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âbut please shut upâ â ln4
summary: from the SINGLE PARENT UNIVERSE and based on THIS request, I present to you 2k words about the moment Yn first said the three words to Lando, and then told him to shut up (or something like that). reader x lando norris (use of Yn, yes) word count: 2k
NOTEš: as a fic writer AND reader, i'm aware of the whole AI talk that's been going around. and as i was writing this, i realized how the thing that pisses me off the most about this whole thing, is how the use of dashes (â) became synonym of the use of AI. because i LOVE using dashes. i think they look beautiful and they tell things in a different way. the pause it's different. the information after one dash or between two dashes feels different. so i overuse them naturally. bc i love them. but now any time i add one, i take it back. bc i dont want to be associated with the use of AI. and the more i do it, the more it pisses me off. bc i want to be able to use my dashes. my writing might suck. i might be the worst around here. but i WANT to use my dashes. so please don't take my dashes away from me okay? ok. thank you.
NOTE²: so yeah, that being said, i went back and added a few. and that's it. <3
ââââââââââââââââââ
Yn and Lando had been dating for no longer than six months when the words finally slipped out of her mouth.Â
It was a Saturday morning. A sunny one, to be precise. One of those rare occasions that normally meant peeling Olivia away from the TV and getting her ready for a picnic at the park, or for riding a bike, or for doing just any activity that allowed them to soak the sun as much as possible.Â
On that particular Saturday morning, though, the clear sky wasnât the only rare thing happening in London.
For starters, Yn wasnât at her place, but at Landoâs apartment. Something that had never happened before. Not in the morning, at least. Not as a result of spending the night there.Â
Then, of course, because she wasnât at her place, there was also the fact that Olivia wasnât there, with her. Instead, her sister had taken Olivia to Bristol so she could spend a fun weekend with her cousins. And so Yn and Lando could have some time alone.Â
So, yeah, of courseâthings were different that morning.Â
And yes, maybe she could have sensed that something else would happen, something she didnât see coming because it also normally never happened.Â
But she didnât.
All she did was wake up wrapped in Landoâs arms, kiss him good morning, and drag herself out of bed. On her way across the bedroom, she grabbed one of his hoodies and put it on. Warm, oversized, and smelling like him. Exactly how she liked it.Â
Once she made it to the kitchen, the space opened into sunlight and sleek surfaces. Fancy. Clean. Organized. Looking not even one bit like the messy home she owned. With no crayons forgotten on the table, no mermaids and unicorns in the mugs and cups and plates, no colorful drawings stuck to the fridge. And yet just as comfortable and cozy in its own Lando Norrisâ way.Â
It made her smile, for some reason. A smile that she kept on her face while trying to decide what to make for breakfast, and that only grew bigger when Lando finally joined her in, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder while she cracked four eggs into a small bowl.Â
âHmm, you look really nice in my kitchen,â he murmured, his morning voice sending chills down through her spine. âWearing my clothes⌠Smelling like meâŚâ
She tilted her head slightly at that, leaning into his curls as he kissed her neck and just settled there, keeping up with her movements. With the whisking of the eggs and the soft clink of the fork echoing in that quiet morning.Â
Yn could tell Lando was happy with that setting, with spending the morning together after also having spent the night together. Something they couldnât really do very often, considering she still wasnât ready to add him into Oliviaâs routine like that. Not without making sureâmaking fully, fully sureâthat this wasnât just a temporary thing for him. That he was staying in for good, and that he was actually willing to have a role not just in her life, but also in her daughterâs life.Â
Which, to be honest, was becoming more and more easy to see as time went by.Â
Like when he stepped away to grab the milk from the fridge and very casually asked, âTalked to Liv yet?â
âNot yet,â Yn said, then waited until he had splashed a bit of the milk into the small bowl to keep going. âTold my sister Iâd give them a call after breakfast.âÂ
She sprinkled in a pinch of salt and went back to whisking, meanwhile Lando got himself busy by grabbing a pan and dropping a knob of butter into it.Â
âI hope sheâs having fun,â he said, distracted as he switched on the hob and placed the pan above the humming heat. âYâknow, I was thinking about what itâd be like to take her to the beach.âÂ
Yn paused.Â
She paused and stared at the bowl in front of her.Â
And Lando laughed. And the butter sizzled gently. And then the smell of it filled the space. Warm. Comforting.Â
âSandcastle chaos, for sure,â he added.
Still chuckling.Â
Still nonchalant.Â
As if mentioning he had been thinking about her daughter and about how it would be to spend time with her didnât bring this funny feeling to her chest. As if it wasnât a big deal. As if it was normal.Â
Yn swallowed.
When it came to Lando, to be fair, it actually wasnât weird. Because he did that a lotâdropping how much he cared in the most subtle, random ways. In the little things.Â
But this morning, for some reason, it seemed to happen more than usual.Â
He did it again, for instance, as they were sitting around the small table and having breakfast. As he was telling her about these new clothes he had bought online. Casually, randomly. Just by asking, âPurpleâs her favourite, right?âÂ
To which Yn furrowed her brows and mumbled a simple, âhuh?âÂ
âLivâs.â He scraped the fork against his plate, gathering the scrambled eggs, and shrugged. âI saw these really cute tiny trainers that made me think of her.â He scooped up the food and shoved it inside his mouth. But he didnât stop, he just chewed as he talked, muffling the words. âThey were⌠Mmph⌠Puhâpul⌠Yeah⌠Puhâpulâs her favârite⌠Innit?â
 âIâ Yeah. Purpleâs her favourite color, yeah.â
He smiled, swallowed and nodded, all proud of himself.Â
âI knew it.â He took a sip of coffee, then focused on the beans still left on his plate. âDidnât get them thoughâŚâ He shoved the fork back into his mouth. Words mumbled as he chewed again. âDidnâknowâer size, so⌠Oh!â He swallowed and shuffled on his seat. âShit.â He coughed, choking a little around the food that had gone down his throat. âUm⌠Just remembered⌠Did I tell you about this⌠About this new idea we had for the next collection? I didnât, did I?âÂ
âI donât think so, no.â
âRight. Yeah. So, listen to thisâŚâÂ
And so he rambled about something else.Â
And Yn listened.Â
Trying to absorb as much as possible. Trying to understand. Trying to make sense.Â
But then, as they were putting the dishes in the sink and talking about the next few weekends and how busy his schedule would be, he did it again.Â
He brought her up again.
âIâll try to come home as much as I can,â he said, âbut yâknow, if you ever want to come to a race one day, Iâd love to have you there. Not just you, but Liv, too. Like, not now, of course, but later, when youâre ready. Iâd like that.âÂ
And like a cherry on top, while Yn had her hands submerged in warm soapy water, he asked, âHey, is it weird if I frame that little drawing Liv made the other day?â
Yn stopped.
And blinked at the plate she had in hands.Â
âThe one she said was for good luck?â Lando added, pacing in the kitchen. Not in a nervous way, but in that very particular excited version of him. Full of caffeine. Hair sticking up in three different directions. Hands moving along with his words. Babbling.Â
Always babbling.
âOr maybe not frame it but put it on the fridge or⌠I donât know⌠Something. Somewhere I can always see it⌠Yâknow? Would that be weird?âÂ
She blinked again.
âBecause I wonât if itâs weird⌠Donât want to make it weirdâŚâ
Eyes still fixed on the dish in her hand, she mumbled, âLandoâŚâÂ
âI mean I donât know what the protocol is here⌠I know you said you wanted to take things slow when it comes to her, and I totally get it⌠I mean you know way better than I do, so I trust your judgment⌠Itâs just that sheâs so great, yâknow? And that drawing is so cute. Itâs been back and forth with me for weeks now, but I wanted to check with you because Iââ
âFor the love of God!â She dropped the sponge and the plate and turned around, water dripping from her fingers as she glared at him. âCan you justâI mean⌠Lando I swear, I love you so much, but can you just please shut the fuck up for a moment?â
Lando stopped.Â
No. Lando froze.
Mid-step.Â
Not even looking at her.
Just.. Hand reaching into the cabinet. Eyes fixed ahead. Blinking to the clean tableware.Â
And Yn didnât even notice, so she just sighed. Loudly. Dropping her shoulders. Grabbing a tea towel to wipe her hands. And then trying again.
âSorry. I donât mean like, shut the fuck up, but just⌠Yâknow, give me a minute to think? Youâre like⌠Nonstop right now! Just going on and on and on about Livie and itâs justââ
âWhat did you say?â
Yn looked at him.
He was still facing away, still frozen on the spot.
âThat youâre going on and on aboutââÂ
âNo. Not that.â He dropped his arms to his sides and turned towards her. âBefore.â
Yn frowned, searching inside her head for whatever she couldâve said that made him look like that right nowâpale, shocked, terrified. On the verge of freaking out.
âI donâtââ
âLove me,â Lando murmured. âYou said you love me.â
âWhat?â
âYou said,â âhe closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if gathering the strength to say the wordsâ âLando I love you so much but can you please shut the fuck up.â
âOh.â
âYou said you love me.â
âShit, LanâŚâ
She stepped forward, and he stepped backward.Â
âNuh-uh.â He raised one finger and pointed it at her. âNope. Stay there.â
Her lips tugged up.
âBabe⌠Câmon.â
âYou love me.â
She tilted her head. âMhm.â
Lando dropped his arm.
Then opened his mouth, then closed it again.Â
And then he looked away, dropping his posture like he had just been punched in the stomach.
âHoly shit,â he said. âI didnâtâI wasnâtâwow. Wow. Ok. Okay. Yeah. ThatâsâThatâs just⌠I mean, did youâYou really meant that?â
Yn laughed.Â
âLandoâŚâ She dropped the tea towel on the counter and took a step forward, a tiny one. Just to make sure she could. âBaby. Just breathe, okay? Youâre sweating.â
âIâm notââ He raised his arms, checking underneath. And then he shook his head. âMaybe, who knows. Thatâs not the point.â
âThen whatâs the point?â she tried, softly this time. Stepping just a bit closer.
âThat you love me.â
âMhm.â Standing in front of him, she placed her hands on his chest and nodded. âSo? Youâll get used to it.â
Lando snorted and looked at her, his own hands instantly finding her waist. Almost involuntarily. As if they belonged there. As if it was the only natural reaction when having her so close to him.Â
âYou knew this would freak me out, didnât you?â
He pulled her closer, and when she nodded, she also smirked at him.
âOf course I did. Been holding myself from saying it out loud for a while now.âÂ
He flinched at that, chin and head jerking back slightly. âWhy would you ever do that?â
âReally?â She laughed and slid her hands up his chest, then up his shoulders and neck, until she was able to link her fingers through the short curls on the back of his head. âDid you see your reaction just now?â
Lando shrugged and stepped forward, slotting his feet with hers and crossing his arms around her waist. Getting rid of the little distance between them. âJust because Iâm weird and freak out like this doesnât mean that I⌠Yâknow⌠That I donât⌠I mean I justâŚâ
She nodded and hunched herself forward, kissing his cheek before landing back on her feet.Â
âI know. I know you do, babe. So whenever youâre ready. Thatâs okay.â
He sighed and leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers.Â
âIâm gonna wait until you least expect it. Freak the hell out of you, too.â
Yn laughed and arched forward, barely lifting off her heels as she reached for a kiss.
Lando reacted quickly, closing his eyes and kissing her back.
And then, around his lips, she murmured, âBring it on, babe. I dare you.âÂ
ââââââââââââââââââ
#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#lando norris x reader#f1 fic#lando norris fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 fanfic#f1 fics#lando norris x you
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Omg just read your most recent fic of kaiser and is it possible if I can request a fanfic where reader decides to let him, and after a few minutes of deep talk, kaiser just completely shatters, I mean, breaks down in sobs and tears in front of reader and reader lets kaiser cry in her lap into her shoulder like a little boy being comforted đ
GRHHHAHHHH comforting kaiser after i put him thru hell yessss yesss anon you know exactly what i like mwehehehhe
" Because love can burn like a cigarette ! "
ft. michael kaiser . ooc! kaiser (?) . desperate! kaiser? . mmm kaiser being a crybaby . mmm i love kaiser . hurt/some comfort . idk if you wanna go back veo . gn! reader (implied afab) . angst ? . fluff ? . not proof read . kinda half-assed </3
crazy to think you told your friends you'd never let kaiser in again after the shit he's pulled during your situationship. sometimes lies/promises are meant to be empty â mayhaps, broken.
the desperate look in the emperor's eyes, no longer feigning confidence. everything was raw, real. "let me in, [name]. please- i beg. just one more time... last time i swear!" he pleads.
you reluctantly agree, feeling some sort of pity. you saw the imagery, the past that was constantly haunting kaiser within him at that moment.
the man was extremely ashamed of how vulnerable he was at that current moment. stepping into your room â he felt a sense of nostalgia.
you didn't want kaiser to feel abandonment. though you felt that immediately after he had left you. sitting on the corner of your bed, both of you two almost social distancing.
"um, how have you been kai- ahem. michael." you corrected yourself, not wanting him to feel even worse about himself. you knew how much he hated being called by his last name. especially by you.
"i've been doing shit without you." what a blunt ass reply hello. bro cut straight to the chase! a few minutes of trying to get philosophical, deep and sentimental? nah. the blonde was sobbing, face buried between your thighs.
you initially felt gross from the wet feeling seeping through your pants. god this guy held these tears since conception i swear.. but slowly, the more he cried, the more you realized â you never really moved on from him.
those failed attempts on hooking up with random dudes... they all somewhat resembled kaiser. personality wise or look wise. ooooh gawd y'all were literally made for each other. it was god's plan. meant to be, I tell you.
your thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sound of more crying. you looked down at him and his ratched ahh (it really wasnt ratched) hair. "michael, are you okay?" you asked, voice hinting concern.
he didn't reply. he just kept sobbing, and sobbing, and sobbing. kaiser knew how vulnerable and weak he looked right now. (MAYBE BECAUSE YOU ARE VULNERABLE AND WEAK WTF?) he felt like that dependent little boy in your arms.
however, something about being like who he was as a child in your arms brought him comfort. you just kept staring at him, dumbfounded by how much he could cry jeez. "michael, it's okay to not be okay. quit your prideful and arrogant self. i know it helped you survive but it's killing you now."
with a broken voice, kaiser wailed into your thighs, "i want you back [name]. i can't live without you. take me back, take me back, please!"
â Šiqxatlantic / isaisliterallyhim, 2025
a/n: recent fanfic no more... when i said kinda half assed i meant really half assefd lol... i'll cook a harder angst post i swear man... i swear i will... i swear on my life... why is moving on so hard, like damn. oh oh, and thank u sm for 400 followers my pretties  đĽšÂ
#bllk x reader#bllk x you#blue lock x you#blue lock x reader#bllk x y/n#blue lock x y/n#bllk angst#blue lock angst#bllk headcanons#blue lock headcanons#michael kaiser x reader#michael kaiser x you#michael kaiser x y/n#kaiser x y/n#kaiser x reader#kaiser x you#kaiser angst#michael kaiser angst#bllk imagines#blue lock imagines#ilovewritingkaisersuffering#chase atlantic was playing#i love chase atlantic#isaisliterallyhimwrites#iqxatlanticwrites
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Say what now?
Part 2 of 'How could you?'
Azriel x f!Reader
Summary: Azriel came with apologies stitched into his silence, but when his gaze met yours, the words slipped away. What he offered instead wasnât quite what you'd hoped, but for him, it was a tether, a reason to keep you a little closer, a little longer.
Warnings: Swearing, angst, insecurity, kinda crack?, mentions of Irish forms of art, scars? (sorry y'all, still haven't exactly figured how to write warnings yet)
Note: Probably has mistakes but I'm re-using my 'first fic' card again since this is still a part 2 of my first one. thxthx.
part 1 linked here.
Azriel didn't remember how to stand. Where do his hands go? Behind his back? Too child-like.
In his pockets? Too casual.
Should they dangle? Probably not.
So he just stood there frozen with his hands flailing around unsurely and his wings fighting against twitching as he processed what just happened.
You'd spoken. Albeit uninterestedly, like you wanted nothing to do with him. He'd never heard you sound so- well, dull. He hated that he was the cause of that. It had been a week since he heard you properly. And oh, how he wished he could turn back time.
But he couldn't, so he'd just take a tiny bit of joy from what just happened.
You'd spoken .To him. To him.
He'd been in the kitchen, the place where his suffering first started, boiling tea when you'd walked in and not immediately turned around, instead you'd spoken. To him. Hell, you were even looking at him so he clearly wasn't hallucinating. He hadn't even heard what you'd said, he'd just heard your voice again and his heart had done its best to lurch out of his chest.
"Huh?", he said and immediately cringed at how dumbfounded he sounded.
"I said I'm done with the mission report. It's on your desk." You repeated blandly. The report.. about the mission after which he'd ruined it all. His face fell, once again reminded of what he'd caused.
It seems you recollect it too, for you turned around to leave
"Wait!", he says, slightly too loudly to be anything but desperate.
Shit. The plea had left his throat before he could stop himself. Now what? He hadn't thought this through at all.
You were looking at him, now facing him again, with a brow raised and arms crossed.
He was looking at you, with his hands suspended mid-air and his eyes slightly wide, like a deer caught in headlights.
"I'm- Can we.. talk?", Mother above he needed to get it together. Stop this stuttering.
"About?"
Good question. That's a really good fucking question that he does not know how to answer.
His shadows twirled mid-air as if taunting him, and he knew that if they could speak his tongue, they'd most definitely be doing just that. Infact, they'd probably be cursing him out right about now.
Though they were attached to him, they'd always taken every available opportunity to be next to you, to side with you, to take care of you. Even now, most gravitated in your direction no matter how strongly he held them back.
You must have realized this silence meant he had no goddamn clue what to say to you. He saw it in your eyes and as he anticipated your departure, you stepped forwards and sat at the island, looking at him patiently.
His heart, which happened to still have been doing the Irish jig in his chest, seemed to just about stop and skip multiple beats. Because he had no clue, no clue how you let him be anywhere around you after what he'd said.
How you hadn't yet punched him or tried to in any shape or form. He deserved that at least. What he didn't deserve was this kindness.
But he'd be foolish to refute it, and so he sat down too and he knew what to do.
He'd get you back.
His shadows seemed to nod resolutely.
A mission. A gods damned mission?!
You'd expected anything but another fucking mission.
Then again, you assume your emotional instability due to the words of an overgrown bat cannot surmount to enough reason to put the court politics on halt.
You thought back to the whole encounter just hours ago as you packed your bags for tomorrow.
When he'd called out to you like that, you'd thought he'd apologize. You would have accepted it, you would have brushed off how hurt you truly had been, you'd definitely have found a way to convince yourself that an apology was enough. That whatever he said next was enough. Instead, he'd said nothing. He'd just stood there awkwardly, and yet you hadn't wanted to leave again. Gods, could you be any more desperate? Probably not.
One last chance. You thought to yourself.
Your mind told you to uphold your dignity and get the fuck out of there while you still had the chance, keep some semblance of self-respect. But a very tiny part of it still fought back and reminded you of all the quiet, beautiful moments you'd had with Azriel. How you'd surely never get any more if you left, but if you stayed? There was a possibility. The very tiny part made good points.
So you'd sat down and watched him patiently, hoping he wouldn't make a fool of you and leave you there. But he'd taken a seat as well, too clumsily, too fast. What was wrong with him? You wondered. You'd never seen him act so... disoriented.
He still didn't say a word. Just stared. It had been a while since you'd allowed yourself to look at him, to not turn around and flee at the sight of him.
He was beautiful, always had been. You couldn't help but give him a once-over. His sharp cheekbones seemed sharper, his hands were gloved. His hands were gloved? Why-
Oh.
Realization dawned on you like a brick on your face. It was winter, you'd massage his hands and relax the tense muscles of the scarred appendages everyday in this cold season. Or else his hands would cramp up. Badly.
How absorbed had you been in your self-pity to forget such a thing?
Cringing, you promised yourself to help him as soon as possible.
You looked up at him again to find him already staring, now catching your expression. You schooled it and looked him in the eyes.
Gods, his eyes.
They were more sunken than usual. Had sleep not been good to him lately? Who were you to talk? You knew you didn't look any better. And was it really bad that it felt good to assume you were the reason for his sleepless nights, like he was for yours? Yes, yes it was.
His shadows curled over his wings, as though peeking at you. Some slithered over the table in soft curves, inching over to you. They were always nice to you, you thought, smiling softly at them as a few wrapped around your wrists on the wood.
You'd wondered how long this whole game of silence would last.
And just as that thought passed your mind, he'd spoken.
And you'd just about had an aneurysm.
You looked at your stuff, mentally checking your list of essentials. It was a mission to the mountains. Nowhere near the camps, thank the Mother for that. He hadn't told you why it was a two person job and you hadn't asked. He also hadn't told you how long it would take and you hadn't asked. Turns out there's a bunch of stuff you should have asked.
Are your hands okay?
Did you go get Madja's soothing oils?
What kind of crack are you on to think that taking me, of all people, on this mission would ever end very well after what happened?
Who's hosting my funeral if I throw myself off a cliff in the duration of this business trip? Do I get insurance?
You laid down on the bed, content with your preparations. You'd done your best to not let your insecure thoughts plague you during the day but it was the night that was hard these days. Thoughts of inadequacy would rise every single breath you took. Mind would overflow with different interpretations of every interaction with him.
Heart would pace as thoughts of him took over your very being, until the world faded away and the pacing stopped. Until even the sounds of the wind dulled, until the magic in your veins fell into slumber and so did you.
Only to wake to a new day.
A new beginning? A better one?
Y'all, i got zero clue where i wanna take this. Still love that i have the ability to take this any which ways but would def def def love some suggestions. Thank you for all the likes pookies, thought no one would read my stuff but OMG are y'all sweet or what.
currently preparing for a big big big test that def decides the course of my life so i just do this when im stressed. Prolly not consistent but yuhpp. thank yewww.
and if you haven't noticed yet, i love commas,,,,,
@saradika-graphics for those gorgeous dividers. IN LOVE.
#azriel x you#azriel x reader#azriel fluff#azrielxreader#azriel#azriel angst#acotar fic#azriel acotar
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track 1: 123-78 (MJH)
âI just like everything about her. If I had to pick one thing, it is not because she sings well. Just because it's 'cause it's you.â



