ll feel him pumping inside of you. Why should it matter that it happens now rather than tomorrow? Or next week? Or even next month? 

Instantly upon your snap decision, you stand on shaking legs, watching him watch you. His hand gripping himself harshly to prevent a pathetic and untouched orgasm, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. 

You smile, dropping your pants, panties, and then lifting your shirt right up and over your head. All he does in response is wince, grip the base of his cock harder, and try to focus on not spilling and wasting his cum on your floor. Brain only slightly trying to distract him with the idea of grabbing those sticky panties to suck them clean. 

“Really?” He chokes, out of breath and standing up, swiping your panties up quickly and crumpling them in his hand.

Then, you feel one hand on you after he drops his length, and the other rubbing those same wet panties against your skin, as if he has a death grip on them and you. Still, he walks you right back to the window and against it, speaking in that same, needy and shaking breath. “Baby, are you sure?” 

You look away, feeling vulnerable and shy but so willing, so ready when you nod and throw your leg around his waist as if to tell him that you’re more than sure. 

He gives you a breathy chuckle, pulling back just to lift his shirt off of him, hang your panties at the base of his cock, and then he grabs your leg and holds it in place. “Right here?”

He can’t tell if he’s even alive right now, with your pussy sitting spread open right up against him as you let him hold you here, your ass is probably looking great for the camera right now. Your panties feel so good in their rightful place, dangling just in front of his balls. You feel so good in your rightful place, right up against the wall with him trapping you here. 

You nod again, pressing your hips forward, proving to him how hungry you feel for him right now. Finally feeling dirty and not hating yourself for it.

“Right here.” You confirm, tuned into his lips and leaning forward to lick against them. “That’s what you want, right?”

He’s stunned by how you take control while still being somehow submissive to him about it. Almost like you’re shaming him for wanting it, almost like you don’t want to admit that you want it too. 

“Is that what you want?” He asks, trying hard not to think about how you’ve shifted entirely within the span of however long it’s been since the two of you started this. Is this how you act when you're horny? 

“How could I not?” You confirm again with a confident tone, watching your boyfriend break in front of you. “Look at you.”

Jake can’t bear to look at himself, he knows he looks just about as pathetic as he’s always wanted. Never quite able to feel pathetic enough to satisfy him, only now understanding why he chased and chased the feeling to have you like this. 

Controlling whether he can stick his dick in you, controlling whether he can fuck off and die. 

That’s how it’s supposed to be in a relationship, but somehow it’s something else between both of you. For him, it’s like you’ve intentionally edged him for an entire week and for you it’s like you finally have control over your own sexuality again. 

You feel powerful, and Jake wants to be entirely at your mercy. 

“No one has ever wanted me this bad and waited.” You finally say to his intense and loving stare. “I want to give you anything you want.”

If he had a tail, it would be wagging so fast right now. It’s like he’s being given a treat for being exactly who you needed him to be, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop doing it. 

“I could wait longer,” Jake mumbles, inching his lips to yours and letting his other hand cup one of your tits. “You could make me suffer,” He continues, whispering it right into your mouth. “Could lock me up and starve me of it.”

You lean your face back, a little shocked at his choice of words there. 

“So you meant those things you said earlier?” You ask, remembering how he babbled on about wanting you to suffocate him, about how he wanted you to take everything from him. 

“Do you want me to be honest?” He counters, now pressing his hips forward and letting his cock weep against your thigh. 

You nod to him. 

“I want you to take it all out on me.” He admits, gripping your tit in his hand tighter, hiking your leg up higher. “I want you to control every aspect of my life.”

Honestly, it shouldn’t be a thought that brightens your brain but it does. It sounds toxic, and you can’t even tell if he’s saying this just because he’s horny and is about two seconds from slamming you up and against this window with the force of his cock alone. Somehow, you love the thought of all of it. 

“Every aspect?” You ask with interest. “What do you mean?”

He chuckles as he hangs his head, watching his length pulse constantly against your thigh and the panties hanging off of it. Only then does he release your tit and use your panties as a way to position his cock up, lining up with the wet of your core that is only for him.

“It means–” He starts, sliding into you with a paused moan, hiccuping slightly as he furrows his brows. “I want you to make me cry for you.” He continues with a tilt to his head as he watches the way you wince at all of the strength he has to hold you up like this, to slide into you like this. “I want you to hurt me, and I want you to love doing it.”

He bottoms out after that, holding you in place and feeling your walls struggle to adjust to the tight fit. 

“It’s what you deserve.” He soothes out to you, kissing you once. “To take someone the same way you’ve been taken.”

You recoil instantly, pussy restricting in horror at the reminder of why you never do this with another person, but god the way he lifts on his toes just to plunge somehow deeper into you. The way his lips trap you even more, the way his force is nothing but fucking amazing to feel. All you can do is moan, bump your head against the window, and squeeze him. 

“You said you wanted to give me what I want–” He slides out of you just a little bit. “So, can you?” He pushes back in, listening to you get wetter at his words and feeling your answer when you can’t seem to speak for yourself. 

“I said I’d never hurt you, love,” He coos out this time, watching your body shift up against the window as he picks up some sort of rhythm, taking you the way he’s always wanted you. Right here, against the window. “But I never said that you couldn’t hurt me.”

Why the fuck is that so hot? God, why does a man like Jake offer you so much? Why is he doing this to you? Why is he doing it to himself? Why do you love it? 

You find yourself nodding as you moan out, still not quite adjusted to his size and the way he made it fit into you in such a…pleasurable way. It doesn’t hurt at all, it feels good. 

“Yeah, I knew you would.” He continues to talk as if he’s not internally losing it, but months worth of pretending, several orgasms today alone, and having your pussy hugging him just as tightly as he knew it would? That’s helpful. 

And now, as your fingers grip at him through his harsh and deep thrusts, all he can do is hold your leg against him, lean forward, and stare directly into his apartment window. As if he’s mocking his former self, as if everything in the world has fallen into place. You wouldn’t leave him now, never, you’d be just as stupid as everyone else if that were the case. 

He has faith in you, in himself, in this, and the way you drip all over him. 

He knew you’d be perfect for him. 

It doesn’t take long, really, for him to pull an orgasm out of you when he’s doing it this good. In fact, you don’t even have to reach a hand down to help pull it out of you by the time your body begins to stiffen up at it. 

His pace is slow, his cock is deep, and fuck his entire body is on you. You couldn’t squeeze your hand down if you tried, in fact, you don’t think he’d even consider letting you do any of this on your own. 

His grip is so strong, you can feel your sweat stick to the window as you slam your head down on his shoulder, sliding up and down the window with each of his powerful thrusts. 

It feels so good to do this again.

“Jake–” You hiccup against his neck, listening to his heaved and choked breaths through each thrust. “I wish I had done this sooner.” You manage to get out, body tensing and relaxing by the minute with the threat of an orgasm. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

And honestly, you don’t know what’s gotten into you, nor do you fucking care. If you want to cry, you’ll fucking cry. It’s been too long since your tears hit you out of pleasure, or happiness, or fucking safety. At this rate, you’ll never let this man go. 

“I know baby, I know.” He soothes you, arms shaking as he holds you up and thrusting in as deep as he can go.

You feel him stutter in his pace, his hips stopping as you feel his heavy cock pulsate against your clenching walls. 

“Are you close?” He says, pulling back and looking at you. “Is that why you’re sorry?”

You look at him with glassy eyes, smiling dazed at him as you shake your head. 

“No,” You smile wider, running your hands up and into his hair, remembering what he asked for before. You tug, forcing his head to tilt back so that you can attach your lips to him. “I’m saying it because I want you to always make me feel this good.” You whisper against his pulse point, kissing it hard. 

You feel him lose composure at that, his hips immediately moving again, slamming up and into you so hard that you can’t even hold your head still enough to kiss him there again. 

“Ah, fuck,” He whimpers out, “why would you fucking say that to me right now?” He continues, relentlessly fucking himself against the soft and sensitive spot inside of you. “You still make me feel so insane, only you could do this to me.”

You smile, having learned that he appears to love the torture anyway. 

“You love it though, don’t you Jakey?” You say, loving the way he loses it for you, learning how badly he’s wanted this, seeing him intend to stay. 

And at those words, he can’t take it anymore. Fuck the camera, fuck anything else in the world that isn’t you. He ignores that wince on your face when he slips out of you, ignores the way the panties fall from his length, and focuses entirely on the way you hug him as he carries you straight to the couch. 

Right there, he drops you and watches the way your tits bounce at the motion. 

“I’m fucking obsessed with you.” He says, feeling the arousal run through his veins, knowing you’d love to hear him say that while never knowing just how true it is. “How are you real?”

You smile, hiding your face as you feel his hands hold your thighs open. You know what he’s looking at, and you can’t force yourself to see him do it. Solely because you know it’s going to swell your heart so big that you’d only fear the day he wants to leave it empty.

And you don’t respond either, because you can’t. His fingers are spreading you open and you can hear him drop to his knees yet again for you. You wan’t to look so bad, but still, you fear the love in his eyes.

You fear and want all of it. 

He hears the sharp inhale you give when he spreads you out, really inspecting the single spot on your body that no one on this earth should ever see aside from him. 

“This is where it hurt the most, isn’t it?” He asks, staring into the hole he’s already fucked, watching it beg him for more despite his words that probably stab your soul. 

You’ll never understand how he can take your pain and turn it into something you don’t mind hearing though. Yes, that’s where it hurt the most, and still, that’s where you want him the most. 

“Yeah, baby?” He asks again, reaching an arm up and forcing you to look at him. “This is what you were so afraid of?” He continues, dipping down and rubbing his face directly into the folds and inhaling a deep breath. 

“Y-yeah.” You choke out at the feeling, in awe of how you knew his eyes would make you terrified. He still stares up at you as he does it, pointing his glare straight through you and into your fucking spirit.

Only Jake can make you fear nothing else in this world aside from the thought of losing him. 

“I’ll make it better,” He says, boosting his ego at the way your legs wrap around his head. “You’ll always want me here,” He continues, cooing out with each taste and lick of your budding arousal. “You’ll never want me to stop–” 

No man has ever wanted you this bad while having you, even as you experienced the trauma of just that. Your ex wanted you physically, but something about the man drying to drown himself in your pussy right now makes you feel like he wants you on a level far deeper than what’s possible.

He’s eating you out like he wants to eat you whole. Like he could devour you, and never spit you out of his mouth. 

“Shit, shit–” You moan, hands shooting down to his hair yet again, finding yourself loving the way his grown-out roots feel softer than the harsher dyed section of his hair. You tug harder than you have before, feeling his tongue search and yearn for everything you have to offer him. 

“Mhm.” He mumbles with a mouth full of pussy, rolling his eyes back at how you do just as he suggested before. Rubbing his nose in it, letting him continue to lose himself in the point of all of his problems. 

And it’s as if you forgot that this only happens to reach a point of coming. The experience alone feels like one long and drawn out orgasm already, it doesn’t take anything at all for him to get you there. 

It’s like he already knows it too, because you go entirely silent with a held breath as he holds your hips and buries his tongue deep inside of you. He wants to feel it, he wants to taste it. And he suffers for it, really, neglecting his own cock and knowing he’s going to come through this alone anyway. 

As expected, he does. Upon the first gush of your slick hitting his tongue, his cock pulses, his balls squeeze up, and he can feel it shoot out of him each time your pussy shakes against his suffocated mouth.

And your hands, so perfect in his hair, pulling without even knowing. You’re everything he’s ever wanted, this is more than he could have ever asked for. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

By this point in your relationship, the two of you have moved so quickly that it doesn’t even scare you. In fact, if it slowed down at any point, you’d probably be preparing a suicide note simply because you don’t want to be in this world without Jake. 

Since the first time you got intimate with him, it’s like it hasn’t stopped. You’re shocked at his thirst for you and even more shocked that someone so fucking perfect would waste his breath on you even for this long. 

It hasn’t been that long, really, since the first time you touched him. A few days at most, but it’s like that moment solidified a lot for the two of you.

One, he’s not going to be sleeping in his own bed anytime soon or, ever, really. Two, you’ve learned through at least two more sessions of Jake’s mouth on you that he really does want you to live up to his requests. He makes it known how badly he wants you to make him suffer, how badly he needs you to give him everything he wants. Thankfully, he’s patient with your reluctance. And Three, your ex is no longer a threat. 

Each message you receive, you just hand your phone to Jake and he takes care of it. 

It doesn’t even translate in your head that you’ve been barred from answering your mother’s calls until the police show up at your door for a wellness check. Where, of course, Jake answers,

“Yeah, she’s here.” You hear his voice as you lay flat against your bed, heaving breaths as if he didn’t just have the tip of his dick in you. “Why?” You hear him question. 

A few more muffled words and you hear the door close and his footsteps making his way to your room. 

“Cops.” He dead-pans, “Your mom thinks you're dead.” he adds with an eye roll. 

Your internal panic, a feeling you had once been so accustomed to that now feels almost foreign, takes over your body.

“Fuck, my mom!” You say in a fast breath, rushing onto your feet and throwing on a pair of his soiled sweatpants. 

Jake hangs back but listens to your conversation from your hallway, listening intently to how you speak to other men, cops or not. 

“Yeah,” You say, scratching your temple with shame. “I guess I didn’t realize she was calling me so much.” 

Try five times a day. 

“I’ll call her now, sorry for wasting your time.” You continue with that nervous chuckle that you used to use on him during your dates. 

And then you’re back in the room, looking at him with a raised brow. 

“Why didn’t you tell me my mom has been calling?” You ask, a little annoyed that it’s gotten to the point of freaking your mother out. 

Jake shrugs, then looks at you apologetically. 

“I don’t like when she forces you to talk about it.” He finally says, sulking his shoulders and huffing out. “I don’t like that she tells you to be careful around me.”

You roll your eyes, relieved that he’s just being himself and wanting to keep you happy. 

“Still, you should have told me. She’s going to have a fucking heart attack thinking he showed up at my work place again.”

Jake’s entire brain stops working, his body going rigid as if the cold air outside is hitting him in full force. 

Your eyes immediately widen as you slam your hand over your mouth. Fuck, you forgot that you told her in a hushed tone, explaining that it’s okay. That Jake wouldn’t let anything happen to you. 

Fuck. 

“He what?” Jake says, dumbfounded at the slip of your words. 

“Jake, wait–” You try to get an explanation but he’s not having it. 

“You haven’t been at work, what do you mean he showed up?” He glares, chest heaving as his heart rate picks up. 

“It was from that day when you first stayed over,” You look at the floor apologetically. “I didn’t want to talk about it…” You trail off, feeling his energy hit you in the face at how he’s completely shifted from that loving, soft boyfriend you’re so used to. 

“You kept that from me!?” He seethes out in disbelief. This whole time he thought he fucked your ex up enough to prove what would happen if he even fucking tried it. By you explaining that it happened just after Jake found him, that’s a direct insult.

A threat.

A fucking death wish.

“I didn’t–” You stutter trying to explain yourself. “I didn’t think it would matter since you were here. You were keeping me safe.” 

“You lied to me?” He continues interrogating you, coming up to you and practically demanding an answer through his eyes.  

You look away, nodding. 

“You said you wanted me to keep you safe, what would have happened if you had to go to work again?” He drones on and on, seemingly stuck on the fact that you didn’t tell him. “What would happen if they called you to go in today?” 

Already you’re starting to cry, feeling stupid for not making a bigger deal out of it. To be fair, not talking about it helped and you did intend to tell him at some point. That just…never happened. 

“I would have asked you to stay with me at work.” You say, feeling numb as the fear of losing the man in front of you steals your every thought. “I’d have not gone. I’d have quit. I don’t know!” 

Jake backs down at your words, only able to soften his rage if you’re the one who causes it. 

“Baby,” His soft voice shocks you when you feel him come back to himself, as if to comfort the fear he just instilled in you. “I’m not mad.”

Yes he is, you know he is. 

“Now you’re the one lying.” You argue, pushing him away only to feel his grip on you tighten. 

“Am I?” He asks, urging you to keep talking. “Are you mad at me now?” He continues, intentionally pushing your buttons. 

“Mad that I should have already known?” 

“Mad that I didn’t let you talk to your mom?” 

“Mad that I’m keeping you safe, while you keep putting yourself in the position to be hurt by him again?” 

You stare at the floor. 

“Mad that this is your fault?” 

Yeah, you are mad. 

“Fuck you, Jake.” You break, feeling his strangling fingers on your skin scratch and leave welts when you force yourself away from him. “Fuck you for all of that.”

“What else?” He presses, hanging on specific words. “Fuck me for what else?” 

You just stare at him, and he can see the anger in your eyes. 

“For not being there when it happened?” He asks gently. “For not killing him when I had the chance?”

When he had the chance. 

“What do you–” You try to ask, but he just continues, closing back in on you. 

Somehow, you need it, despite wanting to pull away every time. 

“Fuck me for wanting this from you, right?” He says, much closer to you and dipping down to kiss you. “Fuck me for wanting you to be this mad, hmm?” 

You break again, something deep within you spiraling into a different type of insanity you’ve never felt. You don’t feel trauma, you don’t feel scared, you feel…enraged.

“Fuck me for thinking you look perfect,” He whispers against your lips. “Fuck me to fuck me, fuck me to fight me, fuck me.” 

The repeated words fit into your brain like they belong there. Like this anger is supposed to be filling you with pleasure rather than dread. Like you’re supposed to feel just as in love as you are mad. 

“Just fuck me, baby.”

And god fucking dammit. How does he crawl into the depths of your brain, like a fucking roach, and kiss all of the areas you don’t know exist? How the fuck does he wake shit up inside of you that you never dreamed of having, or feeling, or wanting.

“I hate you.” You say, and meaning it too. 

Because you don’t think you’ve ever loved someone more than you do now. 

“Yeah, I bet you do.” He smiles, dipping his hand down into the sweats you put on and sliding into the same slick he had spilling out of you just before the pigs showed up. “I love it.” He chuckles against your lips when you refuse to moan at his touch. 

You’re pushing against every good feeling inside of you right now, thinking only of how this rage spills out of you and against his fingers. 

“So wet to hate me–” He says, pressing and pressing and pressing for you to just fucking– “Hit me.” 

He sees your eyes shine at the very thought of how badly you must want to do that, unknowing of how much he wants it too. Needing it almost. 

And oh, the moan he lets out when your weak hands raise to shove him back. He plays off of it, stumbling back to your bed just to fall on it. Waiting, knowing you’ll come take him for all he’s worth.

“Come on, love.” He encourages you. “Make me sorry.” 

You hate him, and you hate that you love it. Love that he loves it, fucking adore that he wants this, he wants to let you do whatever you want to him. 

To kick, cry, scream, release everything that’s been trapped in your head for years.

You don’t even falter, feeling it bubble up and overtake every thought. Dripping down your legs as if this is the only way you could ever fulfill your own pleasure again. Only now to you slide the pants back off of you, so horny out of your mind that all you can manage is to feel these emotions drip for him. 

He watches you straddle him bare from the waist down, sees your breath shaking, and your lips quivering.

Jake knew you had it in you. 

“Take them off.” You demand, rolling your eyes at the way he looks up at you with pure bliss.

“Hit me first.” He offers, feeling his cock strained against his own pants that he haphazardly threw on when he heard the knock at your door. “Hit me, and I’ll fuck the hate out of you.” He lies.

“Take them off.” You repeat, cold hands reaching down as you do it yourself, lifting just enough to shove them down far enough.

And god, the breath is knocked clean out of him with the way you just take him. You slide down perfectly, bottoming him out in one motion. He can see now that you need this perhaps even more than he does. 

“God, come on baby.” He moans, feeling you just sit still on him. 

“Jake,” You warn, running your cold hands up to his neck on instinct. “Shut up.” You squeeze. 

The smile that forms on his face is pornographic at best, and drunk at worst. You see him love every instant of it, and you don’t want to admit that you do too.

You didn’t know it would feel so good to have a man’s neck in your hands, squeezing it just to shut him up. Releasing it just to hear him gasp out a praise. 

“So good,” He praises, eyebrows knitted together as he loses himself to the way your pussy chokes his length. You’re not even fucking him, you’re just– “So perfect.” He continues, nearly wailing out at the immense love he feels inside. 

And then, you do. You hit him. Power hungry and entirely at a loss for your own pleasure, you land a harsh and loud slap right against his face, only for him to moan louder. 

Only for him to fuck up. 

Only for him to grip your sheets so tight that you hear a rip. 

Again. You slap him, feeling your anger slowly fizzle with each frantic moan he gives back. 

Again, and again.

“Shit, you love that, don’t you?” He manages to say, feeling his cheeks sting with red-hot passion, only to be hit again, and again. “God, make it hurt.” 

At this point, you know that you could never give him enough as the rage leaves your body entirely and it’s replaced with nothing but the need to just….fuck him. Never in your life have you ever been blinded by a need so badly, save for safety.

And you have that now, don’t you? You have Jake now, right where you want him, right he wants to be. He wants you to feel this, he made you feel this. 

The first bounce felt like pure agony, slamming his cock into you by your own force, feeling him stretch you open, hearing it slap and echo against the walls. 

“Make it hurt?” You finally say, pinching his cheeks together and forcing him to look at you. “I don’t think I could hurt you enough if I tried.” You admit, quite truthfully, mind you.

Jake gives you a crooked smirk. 

“Try it anyway.” He coos, feeling the way you repeatedly arch your back just to ride him faster. “Could fill you up, right here, right now, flip you over and make you take it if you’re so worried that you can’t.” 

It runs through you like a cold shiver. You don’t want to give up this power, you want to try. 