a/n: hello!! this is the first out of 5 for the "no genre" fic series <3 i hope you guys like this!! lmk how it is of course hehe and thank you for reading ^-^ contains: jaehyun x reader, use of she/her pronouns for reader, baker jaehyun đ, down bad jaehyun, jaehyun's bff taesan, fluff, lowercase intended (0.8k) no genre masterlist taglist: @ericlvr @mari3s @zynz0 @hanfourz @taylorluvation @antoncore @txtistheloml @jmclouds @brownetry @rizzwoos
if you looked out the window at 12:30pm every day, you were sure to spot the boy who lived across the street every day. on some days, heâd hold a single flower, a visible spot missing from one of the neighborsâ bushes. on some days, heâd have a small box of cookies from the bakery down the road, your favorite ones that he just so happens to know you like because he just so happens to work there. and on some days, heâd simply stand and wait there as he waves to you, knowing youâd open the curtain to look for him.
the alarm on your phone would go off at 12:32pm exactly, making jaehyun wait for you for just a bit longer before he rushed to work right after, always getting scolded by the manager for getting late. but his smile was so charming that everyone would just let him be. after all, heâs the reason business is booming.
people walk in just to see his face, yet the most genuine smile heâs given behind the counter is when he looks at the door opening to reveal your figure.
and that smile was no different as the small bell rang, signaling the entrance of a new customer. but the boy you were hoping to see it from wasnât manning the counter. it was his best friend, taesan, instead. his bright red dye stood out amongst the number of rather pastel colored goods behind him, the only thing to compare it to being the big vase of roses a couple feet away, on top of the glass shelves of the cookie counter.
as you head over there to take your pick, you watch as the boy leaves to go to the back, his swagger of a walk calm, yet a face looking a bit worried.
and worried he was. he didnât want you to leave the store before he got to jaehyun, telling him to go to the front instead, that heâll carry on with baking the rest of the batch of whatever he was creating.
âwhy though? itâs not my turn to the front yet. and are you seeing me? iâm coveredââ jaehyun pointed up and down, his apron covered with chocolate splatters while his shoes were turned white from spilled flour, ââfrom head to toe.â
âi wouldnât be telling you to go to the front if i didnât have a good reason. just trust me and go bro.â
trusting his friend, jaehyun walked out with a confused look. he didn't see why he was told to come to the register, but when you popped up in line, it all made sense to him.
his cheeks would've gone pink with a light blush, having seen you of all people, in his store. but the white flour covering it made him look rather cute instead. you reached your finger to touch his cheek, wiping a bit of the dust from him unexpectedly. and the now revealed light blush turned a deeper shade of red as his eyes widened, his stance frozen.
and your smile? the last thing he would want to see before his heart jumped out of his chest, willing to grab it just to give it whole to you.
"jaehyun, can you give me the cookies? please?"
a slow set of blinks, followed by a couple head nods, had the boy reaching out for the sweet treats you had placed on the counter. still in shock, yet luckily through muscle memory, he quickly checked you out, watching as you left the store, turning back to look at him once again, flashing your warm smile as him as he ignored the next customer in line.
"taesan. do you understand? she came to the store, touched my face, smiled at me, and before leaving, turned to smile at me again? like do you get it?"
the redhead sat at the corner seat, a dim light shining across both their faces, as he watched the excited boy ramble on and on about the simple interactions he had with you. he couldn't tell him to stop repeating himself, because jaehyun would just apologize before bringing it up anyways.
"ok but why do you like that girl? you're going so crazy over her for doing such simple things, yet you've liked her for so long alreader. is there any particular reason?"
âi just like everything about her. i can't just pick one thing. it's just because. it's 'cause... it's her, you know.â
laying on his crossed arms on top of the table, taesan just looked at the lovestruck expression on jaehyun's face, happy for his friend nonetheless.
"well, did you offer to pay for her order today?"
"ahh... no... i was totally frozen... i should've right?"
"it's ok jae. next time, pay for her, and type up a cute note on the receipt before you print it. she'll love it, trust me."
"ok, i will." jaehyun nodded as he thought about seeing you look out your window once again the next day, planning to grab a couple roses from the vase in store before he heads back home for the night.
thank you for reading! please like + reblog to show support, and feel free to leave feedback and comments through rb tags, anon messages, or dms! join the taglist through here! have a good day my loves <3
divider credits: star line by @cafekitsune, pearl line by @uzmacchiato
#ilysungho#ilysh writes#ilysh soft hours#ilysh jaehyun#ilysh no genre#boynextdoor#bnd x reader#bnd#boynextdoor x reader#bnd fluff#bnd imagines#bnd scenarios#bnd fanfic#boynextdoor scenarios#boynextdoor fluff#boynextdoor imagines#boynextdoor fanfic#bnd soft thoughts#bnd soft hours#boynextdoor soft hours#boynextdoor soft thoughts#jaehyun x reader#jaehyun#myung jaehyun#jaehyun imagines#jaehyun fluff#jaehyun scenarios#jaehyun boynextdoor#boynextdoor jaehyun#bnd jaehyun
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~Giddy up~
(1977!Elvis X Reader)
(TW: P in V sex, oral sex, Daddy used in a sexual manner, most definitely smut)
(Hello there! I'll keep this short, but I tried to make this fic a little longer than I've been writing, so I hope you enjoy! Characters: 12,113)

âWhat the fuckâŚ?â You muttered as you slowly lifted yourself to a sitting position on the bed, looking down at the thornless rose in your lap. Surely this had to have been left by Elvis. âWhere is he?â You wondered as you glanced over to the empty space beside you that was usually and undeniably filled with the warm presence of your dearest Love. Feeling a bit odd about the situation, you pulled the covers back before swinging your legs over the side of the bed, rising to your feet and giving yourself a nice stretch. You looked down at the rose yet again, turning it over in your hand a few times before reaching for your silken robe and sliding your arms through. Tying the sash around your waist, you decided to begin your search.
It hadnât taken very long for you to find Elvis, finding him sitting outside near the pool. âHey,â You softly called to him, capturing his attention. God, he looked so exhausted⌠âHey, DarlinââŚâ He replied in a tired murmur, holding his hand out for yours. You obediently placed it in his. âWhatâre you doing out here, El? Itâs earlyâŚâ âCouldnât sleepâŚGoddamn insomniaâŚâ He explained to you in honesty, using his free hand to rub his face, breathing out a long sigh of exhaustion. âDid you sleep well at least?â Elvis asked, glancing up at you. âIt was decent.â You shrugged. "I'd rather spend time with you than worry about sleep." He frowned at your response. "Y/n, don't say that. Ya' need your beauty rest." "Yeah yeah," You sighed, waving a hand dismissively. Remembering the rose, you showed it to him in question. "Did you leave this, Romeo?" You asked with a soft smile, one that he most definitely returned. "I did, yes. Why? Not romantic enough for ya'?" He teased. Rolling your eyes, you shook your head. "Of course it's romantic enough." You started, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his temple. "I just want to know what kind of ulterior motive you have going on." Elvis gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart in mock offence, looking up at you with widened Blue eyes. "Ulterior motives? My sweet Girl, you wound me! Can't a Man admire his Sweetheart without reason?"
You raised an eyebrow at him.
Groaning as he tilted his head back, Elvis relented. "Fine. Maybe I wanted our day to start off a little special." "Special?" You asked. He nodded. "Mhm. I thought that maybe we could...You know..." He paused, glancing off to the side in thought before continuing. "Get a little intimate together. It's...Been a while." Your smirk shifted to a softer smile once you realised that he had been wanting to get intimate with you again. After all, with his recent appointments he hadn't had time to spend with you in bed. And seeing him willing to give it a go despite the exhaustion sent flutters through your stomach. "Oh, El..." You spoke. "That's so sweet... Do you have anything in mind?"
Should you have asked...?
"Well..." Elvis started, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his lips before he continued speaking. "I was thinkin' 'bout maybe puttin' that cute li'l Cowgirl hat to use, to pretend a little." You paused, imagining yourself naked with only that stupid Cowgirl hat on riding Elvis silly. The thought alone made you squirm in excitement. "You're dirty." You snorted. "I'm dirty?" He parroted, cocking an eyebrow. "Now, Y/n, you should know me by now." He chuckled, rising from the lawn chair with a quiet grunt. "I don't sugarcoat anythin'. And I certainly won't sugarcoat what I wanna do to ya'." Pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, he tilted it upwards, forcing you to look at him properly. "Got it?" The way his voice deepened, the way his eyes seemed to bore into your own with such desire, such want- you never knew it was that easy to get wet before. "Yes, Sir..." You murmured in response, rubbing your thighs together already. Seeing this, Elvis slapped you right on the ass with a chuckle before ushering you along back towards the door. "C'mon, Sugar-bug. Let's get you in that bedroom."
As the two of you walked through Graceland's grand halls, you thought to yourself. How lucky you were to be with such a Man like Elvis. He was forty-two, a little on the heavier side but not like the tabloids suggested. He was ill, sure, but he still had enough love in him to share. Especially with you. You were his sunshine in the storm that surrounded him. His calm. His beloved. When he showed his love, he made sure to show it properly.
Even if it was by fucking your brains out on occasion.
"In you go, Hon." Elvis sang, opening the bedroom door for you to enter. You do as you're told, moving over to sit on the edge of the bed. "I'm assuming you have a plan?" You queried, watching as he wandered over to the dresser off to the side where he then opened a box you seemingly missed this morning when you awoke. "Mhm. You're gon' be a sweet ol' farm Girl, and I'm-" "Going to be my Stallion?" You interrupted, lifting a brow in question. He looked back at you with a faux disapproving expression on his slightly rounded face. "Now, did I say you could cut me off, li'l Girl?" He practically scolded you. Giggling, you shook your head. "No. Sorry, Daddy~" You answered politely, just as he taught you. "Hm." He hummed, eying you up before turning his attention back to the box, speaking again. "I'll be your Stallion, like you said."
Elvis pulled out a Stetson hat, a rich Brown colour wrapped in a Pink ribbon, rustic yet Feminine in nature. Then, he pulled out a length of rope, closing the box before turning around and approaching you. "Now, Sweetheart," He started, sitting down on the bed beside you and resting his large hand on your thigh oh-so-tenderly. "Wanna tell me how wet you've gotten already?" He purred out, caressing the smooth expanse of your thigh with intent, stroking up and up still, closer to your heated core. You couldn't deny that you were aroused already, but who could blame you? He had such a way that made you want him so badly. Before you could reply, Elvis's fingertips brushed against your wet panties, letting out a deep and sensual hum that gave you shivers. "Mmm, oh, Y/n," He tutted softly. "You're eager to be my li'l cowgirl, ain't ya'?" He inquired as his thumb found your clit through your underwear. Whimpering, you nodded, tilting your hips towards him subconsciously. "Not yet." He hushed you, undoing the sash to your silken robe before sliding the smooth fabric off of your body, pushing it aside. "I wanna get a taste o' what I've been missin'."
As Elvis pulled you towards him, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your underwear before sliding them down in an agonisingly slow pace. You bit your lower lip, propping yourself up on your elbows. He watched as a string of your arousal stretched between your underwear and your undeniably wet pussy, licking his plump lips with such want and need. "Goddamn..." He muttered huskily. Once your underwear were taken care of and out of the way, he scooted further up on the bed before leaning down in position, spreading your legs wider than they originally were. Without warning, he leaned in, dragging his tongue upwards, collecting your juices along the way. You gasped, shivering at the feel of his tongue on your most sensitive area. "You still taste like heaven..." He hummed, dipping his head back down to swirl his tongue around your clit, massaging your thighs in the process. You squirmed beneath his ministrations, giving out a soft whimper as you tipped your head back. "God, Elvis...Oh, that feels good..." You praised.
He continued to pleasure you with his tongue for a few more seconds before reluctantly pulling away, licking his lips. Elvis pulled his shirt overhead, trusting you with the vision of his body, something he didn't like to share nowadays. "As much as I love tastin' ya'," He started, unbuttoning his trousers as he spoke. "I wanna go for a ride, Baby." Hearing his request, that was enough for you to straighten up, pulling your nightgown overhead and tossing it aside carelessly. As he fumbled with his briefs, you reached over and grabbed the Stetson hat, placing it atop your head and giving the brim a firm tug. Finally naked, Elvis crawled further up the bed with quiet grunts of a Man complaining of his knees before finally settling down. He spread his legs, propping his head up on one pillow stacked above another, tilting his head in just the right way to be able to see you properly.
"Well?" He said. You ignored his call and reached again across from you, but this time for the rope that he had thrown on the bed. You pulled his hands together before gently binding his wrists, not too tight, but not too loosely either. And despite this, Elvis still grinned like an idiot. He was half-hard, his length straining to rise. You knew how to help just how he liked. You dipped your head down, opening your mouth allowing your saliva to drip down on his Manhood before swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. "Mmm... Go on." He urged in approval. You went further, taking his cock in your mouth, sucking on the tip as you used your hands to stroke his balls, feeling them draw up slightly. "You're good with them pretty hands, Baby..." He breathed out, tilting his hips upwards, wanting more of your mouth. But you deprived him of that pleasure, pulling away once he was hard enough. He whined like a Puppy, clenching his fists for a moment before relaxing them.
You crawled up his body, hovering over him as you lined yourself up, rubbing your pussy over his dick in a teasing gesture. And finally, you sank down on him, mouth falling open as you took inch after inch before you were filled completely. It was a few moments too long when you began to move, rocking back and forth at a steady pace, his cock sliding in and out of you like it was nothing. "Giddy up, Baby." You managed to growl out before starting to bounce, your tits bouncing along in delayed motion. "Fuck... Yeah, Baby..." He huffed, trying to reach for your hips only to be stopped by the rope that bound his wrists together.
"You like that?" You panted, trying to bounce harder, faster. All you felt was pleasure, and you wanted more. "Fuck yeah I like it...!" He groaned, his beautiful Blue eyes rolling back in his head out of pure pleasure. It was a pretty sight, you thought. "Elvis!" You shouted his name as you felt him hit that sweet spot deep inside you. You worked harder. "Daddy! Yes! Ohh!" You moaned loudly, arching your back in pleasure. It felt so good.
Time passed so quickly it felt like, and before you knew it, the two of you were orgasming together. After the exhausting few hours spent having sex together, the two of you lay together in bed, covers draped over your sweat drenched bodies. Elvis had you tucked into his side, rubbing your back soothingly as you rested your own hand on his chest, feeling the damp hair beneath your fingers. "I love you so much, Y/n..." He whispered softly as if admitting a secret. "You mean the world to me... Ya' know...?" You nodded, trailing your fingertips over his chest in a gentle caress. "I know... And I love you too..." You replied, your eyes closed in blissful peace. "I'll never trade you for anything else... You're my everything..." "As you are mine, Elvis..."
A beat of silence passed before Elvis spoke again, a soft smile on his lips. "Hey..." He called. "Do you... Want to start a Family...?" He wondered. Your eyes opened and you lifted your head, looking up at him with slightly widened and hopeful eyes. "A Family...?" You echoed. He nodded. "A Family. I know I'm gettin' old, but... I wanna start a nice big Family with you, Y/n. Give Lisa a li'l Brother or Sister. I just-" He paused, taking a deep breath in. "I want to spend the rest of my life with youâ With our Family. Together." Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, a stray tear rolling down your cheek. You smiled. "Of course, Elvis... Of course I want a Family with you..." With your response, Elvis reached down and wiped the tears from your eyes with a gentle and loving swipe of his thumb. "Then let's start a Family..."
#elvis presley#elvisaaronpresley#elvis fans#elvis fandom#elvis photos#70s elvis#elvis imagine#elvis the king#elvis x reader#elvis x you#elvis x y/n#elvis presley x reader#elvis presley x you#elvis presley x y/n#elvis presley fanfiction#elvis presley fic#elvis smut#elvis fluff
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Forever Young Part 4
Hey guys! We are back with this amazing fic! Since it's been a bit I'd recommend reading the last chapter: here or the from the beginning: here.
Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3
A bit of a longer chapter with lots of twists and turns and a brief cameo of Joyce and Hopper.
~
Will and Dustin looked at each other and sighed heavily.
âI forgot that there is a distinct messy side to science,â Dustin said, putting his hands on his hips and looking at the bags and bags of garbage out by the garage.
âLetâs see if we canât find gardening gloves or whatever to protect us...â he waved at the piles with a grimace, âfrom all of that.â
âGood idea,â Dustin agreed. âThere is bound to be broken bottles in there and I really donât have the desire to call Wayne about needing a ride to the hospital, thanks.â
They found gloves and got to work. They sorted out the bags that were clearly from earlier in the week and focused on the two bags that were the most likely culprits for being from last night.
âSo Iâm just seeing beer and joint butts,â Will said about twenty minutes later. âHow about you?â
Dustin sighed and pushed his bag away. âA whole lot of nothing. Like chip bags and other junk food detritus, no real heavy alcohol or anything that might mix badly with the weed.â
Will nodded. âIt just seems like their every day party with out us underaged teenagers. Different kinds of soda and other drinks but nothing that screams body altering drugs.â
He got to his feet and dusted off his knees. âThis was a complete bust.â
Dustin got up too. âI donât think so. Yeah, we didnât find anything, but that means that it wasnât drug or alcohol related. Thatâs something we cross off the list.â
âI suppose,â Will sighed as he pulled off his gloves. âLetâs go tell everyone we didnât find anything.â
âLetâs hope Dr. Owens has some ideas,â Dustin agreed, pulling off his gloves too. âBut Iâm plumb out.â
The other four kids were sitting on the sofa, talking among themselves.
âSorry, guys,â Dustin said flopping on the arm chair, while Will sat cross-legged on the floor. âThat was a bust. All they had last night was the usual stuff to get high and drunk.â
âOurs was unfruitful as well,â El said with a sigh. âDr. Owens said that they had never encountered physical regression before. But heâll look into it further and call back. I worry he may want to take blood tests.â
âHe can fuck off back to whatever hole he crawled out of,â Mike growled. âIâm not letting them do to Nancy what they did to El. I donât care.â
Lucas put his hand on Mikeâs arm. âAnd we wonât let them either. Especially with Wayne knowing whatâs going on. I have a feeling that if they tried to take Eddie, heâd storm the lab with nothing but a shotgun and enough ammo take on a third world country.â
Mike straightened and blinked for a moment. âOh, yeah. Heâd go all Rambo on their ass. Huh. That does make me feel better. Thanks!â
âNo problem,â Lucas said with a smile. âPlus if we add El and Erica to the mix, the lab would be razed the ground in seconds.â
El just batted her eyelashes at them sweetly.
âSo weâve got absolutely nothing,â Dustin said with a heavy sigh. âThe lab was no help, the garbage was no help. They canât tell us what went wrong. Weâre pretty much stuck until something else happens.â
âPretty much!â Mike huffed, throwing his head back against the couch cushion. âThis sucks. Iâve looked up to Nancy my whole life and after the monsters Iâve admired what a badass she was. But that little girl isnât the Nancy I grew up with. Like she knows sheâs going to be a big sister, but she doesnât understand what that means right now. For her itâs diaper changes and bottle feeding. Not being a reporter and shotguns.â
There was a creak on the stairs leading down to the basement and everyone looked over expecting Steve as he had slept earlier, but no it was Little Jonathan.
âI need to go to the bathroom,â he whispered shyly, sucking on his thumb.
Will was on his feet in an instant. One of the things that Lonnie liked to yell about either of his sons was that they were too soft. That they needed toughening up. The fact that Little Jonathan was still sucking his thumb at this age was sure sign that Lonnie was an ass and that there was no doubt he had hit his son for trying to get comfort somewhere in this big, wide world.
âCome with me,â he said gently. âIâll take you to the one up here and then show you where the one downstairs is so you if you spend the night you know where it is, okay?â
Little Jonathan nodded, taking Willâs hand. Will led the way and as he was about to close the door behind the toddler, Little Jonathan looked up him and cocked his head.
âWill the Wise,â he said solemnly. âYouâll find someone who loves you for you some day.â Then he toddled into the bathroom and closed the door, leaving a very stunned Will staring at the wooden surface.
When Little Jonathan came out he didnât seem to remember what he said before going into the bathroom. So Will just led him back to the living room where the teens were gathered.
âHey there, buddy,â Lucas said with a soft smile. âDid you want to try to go back to sleep or did you want to color until everyone else woke up?â
âMâmm awake...â came the slurred voice of Little Eddie from the floor. âJust restinâ my eyes.â He sat up sort of cross-legged and rubbed his eyes.
Max giggled. âSure are, big guy. All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.â
Then Little Robin came in, hair a mess and drool all over her face. âIâm thirsty, can I get some water?â
âSure!â Will said, his voice cracking. âEl wonât you take them to the kitchen, Iâm sure Eddie and Jonathan are thirsty too.â
El looked at him curiously, head cocked to the side. Then she nodded. âCome on, everyone hold hands like they did for lunch.â
The kids did as they were told and El took Little Robinâs hand to lead them into the kitchen.
The kids oohâed and awed when El used her powers to get the glasses down from the cupboard because it was too high for her to get.
âCups are easy,â Little Robin said with a giggle. âShe can throw cars with her mind, too!â
El froze and the cup headed for Little Eddie stopped too.
âSupergirl!â Little Eddie agreed, clapping his hands and reaching out for the cup. It took everything El had to let go of the cup so that Eddie could take it.
âYou should see her fly a helicopter!â Little Jonathan crowed. âItâs so cool!â
She watched them in wide-eyed amazement as they didnât seem to understand what it was they just said. They just happily drank the water given to them and then handed the cups back to her. She put them in the sink and then led them back out to the living room.
There was Little Nancy and Little Steve sitting on the floor with their heads together, playing tic-tac-toe as they waited for the other kids to come back.
âI think theyâre getting some of them memories back,â El said bluntly. âBut only in spurts.â
âI agree,â Dustin said putting his hands on his hips. âBut when it does happen, it doesnât stick around for long. Just a memory and then itâs gone.â
Max narrowed her eyes and then cocked her head back and forth. âWell you want to know what I think? I think we should just let them be kids for awhile.â
âWhat?â Lucas cried, springing to his feet. âWe need them as adults!â
âAnd thatâs the problem!â Max snapped back, getting to her feet, too. âWe rely on them too much. When do they get to be kids? Especially Jonathan, Steve, and Nancy. They were our age when they first met the Upside Down, when do they get to shirk their duties and have fun?â
Mike grabbed both Lucas and Max and started pushing them toward the hall, but before he could even get them turned around, Little Jonathan and Little Robin burst into tears. Mike closed his eyes.
âI was trying to avoid that,â he hissed through clenched teeth. âPlease take this argument elsewhere. Dustin and El, too. They donât need to hear this.â
There was a lot of shouting and protesting as even more of the kids started to cry.
Suddenly there was a piercing whistle from the doorway to the hall. All the teens stopped arguing even though the kids kept crying. They turned to the door and there was Joyce and Hopper standing there. Hopper had his fingers to his lips, pointing to him as the cause of the whistle.
The teenagers stared at them in shock and maybe a little bit of fear too. They were so busted.
âWhere did you lot get a bunch of children?â Hopper groused. âI donât think Iâd let any of ya babysit for love or money.â He crossed his arms over his chest.
Joyce smacked his chest. âJim!â she cried in amusement.
Suddenly Little Jonathan broke from the crowd of children and dashed straight for Joyceâs legs.
âMommy!â
Joyce scooped him up out of habit and then froze. âAll my babies are grown up, little one.â
Will and El shared a grimace.
Little Jonathan traced a scar on her chin. âDaddy did that. Iâm sorry, Mommy.â
Joyce and Jim both went wide-eyed.
Joyce moved Little Jonathan to her hip to get a better look at the little boy in her arms. âJonathan?â
The little boy nodded.
Of course the other kids were still screaming so Mike and Lucas each grabbed one of the girls to calm down first. Mike took Nancy and began cooing a lullaby. She hiccuped softly, her sobs slackening until they stopped all together.
Hopper waded in and picked up the two boys, bouncing each on his hip. El immediately stood up and grabbed Little Steve from him so he could focus on getting the one quiet. El reading Little Steveâs mind to find a song that would calm him and started humming that.
Once everyone had stopped screaming and Joyce was over her shock, she sat down on the sofa, her son in her arms.
âWill, whatâs going on?â she asked her other child.
âWe donât know,â Will huffed. âWe know itâs not Upside Down related. El and I checked, but they just woke up like that.â
âThey?â Hopper said, looking closer at the child in his arms. âHoly shiiiiivvva,â he said changing the last word at the last second.
âWhatâs a Shiva?â the little boy asked, cocking his head to the side and looking up at him with chocolate button eyes.
âShiva is an Indian god,â Hopper huffed. âWith too many arms and lots of rage issues.â
âSo holy Shiva makes sense,â Little Eddie said solemnly, nodding. âUncle Wayne said not to swear because theyâre big people words. Can I say holy Shiva instead of cussing?â
âSure, kid,â Hopper said with a huff of laughter.
âOh no,â Joyce said softly. âIf thatâs Eddie, and this is Jonathan are those...?â
Will sighed putting his head in his hands.
âIâm afraid so Mrs. Byers,â Dustin said, putting his hands on his hips. âSteve was the first one found like this, then Nancy and Jonathan. We assumed, rightly unfortunately, that Robin and Eddie were affected, too.â
âDoes Wayne know about his nephewâs cute-ifaction?â Hopper asked.
Max chewed on her thumbnail. âI think he was the first to know, but didnât reach out to the rest of us because he didnât know it had happen to the others, too.â
Hopper set Little Eddie down. âSounds like youâve got a bit of a mess. Especially since the reason Joyce and I stopped by is that weâve got to head out of town for a bit. We were hoping to make sure Steve was aware he had to keep an eye out for you lot.â
âIâm not sure we can leave knowing the older teens are kids now,â Joyce said, holding Jonathan to her chest.
Hopper just shook his head. âIâd agree with you, but Murray was pretty insistent we both be there.â
âIs it Upside Down related?â El asked, cocking her head to the side.
Joyce sighed and then looked over at Hopper.
âWe donât know yet,â Hopper explained calmly. âWe know that the Russians tried to open a gate before and if theyâve got someone like Henry Creel, they might try to insert them into the Upside Down to get control of it for their own ends.â
El nodded. âIâve been keeping an ear out for any stirrings, but there havenât been so far.â
He kissed her forehead. âThatâs good to know.â
âHow long will you be gone?â Will asked nervously. He remembered the last time his mom left and really didnât want to repeat that experience.
Joyce looked up at Hopper and then back at him. âI donât know love. I know things went bad last time, but that was because a general went crazy and tried to kill El. That wonât happen this time, I promise.â