“That’s big talk for someone asking to be choked right now.” You dead-pan at him, voice even and calm. You continue to move your hips, listening to his repeated moans with each breath. “So loud and needy for it too.”

Jake nods proudly and drunkenly, reaching his hands out to yours and forcing them back on his neck. 

“I could be needier.” He says, pressing your hands against his airways. 

You take over for him, choking his remaining words out of him and forcing him to moan. 

“You said you’d make me take it?” You seethe out through your own pained moan, riding him so hard that you feel sensitive. “Like you think it would hurt me?” 

He shakes his head rapidly, implying that you’re wrong to think that. Wanting to tell you that if he made you take it, you’d love every second of it. You wouldn’t tell him no. 

“After promising you never would, Jake?” You question still, knowing he can’t answer. You squeeze harder as you watch his face darken, the blood rushing to burst in the whites of his eyes. “Is that it? You want to hurt me so that I hurt you back?”

He nods in a daze, wanting nothing more than to die like this now, or some other day. To hear your voice, feel your hands, and know that you’re fucking him through it. 

“You don’t scare me.” You finally say, releasing the grasp and listening to the sharp inhale he takes in. “As much as I wish you did, you don’t.” 

That’s all it takes really, knowing that he could work you like a puppet and you’d still love him. Why else would you say that? You wouldn’t fuck him like this if you didn’t mean it. Your mother long forgotten, the anger gone, it’s just a raw form of you and him right now. 

Everything you’re saying is more truthful than he ever thinks you’ve been with him. 

“Want me to?” He finally asks with a wet gasp as he continues to catch his breath. “I bet I could.”

“You can’t.” You say, now slowing your hips as your legs tire out, bracing yourself on his shoulders to take a breath. 

“I can.” He says, immediately overpowering you. He sits up quick, flipping you right over and onto your back. “I can make you feel anything I want.” He whispers darkly to you. He grabs your legs and pushes them to your chest, lost entirely from this reality. “Anything you want.” 

You just stare up at him, willing to accept his words even more when he slams his length into you, so deep that you feel nothing but the pain of it. 

For the first time, he’s hurting you through pleasure alone. 

“Could make you love it too,” He continues to dote on himself as he watches the sparkle in your eye dim. “You love it already, don’t you?”

“I’m not afraid.” You manage to mutter out through a guttural groan, wincing at the way he drives himself into you at such a speed that all you feel is pain. 

“I can’t take you seriously when you talk like that.” He chuckles, feeling entirely in control of whatever entity is running his body right now. “I see you baby, you’re terrified to lose me.” 

Your eyes die in that moment, because out of anything in this world, he’s pinpointed your biggest fear. 

“So pretty when you’re scared too,” He hums out, not relenting at all with the force of his hips when he lets your legs fall around him, and he finds himself burying his face between your tits. “Maybe I should threaten to leave you.”

Instantly, you cry. 

“Just so I can eat up these little tears you have for me.” 

You wish he would shut up. 

“So I can taste the way you come on me, and feel your pussy try and lock me here.” He smooths over your nipple at the words, slowing his hips and pulling out just to the tip. “Your body tells me more than you know, love.”

Your eyes roll up when his pointed thrust shoves your body across your sheets, your hands reach for his shoulders, clawing for any sense of normality to this moment. 

“So quiet.” He lightens his own voice now, letting it fall against your collarbone in a tone just above a whisper. “So stubborn.” 

Your mind awakens at the insult, hoping he’s right. 

“To think I’d ever leave you.” He smiles, lifting up to meet your lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He tastes your tears and it’s just enough for him to forgive you. 

To forgive you for not hitting him enough, for not choking him until he died. To forgive you for even thinking you’d need to talk to your mother, and for fucking lying to him. 

And only now does he go quiet, fucking you will full intent now that he’s already in your head at every turn and corner. He can tell with the way you don’t even realize your previous orgasm. 

With the way it bubbled out and down his balls, hugging his cock so tightly that all he could do was keep fucking with your mind, toying with threats only to silence them. 

And then, you inhale a sob, and breathe out his name, so pretty to your ears, even more beautiful to his own. 

“Don’t leave me.” You chime out, body numb and emotions threatening you into a panic attack.

“I’m right here, love.” He chuckles. “You’re shaking.” 

You are. More than you can even comprehend, your body is shaking from feeling everything and nothing at once, all the way up until you do feel something. 

“Ah, shit.” You cry out, hugging his body so tightly against you. “Right there–”

And Jake does it, angling his hips to repeatedly hit the spot inside of you. Knowing you’re sensitive, knowing you can take it, knowing that he can’t when he feels every drop in your body push him out of you. 

Instantly he plunges back in, listening to the wet sounds of all that love you must have for him. He can barely move in this suffocating hug as your body shakes and quivers more than it ever has, even through your past traumas, even through the cold nights this city offers. 

He has spent you and fucked you dry. 

“There she is,” He echoes into your ear. “The girl of my dreams.” 

The only energy left in you is enough to give him a smile before your tunnel vision fades into nothingness. 

It feels calm in the darkness he gives you, and even calmer when you wake up feeling as if all of this was a dream. 

It wasn’t though, because you can feel the way you’re still leaking all over your bed. Your own slick mixed with his, and you don’t even remember when or how he orgasmed because he certainly was taking his time before you initially fainted, but you’re glad he did. You think he is too, with the way he clings to you like a puppy, as if he didn’t just fuck reality straight out of you. 

Lending you the gift of floating, and of pain you find yourself to love. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Waking up the next morning felt like you were a new person and you couldn’t be happier to see the saddest version of you die. The only fear you need to have is that Jake may some day choose to leave, and he said himself that he never would. 

You trust him more than anyone, more than yourself even, considering he’s managed to force you into facing so many versions of yourself that you didn’t even know you had. 

This is the first morning you’ve woken up without your skin crawling and you can’t help but shake him awake, destroying that blushed and sleeping face of his. 

“Jake,” You shake him, feeling him stir instantly and lend you a crooked smile. “Wake up.”

You listen to his morning stretch as his body vibrates in a yawn, and then he’s nuzzling his face even further into your naked chest. 

For what feels like hours, you find yourself engaging in pillow talk. Logging into work? Long forgotten. Calling your mother? Forgotten. The pain in your body? Ignored.

You tell him everything. Every detail of your life, your first memory, your first laugh and cry. All of the times your heart has been shattered, your least favorite colors and favorite words in the world. And he just…listens.

He nods, he smiles, he coos and kisses you throughout all of it. 

And then–

“You know, a while back before we met, I came home and noticed some of my things were missing and messed with. I can’t help but feel like he’s known where I’ve been this whole time.” 

Jake stiffens in your grasp before relaxing. It happened so fast that you don’t think anyone but you would have noticed it.

“Some of my panties were gone, and the batteries in my toys went missing weeks ago–not that it matters now or anything.” You continue, watching his face intently. “ At first I thought that maybe I was just forgetful but– now i know that it really was him.” You pause, smiling at him. “I’m just kind of waiting now, wondering if he’s ever going to try and do it again.”

“Do you want me to kill him?” Jake chuckles out as if to offer a funny little solution, one that he has genuinely considered more times than he can count. And he should have already, honestly.

You feel warmer at the way he makes jokes, but you know better than anyone that Jake jumps into action driven only by rage at times.

“He won’t come near you again, love, haven’t I proved that to you already?” He continues, imagining the blood of his man on his fists again. Imagining the way his bones would crack so beautifully. 

You nod in an almost shy way to him.

“You’re safe with me.” He says, wrapping his arms around himself as you cradle him. “You’re safe with me.” He continues, repeating it more to himself because he feels as though he can’t fail you again, “You’ve always been safe.” 

You haven’t believed words so deeply until you met him. 

“He already fucking knows–” He whispers shortly, cutting himself off. “I’ll kill him.” He whispers a bit louder, uncaring if you heard that first slip of his words.

Something in your brain floods at those words. A confirmation that you’ve seen him break before, and it wasn’t your imagination. Your protective, loving, and sweet boyfriend has a side to him that you’ve yet to truly see. Those words were more believable than any of the sweet things he’s ever said to you. 

And still, you almost want to encourage it, reminding yourself of the image of your ex the day he showed up, all bruised up. And then to the image of Jake with his own little battle scar.

Deep down you think you knew what happened.

And you still wonder how such a perfect man fell into your lap? Your bruised up, pain-loving boyfriend, breaking his soft persona and showing you a glimpse of something that feels….unnervingly beautiful to you.

Unsure, almost, you feel. As happy as you are that he lied to you, you try to not think of how Jake found your ex with nothing more than an out-of-context description of your abuse. You try not to think of the way he looked away from you when you mentioned the items in your apartment that went missing. 

You try not to think about how close he lives to you, and how he always managed to show up when you couldn’t hang out. 

How all of his interests matched your own, up until he never spoke about them again when he started staying with you. 

How he only looks at you, how he only talks to you, and about you.

How he always knew what to say to you.

You try not to think about how you saw him toss his own laundry into your washer many nights ago, seeing a glimpse of what you thought could have been a pair of your own missing panties. Or how he always accidentally picked up your toothbrush rather than his own in the mornings.

You push those thoughts far into the back of your mind, knowing that you were just being paranoid, grasping to not trust a single person in this world as you fall into this life with him. Even if all of those instances were with purpose on his end, you know you’d simply accept them as normal. You’d accept him, you wouldn’t think twice. 

Jake is your only safety. He would never do anything to harm you, he’s proved that. 

You hold his head tighter against your chest, breathing out a sigh and accepting everything at face value, pushing back the slight doubt in your head that everything he has done for you, to you, and with you, isn’t normal. 

“Did you tell him already?” You sigh out in a calmer tone, soothing him with your fingers in his hair. “That you’d kill him? Is that really why you had that bruise?”

Jake stiffens under your grasp briefly. 

“What do you m–” He starts. 

“I won’t ask how,” You cut him off. “But thank you.”

He relaxes, thumbs now rubbing hearts into your skin, stomach bubbling in butterflies. 

“I did.” He now admits reluctantly, feeling dangerously close to a truth you don’t need to see or know about. “I couldn’t just let another person think that you still belong to them.”

You pause, then nuzzle closer to him. 

“I knew from the first time I saw you that I wouldn’t let anyone else touch you.” He continues, spilling and spilling. “I knew that you’d be mine.”

You try not to think too hard about it, asking out gently and instead choosing to just love him harder.

“When was the first time you saw me?”

Jake goes silent and tries to read the air in the room, sensing how relaxed you are against him. 

“Eighteenth of October at the supermarket. We both made spaghetti for dinner that night.” He lies, never intending to admit that the first time he saw you was through your window. Never admitting that he actually already knew you by that eighteenth of October. That he followed you to the market.

He says it so confidently, and the fact that he’s right about what you cooked should scare you. The fact that you must have seen him that day too should make you feel unnerved.

You choose to ignore that too. 

“Was your spaghetti good?” You ask, allowing yourself to spiral into the safety that he offers you. The image of your bruised ex boyfriend bringing joy to you, the idea of Jake keeping his promises making your stomach tingle with even brighter joy.

“No.” He admits with a chuckle. “Yours was probably better.”

“You really would kill him, wouldn’t you?” 

Jake nods.

You trust him. 

He’s not lying. 

He would never lie to you. 

Him knowing what you cooked that night is a coincidence. Him remembering the date and month is just him being mindful. Your lost panties must have gotten tangled in his laundry, surely. He found your ex because you probably let sensitive information slip without realizing it. 

He met your mother and uncle by coincidence. 

He’s the perfect man by chance, and you’re lucky to have him. 

“I love you, you know.” You say, feeling him immediately shift away from your chest to look at you.

The look in his eye when he’s immediately getting on top of you, it’s still as if he’s about to wisp away with you in his arms to another realm. You’ve already been there before, and your body warms at the thought. 

“What did you say?” He asks, voice shaking and somewhat far away from your own dissociated reality. 

“I love you.” You say again, watching his lips quiver, and feeling his hands squeeze you. 

He did it. He’s won. 

And at the end of the day, you don’t think Jake could ever lose. After all, you’ve never felt so safe in a grasp as tight as this one, as painful as this one. You’ve never wanted a man to leave his fingerprints on you so bad. 

As you look at him, seeing him lose himself from reality, you follow suit. Losing yourself with him, feeling that painful grasp on you turn into begging hands. Swelling him under your palms, soothing his stinging skin with your lips, listening to him encourage you, knowing that if your ex ever tried to step into this room, he wouldn’t make it out alive. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

oh, the horrors, amirite?

this is the last of the fic. there is not a part three.

taglist: @skzenhalove , @taetaemylovie, @soocult, @nyanggk, @grilledbananas, @dneltrise, @becc09, @nielle002, @sjyfolder, @sd211, @moonmoongi, @sweetiewolfie, @ksnooppy, @woongkification, @laxatives4hre, @hiddensideofmoon, @mywaaw, @beomstarz, @multifandombtvh, @heeverseblog, @floclover, @elliesuh, @iloveleeknow, @crazydelulu, @dasa3040, @sluttyhee, @bethroedtojae, @cherryunie, @hiamlili, @seojunandsoju, @parksunghoonsgf, @jungwon-xo, @fxiryeon, @jwnghyuns, @juliesblogs

[foli-vora]

without you

matt murdock x f!reader

A/N: made myself hurt with this one tbh. I'll think about a part 2 if enough are interested, but I'll warn you - it won't be a happy ending lmao. Enjoy the angst-fest loves! x

Summary: You return after the 'blip'. Five years is a long time, and a lot of things can happen in that time.

Word count: 2.1kish

Warnings: ANGST. ANGST ANGST ANGST. i got sad af writing this. i don't even know what to put in the warnings. the events of infinity war & endgame, brief mention of the avengers, severe and utter fucking heartbreak, i would lose my fucking mind coming home after an apparent 5 years and finding the love of my life *******, lots of anxiety/panic, severe panic attack, passing out. no hate to karen here - she's a fucking babe.

-

It happens within a blink.

One moment there’s no one, and the next, an older woman is suddenly standing in your way and you can’t help the brief twitch of annoyance that she’s there. You have a meeting, you have groceries to get… you can’t just play chicken with a stranger on the pavement all afternoon.

She freezes, like many others you notice, and your frown deepens, confusion starting to take over the irritation. They all look at you, but not just you.

Time seemingly comes to a momentary freeze and you just don’t understand. Why is she looking at you like that?

The next minute—panic.

There’s a rush.

People scramble for their phones, they run. Cars swerve and there’s chaos. There are people crying, people start screaming, but there’s also awe, laughter. People embrace strangers. You know they’re strangers by the way they look around in complete bewilderment in the arms of the other, seemingly just as confused as you.

Five years.

Why do you keep hearing ‘five years’? Why are shop fronts different? What the hell has happened? 

“You’re… you’re all back,” the woman utters, tears starting to build along her lash line.

Back?

You feel it in the pit of your stomach, a sick feeling of dread slowly building until it feels like it sticks uncomfortably in your throat. Something happened. You don’t know what, you don’t know how, all you know is that you need to go home immediately.

It’s halfway back to the apartment, after passing things that weren’t there previously, shops that you had passed just hours before now different, and your phone simply refusing to connect for unknown reasons, that you break into a panicked run.

You want home, you want somewhere familiar.

Matt left for work the same time as you—would the new mayhem taking over the streets bring him home to you? Maybe he’d already be waiting, sensing the frenzy before you?

The view of your building is a welcome relief, and you slow as you reach the door, heart pounding in your chest as you take the stairs as quickly as possible. The apartment is unlocked, and you berate yourself for forgetting to lock up earlier, but Matt’s cane resting by the door turns your inward irritation to understanding.

He’s home. He got here before you. He must be waiting, maybe he’d have answers—

“Matty?” you call, “do you have any idea what’s—”

A clatter, a sweep of air, and then he’s on you.

He’s curled around you before you can even finish, his arms so tight and constricting you struggle to take in a full breath. He’s talking, muttering incoherent words into the skin of your throat and all you can do is stand there, mind whirling in a maddening rush, not even able to lift your arms to return his embrace due to his restrictive hold.

“You’re here,” he breathes, almost disbelieving, “you’re here. I didn’t want to have hope but—God, I—”

“Matt, I’m so confused,” you breathe, unsure of why tears are starting to gloss your eyes or why your heart suddenly feels like it’s beating in the back of your throat, “what’s going on? It’s crazy out there, I don’t know wh—”

“I know. I know, sweetheart. I’ve missed you. God, I’ve missed you. It’s been so long, I didn’t think I’d ever—” he trails off, unable to finish his sentence and a few more panicked kisses press into the side of your throat.

He’s crying.

You feel the wetness of his tears smear over your skin and it’s enough to bring your own falling heavily from your eyes. What is he talking about? You saw him this morning, only mere hours ago. You made breakfast, you kissed him goodbye like every other day, nothing had been different. 

“Matt,” you whimper, “what the hell is going on?”

—

Five years. You were gone for five years. Just one day—poof. Out of existence, never to be seen again. The city had been clouded by dust, remnants of those also taken disappearing with the autumn breeze. So many people just lost. You don’t remember any of it.

There was no pain, no suffering. You had no recollection of the time lost at all, and yet for Matt it had been years.

Years since he had touched you, kissed you, felt you. He tells you that he looked for you for weeks, months. Even went to the damn Avengers—or what was left of them—and found out what had happened. He’d been distraught, falling into a deep, dark pit of despair and heartbreak from the sudden loss of you.

You cry for him, for the time you’d lost together.

Nothing could ever make up for it. Sure, you’re here now, but could you ever truly make up for the loss of time? What had he gone through during your absence?

The two of you don’t part for what feels like hours.

Matt clings to you, inhaling you deeply and kissing whatever inch of skin he could reach. He doesn’t pull away to answer your questions, instead letting the low rumble of his voice melt through the fabric of your shirt and flooding warmth along your shoulder.

His hands still roam over you, almost as if they’re retracing your dips and curves to remind himself of how you felt when you disappeared five years ago. You catch his fingers with a sweet flutter in your chest, lifting his hand to press a tender kiss to the back of it when the smooth feel of metal catches your attention.

It’s a simple gold band, fit snug around the fourth finger of his left hand and you rub your finger over the shiny surface of it in curiosity. He wasn't wearing a ring this morning...

A ring. 

A wedding ring.

You feel sick.

He senses the moment you realise it, picking up on the sudden quicken of your heartbeat and the clammy sting of sweat that builds along the back of your neck.

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips as you stare at the smooth gold band in shock, feeling as if the room had suddenly gotten ten times smaller. He starts to shift, his fingers quickly flipping to wrap around your wrists to keep you from moving away.

“Let me explain—”

“You… are—are you married?”

“Sweetheart, please—”

You hurriedly stand, wrenching your hands from his and stumbling on your quick step back as he advances after you. He’s married? How can he be married?

Maybe he’s not. Maybe he just slid the ring you both picked out onto his finger when you disappeared in an effort to keep your memory fresh… but with the shine of guilt starting to seep into his features, you fear it’s not as sentimental as you hope.

Panic consumes you. Your eyes flitter around the room, your ears filling with a dull ring that drowns out whatever words fall from his lips as he cautiously steps after you.

It’s your apartment, but it’s… it’s not.

You start to notice the little things you had missed upon coming home so quickly. That throw over the back of the couch isn’t yours. The coffee mug next to Matt’s on the kitchen counter isn’t yours. Your trinkets aren’t lingering on the shelves where you’d placed them. Your shoes aren’t thrown by the door. Your photo with Matt isn’t in its usual spot on the wall.

Instead, another picture hangs there.

Bile burns the back of your throat. Your heart thunders away in your ears. You know what it is, you can see the general feel of it and who stands within the frame through blurry eyes, but you simply can’t accept it.

It’s morbid curiosity that makes you take those few steps towards it, a part of you screaming to not look, to turn away before it really hammers that final nail into the coffin and fucking destroys you. Maybe your mind needs to truly see it in order to make sense of it… but no. It only makes you more confused, more distressed.

What the fuck?

Oxygen is impossible. You can’t fucking breathe. You can’t—

“Sweetheart—”

It’s a wedding photo.

Matt’s wedding photo.

Matt and Karen’s wedding photo.

“Oh my god,” you whimper brokenly, clutching a hand to your chest in an effort to keep yourself together. You press where you feel the rapid beat of your heart, half wondering if you’d be able to feel the break of the frantic organ under your palm.

The room starts to spin.

This morning you’d woken up with an apartment and a fiancé, and now, only a few hours later, you have nothing. How can you have nothing? The apartment is home to you—you left your pyjamas on the floor of the bathroom this morning. You had your coffee at the counter. The love you feel for Matt is present as it always had been, there in the centre of your entire being, so sweet and consuming and yet, his love for you had seemingly vanished.

Disintegrated, along with your body apparently five years ago. Maybe with a clearer head, you’d come to understand that five years is a long time and it’s understandable that he had to move on at some point, but in the moment you feel nothing but hurt—rage.

Matt’s hands are frantic on your body, grabbing at your arms and keeping you from falling to the floor as a sob tears its way out of your chest. You can hear him try to soothe you, hear his worry that your heart is erratic and you just need to breathe.

Breathe, sweetheart—please, breathe.

You can’t. You simply can’t.

Oxygen isn’t coming as easily as it should. Your lungs burn. You’re shaking, unable to stop the tremble taking over your body as you choke on your tears. They burn your skin, painting your cheeks with the bitterness of your heartbreak and they just won’t stop. 

He supports you as you sink towards the floor, legs no longer having the strength to hold you up. He goes down with you, hands cradling your head to his chest and you can’t find it in you to push him away and escape his touch.

It’s Matt. Your Matt. 

You shouldn’t want to shrug him off. You shouldn’t feel guilty at his touch. He’s your Matt, has been for the eighteen months you’ve been together. It was meant to be you in that frame, swimming in white with a smile stretched along your lips, Matt dressed to the nines in an immaculate tux and his ever present red shades beside you.

But it’s not. It’s… it’s Karen.

It’s not you, there’s no trace of you anywhere to be seen. Had you been that forgettable? Foggy’s there, Marci a step behind holding a beautiful little girl with ribbons in her hair. They had a baby? You’ve missed so much.

You start weeping for the life you’d missed out on, for the chances and opportunities of growing older with them and the sweet potential you had had with Matt.

Gone.

All of it, just—gone.

Where would you be now had your soul not been chosen? Married? Promoted? A godmother to the sweet little angel cradled in Marci’s arms? 

“Sweetheart, come back to me,” Matt’s voice cuts through your despair, low and soft in your ear and you cling to him tighter, “breathe. I’ve got you, I’m here.”

“I-I’ve lost so much,” you choke out, hiding your tear stricken face in his throat and desperately trying to get ahold of your body jerking with each difficult inhale and broken exhale, “and I didn’t even know—”

You didn’t know. You didn’t know anything when you apparently ‘returned’. It’s all so haunting and overwhelming and so fucking confusing. 

He stills smells the same, feels the same, despite all these years. You cling to him, desperate for comfort in the moment of your utter heartbreak, but it doesn’t work like it used to and that only makes your pain increase tenfold. His hold feels wrong now. His hold isn’t for you anymore. He has a wife.

You still don’t understand. You can’t comprehend the fact that he’s married, that the arms that hold you are now meant for someone else. They were yours this morning. It’s not possible. You had him this morning; you felt him this morning, you kissed him—

“Sweetheart,” he’s urgent now, manoeuvring you in his hold until you sit in front of him, your back pressed up against his chest and his arms tight around your torso, “breathe with me. Feel my chest, listen to me and follow—in… and out. Come on—”

You pay attention to the exaggerated feel of him breathing against your back, focusing on every expansion of his chest and attempting to match the pace of your inhales. It doesn’t work. Your heart still thunders away against your ribs, your mind still runs fucking wild, and your eyes threaten to roll back from the rush of it all.

“Stay with me,” he begs, but his voice starts to sink to the back of your mind, taken over by the high pitched ring sounding in your ears.

It’s not long until black fully engulfs your vision, and Matt’s voice calling your name is the last thing you hear, frantic and terrified. Maybe you'll find peace in the darkness.

-

matty tags: @javier-pena, @dihra-vesa, @a-reader-and-a-writer, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @acourtofsnakes, @mstgsmy66, @evyiione, @stardust-galaxies, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @withasideofmeg, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @fangirl-316, @xoxabs88xox, @federleichtefreiheit, @lavenderluna10, @mindidjarin. @stardustingold, @androah, @itwasthereaminuteago, @wildmoonflower, @naughtynecromancer, @h-hxgirl, @Unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men, @juletheghoul, @punkerthanpascal, @itswanktime, @omlwhatamidoinghere, @celestinemuse, @chaoticemz, @alexxavicry, @mylifeispainandiloveit, @cran-berry-vodka, @nishi-reads, @mandocrasis, @lawfulgranola, @ew-erin, @fuckoffbard, @spaceserialkiller, @captain-jebi

[justdontaskme]

A Promise to Keep (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

A/N: Hello! I got a request and a sudden spurt of inspiration. If seems a little all over the place, I apologize, I wrote it quickly in one sitting and feel like it might be the best it'll get. Please let me know what you think or anything else you want to see.

After your morning training session, all you really wanted to do was to head home and cuddle with Nala until your second session later today. So, you bid your teammates farewell with a promise to see them later. 

Preseason had been going well, but it was quite obvious the number of gaps missing as many of your players were still out representing at the World Cup. Speaking of missing players, your phone started ringing just as you entered your apartment. You placed your bag down, scooping up Nala as you made your way over to the couch. 

“Hola, mi amor,” Alexia greeted you over the phone, a tired but happy smile on her face at finally seeing your face today. 

“Hi, Ale. Say hi to mama, Nala,” you said, grabbing one of Nala’s little paws and waving it at the camera. You listened as Ale talked to Nala all about what she had done today and how much she missed her. 

Eventually, Nala got bored, and you placed her back on the floor to roam the apartment. You turned sideways, using the arm of the couch as a backrest, pulling your feet up to stretch across the seats. 

“Are you okay, Ale?”

“I wish you were here,” she mumbled, and even though you knew it wasn’t meant with any malice, you couldn’t help but detect that tone of bitterness in her voice, just hitching at the very end. 

You sighed deeply, not really wanting to replay a fight you two have been enduring for the last few weeks now. 

“I miss you,” you said instead, trying not to feed into another inevitable fight. “Enjoy this while you can, you’ll be home soon.”

“I’m here, and you’re there. How am I supposed to enjoy this when you are sitting back home when you could have been here.”

“Ale,” you started, your voice soft and gentle, trying to soothe her before she worked herself into a frenzy. “This is your moment, don’t worry about me.”

“But this is supposed to be our moment,” she said, her voice raising slightly. “You and me. It was supposed to be us. Now, I’m here by myself.”

“You’re not alone, Ale,” you reminded her, asking her to lean on her teammates for strength in this monumental moment. 

“It’s not the same, and you know it. We made a promise.”

You turned the phone away from yourself for a second, allowing your face to fall forward into your knees. She was right. The two of you had made a promise to each other that you would do whatever it takes to be on the grandest stage of the World Cup together. 

“I know, but you and I both know why I’m here. I’ve made peace with this situation. I hate it, but I wouldn’t have done anything different.”

“Not even to be with me?” Alexia knew she was selfish and wrong for asking that, but she had been struggling to really find her footing this tournament, and to have you thousands of miles away wasn’t helping. Her feelings were taking over. She felt like she was floundering, one second away from drowning every step of the way. 

“Ale, as much as I’d love to be there with you, I can’t put myself in that situation again. Not unless things change,” you said.

While you loved and enjoyed your time on the national team, there was so much going on behind the scenes that many people didn’t know about. Unfortunately, it had taken a huge mental toll on you, a toll you were still paying to this day and maybe for the rest of your life. 

“You always said you and I could get through everything together. Why is this any different? Why can’t we get through this together?” Her voice was strained and you knew she was not going to back down on this tonight. 

“Alexia, let’s not go down this road tonight. You have a big game tomorrow. Let’s not do this right now.”

“I’m suffocating. I feel like I can’t even take a step without everyone criticizing my form and my right to be here. And now I’m here telling you that I need you, and you just push it aside,” she yelled, causing you to almost drop your phone. 

“Hold on, Alexia. That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant.”

“Don’t go putting words in my mouth. You know I hate when people do that,” you warned her, feeling yourself slowly losing your temper as well. 

“And I hate when people go back on their word, yet you did and I let you.”

That stopped you for a moment. Everything Alexia has been saying all made sense. But you couldn’t just take a whole month off especially with preseason starting just to follow her halfway around the world. 

It didn’t stop you from feeling guilty for not being there when she needed you. Since she had gone, the time difference had really made its mark on your relationship, speaking much less often than normal. Calls were either less frequent or shorter in comparison to the ones just before the group stages started. 

You hated yourself for not noticing how much Alexia was apparently struggling throughout this month apart. Each call you remember trying to comfort and reassure her you were her biggest fan, but she didn’t just need some to believe in her, she needed your full support in fighting the demons in her heads that have been there since she went down before the Euros.

“Ale,” you tried to form a coherent sentence. One that was genuinely what she needed to hear without feeling forced. 

“No, you know you were right. I have a game tomorrow. I should get some rest.”

Before you could say anything else, she hung up on you. You tossed your phone to the other side of the couch, sitting in silence as the pent up anger from this and previous fights coupled with an insurmountable amount of guilt bubbled inside of you. 

****

From your seat next to Patri, your hands curled into fists when you saw Alexia being subbed off, knowing that she wasn’t happy with the decision, and even worse, she’ll be upset with the way she had played with the limited minutes she had. 

You started to worry and feel a twinge of guilt, wondering if your fight last night had anything to do with her performance today. You quickly shook your head, tossing the idea out of your head and reminding yourself that Alexia was a professional and she wouldn’t let something like that mess with her game. She must just have had an off day.

Things from the night before were still unresolved, but you hoped that it would all work itself out when you spoke to her later.  

It was a bittersweet win. You were in tears seeing the absolute happiness on the players’ faces, especially Alexia’s, yet when you turned to Patri and Mapi, you knew they already understood the feelings you were fighting.

Mapi came over and draped an arm over your shoulders, nodding her head without saying anything. There were only a few who would truly understand what you were feeling as you watched the Spanish national team reach heights that were before unachievable. And they managed to do it all without you and your fellow teammates. 

You waited by the phone all night, but never got anything from your girlfriend. You had tried calling once, but it had gone straight to voicemail, and you figured that it meant that she wasn’t ready to hear from you yet. 

Then, you reached out to Ona, who assured you that Alexia was okay and that she would keep an eye on her for you. You then asked her to pass on your congratulations and her love, which she easily agreed to. Thanking the younger girl, you went about making the necessary arrangements for your trip. 

****

As you stepped into the stadium, you were in awe of the atmosphere. The crowds of people here for this game, cheering along and choosing sides, even though their own nations have already gone home. It was a full stadium of people here to love and champion the game everyone loved. A wave of sadness swept through you as you imagined what could have been. 

You were supposed to be experiencing this with all your friends, the grass beneath your feet, not the concrete of the seating area. You should have been out there decked out in your Spanish uniform, your name and number proudly on your back, instead of being in the stands with your girlfriend’s name and number on. 

You let yourself wallow for a minute more before quickly reminding yourself why you were really here. While you continue to wish things were different, you didn’t regret your choices, but now you were to live with the consequences of those choices. 

Instead of dwelling, you stood on your feet, cheering along with the rest of the Spanish fans as both teams made their way out for warmups. You cheered loudly anytime Alexia touched the ball, but with all the people in the stadium, you doubted she could hear you.

Once the Spanish team finished warming up and started heading into the locker rooms, you did your best to catch Alexia’s eyes without making a big show. As far as you knew, Alexia didn’t even know you were here. 

Eventually you managed to make eye contact with Ona who sent you a bright smile before rushing over to Alexia and pointing you out in the crowd. Despite the countdown until kickoff and the protests of a certain coach, Alexia ran straight to you, meeting you at the edge of the stands.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, reaching one hand up to cup your face while the other went around your waist, pulling your bodies as close as the barrier between you two allowed. 

In the moment, it didn’t matter if there was a small wedge driven between the two of you since the start of this tournament, Alexia was beyond happy to finally have you back in her arms. She wasn’t going to waste a second of it. 

“I made a promise, we’d be here together,” you said, resting your forehead against hers, this closeness drowning out everything around you. “I came to fulfill that promise to you. Even if it’s a little different than the way we planned.”

“I’m sorry,” Alexia said, ready to jump into her rehearsed spiel of how she shouldn’t have reacted the way she did the other night. 

But before she could say anything, you quickly interrupted her with an apology of your own. “No, mi corazón, I’m sorry. You were right, we made a promise and I went back on it.”

“No, I know why you and the others did what you did, but that doesn’t mean I don’t support you. I just really wished I could have shared all of this with you by my side.”

“I know, bebé, I know. But we can’t change the past.”

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Alexia admitted, sniffling slightly. You reached up to wipe the pooling tear in her eye. 

“Me too. I promise we can talk about this more later. For now, go out there and make me proud,” you told her, not caring about the crowd as you leant forward and kissed her for the first time in over a month. “Te amo.”

The blinding smile on your girlfriend’s face and the returned ‘I love you’ was worth the month apart. Alexia snuck one more quick kiss to your lips before rushing off to the locker room before she was benched for the entire game. 

You sat back in your seat as you awaited the players' walk out. 

“My sister is such a sucker for you,” Alba said, knocking her shoulder against yours from her seat beside you. 

You burst out laughing, “Never hurts to have her wrapped around my finger,” you shrugged.

“Yet you were the one to skip practice in order to book a last minute flight to Australia just so you could apologize in person.”

“It’s called supporting your girlfriend,” you countered, eyes on the tunnel as the players were set to come out any second. 

Alba rolled her eyes goodnaturedly, joining you as you both sported your Alexia jerseys, loudly cheering for the superstar as everyone came out. You blew her a kiss and wished her the best of luck. 

This wasn’t how you two had thought a World Cup together would be like, but even with all the obstacles, you had finally made it to a final together. And really, that’s all that mattered because at the end of the day, you two would always have each other. 

[steveharringtonat3am]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

word count: 1.1k

You had always been a sucker for Valentine’s day. Maybe it was the love in the air, the beautiful pinks and reds that seemed to adorn every surface. You just couldn’t get enough of it. But with all the joy of love everywhere, you couldn’t help but feel a slight ache. You wanted that love with someone. In fact, you already had someone in mind.

“Oh good, you’re here!” Steve welcomes you into his apartment with a grin, taking the bags full of craft supplies from you as you hang your coat up. You were quite familiar with Steve’s apartment as he insisted on hosting weekly movie nights for your friend group.

“So, I went a little crazy in the craft store but you can’t blame me cause well…it was so pink!” You sheepishly smile, but feel no shame.

When Steve had asked you if you wanted to help him make some decor for tomorrow’s movie night, a romcom themed frenzy, you had jumped on the idea. A Valentine’s themed movie night with Steve? You were hooked instantly. Of course being the show-off he is, he needed to go all out. That’s where your crafting skills came in.

“This all looks great! But I have to ask, what exactly are we making?” He unpacks everything methodically, careful to not mess anything up.

“Well, I figured we could make some cute popcorn buckets, some fake movie tickets, and a whole bunch of decorations to make your place a little less…guy.” The comment makes him laugh, shaking his head at you.

“You’re in charge, I’m not very good at the whole Valentine’s thing.” He admits as he sets next to you, watching you set everything up.

“Really? I thought you had a Valentine last year?” You start making a trial movie ticket, sneaking a bite of the crackers and cheese Steve had set out for the two of you.

“Well I did but…she didn’t seem to like what I had planned.” You glance over as he messes around with the bottle of glitter, refusing to look at you.

“I’m sure your plans were wonderful. Maybe you just need someone who…gets you.” You feel heat in your ears as the words slip out your mouth. Your crush on Steve was a closely guarded secret and you weren’t quite ready to let it out just yet.

“Right…so how exactly are we doing this?” He holds the plain popcorn bucket in his hands, turning it over and inspecting it.

“Just do whatever feels right!”

“Alright but if it turns out ugly it’s Dustins’.” He grins at you as you laugh.

You play some music as you work but it’s a comfortable silence between the two of you. Steve had this quality about him that just made you feel so at ease. It was one of the reasons you liked him so much. You could just be yourself with him.

“Steve? Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” He briefly meets your eyes, gauging how serious of a question this was about to be.

“Do you have any…dreams to get out of Hawkins? Sometimes it’s all I think about.” You had been worried briefly Steve would move away after you both graduated. So when he hadn’t, you had been so relieved you nearly confessed then and there.

“I think about it sometimes. Now that all the craziness has died down…I wouldn’t mind moving to the city someday. But I wouldn’t wanna go by myself.” He smiles softly at you and you return it.

“Yeah, me too.” You keep your eyes laser focused on the glue you’re meticulously applying to the pink cardstock, just a little afraid to look at him.

“What would you do when you got there?” He asks.

“I’m honestly not sure. I’ve always kinda dreamed about opening a cafe.” You share the thought quietly. You hadn’t told many people about the cozy cafe you had always dreamed of running, full of simple pastries and comfortable seating.

“That would really suit you.” He smiles.

You both reach for the pink glitter at the same time, fingertips brushing quickly. The sparks shoot up your arm as you recoil. You were no stranger to touching Steve. He was very affectionate, always bumping your shoulder when he made a dumb joke, brushing your waist whenever he needed to get by you, hand slipping into yours in a crowd. But it still took you by surprise. You offer the glitter to him wordlessly, picking up the red glitter instead.

The urge to confess climbs up your throat and you have to push it down with a sip of your water. You work in silence for the rest of the night, aided by your constant moving around to decorate every corner of his living room.

You both collapse on the couch late into the evening, covered in glue and glitter and exhaustion. His knee brushes yours and you’re suddenly wide awake.

“I think you’re ready for tomorrow.” You note, the room around you covered in pinks and reds and whites.

“Yeah…you think I’ll ever get this glitter out of my hair?” He shakes his head in an attempt to get some of the pink sparkles out, but it’s mostly futile.

“You want the truth?”

“Not at all.” He grins, making you both laugh. It’s not very funny, but you blame the fatigue that has settled in your bones for your current state.

When you finally recover, you both rest your heads on the couch, eyes locking.

“I’m really glad to be spending Valentine’s with you.” He mumbles, hand coming up to gently brush some hair off your face. His thumb lingers, stroking your cheek.

“So am I…” You trail off. Have his lips always looked this appealing? You can’t seem to think straight and the next thing you know, his lips are pressing against yours. You kiss back instinctively, like you’ve been doing it all your life. You sink into him, hands combing into his hair as he cups your face. It’s a thrilling moment, and you almost want to pinch yourself.

When your bodies finally come up for air, you can hardly stop the ear-to-ear grin.

“So…wanna watch a movie?”

[saleeba]

comforting jules in these hard times :(( (with a bj ;))

summary ♡ what the request says! 

pairing ♡ jules koundé x gn!reader

content ♡ 18+, smut, blowjob, (untranslated) french terms of endearment, religious undertones for some reason, not proofread, hopefully quite lovey-dovey idek this was so rushed 😭

a/n ♡ hiiii my first little snippet!! these are generally going to be short ask-based fics that are one scene/one action + i hope to share more with u guys! :D tysmmm anon for this request i hope it lives up to ur expectations!!

the copious amount of condescending headlines about his football club was creating a frenzied commotion in the world of spanish sports media and jules found it difficult to dull the noise. add on top the emotional stress of his manager’s departure from the club and it was enough to make a boy like him break into a million pieces. 

yet you were like his superglue. you held him together with the mere thought of your presence in his mind and the nights spent tangled between the sheets and gasping promises of forever grounded jules to the best version of reality for him.

this night was no different, you trying your best to make it all about him (not that it was hard — you were practically devoted to the boy) after he came home close to tears, the burdensome weight of work troubles proving heavy on his shoulders. he was never one to let his professional life trespass into his personal one but you made it clear from day one that you were both a team and that yes, it may be “his problem”  but you were both going to jump over those hurdles hand-in-hand.

and the first approach in which you consoled him was with the help of your lips on his bare, sweaty skin, not sure if the subtle dampness was from a session in training or the way his skin always warmed up to the feeling of your mouth; the feeling of familiarity and of what just felt right. 

“please don't tease tonight, baby,” jules whispered in a tone close to begging, body writhing on the couch, his voice desperate for that same familiarity to save him from losing himself in the uncertainty that had tainted the past few days.

“not even thinking about it, jules,” you tongued at his abdomen on your way down to the waist of his shorts, fingers running inside the elastic band and skimming the part where he needed you the most. “wanna take good care of you tonight.”

a blissful sigh escaped from the parting of jules’ lips as you peeled the material off of him and cast it aside, the only thing left between you and his pure form being the pesky boxers that constrained his cock. not wanting to rush the events of the night, you go to mouth kisses on the imprint and the damn thing twitches, tip jerking ever so slightly as it leaks pre-cum onto the black cotton softness. 

“what was that about not even thinking about teasing, chérie?” he whined, hips raising in demand for you to do both of you a favour and free him from the restriction.

“i’m sorry, baby… can’t help myself, it looks so pretty like that,” you put on your best, prettiest pout and ran your fingertips down his length. “promise i’ll be good for you now.”

you finally granted him freedom and the way you quickly pulled down the set of underwear had the two of you so eager, your lips immediately came to wrap around half of his cock, the engulfing feeling sending jules’ mind into what he considered a premature frenzy. 

“s-slow down, baby,” he stuttered, hands gripping onto the sides of your head to pull you back to his tip where you suckled like a woman parched, unable to allow yourself to let him go completely. jules was addictive in every sense and the way his dick slid down your throat was even more so. you’d burned every part of him into your mind, making sure it was all unforgettable, all something you could never tire of.

“mm-hmm.” your response was muffled as you effectively ignored your boyfriend’s pleas, mouth taking more of him in, back and forth on repeat as the stiffness slid down your throat. it wasn’t an easy feat since the thickness of jules’ cock was siding on the extraordinary but your mouth was drenched, spit running down your chin and over the skin of your chest as the movement of your head over him became much more rapid.

jules was near to bursting, fingers gripping onto the leather of the sofa as he couldn't help but push his hips further towards you which only brought his dick further into your mouth, the weeping head barging at the opening of your throat. he wanted to grip your head in his hands – as leverage, as control, as a means to get as close to you as possible – but was scared to do so due of his iron-strong hold and the way your tongue traced that one vein on the underside of his dick, oh god, it was heaven—no, it was beyond that. you were his salvation, his saving grace, his angel come to earth; you were so, so good to him and he didn’t think he deserved you. but you were always there to shoot that idea down; it was always a collaboration with the two of you, you were always equals and you were always going to be. 