âNo offense, maâam,â Lucas huffed. âBut I really donât think thatâs a promise you can make. I get that it might be Upside Down related, but I donât know about anyone else, Iâm getting tired of grown ups leaving us behind to take on problems well beyond our capacity.â
âYou watch your tone, young man,â Joyce said sternly. âItâs not your place to tell adults what they can or cannot do.â
âThen itâs a good thing Iâve still got PTO coming to me then, isnât it?â Wayne growled from behind them.
âWayne!â Lucas breathed in relief.
âWent out bought somethings for youngsters,â he said holding up his loot. âYou two can go do what you want. Iâll handle this.â
Joyce chewed on her lip and then set Little Jonathan down gently. âIâm going away for a couple of days, but Mr. Munson is going to watch you and your new friends. Youâll be safe, I promise.â
Lucas rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut.
âIâll take care of it,â Wayne repeated more sternly.
Joyce pressed her lips tightly and then nodded. She pulled money out her purse and handed it to Wayne. âTo help cover any food they might need.â
Wayne set down some of the bags he had and took the money. âThank you.â
âWeâll be in contact,â Hopper said squeezing his shoulder. âKeep the walkie nearby.â
They all nodded.
âWho wants to help me make dinner?â Wayne said with a grin, turning back to the other kids.
A cheer went up.
~
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perfect strangers.
masterlist requests word count: 990
a/n: literally the entire inspiration for this fic was the song "perfect strangers" by jonas blue and jp cooper lol. h[ope you enjoy it, because it was actually really fun to write, and i'd love to do more fics like this! genre: fluff. warnings: partying, alcohol, kissing. (but not in like an angsty way If you get what I mean)
summary: you meet pablo gavi at a rooftop party and end the night no longer strangers.
The musicâs loud enough to rattle your ribs, and the rooftopâs packed full of people doing all sorts of things - dancing, yelling, drinking like itâs the only thing they know how to do. And somehow, it all works. The night feels bigger than it should.Â
Your drinkâs half-warm, your hairâs messy and sticking to your neck and forehead, and youâre pretty sure that youâve smiled more in the last hour than you have in the past month. This wasnât supposed to be a real party, just a friend of a friendâs birthday, but now itâs turned into something, loud, chaotic, and kinda perfect.
And then you see him.Â
Youâve seen him around before, Pablo - or Gavi, depending on whoâs yelling his name. But this is the first time heâs actually looked at you like this. Like he recognises you, even though youâve never even spoken to one another.Â
He walks up like heâs already in the middle of a conversation with you.Â
âYouâve been avoiding me,â he shouts over the music, grinning.Â
You raise an eyebrow. âIâve literally never talked to you.â
He laughs. âExactly.â
You snort. âRight. That makes total sense.â
âI just think itâs kind of a waste, yâknow?â he says, brown eyes not leaving yours. âFeels like we shouldâve met already.â
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. âThatâs your pick-up line?â
âNot really. Iâm just being honest.â
Your brain tells you to walk away. To say something sarcastic and disappear back into the massive crowd. But itâs summer, itâs late, and youâre bored in that specific kind of way that makes bad decisions seem good.Â
So, instead, you say, âAlright then. Letâs fix it.â
He holds out a hand. âDance with me?â
You donât think twice.Â
You end up dancing in that way that isnât really dancing, just moving to the beat of the music and singing obnoxiously, bumping into each other and half-laughing the whole time. Heâs not a bad dancer, but heâs not trying too hard. Heâs famous, but he doesnât act like heâs better than anyone else here. Just like heâs enjoying the party even more now that youâre standing in front of him.
He spins you once, just to mess with you, and you roll your eyes, but go with it. He catches you when you tipsily almost lose your balance, and you both laugh like idiots.Â
âYou always like this?â you ask, yelling over the music.Â
âLike what?â
âLike youâve got it all figured out. Cool and charming or whatever.â He leans closer so you can hear him. âI just go with it.â
âYouâre saying this isnât all part of your plan?â
âNah. But if it was, itâd probably end with us making out on my couch.â
You laugh, not because itâs the perfect line, because it certainly isnât, but because he says it like itâs the most obvious thing in the world.Â
âYouâre full of it,â you tell him. âMaybe. You gonna kiss me or what?â âNot yet.â
âOkay,â he replies, still grinning and dancing. âI can wait.â
You pull him away from the crowd when the sweat and noise get to be too much. The stairwell is quiet, cooler, kinda dirty, but neither of you cares. You lean against the wall and take a breath, looking at him in the soft yellow lighting.Â
He looks different here. Less cocky, more curious and handsome. Like he wants to ask you something, but his mind canât quite put the question together.Â
âAlright,â he says after a second. âGive me something real.â
You squint at him. âWhat does that even mean?â
âJust⌠be honest. Not surface-level stuff.â
You pause, then shrug. âI donât like getting too happy.âÂ
He frowns because that definitely isnât the kind of answer he was expecting. âWhy not?â
âBecause⌠it never lasts. Night like this,â you gesture vaguely at the roof, âsadly, they fade. They donât last.â
He leans against the wall next to you, not touching, but close. âMaybe thatâs the point. That theyâre not supposed to last.â
You look at him for a second before chuckling softly. âThatâs actually kinda deep.â
He glances over, a small smile on his face. âYour turn to ask something.â
âFine. Who are you when youâre not Gavi? Whoâs just⌠plain old Pablo?â
He thinks about it. âStill figuring it out.â
You nod. Fair enough.Â
Itâs silent for a while. But itâs not awkward⌠Itâs comfortable. Surprisingly.
âI donât really feel like going back in, honestly,â you say quietly.Â
âThen donât.â âYouâre not gonna get bored hiding in the stairwell with me?â
âNope,â he says simply.Â
You turn to him. âSo what now then?â He meets your eyes. âNow I kiss you, if thatâs alright.â
You donât really say anything. Just step in a little closer.Â
The kiss is soft. Not fireworks, not slow-motion, no heel popping, or sparkling eyes. Just two people who arenât quite strangers anymore. His hand manages to find your waist, yours slides up to his neck, and for a second, the blaring music and the city and all the noise drop away.Â
When you pull back, youâre still close. Foreheads almost touching. Heâs smiling like he knows something you donât.Â
âThat wasnât bad,â you say.Â
He raises an eyebrow, âJust⌠ânot badâ?â
You laugh. âYouâll live.â
You end up sitting on the curb out front, so late, or rather, early, that the sun has started to rise, the sky a beautiful golden pink. His hoodie is draped over your shoulders. The streetâs mostly empty now, except for the few drunken young people stumbling towards their Ubers.Â
He bumps your shoulder. âSo⌠weâre not strangers anymore, huh?â
You glance over at him. âGuess not.â
He nods like that settles things. Like he knew it would go like this from when he first asked to dance.Â
You lean back on your hands, exhale slowly, and let yourself enjoy the moment.Â
The night didnât last⌠but maybe this could.
#pablo gavi#gavi#pablo gavi fic#gavi fic#obvithebestsoph!gavi#pablo gavi x reader#gavi x reader#fc barcelona#fanfiction#football#football fic#culer#PG6#Spotify
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hi i love ur fics a lot. i was wondering if u have any thoughts/advice for how to deal with knowing that your ao3 fics have been craped. i just figured out that every fic i ever posted (about 20 fics, hundreds of thousands of words) were all scraped in that ao3 situation a few months ago, and im kind of stuck not knowing how i want to deal with that. i left up all of my older fics hoping that theyd stay there for a few people to find joy in, but now it just feels awful thinking that everything ive ever written publicly and put my heart into has been fed into AI. its just. painful.
sorry if this is heavy. love your works a lot and really love hearing your thoughts on things
Iâm so sorry that happened anon. I donât want to undersell how tragic and frustrating it is to see your work taken and used without your permission. Itâs heartbreaking and kills your love for the art itself.
I think what helps me the most is making peace with the fact that once I post something on the internet I no longer have true control over it. I canât guarantee itâs ever fully deleted, I canât change who has seen it, and it will always be vulnerable to plagiarism, AI scrapes, and more.
Itâs my work but I donât own it. I donât have a legal right to it. I love it and FEEL like I own it, but I donât. I have some control over it, but not as much as I want. And I have to make peace with that, like I said. I have to accept that even without AI this loss of control is still present when we publish stuff on the internet.
The thing is so many people find joy in your work! And thatâs what keeps me going. The comments from kind readers. Someone mentioning my fic on tumblr. Those matter so much more to me than yanking my fics down or locking them to avoid scrapes. I do this because at the end of the day I want people to read my stuff and enjoy it. And I need to stay focused on that or the AI/bot stuff can and will drive me crazy.
I donât judge anyone for the choices they make one way or the other about AI. But I will say I think preventing scrapes is a bit like closing the barn door when the horses are all out. The question isnât, what do you do if you get scraped, but how do you move forward knowing you have been scraped and you probably will be again? Only you can answer that question đ much love anon
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Water from the Moon (part 3).
Wc: 2.6k
Warnings: angst?
A/n: This is⌠meh. I didnât want to give it a happy(?) ending at first but changed my mind at the last minute so it feels a bit bleh. But more fics about him on the way. In the mean time, enjoy?
âWell? How was it? You havenât said anything about my art show last night. In fact, you havenât said anything since last night.â Brianna frowns at her friendâs forlon form.
And yes, Mahina is sure she has just been wandering around looking like she has seen a ghost.
âHow long have you known that Jayden has been in love with me?â
Brianna halts the motion of her hands that were rubbing circular motions on top of her kitchen island. The cup of coffee she placed in front of Mahinaâs seated figure has long gone coldâ the steamy tendrils no longer performing a swirling dance above the yellow mug.
âFuck⌠how did you-â Brianna sucks in a trembling breath through her mouth. âDid he tell you?â
âYes. He saw me admiring that art work, An Ode to the Moon? Beautiful by the way, youâre so talented and thoughtful and clever.â She laughs wetly, she didnât even realize she was crying. Again.
âI figured what the message was but he filled in the missing pieces for me. Why didnât you tell me?â
âIt wasnât my business to tell, Mahina.â Brianna says gently. Truthfully.
âI know, itâs just⌠he also said other things and IâŚâ
âOther things like what?â
The woman pulls a stool closer to sit by her side.
Mahina hiccups, trying to keep her sobbing at bay.
âHe basically said that Jules might like me a lot more than I think he does? And that he knows Iâm in love with Jules. He admitted that he begged Jules to not go further with me because heâs been in love with me. But Jules couldnât stay away? I donât know.â Mahina wipes at her nose in a messy show of frustration.
âWhat the hell⌠I only found out about Jayden when you left. I had no idea about all the other stuff.â
âI donât know what to do. Jules still broke my heart; he handled my confession so poorly, it doesnât matter if Jaydenâs words are true or not. But I stillâŚâ Mahina doesnât want to say the words. She feels pathetic. Therapy made the burden easier to carry, it didnât make her fall out of love with him. At all.
âItâs okay, I get it-â
âBut I donât want to do that to Jayden. I know what heartbreak feels like, I wouldnât want to do that to Jayden or anyone.â
Brianna immediately pulls her into her body.
âDonât do that. This situation with Jayden is very different. You wouldnât be breaking his heart intentionally and you canât force yourself to fall in love with someone. Heâs my brother but I know where your heart is; Iâm sure Jayden has already forgiven you.â
Mahina buries her face in Briannaâs warm skin like leech in search of comfort.
âWhat should I do?â
Mahina whispers brokenly.
âTalk to them. I saw Jules after he left you last night and he looked distraught. I donât know what you told him but it seemed to have really affected him. I was happy last night but knowing this nowâŚâ Brianna trails off with a heavy sigh.
âOkayâŚâ
*********
Growing up, Mahina always organized tasks in order of difficulty. Whether it be chores, homework, questions on examsâsheâd run everything through her head and sequence them in easiest to most difficult. Then, she would tackle the easier ones first to get them out of the way. It gave her enough time and motivation to handle the arduous tasks after. Thatâs why Mahina chooses to speak to Jayden first. Pulling into his driveway again makes her shiver. This is where everything started. It almost feels surreal knowing what she knows now. Jayden suggested they meet at a restaurant for dinner, but Mahina isnât in the mood to deal with paparazzi and she didnât want him to get the wrong idea. Sheâs here to let him down as gently as she canâ doing that in public all dressed up just feels cruel. Thereâs also the small fact that Jayden is not single. Jayden swings the door open on her first knock. He was waiting; no, anticipating. Mahinaâs heart plummets.
âHey. You look beautiful.â
Jayden steps aside for her to enter his modern mansion. Itâs the first time Mahina has seen it empty. Just them. Fuck.
âI look awful, Jayden.â She gives a sad little laugh. The bags under her eyes are the kind not even concealers can hideâ dark and heavy. She didnât sleep a wink last night and spent most of the night and morning crying. Her braids are thrown in a sloppy bun and her outfit is nothing more than an oversized shirt with a pair of biker shorts.
âStill beautiful.â
âJayden⌠please.â
The man scratches at his cornrows, then his beard. His chest is bare and he wears a pair of red basketball shorts. His bright hazel eyes look a little dull and she hates it. Heâs so gorgeous and there was a period in her teenage life where she was crushing on him. But Jayden would make himself scarce sometimes when she came around, so Mahina was convinced he thought of her as his little sisterâs annoying friend and nothing more. It was easy to shake after a year and she started viewing him like an annoying big brother again. He was protective of them both and would always buy them snacks or let them play his video games.
âIâm sorry.â He walks over to plop himself on his couch.
âSo Iâm guessing this visit wonât be pleasant for me huh?â A smirk stretches his plump lips but his sad eyes pin her in place.
Mahina slowly walks over to stand between his opened legs. He sits up, running his hands along the length of her thighs before settling them on her hips.
âIâm sorry, Jayden. Iâve been thinking about you all night and all the things Iâve ever felt for you. I know there was a period in our childhood that I had a silly little crush but⌠Iâve spent most of my life viewing you as my friendâs brother and thatâs it.â Her chin wobbles as she blinks rapidly.
âDonât cry, Luna. You canât be sad about that.â
Jayden stands to pull her into his body. Heâs the one being rejected and heâs giving her comfort. It makes her cry harder.
âIâm sorry, Jayden.â
He holds her until her sobbing are only little hiccups.
âPlease donât hate me.â She begs pathetically.
He pulls back to look down at her distressed face, wet with tears.
âHow could anyone ever hate you, Luna?â
And sheâs not sure if itâs the words he utters or the soft look in his eyes, but she grasps his face in her hands, stands on the tips of her toes and pulls him down into a kiss. Jaydenâs sigh is one of pure bliss as he melts into it. His lips are warm and his mouth is gentle. Nothing like Julesâ demanding one. The kiss is slow and unhurried. Nothing like the scorching, all consuming way Jules kisses herâ like he wants to literally absorb her into his body. And Mahina? Mahina feels nothing. It just feels like sheâs touching her lips to another pair of lips. It feels like giving a friend comfortâ almost like a hug. Tame. Safe. He doesnât make her heart race or her skin warm or makes her tummy flutter. Not the way He does. Mahina pulls away from him gently. Jayden tries to chase her lips but she buries her face in his neck.
âIâm sorry, Jayden. I hope you find someone who deserves you. â She whispers for the umpteenth time.
âItâs okay, Luna. Iâll be okay.â
They stay in each otherâs embrace for minutes before Jayden breaks the silence.
âTalk to Jules. Heâs pretty torn up.â
âOkay.â
***********
Mahina delays the inevitable for another two days. Jules had answered her phone call after the first ring a few hours ago. She doesnât want to imagine him staring at his phone for the past couple of days just hoping. He too, invited her out to have a conversation over dinner, but she really isnât in the mood for that. Not yet. Julesâ apartment complex is a lot more subtle than Jaydenâs house but still luxurious. The man is waiting for her in the lobby as she steps out of Briannaâs car. He moves to embrace her when sheâs within arms length but thinks better of it at the last second. He drops his hands by his sides uselessly. Sheâs blown away by how gorgeous he is every time. His features are so delicate against his face, mouth small but lips plump, eyes big, brown and beautiful. His locs frame his face almost lovinglyâ falling into it without hiding any of his features. She always says she wishes she had turned him down that fateful night they met, but she always laughs at the thought every time she sees him again. No way she wouldâve been able to resist. His scent immediately assaults her senses. Gosh she missed him. She missed so much it hurt.
âHey.â He mumbles with a timid edge to his voice thatâs so unlike him.
âHi.â
Mahina sucks her bottom lip into her mouth as they stand awkwardly in the lobby.
âShould weâŚ?â She trails off and gestures upstairs.
âOh! Shit, of course.â
Mahina almost breaks into a smile at how flustered he clearly is. They climb the stairs in tense silence. He lives on the third floor so they decided to skip the elevator. Their footsteps echo loudly in the stairwell, drowning out the sound of their ragged breathsâ not from exertion but from the anxiety of unsaid words; from the unsurety of where this conversation will lead them.
âDo you want something to drink? I have pink lemonade.â Is the first thing out of his mouth as he closes the door behind them.
Mahina wants to laugh at him trying to bait her with her favourite drink.
âYes please.â
She makes herself comfortable on his white couch like she used to do many times before. He returns and places the drink on the small coffee table in front of the couch.
âDo you want to watch someth-â
âNo, Jules. We need to talk.â She says solemnly.
âYouâre right.â
âSo talk. I was at- I heard Jaydenâs side but I want to hear it from you.â
âWhat exactly did Jayden say?â
His tone isnât angry, just doubtful.
âDoesnât matter. Tell me your side of the story.â
He scrubs a heavy hand down his face. His shoulders suddenly slump under the weight of the feelings he has been carrying.
âI⌠Iâm going to be honest; at first it was just hooking up, youâre beautiful and the moment I saw you at his party I knew I wanted to⌠get involved.â He says with a furrow between his brows, like the words arenât exactly what he wanted to say. But Mahina sits patiently.
âI remember exactly when my feelings⌠flipped? changed?â
He almost seems frustrated, and Mahina knows that he struggles to find the right words in English sometimes so she encourages him.
âI understand what you mean, go on.â
âIt was after that battering we took. We lost by four goals, and two of those goals were my fault. I was feeling like shit, but you came over anyway. You came over without me asking. You came in and you made me a meal and you rubbed my shoulders and you let me just⌠be angry in your presence. No words, no sex. You were just here for me, a quiet reassurance?â
She nods, her throat tightening up. She remembers vividly. By that time, she was already feeling things for him deeply as well.
âThatâs when I first brought it up to Jayden. I think he always suspected we mightâve been hooking up but he ignored it. I spoke to him about dating you. He pretended to support me at first, but a couple days later, after another victory he threw another party and got drunk. Thatâs when he confessed. I felt like shit.â He sucks in deep breath, his index fingers tracing aimless patterns against his knee.
âI promised I wouldnât go further with you and I tried to stop seeing you. I swear I did, but I just couldnât. It wasnât just the mind blowing sex, it was just your very presence. Your quiet understanding. Your pretty smile, your boisterous laugh.â He laughs a little before continuing. âIn my stupid head I thought we could both ignore our feelings and just enjoy each other. Jayden realized I was still⌠so things grew a little tense between us but I told him I havenât-â
âThis is all so stupid.â Mahina laughs incredulously.
âYouâre both grown men who put me in such a shitty position just because none of you wanted to open your fucking mouth to say something?!
Jules drops his head to avoid her eyes.
âI canât apologize enough, Mahina. When Brianna told me you left, it felt like my heart..â he trails off to gesticulate a ripping motion with both his hands.
âSo, youâre trying to tell me you liked me all that time? Even though you were parading all those women in my face?â
âI thought⌠It would help both of us get over our feelings and also convince Jayden that nothing serious was happening between us. It was stupid and nothing happened between me and most of them.â
Mahina sighs. Reaching for the bottle, she takes several sips of juice. What heâs saying makes sense but itâs still so childish and ridiculous she doesnât even know how to start processing all of it.
âSounds stupid right?â
âYes it does. Do you know how it feels seeing someone you love with another person?â Her eyes are getting teary again and she groans in frustration.
âNo. Youâve never been with anyone else.â
It takes a few seconds for her to notice and she laughs when she does.
âSo you love me now?â
Mahina stands from his couch.
âIt was good to see you, Jules.â
He stands and grasps her wrist gently.
âPlease Mahina, please. Donât leave like this.â
Her skin burns where he touches her. The menagerie is released to create a stampede in her lower belly. Why does he affect her like this? Because youâre in love, idiot.
âYou canât expect me to just⌠after one conversation, Jules. You really hurt me.â
Sheâs teary eyed but she melts against his body that suddenly pressed to her back.
âI know, Mahina. I just need the chance to show you how sorry I am. Just one chance to prove to you that I actually feel what I say I do.â His lips are warm against her shoulder and she sighs in content.
âI live in London. Your schedule is packed.â
âIâll call you regularly. Iâll come visit if youâll allow me when you canât.â
His hands rub at her sides tenderly.
âI⌠It's going to be difficult. Iâm going to push at every opportunity. I love you, but I have some resentment that I canât just let go of.â
âAnd I still want to try.â
It couldnât hurt to try, right?
That question is answered for her when he slowly tilts her head in his direction and captures her lips in a kiss. Mahina shivers down to her very toes; her very soul sings at finally being reunited with the man she loves. No matter how much she tried to deny it, it was always him for her. She just prays he feels the same.
âOkay. We can try.â
#black woman#football#football fanfic#jules kounde#jules koundĂŠ fanfic#jules kounde x black reader#jules kounde x you#fc barcelona
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Have you published this yet? đ i NEED IT