“i‘m gonna cum, mon ange,” your raven-haired lover whined, back arching as you continued your assault on his sensitive dick, lips reaching all the way to his pubic bone as his balls slapped against your chin with force, head motioning up and down, down and up, any which way to make jules flood your throat with that subtly-salty fluid. “oh my god, baby, please, please.” 

there was no way you were relenting now, the sounds coming from jules only giving you the motivation to bring your hands to his thighs and push your tongue out, his cock still in your mouth, aiming to caress it with the wet muscle and rip his orgasm from him in a matter of milliseconds. 

and that’s exactly what you achieved; a myriad of sweet moans from your boyfriend as he came down your throat, the mixture of clear spittle and milky-white cum threatening to spill out from your filled mouth but you drank it all up with his dick still between your lips, even managing to swallow as you moved back so that only the tip remained wrapped with the swollenness of them. 

“was that good?” you asked sincerely once you had pulled off of his softening length and stood up before pressing the most tender of kisses to his lips which parted in sheer satisfied exhaustion. 

“good? it was more than that, baby, fuck,” he let out a breathless laugh, grabbing your face to pull your mouth to his once again, the motion more hungry than before. “you make me forget about all that’s wrong, my love, thank you, thank you…” 

you couldn’t help but let out a giggle and an aww, a promise of always being there to take care of him on your lips and he was more than appreciative.

“let me take care of you now, bébé. my girl deserves it. please?”

[antisocialmastermind]

Chapter 11

Chap 1 Chap 2 Chap 3 Chap 4 Chap 5 Chap 6 Chap 7 Chap 8 Chap 9 Chap 10 on Ao3

Day 11: SONUEGL = lounges

As June unfolds into July, Kurt is a cat in the sunshine. His whole existence is warm and gold-dipped and he feels obscenely grateful and lucky. He doesn’t even mind Elliott’s constant ribbing about how happy he is. Because he is.

The inaugural show at Muse is drawing to its close and has been by all accounts a great success. The gallery is in the black, which is unheard of in these early days. Several artists have asked about exhibiting and there seems to be an ever-increasing stream of patrons with means and enthusiasm. 

Serena Mbali’s name and Rachel Berry’s notoriety have done wonders in a very short time. Serena’s works have sold well, three of Elliott’s paintings have little red stickers on their title cards, and Kurt has sold every piece on the gallery wall. His head spins when he thinks about it.

He’s dropped his Thursday shift at the restaurant entirely, feeling cautiously optimistic that he can get by, now that Elliott’s able to pay him for his gallery shifts. He uses the extra time in the studio, caught in a spiral of inspiration-creation-bliss-inspiration that he’s never experienced before.

And then there’s Blaine.

Kurt’s had his share of relationships, ranging from a couple of one night stands, when the mood was right, to Eric, who lasted a year and a half before his career took him to the West Coast and out of Kurt’s life. But he’s never had anything like this. He’s been utterly swept off his feet. By a lawyer.

On Fridays, they go out. Usually to somewhere fancy that Kurt never dreamed he’d see. They’ve ridden through Central Park in a horse and carriage like tourists and on a gondola while Blaine fed Kurt sugar-dipped strawberries. They’ve had dinner at the Empire State Building and Kochi and seen Broadway shows and Kurt’s first opera at the Met.

It was awkward at first. He was uncomfortable with the ostentation and wealth that seems entirely unremarkable to Blaine. But Blaine never seems like he’s preening or bragging or even concerned. He does things because he wants to and he can , and Kurt just needs to relax. He feels pampered and adored and giddy with it.

On Saturdays, Kurt lounges in Blaine’s bed for as long as he can before heading to Muse for the day. They lie there and talk lazily about nothing and everything, kissing and giggling and dreaming. They take turns making each other breakfast or dance around each other in the kitchen as they cook together.

And of course, between Friday nights and Saturday mornings, they fuck. Heated and intense and gentle and nuanced, loving and frenzied. It’s pure ecstasy and Kurt can’t get enough.

****

He feels stupid talking to Elliott. Like he’s a kid or naive or both. But if he doesn’t get out of his own head and get some perspective, he’s going to explode. Or eat an entire cheesecake. Or something. They’re in the living room drinking wine when Kurt brings it up.

“Do you think I need to ask Blaine if we’re exclusive?”

Elliott looks mildly confused when he replies, “Why are you asking me?”

“I don’t know,” Kurt sighs. “I don’t trust myself? Like, what if I ask and he’s insulted that I even had to ask, because of course we are. Or what if I don’t ask so he assumes I don’t want to be? Or what if he just laughs at me because I’m making a big thing out of nothing –”

“Kurt,” Elliott interrupts gently, ‘does it feel like nothing?”

“No,” Kurt tells him. “It kind of feels like everything.”

Elliott’s lips tighten into a tiny, repressed smile. “You need to talk to him,” he prods. 

“I know,” Kurt groans. “I know I do. But I just … I don’t wanna jinx it. It’s been so perfect I just don’t want to make waves, you know? I’m ridiculous.”

“You love him?” Elliott’s voice is quiet and his eyes are intent on Kurt’s face.

“I don’t,” Kurt replies. “Not fully. Not yet. But I’m starting to. Or I could. But sometimes it feels like he has all the power and that’s – Oh my god, never mind.”

“Kurt, that’s not okay.” Elliott suddenly looks concerned. “You guys need to be on equal footing if a relationship is going to work. You can’t be feeling less than. And he can’t be in charge all the time. That’s not right.”

“Oh god, no.” Kurt rushes to reassure him. “It’s just me. My head. It’s not anything he’s doing. I guess I just feel… inferior sometimes. Because he’s able to give me so much. And I can’t give him anything.”

Elliott’s eyebrows shoot upward and his face is earnest when he says, “Kurt, I’m pretty sure you’re giving him something he wants. He’s still here, isn’t he?”

“Was that a sex joke?” Kurt asks.

“It really wasn’t,” Elliott says, in that plainly honest way he has. “I mean, if you’re being truthful that he’s not lording it over you or anything, then it sounds like you just need to come to terms with the fact that you’ve got yourself a boyfriend who can spoil you if he wants to.”

“Is he my boyfriend, though?” Kurt whines.

And now Elliott does laugh. “Oh my god, Kurt. Talk to him.”

****

Kurt doesn’t talk to him. The timing hasn’t been right. He will. He’s going to, but right now Kurt’s still waiting tables and making art and helping Elliott change over the show in the gallery.

Several of the pieces from the first show, including all of Kurt’s except one, were sold online to anonymous collectors. In the sales records for each of them is a note reading, ‘ agent will call ,’ so those need to be packed up. 

Elliott’s unsold pieces will stay. He’s the gallery owner and it’s a good conversation starter to have some of his own work on display. But they move it further back.

The modular walls are moved into a new configuration and artists for the next show are coming in to hang their work. Posters and fliers and press releases are designed and typed. Kurt feels like a professional artist for maybe the first time in his life. It’s a strange, wonderful, giddy feeling.

Blaine sends him flowers. Or has lunch delivered for both him and Elliott. Or texts let me know the minute you're free, and Kurt is just over the moon with how perfect his life feels right now.

Which is why it’s such a dizzying fall when it all goes wrong.

Chapter 12

[sirianasims]

After the main course, Paul went to the kitchen to get the dessert ready before midnight. I excused myself and said I needed some fresh air.

I had been to Del Sol Valley a few times when I was little, visiting my grandparents, but I didn’t remember much about the city itself.

The back of Paul’s mansion was the only thing not surrounded by fences, and the view was both breathtaking and terrifying. Bright lights as far as the eye could see, occasional premature fireworks going off, faint background noise from traffic that never stopped.

It felt like we were gilded birds in a cage up here, always on display yet forever out of reach.

I couldn’t imagine anything further from Copperdale and the quiet, snow-covered forests around it.

I wondered if Paul would expect me to move in with him at some point. I didn’t see how he’d be able to work from anywhere else. I could work wherever, but could I live here? Surrounded by fences and cameras and security guards in a huge, empty house?

I pushed the thought away as I heard the clacking of heels behind me.

“Julia, can I talk to you for a moment?”, Sierra asked softly. “I would really like to apologise for what I said earlier. It was never my intention to insult you.”

“I know you didn’t mean it like that, but I still can’t help feeling that you don’t like me very much. Or maybe you just don’t think I’m good enough for Paul?”

Sierra bit her lip.

“I shouldn’t have brought up his exes, especially not in front of you. The thing is, they rarely lasted long enough for the media to catch on – half the time I didn’t even get to meet them before he ended things. So when Paul first told us about you, I got worried. I saw him falling harder and faster than ever before, but you’re so much younger than him and I was struggling to see how it could possibly end well.”

“Right. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’m just being honest with you. I tend to be, perhaps, overly protective of Paul. He was even younger than you when we met, we shared a shitty apartment with a few other aspiring actors, all trying to break through. We cheered each other on, audition after audition, practicing lines, commiserating over rejection letters… And then he got the call for Llama Man, and I ended up as an extra in a cop series which later got me the lead in Cop & Llama, but I’ve fought hard to escape that, branch out to other roles, and Paul just… didn’t even try.”

“But he says he prefers the voice acting, though. If you’re his friend, why do you keep pushing him if he’s perfectly happy?”

“Because I’m his friend. Sure, he says he’s happy. Maybe he even believes it. But Paul was always the best of us, and he never took his talent seriously. He’s a great voice actor, but it always felt like he secretly wanted more, he’s just scared. What if he sucked? The media would have a field day, writing about how he should just stick to his cartoons. You’ve seen what they’re like, you just had your first front page. Which, by the way, must be rough. I’m sorry for adding to the stress you must be under right now. Can we maybe start over?”

“Apology accepted, I’m too much of a fangirl to be mad at you anyway. And I’m managing, but I must say, being on the cover of a magazine is a lot less fun than advertised.”

“Trust me, it depends heavily on the kind of magazine. But being hung out to dry by some gossip rag is a rite of passage in this business. You should have seen the frenzy when rumours about me and Dave started circulating. It was wild. I once walked out of an interview because they asked me if the llama costume stayed on during sex!”

“Well? Did it ever?”

Sierra grinned.

“No way – do you have any idea how heavy and warm that costume is? It’s not exactly a sexy superhero muscle suit, it’s a full size sports mascot.”

“True. Although I’m not sure I’d appreciate it if Paul kept his costume on either.”

We both laughed, and I barely registered the steps behind me before I felt Pauls arms around me, his warm hands covering my eyes.

“Guess who.”

I heard Sierra chuckle. “Actually, Paul, we were kinda busy out here, bonding over the trials of dating men in llama costumes. It’s a very exclusive club.”

“I guess Dave and I have to start our own club then. But it's almost midnight and I would like to borrow my girlfriend, if you don’t mind.”

“Fine, you can have her back. I’ll just go get myself one of those fruit tarts before Lee and Dave eat them all.”

She walked back inside without waiting for a response.

She wouldn’t have gotten one anyway.

beginning / previous / next

[tragedy-of-commons]

annabelle’s homework

sucrose x gn!reader | wc: ~650

“22 days and 21 nights, crossing every T, just making it right.”

tags/warnings: modern au, childhood friends, unrequited love, angst, one-sided pining/attraction, based on the alec benjamin song, songfic(??)

notes: repost. pls forgive me heeehee 🙏🏻

“You weren’t at the gate,” you say, breathless. 

Sucrose is curled up in a ball, knees tucked under her chin, fringe likely obscuring a tearful expression by the way her shoulders shake. The awning shielding her from the elements is pitiful - just a thin leg of metal jutting out from the roof of the science building.

She heaves a sob. “You were right. I should’ve listened to y-you, but I didn’t,”

Your stomach plummets, urging you to quickly surrender your umbrella to your weeping friend. The rain begins its assault on your dry uniform, but you can’t bring yourself to care. She looks up with a sniffle that’s accompanied by a frenzied headshake. She doesn’t want it?

You.. you don’t know what to do. If there’s one thing you and Sucrose bond over, it’s social inexperience. Would it be too much to ask what happened? Is your presence making her uncomfortable? 

The sky cracks harshly with thunder, causing her to flinch. Your arm is starting to hurt from the strain of your olive branch. “..Can I sit with you?”

She swallows audibly and nods. With her confirmation, you settle next to her on the damp pavement. Between the threshold of your bodies, you prop up the umbrella so it combats the wayward downpour. One problem at a time. The silence isn’t as awkward as it is unsure. You should say something. 

By her wording earlier.. “Is this about Annabelle?”

“Yes. You were right, s-she was just using me for answers. I did her biology lab like I usually do, and then when I finally worked up the nerve to..”

(You did warn her about Annabelle, but only some of it was grounded in reality. Instead you acted out of ugly jealousy whenever she persistently slipped your best friend notes littered with pink hearts that were attached to incomplete assignments. Walking home with her one day, you huffed,

“Sucrose.. be careful around her. She’s probably taking advantage of you to better her own grades.”

She just sheepishly smiled, looking up towards the clouds. “I don’t think so. She’s just busy with extracurriculars most of the time, and I was the one w-who offered. She even hugged me. Things are looking up.. I’ve read enough studies to recognize romantic attraction!”

Sucrose prattled on, this time a little embarrassed by her outburst, but you couldn’t pay attention - not when your heart ached at the fact that she hadn’t researched enough to recognize the soft looks you reserve only for her.)

The wind billows while she continues, “I finally worked up the nerve to ask her out on a date. She laughed, and I made a fool of myself again.”

Your knuckles blanch around the umbrella handle.

“It’s not your fault.” You press your handkerchief into her hand after a moment of fumbling; her warmth makes you pull back, as if burned by her infinite possibilities. “She’s an asshole, and you.. you’re wonderful.”

The disbelief she regards you with is painful. 

Stagnant minutes after she wipes her face, you hoist Sucrose up from the ground and start the journey off school property before you both get fenced in overnight. You wince whenever she stumbles over her untied shoelaces, hushing her subsequent broken apologies. The storm rampages on, so you offer her to stay the night at your house. (It’s the right thing to do.)

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” her head lolls onto your shoulder, “I never thought that I’d keep a friend this long, with how insufferable I am.” 

You feel the same plus a lot more, but she’s still heartbroken. You know well enough that those wounds don’t heal overnight; they ache, fester, and get infected without the right balm. So you’ll relinquish yours to her, just to see her smile again - even if that same grin was the cause of your afflictions in the first place. Even if she’ll never direct its full radiance at you.

“You’re not insufferable. For you, I can bear anything.”

[surrealisticduvet]

Album Review: Live at the Palais (1978)

This album can do everything! Dice and chop, make pasta, serve a nice side salad… rush out now in a buying frenzy!

Starting off with the intro to “Grand Ennui” is fantastic, especially knowing how I felt about this album the last time I listened to it. I’m really pumping myself up to get back into this one; and hoping that my second listen provides new insights, as it often has with his music. For this review, I’m removing my section headers (“Favorites” and “Critiques”) as my opinions are so intermingled, and will instead go track-by-track. 

Right off the bat, Michael’s lack of experience with this particular band lineup appears to be rather evident. They sound good, but certainly don’t have as much practice together as a band should before getting up on stage like this – they’re either playing too slowly for him, or he’s intentionally trying to sing more slowly than usual, maybe to stretch the show’s runtime. Either that, or he was trying to do an Eagles thing, which is a shame; he doesn’t need to. That being said, it does kind of work, especially towards the end as he gets into the groove of it (and, probably, over the nerves.)

“Calico Girlfriend” is nice – there’s a discernible effort to not sound like a “country” band, and a more lounge-rock arrangement is utilized. Again, he sounds wonderful. The 70’s really treated him well, vocally.

What did they do to my baby, “Propinquity”? I can’t even recognize her. It sounds like a bad cover. 

“Joanne” gets a healthy bit of applause, and even a whistle from the crowd. I’m glad they slowed it down and stripped away some of the heavy accompaniment, giving Michael the freedom to sing soft and sweetly. There’s a lot of emotion in his voice during this one, which perhaps explains a bit of the next song…

“Roll With the Flow” is a bit of an unfortunate track - he’s not sounding his best, for one reason or another, and I think it made him nervous. Here again we see a lot of that semi-ironic “hammy” singing that I don’t think benefits a song that is so plain and honest. There is definitely an attempt to make this sound like the big arena rock hits of the day; it wouldn’t sound bad if this was your first introduction to the song, but for learnèd fans, it just doesn’t click. 

“Some of Shelley’s Blues” is really a standout on the record for me. It has a slower start with some of those nerves still audible, but he quickly slides back into rhythm for it, taking us on a journey full of strong, echoing howls and slides. It truly gets the gist of the song, pleading for another chance, a little courage. You’re left, for once, wanting more.

“Silver Moon” is the show’s official closer, deceptively simple in its build-up to another hair-raising display of Michael’s vocal prowess. The end of this track (after he introduces his band, and himself as Burt Lancaster), showcases a full thirty seconds of applause and cries for an encore; for a second, you almost forget you’re not at a Monkees gig, the crowd being so full of desperate heart-felt screams. 

As an encore, he plays Chuck Berry’s “Nadine (Is It You?)” – a good, lighthearted choice to close out the show with stomping and clapping. Michael puts on a good show here, but the band really gets the spotlight. I think this song, showcasing his affinity for good old rock’n’roll, might have been prophesying that which was just around the corner – his most hardcore rock record yet.  

With that, we’ve finished what made up the actual Palais show in 1978 – any songs leftover on your album are bits and pieces of other shows thrown in for the 2001 rerelease. These are fine; it’s exciting to hear “Capsule” live, even though the intro is a little spacey (and I don’t love the song anyways); this version of “The Crippled Lion” is done very well and I enjoy it; finally, “Listen to the Band,” while served up with a hefty spoonful of awkward stage performance, is touching because of his genuine enjoyment of the band he’s playing with – he repeats the verses over and over, giving them each a chance to shine. 

Conclusion:

Somewhere in Infinite Tuesday, Michael talks about being post-concert in Australia, sitting at a diner feeling miserable about how bad his performance the previous night was, when someone came up to him and said that they’d been at the show, and it was one of the best they’d ever seen. Therefore, I have to serve up a grain of salt alongside all my negative comments on this album: if I’d been there to see it live, I know I’d feel differently about it. It really does break my heart that he felt like his performance was so bad, enough so that he was hesitant to reissue it in the 90’s and early 00’s. It was an iconic night, reuniting him with his old drummer and marking the first time he performed with John Jorgenson and other future Hellecaster members, who he would work with in the 90’s. The album is really not that bad at all – it was probably just an off night, paired with a lot of stage anxiety and a few stylistic attempts that fell flat. It’s fine. It’s kind of fun to laugh about it. It’s Live at the Palais – she’s that girl!

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Starlight, Chapter Two:

pairing: fae!ezra prospect x princess!oc (Marigold)

rating: Explicit (18+ only, minors dni, some pretty heavy stuff here (at least for me) just as a warning!, talks of violence/allusions to DV, a brief non-consensual but technically consensual (??) sex scene between Kaius and Marigold, general shit storm of angst piled onto our girl (if you can’t tell i’m in actual pain writing her pain so pls be gentle with me), the romance with ezra is coming i promise!!

wc: 6.2k

series masterlist

I awoke to the sound of a few familiar knocks against the main door of my suite, stone rolling against stone as it opened. My eyes batted open as I lay upstairs in bed pulling the blanket up to cover half my face as a set of footsteps ascended the staircase up to the second floor. 

“Princess,” Ezra called, his voice already a strangely soothing balm to my near-constant anxiety. It felt naive and reckless to place this much trust in a man I’d only just met, but I couldn’t find a reason not to. He’d been kind, he’d been helpful, and as far as I could see, he seemed to be the only option for an ally—unless I counted my future husband. And I didn’t. “Miss Drusilla is here to ready you for the ball.”

Wedding, you mean? I murmured to myself. 

I tossed my blanket back and slowly climbed out of bed with a stretch. Whatever magic Ezra had worked on me to get me tired forced me into the deepest and most restful sleep of my life. Another thing to like him for. I yawned as my feet padded over the giant blue rug beneath my bed and then cold stone floor before making it to the dark, wooden double doors separating me from my visitors. 

Opening the door, I let my eyes lock with Ezra’s--just long enough to ignite a frenzy of sickly tender feelings in my chest--before turning to Drusilla. I gave her an instinctive once over, happy with what I saw. Some color had returned to her naturally pale skin, her purple eyes already a little brighter than earlier. She’d obviously had a bath, her waist-length white hair now swept to the side in a clean braid. 

“Hello, Drusilla,” I said, giving her a sincere smile before turning to Ezra. Something more familiar and affectionate warped my smile into a smirk. “Hello, Your Grace.”

“You look well rested,” he said, his eyes subtly combing me over. 

“Thanks to you,” I smiled. Ezra seemed to blush, his eyes falling to the floor for a split second before he was turning to the teenager beside him. 

“I thought I’d come formally introduce the two of you,” he said, his eyes meeting mine only in short glances. “The ceremony is in two hours, followed by a feast, and then, finally, the ball.”

I felt sick. 

“I’ll be returning shortly with the Royal Seamstress to deliver your gown,” he continued, his voice a bit warmer than when he’d started speaking. He must have felt my apprehension. “Until then, I’ll leave the two of you to get acquainted.”

As he turned to leave, I found my lips parting to call for him to stay. 

“Thank you,” I said instead. “For everything.” 

Ezra gave me a tender, if not weary, smile and nod before making his way down the staircase. Left with Drusilla, the two of us fell into an awkward silence for a beat before I willed myself to forget about my impending doom and speak. “It’s lovely to properly meet you.”

She hurried into a bow, her eyes still struggling to meet mine. 

“Please, I don’t have many rules for my handmaids, but I do ask this one thing of you,” I started, my tone gentle as she finally dared to look me in the eye for longer than a second. “Please don’t bow or bother with titles. Back home, our handmaidens were like family, like sisters. We can be like sisters, too, if you’d like.”

“I’ve…always fancied the idea of having a sister,” she said, letting the smallest of smiles grace her face. “But what shall I call you?”

I smiled softly, thinking back to the days spent under the warm sun with my mother and sisters. At the name they gave me. “Call me Mari. It’s what my sisters always called me.”

Mari, it is.“ She smiled, soft and sweet, reminding me of my own girlhood that seemed so far gone and still so near. 

“Tell me everything about yourself,” I demanded as I led her into my dressing room. I took a seat at the vanity, fixing my eyes on her through the mirror as she stood behind me, mindlessly finger-combing my curls. 

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” she admitted. 

“Well…are you an only child?” I asked, desperate to keep the conversation away from myself and the festivities she was readying my for. 

“I had a little brother, Ash,” she said, reaching over my shoulder to grab a sack of pins. “He passed from a fever not too long ago.”

I frowned, letting my gaze fall to my lap as I considered the idea of losing any of my sisters—even the ever-challenging Octavia who was likely grinning with glee over my current situation—after having lost my mother. I wasn’t sure I’d ever smile again, which made every single smile Drusilla gave me all the more precious. 

“I’m very sorry,” I managed. “My mother passed earlier this year. I know how hard it is to lose someone.”

“He would have liked it here in the castle,” she mused, her eyes and hands busy pinning my hair up. “He loved everything to do with knights and armor and danger. Too young to know the truth of it all.”

There was a tragic maturity about Drusilla, as if she was forced into adulthood before she was even a teenager. 

“And you? What interests you?” I asked, determined to find a spark of light inside of her so that I could help it turn into a star as bright as the ones in the sky. 

“It will sound odd,” she said, as bashful as a child.

“Go on,” I urged. 

“I like to study the stars--or at least, one day I would like to. For now, I just observe.”

“There are no books--”

“The library in town burned two years ago,” she said, scowling as if she knew the culprit. “Even then, it was difficult to be let in looking…well, looking like trash.”

“How long have you been on your own?” Her eyes lifted to meet mine, a strange sort of pride glowing on her face. 

“Eight years,” she said. “Seven with Ash.”

“That’s a feat I’m not sure most of the guards in the castle could accomplish,” I smiled. “I wish I could have met Ash, given him a home here with you.”

“He would’ve liked that,” she smiled back, her eyes dropping back to focus on her braiding. “I cannot tell you what your kindness means to me. The royals are usually so…cold.” 

“Did you know the last King? Or Queen?”

“Only from afar, though I do remember seeing the Queen once as a little girl,” she said, placing the final pin in my hair. “I can’t remember her face, but I remember sadness in her eyes. I suppose I can’t blame her. To rule here…it’s an awful fate.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat at the realization that I was to share that exact fate. Drusilla realized, too, and quickly opened her mouth to apologize but was cut off by the sound of a metal hand knocking on the door. 

“Enter,” I called, my voice fragile and on the verge of cracking. Ezra’s eyes were locked on mine even before the door was opened fully. 

“I’ve…” He trailed off, noticing how rigid my posture was, how watery my eyes were. “Is everything--”

“You’ve brought my gown?” I managed, forcing my voice into one of feigned strength and dignity. I wasn’t sure if it was possible to maintain the latter anymore. 

“Yes,” he nodded, clearing his throat as he turned to the doorway, allowing an old, but regal woman into the room. “Lady Rowena, the Royal Seamstress.”

The Seamstress looked every bit like Kaius, her raven black hair and peircing blue eyes hardly affected by her age. Only her skin gave it away, fine lines and wrinkles all over her face and neck, but she still looked capable of commanding a room. A lifetime ago, she must have been the apple of every evil Lord’s eye.

“Hello,” was all I could manage as her severe eyes studied me. I stood at attention, out of sheer intimidation. 

“You’ve lost weight on the journey,” she commented, handing the garment bag previously draped over her arm to Ezra before she came stalking over, walking circles around me. “Good. Your waist is impossibly small. And those hips…those are child-bearing hips.”

I cringed, fighting hard to keep my face neutral as she faced me head on, scanning every feature from my forehead to my chest. 

“Pity about the small chest,” she sighed. “Apart from that--perfection.”

“The gown,” Ezra reminded, walking the garment bag over to drape across the back of the chaise near the hearth. Though his motives remained a mystery, as well as his mind, she could tell that he was no fonder of the Seamstress than I was. I couldn’t help letting myself fall a little more into my fondness of him.

“Yes, yes,” she grumbled, her heels clicking against stone as she walked over to the garment bag and opened it, unveiling a terribly boring black gown that looked the antithesis of what I imagined my wedding gown would be. “Made from the finest silk and lace, imported directly from Florere.”

I stared at the gown for a moment, my face blank from apathy and shock. This shouldn’t be my gown. This shouldn’t be my wedding. My mother should be here. My sisters should have stopped my father--

“Princess?” Ezra spoke, bringing me back to the present. “What do you think?

Take it easy on her, his voice rang in my head, causing me to gasp. She’s even worse when insulted.

“It…it is lovely—“

“But?” Lady Rowena scowled, her diamond-blue eyes piercing into mine. 

“It’s only—and I don’t mean any offense—“

“On with it, Princess,” the seamstress sighed, rolling her eyes. 

“It looks perfect for a bride of Nox, but I am not a bride of Nox. At least, not fully,” I managed. “I would like for that to be represented by my gown.”

“What changes exactly?” Rowena asked through a tight jaw, her patience clearly growing thin. But I had already ventured this far. No sense in backing down now. 

“I would like a golden gown,” I said, trying to force confidence into my tone. “And for the veil, I’d like there to be an embroidered sun, as well as stars. After all, this is a union between kingdoms, is it not?”

Lady Rowena eyed me for a moment before seemingly deciding that she approved of my request. Or perhaps she just approved of my courage in making a request to begin with. 

“I will see what I can do,” she said, her voice the slightest bit softer than before. 

“Thank you,” I said, wishing I sounded just a bit more like her. More like a grown woman who knew her power and owned it. Instead, I could only hear a little girl, desperate for approval. 

Lady Rowena gathered the plain black gown and matching veil, slinging the silky material over her arm before giving me a bow and making her exit from my chamber. 

Drusilla and I let out a breath of relief at the same time, forcing us to giggle while Ezra lingered by the door.

“She reminds me of the headmistress at the orphanage,” she said, walking with me back to the vanity. I locked eyes with Ezra through the mirror, finding a soft half-smile on his face as he watched us. As if the sight of me laughing--of both of us laughing--brought him peace. I looked away before it got too much to bear. Ezra made his exit a second later.

“Is that a good thing?” I asked with a laugh, finding it easy to do so in her presence. 

“Not in the slightest,” she smirked. 

We laughed again, the air light with the simple joy of being girls together—one twenty-five and one sixteen, neither quite ready to face the reality of the world we lived in. 

“I am very thankful I met you, Drusilla,” I mused, looking at her through the mirror. 

My entire life I dreamed of what it would be like to have a younger sister, to care for them the way my sisters cared for me. In Drusilla, I saw that dream start to take form. 

“You’re too kind, Mari,” she said, fighting back a toothy smile. “I worry this kingdom will steal that from you.”

I swallowed, my eyes falling to my lap. 

“I worry about that, too.”

I took a moment alone after getting dressed to look at myself in the mirror. Dressed up in black, save the changes I’d requested earlier, I looked like I was in mourning. Though in a way, I was. The life I thought I’d live, the man I hoped to meet, the love my household would share--all of it, dead and gone. 

But I could not grieve, at least not tonight. 

So, I gathered the heft of my skirt and lifted it as I made my way to the hall where Drusilla waited to bid me a goodnight before Ezra led me down to the Main Hall where my husband and our guests awaited my grand entrance. 

“Good luck,” she whispered, reaching to tuck a stray curl around my face back to where it belonged. 

“I’ll see you in the morning,” I managed, giving her a smile that I hoped would convey my gratitude for her company and kind words. I didn’t linger long out of fear that I’d gather the courage to jump from a window, my heels clicking against the stone floor as I made my way to Ezra who stood with his good arm held out to me. 

“Shall we?” he purred, and everything about that voice hit me in the chest. This. This is what I should feel for my husband, this is what I hoped as a little girl to feel for him. Soft, sweet, safe feelings, not…fear. 

“Off to the gallows I go,” I chided, earning a stern glare as we walked down the hall to the main stairs. “If I can’t joke with you, who can I joke with?”

Ezra warmed at my words. “As long as you learn to whisper. Even if I wasn’t Fae, I could hear you halls away.”

“No one knows who I am,” I rolled my eyes. “Besides, I shouldn’t have to censor myself in my own home.”

“It’ll always be his home,” Ezra warned, his eyes scanning the staircase leading to the Main Hall. 

So many guests. So many eyes fixed on me the moment I took the first step. My grip on Ezra’s arm tightened. 

I can tell that half of the men here feel very…passionate about you, he purred in my mind. And the women want to kill you.

Is that a good thing? I replied.

“It’s a dangerous thing,” he murmured in my ear, his voice sending a jolt of arousal down to the pit of my stomach. “Smile. Your husband’s watching.”

I fixed my eyes upon a handsome man in blue and black, his bright eyes glistening in the candlelight as he stood in front of an Archbishop clad in dreary gray. So handsome, and yet my gut lurched at the sight of him, my skin crawling with the urge to get away. 

“Introducing the new Queen of Nox, Princess Marigold of Solis,” a man bellowed as I made the final step into the room, Ezra’s presence an anchor. 

It’ll be alright, Princess, he whispered in my head. I swear.

I hope you don’t take oaths lightly, I chided, earning a small curl of his lips as he walked me down the aisle, unfamiliar faces gawking at every step I took. Can you do the thing where you save me from throwing up all over the floor now?

He let out a breath of a laugh so soft I could have imagined it and let his eyes glow that beautiful liquid gold, the warmth of it pouring over me like a blanket. I squeezed his arm in thanks and took a deep breath as I arrived at the altar, my King grinning at me like I was a jewel. 

“Thank you, my Hand. I’ll take my wife from you now,” he purred, taking my arm from Ezra’s. I cringed at the coldness of his hand against my bare skin, at the way he gripped my arm hard enough to ache. “You’re a vision in black.”

I loathe black, I wanted to shout.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I bowed, letting him kiss my gloved hand. 

“Shall we, then?” He nudged his chin towards the Archbishop, the old man scowling at me as I met his gray eyes. Giving a weary nod to my groom, I followed him up the small set of stairs leading to the dais with my hand held firmly in his. 

“Your Majesty,” the archbishop bowed to my groom and him alone, his eyes never once meeting mine as he began to recite the words passed down from century to century, joining man and wife together under their god’s divine grace. A load of antiquated bullshit that meant nothing to me and my family, who pray to the Goddesses who value true love rather than all of this marrying for power. 

It made me hate my father all the more. 

When the archbishop was finished, Kaius--my King, my husband--took my face in his hands and stared at me, a wicked grin that promised we’d have fun together. More likely, that he’d have fun with me. I tried not to shudder as he pulled me in and kissed me, his lips soft and skilled and yet I felt nothing but shame. It felt wrong, like my body and soul agreed that I was not supposed to be here. When he pulled away, I forced a smile onto my face, but there was no hiding the tears in my eyes. 

“Look at that,” he called out into the dead silent hall, his court and guests looking on with a mixture of awe and pity. “My bride is shedding tears of happiness.”

I wiped the rolling tear off my cheek and lowered my eyes to the floor. I hated the crowd’s staring, hated that my husband was already taking my pain and turning it into something that benefited him. 

Eyes up. Ezra’s voice sounded again, only for my mind to hear. Don’t let them see you as a lamb. That voice lowered to a whisper. You’re a golden lion.

I don’t feel like a fucking lion, I griped back, lifting my eyes just to glare at him as he stood by the dais. 

“Come, bride,” Kaius looked at me, his eyes sweeping over every feature, that handsome yet vile smirk spreading wider as I fixed a winning smile onto my face. “You are a stunning creature. Dull, perhaps, but…stunning, nevertheless.”

“You are so…generous with your compliments, Your Majesty,” I managed, corralling my restraint and those royal manners I was taught as a girl. Kaius’s responding wink was enough to let me know he saw right through my pretty smiles, but that he didn’t give a shit so long as I fulfilled my half of the bargain. An heir. 

“Let us celebrate,” Kaius called out into the pin-drop silent hall as dinner commenced, his eyes dark as they remained on me as they had been all night. “To my beautiful bride and the true love we’ll share.”

“To true love!” the room called back, raising their goblets. I could only manage a murmur of agreement, by body outright refusing to play the role I’d been given. My eyes hadn’t left my plate besides to look to my right at Kaius seated at the head of the table, and directly ahead of me at Ezra who watched me just as carefully as the rest of the room. Only his attention felt welcome--reminded me of my humanity, my humor, my true self.

“My dear,” Kaius purred, lazy and bored and privileged. “Have you met my uncle?” He carelessy gestured at the man sat on the other side of me. I hadn’t noticed him, hadn’t met him, nor did I want to given his predatory gaze as my eyes met his. 

“Lord Oziel of the Frostlands,” the old, musty smelling man leaned in and kissed my gloved hand. His face was severe, nothing at all like Kaius’s unnerving beauty. With his thick, raven black eyebrows, his pale and wrinkled jowls, and the odor of booze and bad breath permeating with every word, I found it a feat just to keep what little I had in my stomach down. “That beauty sitting across from you is my wife, Lady Emita.”

My eyes willingly turned from Lord Oziel to his shockingly young and gorgeous wife, Emita. Her skin was as dark as the night sky, her eyes a startling amber that looked like wildfire. Her perfectly symmetrical almond eyes locked with mine, and I offered a smile, hoping to win a friend at court who might understand my current predicament. But Lady Emita offered me no smile, no ounce of warmth or friendliness in her eyes. 

“You’re from Solis?” she asked, lifting her glass to her lips. “You look like it.”

“Thank you,” I whispered despite my attempt at confidence. 

“I didn’t mean that to be a compliment,” she chuckled, shaking her head as she stared down into the pool or dark red filling her cup. Out of instinct or embarrassment, my eyes flickered to Ezra’s, finding him with a clenched jaw, his fork stabbing at his plate a touch too aggressively for a royal. 

“Emi,” Lord Oziel warned, sounding more like her grandfather than anything. 

“Pardon me, Your Grace,” she waved a hand I supposed was meant to be an attempt at an apology. “Where I’m from, we don’t waste time with flattery.”

“Where is that?” I asked, my voice edged with frustration and embarrassment and disgust. 

“Heims,” she replied. “Your sister…what is her name again, husband?”

“Princess Wilhemina,” I cut in, my heart pounding at the mention of my eldest sister, the future Queen of Heims. 

“Yes, yes,” Lady Emita droned. “She is a rare jewel, managing to fit in so well in Heims. It isn’t as…soft as your Kingdom.”

“She is the strongest woman I know,” I managed, my heart calming now that I knew no insults would be hurled at my sister. “But I know many strong women in Solis. In fact, I can’t say that I’ve ever met a land who embraces women in power so much.”

“That didn’t stop your father from sending you off like cattle to the first buyer,” she challenged, her lips curling on one side the same way Kaius’s did when he was thoroughly pleased with the look on my face. That look that screamed naivety. 

“You’ve had enough to drink,” Ezra cut in, plucking the goblet from Lady Emita’s grasp without care for the seething look she shot him. “And Lady or not, you’re speaking to your Queen. Mind yourself.”

“My good Hand,” Kaius grinned. “Always doing the work I don’t want to do. Corralling these socialites is no easy task, wife.”

Wife? Property. 

“Queen or not--” 

Lord Oziel’s kick to her shin under the table was so hard it rattled our plates, my face going pale at the act of aggression, at the way no one in the room paid it any mind. At least Ezra had the decency to let his magic wash away her pain. 

She’ll be fine, he assured, his voice a pleasant echo in my mind, clearing away most of the haunting thoughts lingering in my head. 

She might have a mouth, but it’s awful that Kaius allows him to treat her like that, I replied, lowering my eyes to my plate. Any idea why she hates me? 

The North has always envied the South, he said. They think you’re untried, soft, naive. 

And you?

For a moment, when I first met you, he replied while shoveling food into his mouth as ungracefully as I’d ever seen. I wasn’t sure why that made me like him more. But that judgment has long been wiped away. 

I haven’t managed to win over my husband so easily, I chided, managing a bite of my own food. The first bite I’d eaten since…I couldn’t remember. Time felt so strange here, as if it was frozen and sped up all at once. 

He looks happy, he offered. That’s as much as you can expect from him.

I expected him to be in love with me, I snapped, hating that in all my loathing and disgust, I still yearned for my husband’s approval. 

Kaius might not be in love with you, but he is in love with the fact that every single man in this room can’t take their eyes off of you, he replied, stabbing another piece of steak with his fork. Goddess above, I couldn’t stop watching him eat like an animal. Couldn’t stop imagining what else he’d do like one. 

All but you, I irresponsibly purred back, eyes fixed on him from across the table. Ezra’s eyes finally, albeit slowly, lifted to meet mine, dark brown meeting amber as I stared back. His stare flickered to my lips before lifting again, a subtle, hardly there smirk growing on his face. 

Do you like having my eyes on you, Princess? His voice was like a drug at this point, but when he lowered it like that…I worried I might be beyond the point of help when it came to my addiction to it. 

Do you want me to like it? I asked, twisting my mouth to control my growing smile as I let my eyes fall to my plate, my fork batting a few peas back and forth.

I want you to yearn for it, he managed, his voice strained with something akin to desperation. 

I didn’t have time to tell him I already did before my husband dropped his fork to his empty plate and announced dinner was over, not caring if the rest of the room hadn’t finished their meals, and that the ball would soon commence. 

“My bride, would you care to join me on the veranda?” Though I did not want to do anything of the sort, as if I had a choice, at least he went through the motions of asking. 

Say no, Ezra warned, not at all like a General or the King’s Hand, but as a friend. 

I said nothing in response, not willing to take the chance on what would happen if I denied my King anything, especially in front of his court, and accepted Kaius’s hand. 

Marigold, Ezra called again, his voice only mine to hear. I felt guilty ignoring him, but if Lady Emita showed me anything, it was that these people did not care what happened to me. Kaius could do whatever he wanted, and they’d turn a blind eye. So, I followed my husband toward the veranda, allowing the ice cold to whip across my exposed skin. 

Kaius was quick to pull me off into the shadows, where no one could see us. I couldn’t even see him as he leaned in to kiss me, a real kiss this time compared to the one we shared at the altar. His teeth bit at my lip and tongue as I struggled to keep up, struggled to want him. 

“Shall we consummate our marriage here, in front of our guests?” he rasped into my ear, his hands wandering greedily. “Do you want them to hear us? Hear my name coming from your lips?”

I certainly did not. 

“Bedroom,” I managed, breathless and dizzy and full of shame. “I want to go to your bedroom.”

Kaius had the audacity to look disappointed, but quickly grunted his agreement and tugged me back inside the warmth of the main hall. All eyes remained on us as he practically yanked me into the King’s corridor, a long, dark hall that connected his private wing to the rest of the castle. 

“Don’t get used to calling the shots,” he warned, stalking down the hall in front of me. “I’m not usually so…submissive.”

As if I needed reminding of his affinity for dominance. 

Though I’d never been touched before, at least not to this extent, I knew enough from my older sisters to know that I should be feeling at least a morsel of pleasure, but at best, sex seemed to feel more uncomfortable and foreign than anything else. It felt like a piston moving inside of me every time his hips snapped into mine. Not excruciatingly painful, but not pleasurable in the slightest. 

But I didn’t let it show out of fear of bruising the King’s ego. 

“Look at you,” he panted, reaching his large hand down to cradle my face as he drove into me, my overdramatic moans no doubt spurring him on. “So desperate for it.”

I held back my scoff. The only thing I was desperate for was for this to end. For me to fall pregnant with a healthy heir on the first try so I never had to do this again. 

I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that men kill for this, start wars over this, give up every shred of moral decency to do this very act. It must feel dramatically different for them, otherwise, I’d think they were all severe masochists.

“Open your eyes,” he snarled, slipping his hand from my cheek to my throat. My eyes flashed wide with fear as he squeezed, not enough to hurt me, but enough to show me just how easily he could. “That’s better.”

Goddess, how much longer would this go on?

As if reading my mind, Kaius bottomed out in me with a groan loud enough to hurt my ears, his body falling forward to cover mine. I waited there, absolutely still beneath him as he caught his breath, waiting for him to roll over onto his side so that we could go to sleep and, hopefully, never have to do that again. 

“Virgins are always so much better,” he mused as he finally rolled over, making my skin crawl. I turned onto my side, studying him in all his post-orgasmic bliss and wondered how such an attractive man could be so nauseating. “Would you like me to…call someone?”

I laced my brows together. “For…”

“To escort you back to your chambers,” he replied, as if it was obvious. “You didn’t think you’d be sleeping in my private quarters, did you?”

“I assumed--”

“Try not to do that,” he grunted, climbing out of bed and throwing his midnight blue, velvet robe on before pouring himself a drink. 

I looked over at the ornate candle holder on the bedside table and considered throwing it across the room at him, but managed to refrain. 

“Are you going to answer me?” he snapped, glaring at me from across the room. “Escort or no?”

“Oh,” I managed. I didn’t want some guard walking me back to my chambers in uncomfortable silence while I…processed the night. “I’ll manage on my own.”

“Good,” he nodded, tilting his chin towards the door. “You can go, then.”

Though I yearned to move quickly, my body wasn’t so ready for the hustle. I slowly climbed out of bed and ignored the sticky mess between my thighs as I slipped on my wedding gown that suddenly felt a lot heavier than before in more ways than one. Without so much as a goodbye, Kaius watched me leave from over the lip of his crystal glass, his eyes almost predatory. I knew instantly that I’d played my part too well. 