I have not, I'm so sorry đ I am a very slow writer and fake dating real feelings turned into a longer fic than I anticipated!! I do have a tag for it now where I post snippets, and here's some more of The Phone Call as an apology for how long this dang fic is taking (little language warning for anyone who needs it!):


#tysm for your interest!!#i don't want to jinx anything by saying when i HOPE to post it by#but now that most of the july writing challenges have wrapped up i can shift my focus back to it + the ice cream shop au#something i've learned is the longer i stare at a fic the more i will doubt myself#so writing anything longer than 3-4k words is Really Stressful#but i truly do love this fic sm and i'm so hopeful and determined to do it justice !!#it's 3 chapters and a part of me just wants to like post the first one and get it out there#but a larger part of me kind of wants to be able to post it on some kind of definite schedule#and chapter 3 was giving me a Problem as of like a week and a half ago#fake dating real feelings#liza writes#erasermic#aizawa shouta#yamada hizashi#ask#long post
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the desire to write smth so good thatâs just. aching but in the best way? smth that lingers long past reading. smth that makes you get up in the middle to pace around before sitting back down to pick it up again because the emotions are reeling.
so you start to type only to realise thatâs one biiiiig skill gap đŤ
#story of my LIFE#everyday i think about this#i want the next col fic to be really good đĽ˛#or at least one of the longer ones i have lined up but i know itâll be the most painstaking process ever#and idk if i can even do it aksnkzkdjxn#its like i have a vision of how i want it to feel but dk how to get there#this also applies to everyth else#was just talking to my bf earlier abt smth im designing and how itll probs be a pain to code#and he was like âjust try and do it bc if uâre going to be scared all the time youâll never knowâ#and itâs blunt and it didnât sound good to hear but heâs Real for that and i guess thatâs why i Love him đĽ˛#anyway. gonna write this megumi fic now. ive been grumbling abt it for so long i want this to be the last time i talk abt it#i talked so much again
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I want to make it very clear that I do not have writers block, the only reason I havenât finished that Aoinene fic yet is bcuz Iâm lazy af. And because my sister keeps asking to hang out every time I sit down to work on it and I canât break the sacred bond of sibling timeđ
#i figured a bit of self public shaming would give me motivation#itâs at like 10k now so i have been working on it#just not as much as i would like to be#like i wanted to have it finished last week and here we are#maybe iâm being too hard on myself idk 10k is already longer than most of my fics#we still have a long way to go but for a fic thatâs a bit longer Iâm actually surprised iâve gotten that much done so fast#every time i post that iâve been working hard or plan to write a lot i suddenly get writers block#itâs like a curse#so iâm hoping this post will benefit me in a reverse psychology way#the apple emoji is an easter egg btw#my new favorite thing is promoting my fics like iâm taylor swift herself#gives me a bit of an ego boost#but really i just do it bcuz iâm silly#this is the second time iâve used apple symbolism in a nene ship fic have i run out of ideas or smth???#itâs slightly different this time tho i swear#yaâll are gonna love it#aoinene#flower fish#yashikane#nene yashiro#aoi akane#archive of our own#ao3#ao3 writer#writing#fan fiction#fanfic#i need to eat
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SO HERE IS THE WHOLE STORY (SO FAR).
I am on my knees begging you to reblog this post and to stop reblogging the original ones I sent out yesterday. This is the complete account with all the most recent info; the other one is just sending people down senselessly panicked avenues that no longer lead anywhere.
IN SHORT
Cliff Weitzman, CEO of Speechify and (aspiring?) voice actor, used AI to scrape thousands of popular, finished works off AO3 to list them on his own for-profit website and in his attached app. He did this without getting any kind of permission from the authors of said work or informing AO3. Obviously.
When fandom at large was made aware of his theft and started pushing back, Weitzman issued a non-apology on the original social media postsâusingÂ
his dyslexia;Â
his intent to implement a tip-system for the plagiarized authors; andÂ
a sudden willingness to take down the work of every author who saw my original social media posts and emailed him individually with a âvalidâ claim,
as reasons we should allow him to continue monetizing fanwork for his own financial gain.
When we less-than-kindly refused, he took down his âapologiesâ as well as his website (allegedlyâitâs possible that our complaints to his web host, the deluge of emails he received or the unanticipated traffic brought it down, since there wasnât any sort of official statement made about it), and when it came back up several hours later, all of the work formerly listed in the fan fiction category was no longer there.Â
THE TAKEAWAYS
1. Cliff Weitzman (aka Ofek Weitzman) is a scumbag with no qualms about taking fanwork without permission, feeding it to AI and monetizing it for his own financial gain;Â
2. Fandom can really get things done when it wants to, andÂ
3. Our fanworks appear to be hidden, but theyâre NOT DELETED from Weitzmanâs servers, and independently published, original works are still listed without the authors' permission. We need to hold this man responsible for his theft, keep an eye on both his current and future endeavors, and take action immediately when he crosses the line again.Â
THE TIMELINE, THE DETAILS, THE SCREENSHOTS (behind the cut)
Sunday night, December 22nd 2024, I noticed an influx in visitors to my fic You & Me & Holiday Wine. When I searched the title online, hoping to find out where they came from, a new listing popped up (third one down, no less):

This listing is still up today, by the way, though now when you follow the link to word-stream, it just brings you to the main site. (Also, to be clear, this was not the cause for the influx of traffic to my fic; word-stream did not link back to the original work anywhere.)
I followed the link to word-stream, where to my horror Y&M&HW was listed in its entiretyâthough, beyond the first half of the first chapter, behind a paywallâalong with a link promising to take meâthrough an app downloadable on the Apple Storeâto an AI-narrated audiobook version. When I searched word-stream itself for my ao3 handle I found both of my multi-chapter fics were listed this way:

Because the tags on my fics (which included genres* and characters, but never the original IPs**) werenât working, I put âKara Danversâ into the search bar and discovered that many more supercorp fics (Supergirl TV fandom, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor pairing) were listed.

I went looking online for any mention of word-stream and AI plagiarism (the coversâas well as the ridiculously inflated number of reviews and ratingsâmade it immediately obvious that AI fuckery was involved), but found almost nothing: only one single Reddit post had been made, and it received (at that time) only a handful of upvotes and no advice.Â
I decided to make a tumblr post to bring the supercorp fandom up to speed about the theft. I draw as well as write for fandom and Iâve only ever had to deal with art theftâwhich has a clear set of steps to take depending on where said art was repostedâand I was at a loss regarding where to start in this situation.
After my post went up I remembered Project Copy Knight, which is worth commending for the work theyâve done to get fic stolen from AO3 taken down from monetized AI 'audiobookâ YouTube accounts. I reached out to @echoekhi, asking if theyâd heard of this site and whether they could advise me on how to get our works taken down.

While waiting for a reply I looked into Copy Knightâs methods and decided to contact OTWâs legal department:

And then I went to bed.
By morning, tumblr friends @makicarn and @fazedlight as well as a very helpful tumblr anon had seen my post and done some very productive sleuthing:



@echoekhi had also gotten back to me, advising me, as expected, to contact the OTW. So I decided to sit tight until I got a response from them.
That response came only an hour or so later:Â

Which was 100% understandable, but still disappointingâI doubted a handful of individual takedown requests would accomplish much, and I wasnât eager to share my given name and personal information with Cliff Weitzman himself, which is unavoidable if you want to file a DMCA.
I decided to take it to Reddit, hoping it would gain traction in the wider fanfic community, considering so many fandoms were affected. My Reddit posts (with the updates at the bottom as they were emerging) can be found here and here.
A helpful Reddit user posted a guide on how users could go about filing a DMCA against word-stream here (to wobbly-at-best results)
A different helpful Reddit user signed up to access insight into word-streams pricing. Comment is here.

Smells unbelievably scammy, right? In addition to those audacious pricesâthough in all fairness any amount of money would be audacious considering every work listed is accessible elsewhere for freeâmy dyscalculia is screaming silently at the sight of that completely unnecessary amount of intentionally obscured numbers.
Speaking of which! As soon as the post on r/AO3âand, as a result, my original tumblr postâbegan taking off properly, sometime around 1 pm, jumpscare! A notification that a tumblr account named @cliffweitzman had commented on my post, and I got a bit mad about the gist of his message :

Fortunately he caught plenty of flack in the comments from other users (truly you should check out the comment section, it is extremely gratifying and people are making tremendously good points), in response to which, of course, he first tried to both reiterate and renegotiate his point in a second, longer comment (which I didnât screenshot in time so Iâm sorry for the crappy notification email formatting):

which he then proceeded to also post to Reddit (this is another Reddit userâs screenshot, I didnât see it at all, the notifications were moving too fast for me to follow by then)

... where he got a roughly equal amount of righteously furious replies. (Check downthread, they're still there, all the way at the bottom.)
After which Cliff went ahead & deleted his messages altogether.Â
Itâs not entirely clear whether his account was suspended by Reddit soon after or whether he deleted it himself, but considering his tumblr account is still intact, I assume itâs the former. He made a handful of sock puppet accounts to play around with for a while, both on Reddit and Tumblr, only one of which I have a screenshot of, but since they all say roughly the same thing, youâre not missing much:

And then word-stream started throwing a DNS error.
That lasted for a good number of hours, which was unfortunately right around the time that a lot of authors first heard about the situation and started asking me individually how to find out whether their work was stolen too. I do not have that information and I am unclear on the perimeters Weitzman set for his AI scraper, so this is all conjecture: it LOOKS like the fics that were lifted had three things in common:
They were completed works;
They had over several thousand kudos on AO3; and
They were written by authors who had actively posted or updated work over the past year.
If anyone knows more about these perimeters or has info that counters my observation, please let me know!
I finally thought to check/alert evil Twitter during this time, and found out that the news was doing the rounds there already. I made a quick thread summarizing everything that had happened just in case. You can find it here.
I went to Bluesky too, where fandom was doing all the heavy lifting for me already, so I just reskeeted, as you do, and carried on.
Sometime in the very early evening, word-stream went back upâbut the fan fiction category was nowhere to be seen. Tentative joy and celebration!***
Thatâs when several usersâthe ones who had signed up for accounts to gain intel and had accessed their own fics that wayâreported that their work could still be accessed through their history. Relevant Reddit post here.
Soooâ
Weâre obviously not done. The fanwork that was stolen by Weitzman may be inaccessible through his website right now, but they arenât actually gone. And the fact that Weitzman wasnât willing to get rid of them altogether means he still has plans for them.Â
This was my final edit on my Reddit post before turning off notifications, and it's pretty much where my head will be at for at least the foreseeable future:

Please feel free to add info in the comments, make your own posts, take whatever action you want to take to protect your work. I only beg youâseriously, Iâm on my knees hereâto not give up like I saw a handful of people express the urge to do. Keep sharing your creative work and remain vigilant and stay active to make sure we can continue to do so freely. Visit your favorite fics, and the ones youâve kept in your âmarked for laterâ lists but never made time to read, and leave kudos, leave comments, support your fandom creatives, celebrate podficcers and support AO3. We created this place and itâs our responsibility to keep it alive and thriving for as long as we possibly can.
Also FUCK generative AI. It has NO place in fandom spaces.
THE 'SMALL' PRINT (some of it in all caps):
*Weitzman knew what he was doing and can NOT claim ignorance. One, itâs pretty basic kindergarten stuff that you donât steal some other kidâs art project and present it as your own only to act surprised when they protest and then tell the victim that they should have told you sooner that they didnât want their project stolen. And two, he was very careful never to list the IPs these fanworks were based on, so itâs clear he was at least familiar enough with the legalities to not get himself in hot water with corporate lawyers. Fucking over fans, though, he figured he could get away with that.Â
**A note about the AI that Weitzman used to steal our work: itâs even greasier than it looks at first glance. Itâs not just the method he used to lift works off AO3 and then regurgitate onto his own website and app. Looking beyond the untold horrors of his AI-generated cover âartâ, in many cases these covers attempt to depict something from the fics in question that canât be gleaned from their summaries alone. In addition, my fics (and I assume the others, as well) were listed with generated genres; tags that did not appear anywhere in or on my fic on AO3 and were sometimes scarily accurate and sometimes way off the mark. I remember You & Me & Holiday Wine had âfound familyâ (100% correct, but not tagged by me as such) and I believe The Shape of Soup was listed as, among others, âenemies to friends to loversâ and âlove triangleâ (both wildly inaccurate). Even worse, not all the fic listed (as authors on Reddit pointed out) came with their original summaries at all. Often the entire summary was AI-generated. All of these things make it very clear that it was an all-encompassing scrapeânot only were our fics stolen, they were also fed word-for-word into the AI Weitzman used and then analyzed to suit Weitzmanâs needs. This means our work was literally fed to this AI to basically do with whatever its other users want, including (one assumes) text generation.Â
***Fan fiction appears to have been made (largely) inaccessible on word-stream at this time, but Iâm hearing from several authors that their original, independently published work, which is listed at places like Kindle Unlimited, DOES still appear in word-streamâs search engine. This obviously hurts writers, especially independent ones, who depend on these works for income and, as a rule, donât have a huge budget or a legal team with oceans of time to fight these battles for them. If you consider yourself an author in the broader sense, beyond merely existing online as a fandom author, beyond concerns that your own work is immediately at risk, DO NOT STOP MAKING NOISE ABOUT THIS.
PLEASE check my later versions of this post via my main page to make sure you have the latest version of this post before you reblog. All the information Iâve been able to gather is in my reblogs below, and it's frustrating to see the old version getting passed around, sending people on wild goose chases.
Thank you all so much!
#fandom#plagiarism#AO3#speechify#word-stream#Cliff Weitzman#writers on tumblr#fan fic writing#AI plagiarism#independent authors#Ofek Weitzman#please share
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How I learned to write smarter, not harder
(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)
A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.
The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.
As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!
Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!
2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)
Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.
Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.
I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.
Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!
This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.
As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.
When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD
People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.
What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!
What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.
You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.
And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.
And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.
If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?
And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD
In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.
Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.
Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)
And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)
#creative writing#writers block#writblr#writers on tumblr#writing#writers and poets#writerscommunity#fanfic writing#writeblr#writing advice
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godslayer â ft. mydeimos
your husband is a king who knows little else outside of being a warrior. that is the truth you cling to until slowly, month by month, he makes his way into the cavity of your chest and refuses to leave