He’d come back for more, heir or not. 

I only allowed myself to breathe once the stone door of his chambers had closed, the cool air of the night drowning out the smell of his fine cologne still burning my nostrils. The guards posted along the halls of the King’s quarters didn’t look me in the eyes as I passed them, but I could still feel their desire. It made me feel sick in a way I never had before, knowing that if given a chance, each and every one of them would take it. Even if I had just been with someone else. Even with the tears streaming down my face. 

I shattered completely the minute I turned down the hall and found I was finally alone. It was all I could do not to curl up in a ball in the middle of this cold, dark corridor and weep. 

I wanted my mother. I wanted to fall into her arms and sob. I wanted to hear her voice and know that good things still existed in this world. But I was alone, and I’d always be. 

As I descended the staircase to the second floor, I could hear the festivities still raging on in the grand hall below me. The world still turned, no matter how frozen in time it was for me. 

“Your Highness?” 

My head whipped in the direction of a familiar voice. Ezra stood in the shadows of a corridor near the landing at the bottom of the grand staircase, but he wasn’t alone. Still pressed against the wall stood a breathless, flushed Lady of the Frostlands. Lady Emita. 

I felt sick again, for an entirely new reason. I hated her out of sheer jealousy, my eyes sharp as I ignored Ezra’s shocked stare. And then I hated myself for being so childish, so selfish. She was just a young woman, my age or even younger, trying to distract herself from her own brutal reality with a more age appropriate, more handsome, and charming man. 

I just wished it hadn’t been Ezra. 

“I…” I started to speak but couldn’t get the words out. My hand gestured up the staircase, towards where the King remained, basking in the afterglow of his pleasure while I…

Ezra’s face turned from shock to guilt before setting on rage, darkness so black it was blue pooling in his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” he managed through gritted teeth, staying frozen just a foot away from his blushing mistress. 

“I’ll be fine,” I replied, my voice strained as my throat tightened. He didn’t seem to believe me, but I couldn’t blame him given the tears still streaming down my face. 

“Let me walk you to your chamber,” he offered, tipping his chin towards the corridor. Lady Emita clicked her tongue at him, clearly growing impatient, but he didn’t look her way. His dark eyes remained locked on mine. “With so many guests still on the grounds—“

“No,” I said, swallowing down the lump in my throat as I walked down to the landing with my chin held high, my jealousy so rampant I wondered if my amber eyes had turned a shade of green. 

Standing closer to him, I could smell the wine on his breath, could see the remnants of lust in his eyes. I fought the urge to vomit at the thought of what I would have seen if I had stumbled upon the two of them just a few minutes later. 

“Besides,” I said, my tone icy, my eyes still sharp. “It seems as though you’re currently busy.”

“It’s my duty to ensure your safety,” he countered, still not so much as glancing at his mistress. “I will never be too busy to tend to you, Your Highness.”

“I don’t need tending to,” I gritted out. Unlike Ezra, I couldn’t help but to constantly glance at Lady Emita. And unlike Ezra, I could see just how unwilling she was to share him. 

“Princess,” he cooed, his eyes finally warming as he took one step away from Lady Emita and one step closer to me. 

“I am not a princess. I am your queen,” I said, my voice on the verge of cracking. “That will be all for tonight.”

Though his lips parted to speak, I didn’t wait to hear what came out of them. I turned and let the sound of my heels drown out their lovers quarrel as Lady Emita finally spoke, cursing him with words so colorful I knew they could have only come from her crass husband. 

I didn’t let myself cry until I was shut inside the confines of my suite, too fearful that Ezra had stubbornly followed me to ensure my safety. Too sick to sleep and too tired to think, I made myself comfortable in front of the fire in the sitting room, one of my mother’s favorite books in my hands until the world around me looked less cold and more like home.

[fumifooms]

oh, sorry for so many asks, i also wanted to say too though i really agree so much with your chilchuck thoughts so far, even down to your personal headcanons about how things might go post-series. and you're absolutely right, i'll defend that little guy any day myself. you understand him so well and it's kind of relaxing to have someone else dish out this kind of analysis and already agree with all of it cus it's just so real, so thank you again for the Meal <- perhaps the perfect thing to say about dungeon meshi analysis when i think about it

i know you have playlists and stuff so i wanted to share a song i've been listening to that that reminds me of him: divine loser by clem turner

No worries, they’ve been a lot of fun! I do plan on getting back to each one btw, just gotta get through some other things first hopefully. Aaaah that’s really nice to hear 🥺 I do know the feeling haha, it’s always fun to have posts that Get It that you just nod along with 🤝 I’ve thought sooo much about Chilchuck I rotate him in my brain like rotisserie chicken more often than not, glad it all ended up being productive haha. Y’know recently my friends have been calling me a Chilchuck superfan/scholar jokingly and it actually made me have a realization moment of…

Bc I’ve always said Laios was my fave and like, he does mean everything to me idk if I’ve ever felt so seen as with Laios, I relate to him sooo much, but then. Okay alright that can be a different thing than a character being your favorite fine FINE I admit it Chilchuck’s my top blorbo. He’s so.🧍‍♂️I can’t even describe. He’s so….. He’s a clown but he’s also perfection in its best imperfect form I will not be taking further questions today. My friend called him my silly rabbit like that one meme and it makes me laugh sm

Thank you for the music rec!! I listened to it and yes agreed, sent straight to my Chil playlist. Songs are my bread and butter when I have character brainrot bc like with web weavings I feel like there are so many emotions and thoughts you can communicate about something so simply through one… (Which for anyone interested here’s my web weaving tag, got 2 about Chil). Gonna link all my dunmeshi playlists while I’m here: Dungeon Meshi, Chilchuck & his wife, marchil, Mithrun.

Ok everyone saw this coming but this ask ran away from me and I ramble about some song lyrics I associate with Chil & different facets of his life below the cut. Some people find my, ehem, heated rambles about Chil entertaining, this is your cue to get out the popcorn.

When thinking about songs for Chil I have 3 angles I take: About Chilchuck, about him and his wife, or about him & Marcille. Marchil is so engraved into me with their arcs together, that they’re like the concept of closure and letting go and letting yourself live again to me, sorry for all the non-enjoyers… But his dynamic with Marcille is a large part of his character arc so still fits, rock on.

I think currently my top song for him is Jackrabbit by San Fermin, because it combines all three it makes me go wild. It’s about trepidation… Throwing yourself into it even despite the fear (working with traps, survival in poverty where you have to rush & hustle), or just staying there paralyzed(not reaching out to his wife). Flight or freeze!! Saying goodbyes and saying hellos!! Not dying alone!! The life cycle of a wild rabbit living and dying, the baton pass race of life from generation to generation!! Chil and his daughters even!!! Going through life at a frenzied pace!! It is so Chilchuck and so marchil, and the music does give that hurried and scared energy to me too, and sigh the Marcille side to it with fear of death too…

Extra fun context but the other day on the discord server we were talking about what animal each character’s fursona would be as we do and I thought of a rabbit for Chilchuck: Quick footed, ‘cowardly’, small and frail and seen as weak 🙃, athletic and slender, pulls stunts, stressed out, has very fine hearing and has good instincts, etc. And ofc that fits really well with Marcille since she’s kinda associated with dungeon rabbits hehe~ But I think while Marcille’s 100% the cute round rabbit Chil’s more like a brown hare, more wild and like, more like a jackalope if we’re still doing monsters... I do lowkey find it more fun than his associated monster being mimics because he’s crabby, because they’re clever (with where they place themselves) and because of how he has a soft shell but soft insides, lol.

OKAY so that’s my song pick with the main 3 facets sure, now I’ll share some lyrics for each 3 sides separatedly 😈 Kinda summarizing my web weavings for him thus far. If we start with Chilchuck by himself we have… Enter One by Shelby Merry and Drunk by The Living Tombstone

With his wife, we have the bad end, and the good end for if they get back together with Lost Kitten by Metric and North by Sleeping At Last… Okay okay plus Love Like Ghosts and My Heart is Buried in Venice… Little Soldier by The Crane Wives for them also RUIN me

And Marchil… Marchil oh my beloved. Another buddy also made a full analysis on discord about Soap by The Oh Hellos for them lol, but these are Not I by I Fight Dragons and My Heart is Buried in Venice again~

Okay okay two more. Boats & Birds by Gregory and The Hawk, and Tummy by Tamino.

Finishing it up with quotes from, in order, A Softer World by Joey Comeau, Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, Acknowledgements by Danez Smith, The Letter by Richard Paul Evans, and last but not least posts from dead tumblr account flintcoded. I keep looking around and finding MORE fitting quotes. Someone stop me- In loving me you hold a knife at my throat, in loving you I tell you exactly where to cut. Forgive me, memory is a rope around my neck. I need you to be happy, I need one of us to be happy.

Hand in unlovable hand…

In conclusion;

[ozarkthedog]

Hey, Ozzie!! Big congrats on your 10k and happy early bd!!! 🥳 Thank you for your writing!! Your stories always make my heart bit faster❤️‍🔥👏 Well I saw her name on the list and ran here FAST🏃🏼‍♀️ If you please📝 Boss!Rebecca Welton x PA!reader and numbers 146) and 10) 💗💗💗

warnings: Boss!Rebecca Welton x PA Fem!Reader. mention of masturbation. illusions to smut.

word count: 799

author's note: first time writing Rebecca. go easy on me. THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THE QUEEN!💙

10K Birthday Celebration

You stalk up the steps of your boss’s lavish house and let yourself in. The house is quiet as you hang your purse on the coat rack and slip your heels off. You dip your head into the kitchen and the sitting room looking for the gorgeous woman. 

You’d secretly been harboring a crush on your boss since the first day you started working for Richmond. Rebecca was a tough but gracious boss. It made your tedious job even more difficult with the fact that you had to hide your feelings. Rebecca made the dingy world around you shine.

Many times you could’ve sworn you caught her looking at you but you chalked it up to late, stressful nights and poor eating. You wanted so badly to be with her but it would be unethical and she could have anyone she wants. Why would she chose you?  

You tap your fingers on the door frame and bite your lip when you come up empty. She said she’d be here. Rebecca wanted to go over the itinerary for an upcoming away game this weekend, leaving you barely enough time to get things scheduled.

You double check your watch with a sigh when a sound from the floor above catches your attention.

“Rebecca?” You call you curiously as you ascend the marble stairs. You pray it’s your imagination toying with you and that Rebecca will waltz through the front door any second. 

 A soft cry halts your movements just as you reach the bedroom door. You press your ear against the ajar door as breathy, muted moans rumble from the other side. From the slight view the open door gives you, you can see the foot of her Rebecca bed and her feet shifting under the sheets.

Your brain short circuits when you hear her cry out your name. Maybe she’s thinking of someone else with the exact same name? She moans again and your cunt clenches at the sinful sound.

You wish you could know what she looks like while she touches herself. You want to know what drives her mad and gets her off.

You’re so deep in the fantasy of picturing your boss sprawled out on her bed with her fingers buried in her cunt that you lean too far forward and fall through the door and into the room. You hit the carpeted floor with a bang making your boss scream and jump under the covers.

“It’s only me! It’s only me!” You shout and raise your hands in a fury.

“What the fuck are you doing here!?” The blonde huffs. Her naked chest heaves under the sheets as she holds them against her bosom.

“You said you wanted to go over the schedule for this weekend and I let myself in with the key and then I heard something and ran upstairs and tripped into your room.” You anxiously blabber and tug on the seam of your shirt.

“You heard what exactly?” Rebecca shakes her head going white as a ghost.

“Uhh, I mean, not much…but were you just masturbating?” A smirk tugs your lips.

“U-uh..no, I was just..” Rebecca stammers as she smooths out the silk bedsheets in a frenzied hurry. Her cheeks are flushed and her usually quaffed hair is a mess, falling perfectly  and framing her face. 

She looks stunning. So stunning you can’t help but take the chance you’ve been wishing and hoping for all these years even if means you could get sacked.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” You confess while dragging a finger up the curve of her silk covered calf.

The older woman freezes on the spot. Her wild blue eyes lock onto yours and for once she doesn’t know what to say.

“Want some help?” You offer with a quirked brow.

“I’m your boss. I should not be thinking about you this way.” Rebecca says, trying to reason with herself as you pull the duvet cover back and slide in beside her. 

“What if I’ve been thinking the same way about you?” You say, demurely as you press your breasts into her arm and spoon your body into her naked side.

She holds your stare as your confession lingers in the thick haze of arousal that’s filling the room.

Rebecca tips your chin with a manicured finger and presses her soft lips to yours. The kiss is delicate and subtle with tinges of yearning as she swipes her tongue along your bottom lip. A moan tumbles from your throat as sticky warmth settles deep in your belly. 

Rebecca’s hand cups the side of your face as she breaks the kiss. “Then I’d say we’re fucked.” She thumbs the apple of your cheek and you lean into her touch. “In a good way.”

[wonderland-productions-blog]

Knight in Dulled Armor: Ch. 13

Chapter 13: Vacation and Vignettes

Word Count: ~ 10,000 (~40 min read sorry)

We have reached the beach episode stand-in AND only one bed for KIDA, absolutely necessary tropes of course.

Val doesn’t look back, bounding down the porch steps and securing our luggage with his steed’s saddle bag. He looks at me, already sliding my pack off my shoulders. I pull my sleeves back up and tie my hair into a high ponytail, bringing two locks down to frame my face. I do my best to soothe some of the frizziness as Val secures my bag. 

He turns back to me, gesturing his hand palm up towards me. His hand lifts a bit for a moment, hesitating as I reach for his hand, “You… Changed your hair. That was fast,” He says, lowering his hand back and helping me up onto his horse. Val mounts his steed once more, and we set off south, opposite of Mercester.

South of the tavern on my map as I recall, was approaching the edge of the continent. Depending on how far we travel, we could be approaching beaches and oceans to reach the hot springs. We rode at a fairly quick pace, but I was curious how far we were from our destination.

“So, when should we get to the hot springs? By morning or-?” I trail off, hoping he’d answer quickly.

“Would you like to get there faster, Elaine?” Val asks, gripping the reins tight and flicking them to urge the horse. 

My legs lock around the horse, and I grab onto the curved lip of the saddle as we quickly pick up speed. “Um,” is all I can muster as I watch the ground beneath us become a blur. I won’t fall, which was good. I can’t, in fact. Val’s arms sat a few inches away from my waist as he holds the reins, close enough to keep me in place if anything were to happen.

I suppose I’m not against the idea of getting there faster, I convince myself. I was thankful I’d tied my hair back before we left. I attempt to straighten my posture, only to feel something press against me. I look back to see that Val had sunk over a bit to steady himself on the racing horse.  

After a few moments of silence with him slightly hunched over me, I decide to speak. My mind flicks through all the things I’ve thought about him recently, and chooses one at random, “What were you saying earlier, in the room? ‘Will you’ something?” I ask, wondering if Hidorah was even remotely right in his suspicions. 

“Oh, well. That’s a bit…” Val barely gets out. 

“If it’s personal, I understand. I don’t want to intrude. I’m just wondering if there was anything you needed and I missed while you healed.” I reason.

“I wasn’t expecting to tell you so soon, but I was going to ask if you’d spend the night with me,” Val says, taking a sharp breath. 

My gut wrenches the second he finishes speaking. 

“Not in the way you think! I just- I thought that maybe if y-… If you stayed close to me through the night, it would have completely healed me,” Val explains. 

“Oh, I see… Do you think being this close counts?” I meekly ask, “I’m still not sure how my magic works,” I tell him. 

“If it’s based on distance, I’d say we’re close enough. But then, what's stopping you from healing every passerby you bump into?” He brings to light.

“There was physical, golden magic. It actually looked similar to magic someone showed me in Braiewood,” I tell him. 

“I see, anything else?” He asks.

“Well, the elves in Braiewood said they were ‘gauging my magic potential’, obvious pandering to gain a crowd, I know. But still… I can’t help but read into it.” I say, my voice falling into a sigh. 

“So, they told you how much magic you held?” He asks, “You don’t think they’re credible, do you?” Val presses on.

“Not exactly,” My voice trails off into a quiver. “They held my hands in theirs, and some light magic was wisping around us. Except it got way too hot, heat bursting out in a bright flash…” I tell him, taking a steady breath, “In the frenzy, I escaped without the crowd seeing.”

“Wow…” Val breathes, “Elaine, why didn’t you tell me?” he pries. 

“I thought it might have been a light spell gone wrong?” I offer,  “I didn’t want to think about it matching the magic when I healed you. ” I confess. 

“Well… Maybe we could have Hidorah accompany you to have your magic read and tapped in Braiewood.” He tells me.

“Are you going back to work soon?” I ask. 

“Well, it’s not that. I’d love to guide you, especially when your other option is Hidorah. But, well. You know. Orcs aren’t really welcome in elven territory, Elaine.” 

I stay silent for a moment. I think about how strange it is for a man like Val, who travels across desert wastelands and through mountainous terrain, draws the line at a trip I took for fun on a day off.

“There’s not like… immigration and border laws for orcs, are there?”

He sighs and shrugs, “Legally, they can’t keep us out if we have good reason to be there, but it feels as if everyone there is waiting and watching for a reason to exile you,” 

Val was certainly someone to be envious of in many attributes, even with my perspective of my role in Asteria. He was strong, intimidating, alluring, and held the power to go and flourish anywhere. Nearly anywhere, that is. Val seems to make an honest effort to be seen as a good man, and I know him to be such. It certainly isn’t fair that something out of his control prevents him from stepping foot in entire nations. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I finally tell him.

“It’s alright,” he attempts to convince me, “anyway, um, what do you think caused those magic outbursts?” he circles back. 

“I’m not sure,” I tell him.

“Was there anything that the two have in common?” Val questions.

“No, well. I guess I’d been touching someone each time it happened. And I think it’s possible the lady might have tapped into my magic. She tried to talk to me later… While I was chasing Hidorah actually.” I laugh.

“What?” Val gasps.

“Yeah, it turned out to be a misunderstanding,” I explain.

“Remind me to ask about the story there,” he laughs, “So that’s all you know about your magic? What do you think caused you to heal me?” Val asks.

“I… don’t know. It’s hard to remember,” I express.

“That’s alright,” Val says. “Just keep thinking about it maybe,” He tells me. His steed finally slows to a steadier pace, relaxing to a jog for a while. 

“Now then, assuming you won’t want to exhaust your horse, when are we going to get to the hot springs?” I ask.

“Well, it’s a bit farther than Mercester is from the tavern,” He tells me, “I’ve never timed it, just a rough estimate,” Val explains. 

“Wait, I assumed this would be a longer trip,” I say, “You still haven’t told me how you met Kenrik,” I remind him. 

“Well, I suppose I could shorten it,” He considers, “The timing is good enough,” Val says. 

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Look around, what do you see?” He says.

I tilt my chin up, looking at the vast desert surrounding us. The terrain was rougher than usual, the violet sand had slowly changed to barren, rocky wastelands. Boulders dotted the harsh landscape while the terrain became more cragged and warped. Then, came a glint of light, then another.  I stared into the desert as more and more lights blinked around me. 

“Hang on, can we stop?” I plead, feeling sick from trying to trace too many things while in motion. 

“Elaine… are you going to vomit?” Val says, clearly trying to suppress his panic. He tightens the reins, and we come to a stop. 

I let out a breathy laugh, “No, no. Just a bit dizzy is all, leaning my head over the neck of his horse.

I try to make my way off the horse, forgetting just how tall it was. I brace my arm on the saddle fastened to the steed.

Val sees me shift in front of him, urging me to stop, “Elaine, don’t get down yet. You’re going to f-” he says. 

I feel myself slide off the side of the saddle, and I drop from a height just taller than I was. My feet collide with the ground first, and I land upright, mostly. I stumble back, inevitably falling onto my rear end. An “Ugh,” pushes its way out of me as I land. 

“For once I’m glad my dress has so many layers,” I breathe. 

“Oh?” Val asks.

“Yeah, it’s all for volume but it served as a cushion,”

Val slides off his stead and offers me a hand. I take it, pulling myself up. My eyes once again are drawn to a glint in the rocky terrain. This one was close, and I make out the rest of its shape. Only partially buried, I found that it was a rusted gauntlet in the sand. Another glint led to the end of a spear dug into the earth. “Weapons? And armor?” I stutter out.

“Yes,” Val says, his tone flattened. 

“Is this what you meant when you brought up timing?” I say, “Is this a battlefield? Were you-” I trail off, struggling to process everything while still fighting my nausea. 

“Yes, it is a battlefield. And I suppose I was a soldier, but I didn’t intend to be.” Val reveals.

I wait with bated breath, eager to know more. 

"It was over half a decade ago, now," he realized, "I was seventeen, the cusp of adulthood, and just started working farther from home. My father endorsed my interest in enlisting in war, but my mother was worried about her only child going off into battle." Val tells me.

Over half a decade ago he was seventeen, I note. That makes Val only a few years older than me at most. 

 "I settled on manual labor jobs and went wherever work took me. Just a short while after starting, I found myself delivering weaponry cargo to a certain battlefield." He says. Val lifts off his helm, attaching it somewhere on the saddle.

He looks to me for input, but I provide nothing as I'm captured by his features once more. I nod, signaling for him to continue. 

He nods back, "I'd been following news regarding the war for a while. I knew accepting that job could have led me to an active battlefield, but I didn't care." Val explains.

"You knew what you wanted, and did something about it. Even if you knew it was dangerous." I tell him. I brush a frizzy lock out of my face. "That's something to commend in itself," I turn back to look at Val, to see that his cheek coloration was more saturated than usual. Was Val blushing? 

He continues his story, and I am pulled back into it. "I won’t bore you with the details but this group had a history of crimes; truly evil, selfish intentions. After pushing through several small towns and homes, eventually, they progressed and invaded a military camp." Val explains. “Granted, a few mercenary groups tried to take them out on their own since no one could stand them around anymore. No luck,” “Violated an active peace treaty for the chance to snuff out one of the larger bases with an ambush,” he scoffs.

"I arrived at an active battlefield. People were struggling. I delivered my supplies to the camp barracks, and fought alongside these people struggling for a good cause," Val relays, letting out a sigh, "but…" he pauses. 

I catch myself staring and shut my slack jaw. Embarrassing, I know. 

"Well, I was injured at some point during battle. Looking back, it all feels like a blur. As battle died down for a moment, I took my chance and set off into the desert. I practically picked a random silhouette and followed it," he laughed.

"It turned out to be the tavern," he says. "I limped in the desert for miles to get anywhere. I couldn't keep fighting, I don't know what I expected going into battle as a teenager with no experience," he scoffed. "I really thought I was a hero," he sighs. 

I watch his smile fall for a moment, "How did the battle end?" I ask, pressing for more information. 

"Wha- oh," Val says, "They managed to fight off the invasion, but many were injured, or worse," he adds. 

"Do you think your arms delivery helped the outcome?" I ask.

"Well," he sighs, "news eventually got around about my… contribution, and I was rewarded." 

"So, you were a hero, then," I tell him.

He turns to me, something like a glint in his eye. He gives me a little smile, and I felt my knees weaken for a moment. Val slips his helm back on before speaking, “Let’s press on,” He confirms. He assists me onto his steed before helping himself on. We continue riding, steering past rocks and boulders. 

He looks away into the vast desert, “Anyway, um…” he lets out a heavy breath, “I made it to the tavern. Kenrik saw me nearly bleeding out and took me in. I’d imagine it was hard not to, seeing a teenager limping in after hiking miles in the desert.” He laughs out. “Kenrik had more access to healing potions then, before the embargo, and saw potential in me,” Val tells me.

“He offered me jobs here and there and helped me until I was fully on my feet. I’ve aided him throughout the years and have gone through many lines of work. Kenrik helped me pave my way, unburdened by… many parts of life I was struggling through before,” Val ends with. 

“Wow,” I let out. 

We sit in silence for a while, watching things move past us as we rode. From where I sat now, I actually couldn’t see much in front of us beyond the neck of the horse. 

“Do you enjoy your work?” I finally ask.

“More than anything,” He utters, “You know, my line of work led me to finding you out there,” He reminds me.

“I suppose it worked out then,” I laugh. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t found me,” I tell him.

“I’m glad I did, I think that’s all that matters,” Val says. 

I feel my face fill with color, not daring to glance behind me. “So Kenrik knows you’re an orc then?” I ask, steering the conversation. 

“Yes, he’s one of the few people that do,” He explains.

“Why don’t you like people to know?” I ask him.

“Oh, well,” He stalls, “Look, we’re almost there,” He gestures. 

I lean over, looking directly ahead of us. The horizon was warped with grassy hills and branching trees. This was contrary to the rest of the environment, which was still barren and desolate. 

“That’s where the springs are?” I ask.

“Yes, just past the footpath and entry stall,” Val explains, “Hang on,” He says.

I grip the saddle and steady myself. Val urges the horse and sends us flying through the desert. I peek around the horse’s neck and watch as the cluster of flourishing flora grows closer.

We slow our pace until we eventually stop at a stall and overarching sign for the springs. Inside the stall, a bored-looking man sits. Val passes the man about a handful of coins I’d barely recognized as the sea glass currency mercester uses. The man counts the translucent blue and green coins and nods at us afterward. He slides a key over with a slight smile and the tip of his cap.

We trot through the woodland oasis, a well-formed path guiding us through a twisting trail. Long, viney plants grew around the area, with small white flower buds blooming on them. As we continued on the trail, the air grew more hot and humid. The land gradually sloped, with us settling on a plateau at our cabin. 

The cabin was nestled in a cozy clearing in the overgrown forest. Val dismounts, looking at me after steadying himself for a moment. “Be careful,” he reminds me. He puts both his arms out, offering to hold me and set me down. I brace my hand on his shoulder. He places a hand on my back and the other on my thighs. 

He lifts me as if I weigh nothing, even with his still-healing wound. He pulls me up a bit more, and my fingers curl around his shirt collar. Feeling my tug at his shirt, he pauses, and his eyes meet mine. I adjust my arm, pulling back to brace my hand on his bicep. We sit just inches away from one another once more. 

I realize in this moment it's nearly sunset. Even after our trip to Mercester, it didn’t feel as though we took much time to get here. Had I spent so long traveling with Val? There was less than an hour left of daylight, it felt so much shorter. Yet still, I had all night at the hot springs to speak to him. 

I say nothing, and Val sets me down. He presses the key into my palm while unfastening our packs from his horse. I do my part to unlock the door and push it open. Val heads inside, setting the bags down. 

He lights the two lanterns framing the door outside, “It’ll help to find the cabin later,” he assures me. They glowed a soft orange against all the greenery, I’m sure it looked even more beautiful past sunset. Val offers me a long, tightly woven cloth lit at the tip. “Can you help me light up the cabin?” He asks. 

“Of course,” I tell him, taking the slow-burning kindling. Val lit the first two, making it easier for me to light more, though it was still dim. The cabin wasn’t cramped by any means, there were a few spacious rooms, each I went through and gradually lit up. I leave the bathroom and head back into the cabin’s living room to see Val unpacking. I don’t say much, moving on to the next door.

A large room already partially filled with light, two tall windows on either side of a full bed. There is cohesive decoration; a well-defined color palette with similar styles of the shelves, wardrobes, and tables that furnished the room. I make my way over to a couple of sconces on the wall, then light the other two on the opposite side of the room. It crosses my mind that, to my knowledge, this was the only bedroom. 

I step back outside the room and visit Val, who is still unpacking. “Do you mind if we unpack in the bedroom?” I ask, attempting to show him without directly addressing it. 

“Not at all,” he says. 

I grab my bag, taking a moment to follow behind. I reenter the bedroom, seeing Val sitting on the bed. “Elaine, there’s only one bed in this cabin,” he tells me.

“I see…” I tell him, cocking my head at him. 

“Should I sleep out in the living room then?” He asks, staring through the door.

“No, I do-” I start, “I think you should get the bed if anything. But I’m unpacking my clothes into the wardrobe. If you’d like, feel free to take up some wardrobe or drawer space,” I offer. He does as I do, unpacking his clothes into a drawer in his bedside table.  

“I think I’ll change into my swimwear if it’s about sunset then,” I tell him. I grab my swimsuit from my bag and head into the bathroom. 

I slide off my dress, hoping to get another chance to wear it soon. I put on my top, tying its ribbon into a large bow placed at my diaphragm. I adjust the small, mesh frills of fabric off the edge of my top. I slip on my bottoms, consisting of hugging shorts and an equally short swim skirt. Perhaps I should have looked at these more before I bought them.

I glance around the room, finding a waist-up mirror on the back of the door. I step back, examining my figure. My face grows hot seeing such an outfit on myself. I didn’t ever see this much of my body aside from when I’m changing. It was hard to imagine that there would be people seeing me, that Val would be seeing me. 

I adjust my top, knowing I would simply need to accept my cleavage showing. Moving down, I saw my waist dip in and curve outward. The tiniest implication of muscle contour lies down my abdomen. My swim skirt was flattering enough, I’ll admit. It concealed any issues I’d been focused on. Something kept drawing my attention back in the mirror, a faint glow. My scar had faded, for the most part. One wouldn’t be able to tell in normal daylight, but the bathroom was a bit dim for only one lamp being lit. It faintly glows now, just lighter than my skin. A reminder of Val on my body, I thought. 

I fix my hair, preening and smoothing my frizzy high ponytail. I pull my side bangs out from their usual spot tucked behind my ears. Still feeling somewhat uncovered, I make a poor attempt to accessorize by tying a ribbon on my neck. It was the same color as my suit, and added something I liked, though I couldn’t completely explain it. I shove my shoulders up, back, and down. I fix my posture and head back out. 

I slip back into the bedroom after hearing Val in another part of the cabin. Rummaging through my bag, I pull out one of my few remaining items. I make my way over to a small mirror on a nightstand and use it to help apply my lipstick. I stand up, seeing bare parts of myself reflected in the mirror. I sift around in my bag for anything that can be used as a swimsuit cover-up. A loose shirt I’d usually used to sleep in. This will be enough to make me feel alright going out there in front of Val, I thought. 

Stepping back into the living room, I spot Val through the archway in the dining room. I meet him over there, lingering behind the wall before entering. I peak further in. A cute dining area and small kitchen, I noted. Val had already changed, catching a glimpse of him rising out from behind a bar area. 

He was shirtless, I saw as he rose. He didn’t have his helm on, either. In the warm light, his skin looked to be a deep, cool green. Just like his hair and stubble, Val’s body hair was dark and held a sheen. Though, I already knew that. My mind drifts back to a few moments, embarrassed I’d held onto these memories. 

Val comes over, two glasses in his hand. He offers me one, “Want to have a drink and watch the sunset?” Val asks.

“How can you possibly expect me to refuse,” I tell him, taking the drink in my hand. I head for the door, but Val stalls. He waves me over to him, and we walk back down to the bedroom. 

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’ll show you,” he assures me. He guides me back into the room, and I watch him go over to the bed. Intrigued, I watch him. Standing near one of the tall windows at either side of the bed, Val runs his hand down along the side of the window sill. Eventually, I heard a click. Val pushes the door open, which I’d initially read as a window. He gestures me to the door, and I step through. 

I step onto a wooden patio, propped on beams above the secluded pond beneath. I take a few steps, settling on the guard rail to watch the view from. The sky was a vibrant mosaic of orange, yellow, pink, and red. The water is incredibly clear and almost still, with it reflecting and warping the greenery and flowers all around.

I take a fast drink of my whiskey, never prepared enough for it. I shake off the burning sensation of hard liquor in my sinuses and take another. The air outside was hot and sultry. Steam rolled off the lake, and I feel sweat already forming on my brow. I wipe my face and decide to take off my cover. Just as I adjust my shirt on the rail, I hear the door shut behind us. 

There is a creak from the floorboards, then silence ensues. I glance back, seeing Val only a step out of the door. He was still, with his whiskey in his hand. I gesture him over, and he agrees. We stand over the balcony for a moment. Neither of us look at each other for a while, instead taking in the view of the lake. Another painful drink of whiskey later, I find myself to be halfway done with my glass. I look back to Val to see that he had his hair tied up. He must have noticed me staring after a moment too long as he turns to me.

“I’m thinking of cutting it,” He tells me, brushing his ponytail to the side.

“Come now, that’s cruel. Your hair is shinier and more voluminous than mine is at any given moment, and half of my role in Asteria is appearance,” I joke.

“Well,” Val says, “You fill that role perfectly,” Val mutters. We each take a drink from our whiskey. Maybe it will seem like my face my red because of the alcohol, I consider. I look back to Val. Strangely enough, my eyes travel down to the whiskey in his hand. The amber fluid is being stirred and sloshed around, though not intentionally. Val’s hands are shaking.

Though it was difficult to notice at first, I realize that the sun is setting. The lake reflects a vibrant vermillion sky, with scattered clouds drifting above us. We’re completely secluded; a thick forest completely surrounded the springs. Not even the setting sun could peak through the densely clustered foliage. It was nearly nightfall, and the sky grew darker by the minute. 

“Want to actually see the sunset?” Val finally asks, breaking the silence between us.

“What do you mean?” I ask. 

Val slips on his sandals, and heads back inside. I follow him, shutting the door to the patio behind me. I shove my shoes on quickly to keep up with him. Val stops in the living room for a moment, lingering by the door. I set my drink down on the coffee table after a final swig, he’s able to finish his and set down his empty glass.

“Are we leaving the cabin?” I ask.

Val gives me a nod before leaving back through the entry door. Val takes a right outside the door, and heads to a path we hadn’t traveled. It went further down the hill and was a narrow trail, just barely enough to fit a horse comfortably. “Are we walking?” I ask.

“It’s not long, you’ll see,” he assures me. 

“Can’t you just tell me what it is?” I jokingly plead with him. 

“Come now, Elaine. Have some patience, you made it the whole way here,” Val laughs.

“Well, on the journey here we spoke more. At least entertain me as we walk, won’t you?” I ask him. With a bit of speed, I catch up to his pace and walk alongside him. I smile at him, needing to crane my neck a bit.  

“Of course, Elaine.” He spoke to me, not breaking eye contact as we walked. He returns the smile, a dopey grin on his face. It suited him, I’ll admit. Val’s cheeks had more color than usual, though it was impossible to say what from. He’d had a drink, I knew, and we’d just been right above the hot spring. I didn’t want to assume Val was blushing, I’d give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I like your swimsuit,” Val tells me, glancing down at me. 

I felt a strange boost of confidence, though I can’t name why. “Thank you,” I tell him, “I like yours too.”

Val had been wearing fitting dark swim shorts that were barely halfway down his thigh. 

“Couldn’t find anything in your size or were you looking for what appears to be a six-inch inseam?” I ask him.

“Now what gave it away? Does it not suit me?” He laughs.

“No, no. You know what works well with you, like with my pants you usurped.” I recall, a grin plastered on my face.

“Usurped? Come now, I bled all over my other garments, Elaine.” Val scoffs, “Have some mercy for a dying man,” Val chuckles. Gradually, the trees become less dense and the path widens as we continue to speak.

“Oh? All your garments? Including the small stash you had downstairs?” I point out. 

“Uh,” Val stutters, “I couldn’t remember,” he sighs. “Well, we’re both quite enticing in these matching accessories,” Val says, his fingertips grazing my scar light scaring. 

“Well,” I huff, watching his hand lingering at my stomach for a moment. I feel my throat force down a gulp. “I gave you the pants regardless, I can’t take them back now,” I tell him. 

“So, I’m not seeing much of an issue here,” Val says. The path steers a sharp left, and we slow as we turn. Eventually, we came to find an entryway to another spring. 

This lake was quite larger than the one leading to the cabin. I take a few steps, getting closer to the spring. With some foliage now out of my view, I see the sun hanging low in the sky. It reflected beautifully in the lake, its glow lapping in the ripples of the water. I slip my shoes off and set them to the side. The ground beneath my feet was warm, smooth stone. My hand takes hold of a rope fence leading into the water.

I step in, one foot at a time. The water was perfect for my taste. "Oh," I let out before sinking further into the steaming water. I trace a thick ridge beneath the water. It was incredibly clear, and it was nice to be able to see the depth of the lake. I take a seat on a flat stone, sinking into the water about waist high. 

Val follows, his eyes locked in on the sunset. He follows close by and finds a place to sit. He sinks into the water, settling in at about diaphragm level. 

“Are you enjoying it so far?” Val asks.

“Oh, yes,” I assure him. I catch my eyes drifting over to Val beside me. I take in his figure once more; his large, bulky form. His prominent biceps and ab muscles hold my attention for longer than intended. Through the still water, I see the lightened coloration of his scar in the same place mine is. 

I look down at my thighs in the water, and move to the edge of the rock I’d been sitting on. Looking over to Val, I see his eyes locked onto the sunset. I decide to do the same, allowing myself a moment to take in the view.

“Come sit over by me,” he says to break the silence between us. I do as he says, finding a spot right by him. The view was a bit better, I’ll admit. 

“It’s not too hot for you?” Val asks, his cheeks a dark evergreen.

“No, I like my baths hotter than most do,” I tell him, relaxing my back against the stone and sinking a bit further into the water. A breath escapes me, and my tense muscles relax in the hot springs. Here I find myself slipping away from all my troubles. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” Val says, sucking a breath in through his teeth.

“What do you mean? You’ve got to admit the heat is relaxing,” I say, letting a breath push out of me. The sun settles just beyond the horizon, and the sky grows dimmer as we speak. 

“It helps my aches but it's so hot I can hardly think…” He sighs, wiping a damp hand down his face.

As much as I tried to focus on what Val was saying, every moment it grows darker I watch my scar become more noticeable in the night. I find difficulty prying my attention away from my scar while awaiting its bittersweet glow. I could only assume Val wouldn’t be able to stop himself from staring at… this. This horrid thing imprinted upon my body that serves as the only proof of a debt repaid. 

Night licks away the remaining scraps of light much faster than expected, with my scar soon being the only source of light nearby. A faint golden glow sat between us in the silence for a moment, and I could do nothing but tuck my head down attempting to cover the light emanating from my body. A want begins to pick at me, feeling like someone was staring right at me. I make the mistake of tipping my head up, my stomach churning as my chin tilts. To my surprise, Val hadn’t been fixed on my scar at all but rather had his eyes locked with mine as soon as they could. 

His eyes were wide, and the gleaming amber light swirled in his dilated pupils. There is a splash and ripples throughout the water as he moves an arm toward me through the water. Golden reflections shimmer on the waves, pulling Val’s attention away from me. I watch his eyes follow the light, locking onto my side. 

“Val, I think my power might correlate to my emotions,” I reveal.

“Uh,” he shakes a thought away, “how so? What makes you believe that?” he asks, tugging his gaze back to my face. 

“Well, it happened once with Hidorah when he cut his hand. Similar circumstances as when I healed you, skin-to-skin contact as I aided his injury and each of us distressed over his condition. It seems like whether it’s my desire to heal or their need to be healed, it links to the process.

“It sounds as if you’ve managed healing magic without incantations or intentions of magic. I could be wrong, but this is usually reserved to more experienced mages…” Val tells me. 

“And your parents never taught you any spells?”

“Why would they teach me something they consider outdated and dangerous? Magic will always have a greater risk than reward, my parents always said.” I scoff.

“Besides, my family was under the impression it was nearly impossible for pure humans to use magic. ” 

“You mean you were under the impression that it was impossible?” Val’s brows raise as my own furrow.

“What?” I ask, a bit defensive about what all he could be implying. 

“Nothing, forget about it,” Val shrugs. 

“So, what about this?” He asks before I feel pressure against my hand beneath the water. He pulls my hand up to the surface, revealing a dim glow from my knuckle. 

I hadn’t even remembered the small scrape, especially compared to the gnarled scar spread across my abdomen. Yet Val always seems to notice the tiniest details about me. Trained eyes, perhaps. What I would give for a glimpse at the world through his eyes.

“Well, before I left I’d seen Marietta with a scrape on her hand,” I add.

“That makes sense,” he says, gently running his thumb over my knuckle. His hand dwarfed mine, and I couldn’t manage to tear my attention away. My cheeks were flushed, my breath hot on my skin and most of my body had been submerged in sweltering water, yet somehow the warmth of Val’s skin against mine had managed to hold a candle to every other part of me radiating heat. 

All I’d had was a glass of whiskey that wasn’t close to being full. I still felt lightheaded and my face hot; perhaps the heat, I concluded. I finally tear my gaze away and look up to Val. My vision slowly drifted up his arm, with my attention being pulled to the scarring on his waist once more. 

His attention was still focused on our hands, with his head tilted and his mouth pulled into a small smile. My face mirrors his, suddenly unable to contain the smirk forming on my face. Val glances up at me for a moment, then back down to our hands. His grip lingers for a moment before he pulls away, “Um, is the water making you dizzy?” He asks, running a hand through his hair. 

“We shouldn’t stay in too long,” he adds. Val stands, forcing small waves through the water. Water cascades down his stomach and legs, slowly becoming not much more than a series of steady drips. He extends his arm out to me, and I take his hand. 

I didn’t need to do much work as he pulled me from the water. I follow close behind as we begin the walk back up to the cabin. Thankfully my scar had faded under the moonlight and was no longer glowing in the night. 

Just as Val suggested, the cabin was easier to reach following back the lights near the entryways. The nippy night air held a newfound silence in such a lush, contained environment. The dense foliage surrounding a cliffside cabin offered a sense of privacy I certainly hadn’t felt since staying at the tavern. Val’s presence alone adds another layer of security to this safe haven. 

Val holds the door open for me to step inside. The candles had drooped and melted into mild deformity since we’d been gone. As well as the shape of the wax, the color of their flames had morphed. The cabin lighting is warm and dim, just enough light to comfortably move about in the night. 

I make my way to the kitchen, keeping Val still in my sight through the entryway. “I’m thirsty, I think I’ll grab a drink,” I let him know. I wait for his response, curious if he wanted me to make him anything. 

“Great idea,” he sighs, catching up to me and settling behind the counter. I retrieve a set of short matching glasses, setting the two between us both. Val and I each reach toward the center of the counter where we’d unpacked our drinks. A chill runs down my spine as his thumb brushes against my hand. It takes my mind a moment to process what I’d been looking at.  My grip was firmly wrapped around the neck of his whiskey bottle, while he’d managed to palm the blue water bottle in his mammoth hand. 

“You’ve only had a couple drinks,” I offer, gesturing the bottle toward him. 

“Mmm,” he softly groans, averting eye contact for a moment. 

“Is there something wrong?” I press, replacing the bottle on the countertop before trying to get a closer look at his face. 

There is a moment of silence before Val takes the whiskey in his grip. He naturally shifts a bit closer as he reaches across the counter. “No, it's just…” he trails off, hesitating. 

“Drinking around you makes me nervous,” he says, his voice quieted to a hush. 

I stumble back, admittedly uncomfortable at the possibilities of his statement. “What do you mean?” I manage.

Val puts a soft pressure around my forearm, stabilizing my balance. “I mean I’m worried I’ll do something stupid,” he admits, his voice leaning into a chuckle. He returns his gaze to my own when I notice just how flushed his face had been. 

“Like what?” I ask, unable to pin exactly what was beyond his eyes in that moment. 

“Oh, nothing specific,” he sighs out,  “Say… Oh, I don’t know. Something like offering to take you to hot springs out of nowhere,” he laughs, shaking his head. He turns away, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Like that’s not creepy,” he mutters. 

“Tsk. Come now,” I tell him, placing a hand on his back. For a moment contact with his skin feels bizarre, even warmer and far thicker than my own. His spine straightens under my touch, despite my attempt to be delicate. I run my hand along his back slowly, swiping back and forth as I speak.

“You shouldn’t be upset about that, I obviously wanted to go,” I confess. He turns, and my hand glides along his skin until it settles at his waist as he stops. “I was caught so off guard, you seemed so cold to me the last time I saw you.” I continue. 

“When I-” He cuts out half through, “Oh. After you went to Braiewood, right?” He asks, his brows furrowed. 

I say nothing, only offering him a nod. 

“I… I’m sorry,” he sighs, locking his eyes with mine. The distance between us that seemed so vast before now felt all too close. “I was so worried about you after hearing about your excursion. Braiewood is so dangerous, especially if you’re going alone.” He pauses. 

I use the time to finish pouring our drinks, offering Val the first. He takes it, allowing the glass to linger at his lips as he continues speaking. 

“It didn’t help to learn about you running into Hidorah there, either,” he mutters with a scoff to punctuate. 

“Oh?” I simply ask, cocking my head at him. 

“Um,” he lets out before deciding to preoccupy his mouth with his glass of whiskey. His eyes dart around and his Adam’s apple forces down as he swallows. I find my own throat closing for a moment. I take a drink as I see Val prepare to continue. 

“He had every reason to help you navigate Braiewood as both a local and your friend. But he didn’t,” he tells me. 

“I believe he left before I did, and I’d made plans to go spontaneously. Don’t hold it against him,” I tell him with a smirk.

“By gods that reminds me!” He exclaims, “How did you end up chasing Hidorah through Braiewood?” Val asks.

I can’t contain a giggle, eager to tell him the story. Val and I each take a swig of our drinks, though I seem to face more difficulty containing my distaste for it. I quickly shake away my repugnant expression, choosing to make my way to the sofa in the living room. Val follows behind, settling beside me with enough space for another person between us. 

With a small clink, our glasses and the bottle of whiskey are set down on a wooden end table beside me. I begin relaying my story, choosing to start with my arrival in Braiewood itself. I make sure to annunciate the looks and tone of the city since Val had never been but assure him that I didn’t feel as though I was in danger. 

I skim past my initial interaction with the crowd since I’d already told him most of it on the trip here. Here I deem a good place to pause, needing to both refill our drinks and stop in the restroom. I leave Val with a new drink while I freshen up. I am halfway through preening my hair when I realize I’m still in my swimsuit. For a moment I debate throwing something on over it, though the ease of the hot springs is too tempting. Instead, I adjust my suit in the body mirror, giving a quick spin to check that everything is in place. 

When I return to Val he’d looked a bit more relaxed, with an arm resting on the back of the couch and a more slouched demeanor. I continue with the story, gradually sipping at my drink until finishing it just as I was about to reveal finding Hidorah in town. Val had finished his whiskey shortly before, though a spill on the table hints at him pouring another glass while I’d been gone. 

I reach for the whiskey bottle, but Val grabs it before I can. 

“Let me take care of the next drinks,” he offers, getting up for the kitchen. I follow, choosing to wrap up the story as I watch him work behind the counter. 

“Just switched us to something a bit lighter,” he explains. Even now I know the reflection of the warm glowing fires over the countertop will be something I won’t ever forget. I catch myself watching the flames flicker in the polished stone counter that’d been serving as a mirror.

Val takes his glass back over to the couch, setting it down on the end table beside him. Val takes a moment, letting his hand linger over his mouth for a second before finally speaking, “I’m glad you came,” he says. I follow, sitting a bit closer than previously. I take a sip of the drink, curious as to what he’s made for us. It was the opposite of the whiskey I’d barely gotten used to. Sweet, smooth, and fair in color.  

“Me too,” I finally sigh, “When you initially asked me I couldn’t tell if you were serious…” I explain. I pull my legs up onto the couch, tucking my feet by my rump and setting a hand on my bent knees. 

I’d accidentally nudged myself closer while doing so, though I wasn’t sure if Val noticed. Even with the small boost I’d gotten from tucking my legs beneath me, my neck was still craned for my eyes to meet Val’s. 

“What do you mean?” he asks. He’d been sitting with his knees spread and an arm braced on the back of the furniture.

I press my shoulders up and back, trying to straighten my posture. “Well, I couldn’t see your face. Part of me actually wondered if you asked me on…” I trail off, mindlessly sipping at my drink to distract myself as my voice grows fainter. 

Something grazes the back of my neck. Something warm. Something moving, or slipping, rather. All along my shoulders was a light weight gradually settling with it trailing down my arm. Val’s arm had slipped and fallen over me. It’s at this moment I notice we’ve now left only a hand’s length of space between us. One of my hands, that is. 

“Val?” I finally ask. He immediately looks up from his drink, locking his eyes with mine.  My hand brushes against his leg as he turns to me, and I soon find my palm pressed against his thigh.

“Is this a date?” I ask, my throat forcing itself shut as soon as the words leave my mouth. I watch Val’s face flush instantly, and his drink spatters all over his swim shorts. My hand recoils, wiping it off against my skirt fabric instinctually. My attention is drawn to Val suppressing a set of coughs into his balled-up fist. I watch him make a futile attempt to wipe himself dry, though he quickly bolts up towards the bathroom afterward. 

“Well…” I sigh, fetching a rag from the end table storage. “That wasn’t exactly ideal,” I chuckle, doing my best to mop up and dry any spots around. My dampened rag leaves thinner streaks across the tabletop with every swipe. Just as I dry the last of the spill new liquid falls to the table in droplets. My eyes stung but not from the liquor. He literally ran. What could I have possibly misread? 

A series of future circumstances flashes in my mind, and I realize that I’d have to avoid Val in the tavern from now on. Surely he won’t want to maintain any sort of friendship after I insinuated such a thing. Blood rushes to my face and my chest slowly heaves itself in and out with frequent hitches. I attempt to steady my nerves, grabbing my drink from the side table. Though its initial flavor is soothing, the underlying sting found a way to divert my focus from the future for a minute or so. 

_ _

I soon finish my drink, and I collect the empty glasses with a loud clink as I pinch their rims together in one hand. I peruse the bar, keeping an eye out for anything I could use in one of the few tried and true cocktail recipes I’d picked up in my time at the tavern with Hidorah. I eventually settle on something simple, mixing the drinks and quickly getting them back over to the end tables. 

“Maybe I should just leave,” I utter under my breath. Pack my things and set back off toward the tavern. It was only a bit farther than mercester, couldn’t be more than a few hours on foot. I try to convince myself, shoving away the new idea of creatures in the night. I could watch for any silhouettes in the distance if I got to a clearing outside. Anything was better than staying here. I slip a pair of shoes on, ready to surveil the area before packing up entirely. 

I clutch the knob in my hand, its cold metallic touch doing nothing to steady my nerves. I jump from a hand at my shoulder. “Getting some fresh air?” Val asks, out of the restroom.

“Um, well actually…” I falter, unable to keep eye contact with him. 

“I should get back to the tavern,” I mumble, staring down at my feet.

“Now I know you’ve had too much to drink,” he chuckles. 

“I’m serious! I’m sorry about all this,” My vision blurs as I tear up. I try to open the door, though Val has my hand off the knob in a second. 

“At least make me take the couch instead of the bed…” I mumble, letting my wrists fall limp in his grip.

“Setting you up a place to sleep sounds like a good start,” Val tells me, guiding me a few feet over to one of the couches. 

He leaves the room for a moment. I sit a bit more comfortably, tucking my feet near my butt up on the cushion. Val returns with a couple fluffy blankets and decorative pillows from the bed, arranging them for me. 

“Settle down for a bit, and for gods’ sakes drink some water,” Val tells me.

I take the bottle that’d been left on the coffee table, drinking straight from the lip after I uncork it. 

“You’re so tense, please try to loosen up. You know I want you here, right?” Val asks, trying to soothe my nerves. 

“You know I want you here with me, right, Elaine?” he asks me, something different in his voice. I know his question is rhetorical, but for some reason, I’m having a hard time fighting back words. My stomach churned and my throat tightened, for my own good. 

“You need to relax and trust me,” Val says, a small smile appearing on his face. Despite his hand only being under the countertop for a mere moment, Val had already wrapped a hand snugly around a long slim bottle of champagne. “Want to see something really nerve-wracking?” he asks, a soft deep laugh falling from his lips. 

“Are you trying to-?” “Again, trust me,” he reassures me. He takes the champagne in his other hand and pops the cork wedged between his thumb and finger with ease. With an empty glass on the center of the table, Val tips the bottle a bit above the lip of the cup. Amber champagne cascades down into the glass and I can’t tear my gaze away as it quickly rises beyond half full. Tiny, clinging bubbles are scattered along the surface of the glass, giving the illusion of a glittery iridescence from afar. 

Val stops pouring, though a layer of bubbles starts to grow. My hands fidget and twitch as the suds near the rim of the glass and has barely slowed. I find myself fighting back my instincts to grab the rag on the table. Even with my efforts, it is one final twitch of my finger that drives Val to scoop up my hands into his. He brings my hands to my lap, where he leaves one of his over both of mine. Neither of us look away as the champagne froth finally stops and slowly settles and sinks back into the glass, not a drop spilling over. 

With a small jolt of my hips, I nudge closer to Val, reaching past him for the edge of a blanket. “How many years of drinking did it take you to master that?” I ask, only half joking.  

“You keep acting like I drink a lot when you’re drunk now yet I’m hardly tipsy,” Val laughs. I spread the blanket over my lap, happening to drape over Val’s as well.

“Then why don’t you go first,” I giggle, taking the champagne glass in my hand, careful not to spill it. I turn to Val and lean in. Gingerly, I raise the glass to his lips between his canines. Val doesn’t break eye contact with me, yet still takes a moment for his lips to purse and for me to tilt the glass. I can feel my heart fluttering and my free hand trembling. We’re so close. He takes a swig, leaving a noticeable amount from the glass missing. 

The glass is gestured toward me as Val tips it up to my chin. “Now, only a little more for you tonight. I’m serious,” I take a small sip, though as soon as the flavor hits my tongue I know I need another drink. I quickly take another swig before I lower the glass. Safe to say my nerves are steady since I realize my hands were no longer trembling. Although, my heart rate hadn’t slowed. My free hand had preoccupied itself and now sat on Val’s bare chest, apparently still lingering after bracing myself during a drink. 

Not only my hand has preoccupied itself; as it trails down Val’s chest and arrives back at my side I feel something tugging at my waist. Val drags his hand down my waist onto one of my hips. He slowly pulls away when his eyes leave mine, and he retrieves the champagne for himself to finish. The room quiets, and everything seems to settle as I sink into the couch. 

“Are you tired?” Val asks me. I look around the dimly lit room, some candles on the verge of snuffing themselves out. 

“No…” I tell him, suppressing a yawn. 

“What do you want to do? Anything you’ve been putting off at the tavern you want to get done?” He asks.

“I’d like to get that shirt sewn,” I mutter with a shrug.

“No way I’m letting you have needles right now,” he laughs. 

“Feel free to rest, who knows how you should be recuperating after healing me. Let me know if you need anything,” He reaches for the table’s lower shelf, pulling a book out of a short stack. The spine cracks as it opens, and a ribbon bookmark is plucked from between two pages in the center of the thick book. 

I pull the blanket up to my shoulders, and can’t help but peek at what he’s reading. Inching closer to see, our arms touch. Gradually, I piece together parts of the plot with what I’m given. Page after page, slowly exploring new characters and their relations to one another after I’d been dropped in. By the time he reaches a new chapter, my cheek is pressed against his bare shoulder. 

My eyelids start to feel heavy, and I’ve been skipping over paragraphs while reading. I blink and Val has read through two pages. I’m falling in and out of sleep, I recognize but can do nothing to fight it. I open my eyes once more to realize I’d laid down, seeing the coffee table now at eye level. Feeling something tucked near my chest, I look down to find Val’s trunk of an arm in both of mine. 

I trace it up to find Val sat in an uncomfortable-looking position with his other hand on one of mine.

“Sorry, I tried not to wake you. I was just about to head to bed,” he utters. 

“Bed?” I mumble, loosening my grip on his arm. 

“O-oh, do you want the bed?” he asks.

“Mhm,” I sit up, and he offers me a hand. My balance is horrible, and I stumble on my first couple of steps. Val decides to aid me, carrying me to the bed and laying me in the center. He tries to pull back, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to let go. My arms thrown around his shoulders, I hold him in place unless he wants to lift me back up with him.

“El-Elaine,” Val clears his throat. Only a few mumbles and “mms,” escape my mouth. 

“Okay, I get it. If this is payback from last night I understand, and you can cut it out now,” he jokingly tells me. This goes in one ear and out the other, as I can’t imagine any reason why I’d want to be away from him now. 

“You can’t possibly be asleep still with this grip on me,” he adjusts, needing to brace himself over me on the bed. One palm is pressed flat beside my head, with his elbow on the other side. His other hand is occupied over one of mine on his shoulder blade. A knee sinks to my side, and a sigh escapes him. He sinks to his side, facing me laying in the bed. 

Dawn felt earlier than usual with the huge windows allowing natural light to flow in. I sit up, with snippets of last night flooding into memory. Val still seems fast asleep, and I intend to let him stay that way as long as he’d like. I gingerly slide off over the covers, fetching a few things from the room and shutting the door behind me.

I take a seat on the couch, curling up with the same blanket as last night. Laying my sewing supplies on the table, I start the two stitches on the sides of the tunic. After one side is completed I feel like I’ve gotten the hang of it. I break to prepare some coffee, knowing Val might appreciate it too in a couple of hours when he wakes up. 

I finish the second in half the time, eager to sever and tie my thread after becoming emersed in the task. Warm and bitter, I take the first sip of my drink I’d made minutes prior. I jump up to the bathroom to try it on. The gathering stitches on each side allow the fabric to fit my frame, cinching at my waist as well as pulling some of the length. Overall, Val’s shirt now made a nice black dress or tunic, though the collar was deeper than intended on me and the sleeves were still loose. I only knew this stitch because of pestering Eliza in her craft room, I should thank her for what I picked up. Then ask her to fix it and add her own touch ups. I bet she would know exactly what to do with these sleeves.

I decide to keep it on for a while, to see if everything holds up and if any of its fitting changes. The fabric is more comfortable than that of my usual dresses, though I assume because it is made for common wear. I take my place back on the couch, throwing the blanket over my lap and drinking my coffee to shake the tiredness that still follows me. 

I spot the book from last night on the table, fighting whether I should try and gather a bit more context than what I had. Eventually, I decide to skim through and then pick up just before where I’d been introduced. Day progresses, though I’m not sure whether I’ve read for half an hour or a couple of hours. 

A creak in front of me lifts my chin, finding Val has woken up. “Did you end up sleeping on the couch? I could have sworn…” he trails off. 

I swallow, embarrassed of my actions late last night. “There’s some coffee ready for you,”

“Wonderful,” he chirps. It proceeds a yawn, and I can’t help but stare at Val’s canines as his mouth opens wide. He stretches, and his arms swing close to the ceiling and top of the doorframe in the kitchen, something I’d never had to worry about. He takes a seat beside me and puts his coffee by mine to match. 

“I see you’ve already busied yourself today,” Val tells me. He runs a hand down the book cover and feels some of the dress fabric at the hem down my thighs.

“I can’t believe that used to be my shirt…” 

“It looks better on you now even after all it’s seen than it ever did on me,” he chuckles.

“It just needed a bit of help, I’m so happy with how it turned out! The fact that it’s one of your shirts only makes it more impressive of an after-product.” I gush.

“So, any big plans for today?” Val asks. 

I shake my head, “Drink some water and take a nap,” I joke.

“That’s how you spend a day off,” Val laughs. 

“Whenever you’re ready to head back to the tavern let me know. I’ll want to get back by nightfall, so just a small time restraint.” Val tells me. 

Time slips away from here, with us preparing lunch together and taking another dip in the springs by midday. Time that isn’t spent in leisure is spent gathering my belongings. As it nears dusk and the sun hangs low in the sky, I recognize it’s finally time to leave. I’d just gotten used to having Val around in this secluded cabin and now I’d be returning to the busy tavern with weeks between visits from him. 

[maxattax]

Look Away - Chapter 5

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Epilogue

--

Danny paced around his bedroom. He couldn’t believe what Jazz had suggested yesterday. It was dangerous, and Danny wasn’t sure it was worth the risk. Sam thought it was a bad idea, whereas Tucker thought it might work. With his friends divided on the issue, Danny would have to make this decision on his own.

This gamble could cost him everything. But he had a lot to gain from it, too. It all depended on whether Jazz was right about Wes. Her psychological profiles did tend to be frustratingly accurate. But if it didn’t go well…

Danny’s pacing got faster. He cleared the room in three steps, turned around, and did it again. Should he do it? Could he do it? He wrung his hands, his knuckles popping with the movement.

He stopped pacing and took a deep breath in. He let the cool air fill his lungs, and steadily breathed out. He was only going to work himself into a frenzy if he kept going like this.

He needed to trust Jazz. She knew what she was talking about. Sam wouldn’t be happy, but Danny would handle that later. He was going to do this.

—

The next day during lunch, Danny sat with his friends at a picnic table in the school courtyard. The weather was getting chilly, so they were the only people eating outside. Danny loved this time of year; being half ghost, he always ran a little cool, so the crisp Autumn air was perfectly comfortable.

“So, did you do it?” Tucker asked. He shoved a few french fries into his mouth.

“I did,” Danny replied.

“You really think he’s gonna go for it?” said Sam. “He has been trying to ruin your life…” She picked at her salad, spearing a tomato with her fork.

“I hope so,” said Danny. “If I’m wrong, you can say ‘I told you so’.”

“‘I told you so’ won’t change anything if you’re in danger, Danny! You–”

Tucker interrupted with, “He’s coming!”

Wes approached the table, his hands in his pockets. He faced Danny but did not meet his eyes. “Hey Danny, can we talk?”

“Yeah.” Danny gestured to the empty table beside theirs. “Let’s sit here, so we can talk alone.” He hated to leave Tucker and Sam out of this, but he needed to do this alone.

“Okay, sure.” They moved over and took a seat. Wes looked around to make sure there was nobody around to eavesdrop. He had a piece of paper in his hand, and nervously folded and unfolded it while he talked. “So, uh. Danny Phantom left me this note last night. ‘You’re right about that thing you said.’ Does that mean what I think it means?”

Danny closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, Wes was looking him in the eye, waiting. “Yes. You were completely right. But look, you can’t tell anyone, and I mean anyone. Your best friend, your parents… nobody can know.”

“Why not?” Wes shook his head. “I could make something of myself if I go public with this. People will finally know I’m not crazy, that I’m not making things up. Why should I keep it a secret?”

So Jazz was right. All he wanted was respect. “Have you considered that my parents are professional ghost hunters? You’ve seen them shoot at me. I’m living under their roof; who knows what they’d do if they knew?

“That’s not to mention the Red Huntress or the Guys in White. If this gets out, my life is in danger. Do you really want my blood on your hands?” Danny never broke eye contact.

Wes paled. “Oh. I mean, I knew you wouldn’t be happy, but I’m not trying to get you killed – or destroyed, or whatever.”

“Killed,” Danny clarified. “I’m still alive. Kinda. It’s complicated.”

Wes was quiet for a minute. His brow furrowed as he turned his thoughts over in his head. “Okay. I won’t tell anyone,” he finally said. Sincerity was clear in his voice. “Does, uh… does this mean I’m not getting my viewfinder back?”

“Yeah, sorry about that. It’s too dangerous for anyone else to have. And, since it can somehow take pictures of me, my sister convinced me to use it. Keep photos for posterity or something.”

“Oh.” Wes looked like he wanted to protest, but he held his tongue.

After a moment’s silence, Danny said, “Look, for you to have figured out my secret, even with whatever weirdness filter keeps everyone else in the dark, is impressive. You’re a good investigator.” A small smile appeared on Wes’s face. “I’ve been thinking; Team Phantom could use an ally with your skills. What do you say? You keep my secret, and I let you in on some of my adventures? Help me figure out what my enemies are planning? I’ll even let you interview me, as long as my secrets stay off the record.”

Wes leaned his chin on his hand, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “That sounds agreeable. I’ll definitely reach out to you for that interview some time soon.” He pulled a piece of paper from his backpack and scribbled something on it. He offered it to Danny. “My phone number. If anything weird needs investigating, give me a call.”

“You got it. I’m gonna fill in Sam and Tucker. They, and my sister Jazz, are the only people you can talk to about this.”

“Noted. I’ll give you some space.” Danny and Wes stood and went back to their respective tables.

Sam and Tucker looked at Danny, their question evident on their faces.

“He took it surprisingly well,” Danny said. “He seems sincere. I think we can trust him. But oh my God, Jazz is going to be insufferable when she learns she was right.”

Tucker said, “Good job, dude. I’m glad we’ve got another person on our side.”

“I’m still nervous about this. I hope you made the right decision,” said Sam.

“I think I did,” Danny said. “Thank you both for trusting me.”