word count. â¤ď¸ 18.2k words â i know, i know. but plssss give it a chance plsss
before you read. â¤ď¸ female princess/queen reader ; crown prince/king mydei ; arranged marriage ; NOT canon universe + NOT canon compliant - royal/historical au ; mentions of war and politics ; slow burn + falling in love ; lots of bickering LOL ; reader has a (king) father and is implied to no longer have a mother ; sexual harassment but mydei saves reader ; reader drinks alcohol + gets drunk in one scene ; jealous mydei ; fingering ; nipple play ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; hand jobs ; cockblocking LOL sorry ; blood and injuries (mydei gets stabbed) ; love confessions and cheesy bantering
commentary. â¤ď¸ IT IS FINALLY HERE MY GOD. my god. BIG THANK YOU TO @osarina for not only beta reading this fic and fixing WAY too many grammar errors (LOL) but for literally listening and helping me work through every struggle i had with this fic and being 70% of the reason i even finished it. you are my biggest inspo forever ily dearly
You do not remember most of your wedding to Lord Mydeimos.Â
On the day of your wedding, the beginning of your ceremony goes by like a blur, and you pay little attention. Itâs not until Kremnosâs royal advisor steps forward does your reality sink in. You watch wearily as he faces the crowd of peopleâenough of the Kremnoan commoners have gathered to witness the ceremony, and you feel more like a spectacle than a bride.
âThe son of Gorgo shall be crowned in blood!â The Advisor chants.Â
âThe son of Gorgo shall be crowned in blood!â The people of the nation bellow in tow. Men and womenâeven young children who cannot understand fully what is happeningâscream in sync for your union with Lord Mydeimos.
You realize quickly, by just a glance, that your nation of Janusopolis is everything his nation of Castrum Kremnos is not.Â
Janusopolis is a wealthy land built on the industry of gold. Beneath your fertile soil is the precious metal, and the mines stretch from one side of the border to the other. Trade is easy when you hold such a luxury beneath your soil, and the people of your land have never known what it means to be hungry. But for all its riches, your nation is fragileâsmall, with a military force that pales in comparison to the other armies of Amphoreus.
Castrum Kremnos is filled with warriorsâpeople who are bred for battle as though they were handpicked by the Gods themselves to fight. There is not one nation in all of Amphoreus that stands a chance against their strength, and yet, the people die of starvation every day. The streets are filled with mothers and fathers who feel the despair of poverty, feeding every small morsel to the hungry mouths of their children before themselves.Â
It is little surprise to anyone that you form an alliance. Now more than ever, when there are rumors that a war is comingâa war that you cannot fight and Kremnos cannot afford. They linger in the air, thick and heavy, carried through the wind by whispers that slip from court to court. The rumors are not just rumorsâyou know it by the deepening creases in your fatherâs brows, in the way his advisors speak in hushed, urgent tones.Â
Should war come, Janusopolis will not endure on its own for long. And should war come, Castrum Kremnos will not survive on just its strength.Â
So, when your father offers your hand to Lord Mydeimos for a union, you are not shocked when the crown prince agrees. You have heard rumors of him often, the hushed whispers of a man who is a warrior first and an heir second. A man whose bones are built for battle before his blood runs from a lineage of royalty. He sits beside you now, silent and broodingâin fact, heâs spoken not one sentence to you.Â
Good, you think to yourself as you glance at him from the corners of your eyes, he does not seem like a man who knows how to speak to a lady.Â
Youâre broken out of your thoughts quickly as a shadow covers your faceâthe Advisor has returned from facing the crowd, standing over you as you listen to the shouting behind his figure. The son of Gorgo shall be crowned in blood! The son of Gorgo shall be crowned in blood! The son of Gorgo shall be crowned in blood! Itâs all you hear. Shouted over and over like a prayer to a God of a land you are unfamiliar with.
Lord Mydeimosâs advisor hands you a blade. The marriage rituals of Kremnos, you find, are as brutal as war itself. You hesitate for a moment before glancing at your father. He stares at youâhis precious daughter, whom he loves more than his own lifeâwith eyes filled with sorrow that he does not dare voice. You can practically hear his plea:
If not for Janusopolis, then for me.
Numbly, you take the handle, your fingers tightening around the cold metal. You steal one last glance at your father. The man who has always treated you like a delicate flower, as if you are to be carefully shielded from the harsh storms of winter until spring could smile upon you once more. The man who spoiled you as a princess should be, yet shaped you with the discipline of a future ruler. The man who, until now, has never let the weight of his crown come before his love for you.
But today, he has no choice. Today, he is a king first and a father second.
You carve his face into your memory. Youâll miss itâthe days when he was your king, the time when heir to the throne was your title. You are just the Lady of Kremnos now, bound to share the burdens of a new nation alongside a new king. An heir that is not you. You wonder how you will cope with that fact, how you will learn to accept that your birth rights mean little in a new set of borders.Â
But you give your father a nod, as firm and convincing as you can muster, before gripping the blade tightly and dragging it across your palm.
It stings. You donât flinch.
Blood wells instantly, deep red against your skinâthe same palm that has never known violence, never held a weapon, never bled for anything, now spills heavily on your first night in the strongest nation in Amphoreus.
How ironic, you almost want to say.
Instantly, Lord Mydeimos takes your wristâhe wastes little time. (Youâre not sure why you expect it, but a small part of you is disappointed he shows little care for the wound on your palm.) His hands are rough and calloused like you imagined they might be. They feel like the hands of a warrior. You wonder if this blood spilled across your palm is laughable to him. Surely, with a man as strong and fierce and accustomed to battle as he is, he must have felt the warm spill of life across his skin countless times. Whether his own blood or that of others, surely he must know the feeling familiarly enough that this is nothing to him.Â
He dips his thumb into the dark crimson of your hand and smears a stripe along his forehead. His advisor, slowly, with eyes that do not leave yours, lowers the crown onto your husbandâs head. No longer a crowned prince but a king.Â
The nation cheers. âThe son of Gorgo shall be crowned in blood!â
Such a brutal man, you think as you stare at your husband, to have his fate sealed through nothing but bloodshed.
âââââ
Lord Mydeimos is quiet during your trek to your now-to-be-shared chambers. His first words to you are far from romantic.Â
âYou are not happy with this arrangement,â he says, and for a moment, you think perhaps he is offended by the fact. You realize only a second later that he has little care. He is merely making an observation.Â
âUnhappy is not exactly the correct term for it,â you mumble, âHowever, it is no lie that all envision their marriage to be one of love, not political convenience.â
âThen you should have married for love,â Lord Mydeimos responds blandly.Â
You raise a brow, staring at him as if he has grown two heads. (Surely, the man you just witnessed willingly take your hand in marriage while he becomes king for the sake of his nation could not possibly think you could marry out of love. Surely, he is not so naive when he bears the responsibility of his people entirely on his shoulders.)
âThat would not be possible,â you furrow your brows, âI have always prepared myself for a marriage of alliance.â
âThen you should not have such fickle dreams.â
Oh.Â
Some part of you is more shocked than it is outraged. But then the better part of your emotions takes over completelyâhow dare he have the gall to tell you what your desires should and should not consist of? You wonder if all warriors are cold-blooded in Kremnosâif they only know their ways around the heart when it is to pierce a blade through the delicate tissue and nothing else. Perhaps to expect Lord Mydeimos to understand the ways around emotions and desires is to lead a blind man into the dark, bare room.Â
There is nothing for him to grasp his footing and find his way around.Â
âForgive me,â you spit bitterly, soured by his dismissiveness, âI did not realize accepting my circumstances meant I could not wish for things to be different.â
âYou can,â he says, still infuriatingly detached, âBut it would be a waste of energy.â
You have a sharp retort ready on your tongue. Perhaps itâs unwise to speak to a newly crowned king in such a manner, husband or not, but you are too used to the way your father tolerated your every thought. Welcomed them, even. You were never raised to hold your tongue, and the habit will be a hard one to break.Â
But before you can hiss out your reply, you are interrupted by a maid.Â
âYour chambers are ready, My Lord,â she tells Lord Mydeimos, bowing slightly before taking her leave. She avoids your eyes entirely, blush dusted across her cheeks as though she has stated a scandalous fact. You realize rather quickly why.
Lord Mydeimos, apart from the stiff nod, seems mostly unbotheredâbut the tenseness in his neck and shoulders is enough to tell you that even he is not unaffected by everything. You almost want to tease him, but your words die on your tongue as the large doors to what is now your shared chambers are opened by two guards. You follow him inside, and the doors are quick to shut behind you before hurried footsteps echo down the corridor.Â
There is no one nearby, you realize. You expect as much, of course, but it doesnât make your skin feel any less hot.Â
âWellâŚâ you start awkwardly. (You are certain there is a ghost of an amused tug at his lips at that, but before you can properly look, it is gone.)Â
âWellâŚ?â he repeats, raising an eyebrow.Â
âI suppose it is customary that weâŚâ You donât want to say it. What would you say? It is customary that we fuck on the first night of knowing each other so our marriage is properly completed, My Lord? You have little interest in consummating a marriage with him.Â
But you are not above your duties, and youâre positive that neither is he. Of course, he isnât, in fact. With an attitude as uncaring and bothersome as his, he sees no issues with doing what is expected of him. He would probably finish with that stupidly straight face of his, too, you think somewhat bitterly.Â
âDo you not wish to say it?â He finally cracks a small grin as though watching you squirm under his gaze is entertaining to him. You scowl. He has enough tact to go back to looking serious as he continues: âWe do not need to do anything.â
âButââ
âUnless what is your wish, of course,â he adds.Â
You sputter. âI do not care regardless,â you huff, pretending to be as unbothered as he seems to be. (You know, as well as he does, that neither of you are unbothered at all.) âIf you wish to complete our marriage, then I will do as you wish.â
âEven if that is not what you wish?â He cocks his head to the side.Â
âIt matters little what I wish,â you say darkly, narrowing your eyes as you pointedly add: âAnd, I suppose it is a waste of my energy to hope for what I wish, is it not?â
He eyes you for a moment. Something about his gaze makes you feel more bare while being fully clothed than if you were to strip yourself in front of him. He turns abruptly, leaving you to blink in shock before you watch as he begins to pull off his armor, one piece at a time.Â
Oh. You swallow thickly, realizing what is happening.Â
âThe least you could do,â you start as you walk over to the bed, âis to pretend to be interested in bedding your wife if you are to do so.â
He looks at you, carefully laying his armor on the wooden stand by your bed, before humming, âI will not bed anyone if that is not what they wish. It is distasteful.â
You gasp, offended. âI should have you know many noblemen would not find me distasteful by the slightestââ
âYou are not distasteful,â he interrupts. âBut taking you against your will would be. We can be husband and wife without such outdated customs.â He pulls back the covers and prepares to settle onto the mattress. âNow, I am off to bedâI have training at sunrise. Which side do you prefer?â
You blink, still processing. He stares expectantly.
âThe left,â you murmur.
âGood.â He nods, lying on the right. âI prefer the right. How agreeable.â
With that, he turns and settles under the sheets, leaving you with the privacy of getting ready for the night yourself. You stand there for a moment, utterly shocked, before you collect yourself and despite still being in your wedding robes, slip under the sheets and stay as close to the edge of your side as you can. (There is little need for that, of courseâthe mattress is large enough that you could fit two more bodies between yours and his, but you spitefully cannot help but leave as much room between you as you can.)Â
âGoodnight,â he mumbles.Â
âGoodnight,â you huff in return.Â
âDo let me know if I hog the blanketsâI have never shared the sheets with someone before.â
âNo need to fret,â you say matter-of-factly, âIf you do, I will simply pull them back.â
He chuckles. You almost wish you could see a proper smile on his face, but you donât dare turn. âI have no doubts about that.â
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
One month into your marriage, you learn that the palace is a lonely place in Kremnos.Â
At least, it is for you.Â
You are still learning who your husband is, so he offers little companionship to your lonesome heart. And more often than not, attempting to understand him leaves you with a headache. You still hardly know Lord Mydeimosâin fact, only yesterday, you learned that despite his robes and attire strictly following a red scheme, his preferred color is actually yellow. An absurdly preposterous revelation, you thinkâyou have no understanding of why he would dress the way that he does if he prefers a color soâŚopposite, but only Lord Mydeimos knows for certain what goes on in his head.Â
The first person you can consider as proper company is an attendant called Agnes. She is your personal attendant, and her days are reserved strictly to cater to your every need should you require it. Lord Mydeimos has made it very clear that she is to be nearby in case you are in need, and she follows his orders strictly.Â
Agnes is wonderfully kind. She is skilled in many artsâstitching and embroidery, cooking and baking, and even music. In a few weeks, you have learned the basics of the harp, her best instrument, and she teaches you fondly as she tells you about your husband.Â
âHe is just so stubborn,â you huff, stretching out your sore fingers. âAnd he has an attitude I cannot even begin to describeâI am certain children must cry at just the sight of him?â
âActually, they do quite the opposite. Lord Mydeimos enjoys playing tag,â Agnes says as she applies balm along your tender fingers after a lengthy harp lesson, âHe does not seem like it, but he does. He is fond of the children who play by the ponds outside of the palace gates.â
âAnd are they fond of him?â You raise an unconvinced brow, wincing as the blisters on your fingers sting. âHe does not seem like someone who knows how to converse well with children.â
âThat is partly true,â Agnes chuckles thoughtfully. âHe is a tad bit stiff with his words. But the children are indeed fond of him nonetheless, yes. He brings them treats from the palace bakery.â
âWell, at least I can trust that he will not lock me in the dungeons for one wrong move,â you break into a teasing grin. âThey say children are a good judge of character. I suppose he has passed that test.â
âWhat test?â You and Agnes straighten at the sound of Lord Mydeimosâs voice as he enters your chambers, exchanging looks before she clears her throat.
âNothing, My Lord,â she says evenly, standing up as you follow. âI was simply telling My Lady about what a seasoned warrior you are.â
Your husband does not look particularly convinced, but he nods politely as Agnes excuses herself, leaving you and Lord Mydeimos alone. He walks up to you, glancing quickly at your fingertips as you rub them and wince.Â
âWhat has happened to your fingers?â he asks with a frown.Â
You look at them sheepishly, murmuring quietly, âI have been learning to play the harp from Agnes. My fingers have blistered against the strings.â
âAh,â he nods, holding up his own gauntlet-clad hands and mumbling, âPerhaps you should consider armory. They are most useful for shielding simple pains. In any case, I have come to speak to you about our trip.â
You blink. Once, then twice, and then finally, you ask hesitantly, ââŚOurâŚtrip?â
âYes. We will be departing in two days' time for Styxias to negotiate on military affairs. Should this go successfully, that is one more ally we can tally in case war breaks out. You are to accompany me, of course,â He raises an eyebrow, surprised by your confusion. âHave they not told you?âÂ
âNo, they have notâŚbut regardless, you are king,â you point out.Â
This time, he blinks, unsure exactly what point you are trying to make at all. âYesâŚâ he says carefully. âAnd you are queen, which is precisely why you shall accompany me. It is only four nights.â
âI have never had to accompany my father in official matters when I was princess.â You furrow your brows, creases forming in your forehead that he almost instinctively reaches out to smooth. Almost.
âThat is because you were a princess,â he muses. âIf your father had a queen, it would be customary for her to travel alongside him to the kingdoms of his dealings. It is seen as the polite thing to do, to have both rulers make an appearance.â
âBut you will speak on military negotiations. I am of no help in those matters, you know.â
âI am aware,â he says patiently. âThat is why you will not accompany me to the negotiations. You will only attend the social gatheringsâas I mentioned, it is simply for appearances. However, it would be greatly appreciated if you could glean a piece of intel or two about other nations from the mingling.â
That puts you in a sour mood. Not only will you join him on a four-day trip for no other reason than existing as a sight to bear witness to by the other nobles, but you will be in a nation yet again where you are a stranger to everyone. Lord Mydeimos, the only person you even somewhat know, will be busy with official matters, and that will leave you with nothing to do.Â
And Agnes has promised to teach you how to sew in the coming days.Â
Unhappy, you bargain, âAlright, then perhaps Agnes can join us to keep me company while you are busy.â
âThat is not necessary.â He waves a hand and denies your request. âAgnes is an attendant, so there is no need for her to join. She shall remain in the palace where she belongs.â
âIâm sure it will be of little difference if the palace is missing just one attendant,â you reason, âAnd besides, Agnes is my personal attendant, so Iâm sure the other nobles will think nothing of it. My father would often be accompanied by his own attendants to make matters simpler for him in regards toââ
âWell, that is the way of Janusopolis,â he interrupts, patience wearing thin. Strictly, Lord Mydeimos adds, âYou are in Kremnos now. And in Kremnos, we do not allow our maids and attendants to neglect their duties to join pointless expeditions that they have no concerns with.â
His tone is clipped. Firm. A touch reprimanding like that of a parent scolding a child, and some part of you, underneath the hurt, simmers in rage. One attendant, among hundreds, will make not the slightest dent in the palaceâs operation. More frustrating still, Lord Mydeimos leaves you with little say in anything regarding this tripânot whether or not you will go, not what you will do, and now, not even who you will be accompanied by.
Stubbornly, you refuse to accept his terms.Â
âIf you will not allow me the company of Agnes, then I will be most troublesome. Mark my words, Lord Mydeimos,â you warn, âIf you do not wish for me to make a fool of this kingdom, then Agnes and I will both join your senseless journey.â
His lips take a dangerous shape, morphing into a hard line that you fear could cut you with how sharp it is. âIs that a threat?â he questions.
âIt is but a mere promise of an outcome,â you reply smartly, as though he is dense in the head. (You think he might be, just a tad. To ask a lady that question is to only ask for trouble.)
âAgnes is an attendant,â he says exasperatedly.Â
âI do not care,â you bite back. âShe is also the only one I have befriended in this kingdom, and her position as attendant should mean little compared to the wishes of your wife.â
âShe is meant to stay behind palace doors and do her duty. Just as you are to do yours and accompany me as my wife and as Queen. You cannot bend such rules just because you simply wish to do so.â
âAnd who is the one who set such standards in the first place?â You challenge, âDo not tell me that as king, you do not have the authority to undo the regulations that only a king can put in place? How laughable.â
Lord Mydeimos is becoming impatient. You can tell by the twist of his features and the blazing fire behind his eyes, the light shade of his amber deepening into a dark honey. He is not happyânot with you, not with your attitude, and not with your tendencies to question everything.Â
And you like it that way. If you do not get your way, you sure as hell will make sure that his way is difficult to enjoy.Â
âYou are your fatherâs only daughter,â he says through a grumpy snarl, âIt is as apparent as the tideâs ebb and flow. Only would a woman who has never known the word no be so maddening.â
âI am simply highly revered where I come from,â you shrug, giving him a purposely haughty smile just to get on his nerves.Â
It seems to work as he grits, âYou are spoiled beyond reason. It is ill-suited for one who carries the burdens of duty.â
And with that, your satisfaction is short-livedâyou sputter at his insult, doing a double take while his eyes lighten with amusement at your reaction. He is enjoying this, you realizeâenjoying denying you of a simple pleasure all for the sake of his petty, twisted desire for authority. And to question your devotion to your duty, too, is an outrage. You, who married a stranger who knows little outside of bloodshed and brutality, all for the sake of your people, being accused of putting your own pleasure before your duties.
You will have nothing of the sort.
You glare at him, ferocity in your gaze as you huff, âDo not speak to me of duty and obligation when I have left all that I know for the sake of my nation and for the sake of yours. I carry the burden of sacrifice for two lands, not just one. It is not out of line, I believe, to wish my husband would indulge me in a harmless request. But if you must deny me, then so be it. I will pack for our departureââ
He catches your wrist just as you turn to leave. Itâs gentle. Heâs gentle. You cannot wrap your head around how quickly Lord Mydeimos is able to switch between a stubborn mule and a gentle doe, but carefully, he pulls and spins you to face him, taking a step closer as he studies you thoughtfully for a moment in mild fascination. You do not like itâyou feel like an animal under his gaze, cornered in a cage and waiting to see what fate his cruel hands may hold for you.Â
Except, never do you face a cruel fate. Instead, after a painfully silent moment of being scrutinized under his gaze, he lets out a defeated chuckleâalmost a snort, you could even say. Equal parts tired and equal parts amused.Â
âNo need,â he hums. âThe attendants will see to it that your belongings for the trip are packed. As for your requestâŚI suppose I could make an exception for my wife. Do not make a habit of thinking you shall always get your way, though.â
You relax in his grip for a moment, staring into his eyes carefully to decipher if he is lying. He is not, you conclude after a momentâand just like that, your anger washes away as fast as it came. You perk up, excitement gracing your features and brightening them.Â
âAgnes will join me?â You ask to double-check.
âAgnes will join us,â he corrects, exasperated.Â
âOh, wonderful,â You bring your free hand up and clap, your other still in his grip. He stares down and watches the motions of your hands, and by extension, his, as it moves with the flow. âI am most grateful, Lord Mydeimos.â
And just to be devious, you lean up, planting a small, mischievous peck to the edge of his jaw before promptly pulling away and brushing past him, excitedly on your way to find Agnes and tell her the good news. Lord Mydeimos stands, paused and tense from shock. After a moment, he shakes his head and rubs his face tiredly, ignoring the heat blooming across the swells of his cheeks and spreading as far as the tips of his ears.Â
âThat woman is a most wicked thing,â he grumbles to himself. âA most wicked thing, indeed.â
âââââ
Just as Lord Mydeimos had promised, Agnes joins your carriage as you take your leave to Styxias. She is thrilled to leave Kremnos for the first timeâitâs abundantly clear by her expression alone, even if she maintains a humble mellowness in both of your presence.Â
Lord Mydeimos looks tired after all of ten minutes of being stuck listening to the two of you as you converse and giggle endlessly.Â
âI hear the waters are beautiful in Styxias,â Agnes murmurs. âI am most excited to see if that is true.â
âOh, they are,â you nod eagerly. âFather had taken me for a ball many years ago. I still remember the water lilies like it was just yesterday that I had witnessed them bloom. They are the most breathtaking sight I have yet to see.â
Lord Mydeimos scoffs. You throw him a withering glare. Agnes sighs as she predicts the argument to come.Â
âIâd consider them to be mediocre among flowers,â your husband says roughly. âClearly, you have yet to see the blooming of the flowers that stem from Kremnophilas.â
âPerhaps IÂ have yet to see them because clearly nothing that could make an impression on me has bloomed on the dry soils of Kremnos. There is nothing but cliff and rock here,â you retort.Â
Lord Mydeimosâs lips press into a firm frown, clearly displeased with your assessment of his homeland. (You are correct, of course. Kremnos is not known for its botanical splendor, and part of the reason for its financial struggles is its dependence on imported crops rather than growing them on its own soil. Something tells you, though, that voicing that particular fact would sour his mood even further.)
âKremnophila flowers bloom once a year,â he grunts. âThey are beautiful. And they were my mother's favorite. There is no sight quite like it.â
âThey are rather beautiful,â Agnes nods earnestly. âLady Gorgo would wear the blooms in her hair during the spring. She was known for being quite a beauty across all the kingdoms.â
You have heard about Lady Gorgo. Lord Mydeimosâs mother was a cherished Queenâyour father had spoken highly of her in passing. You know little of the woman who raised your now husband, but the tragedy of her death spread across nations like wildfire.Â
She was murdered in her own chambers, poisoned by an attendant who had been bribed by a rival kingdom seeking to invade Kremnos. They found her lifeless body on the floor the next morning, and the attendant had vanished without a trace.
(âTruly a shame,â your father had muttered once the news had spread. âBetrayed by her own trusted maid for the sake of another nation. Such an awful way to go. Her son is utterly alone now. May the Gods bless him to be a formidable king some day.â
You donât even remember the name of the nation that harbored the assassinâit no longer exists. The palace was burned to the ground by Lord Mydeimosâs army, and rumors claim he had been the one to behead the king himself. He was only fifteen at the time. In an act of mercy, he spared the commoners, allowing them to flee to Kremnos. But not a single noble was left alive. Some whisper that he keeps the severed head of the fallen king somewhere in his palace, both as a trophy and a warning: no one is a match for the Kremnoan army.
After his motherâs death, Lord Mydeimos was to take on the nationâs affairs officially. Most believed Kremnos would crumble under a young, inexperienced rulerâthat the kingdom would soon fall, an easy target for invasion.
âPerhaps we could acquire Kremnos, Father,â you had said once. âWith an unfit future king, surely the kingdom will fall. We would benefit from such a strong army, no?â
âDo not be so quick to gamble on such matters. He is brilliant,â your father had murmured, âEven our best knights were no match in a duel with that boyâhe may be young, but he is a godslayer of a warrior. He will make a fine king, I am certain.â)
In the end, your father was right. If not for the raging battle against poverty, Kremnos could easily be the fiercest nation of all.
Godslayer. You still recall the title heâd given your now husband, and you wonder if your father would still call Lord Mydeimos such a title now, or if he regrets handing over his daughter to such a fierce man.
Perhaps not even the Gods know. Not when faced with a man who could slay them in a heartbeat.
âIâll believe in their beauty when I see them for myself,â you hum. Lord Mydeimos scoffs yet again. Agnes rubs her temples, exasperated by the bickering that seems to follow you both wherever you go.Â
It is several more hours before you finally arrive in Styxias. You fall asleep midway through the journey, and youâre startled awake by a cool, pointed piece of metal to your ribs. You shriek, flinching away as your eyes fly open.Â
âWe are here,â Lord Mydeimos states in amusement. You realize quickly that the object that assaulted your ribcage was one of his gauntlet-covered fingersâhe has enough wit to at least try to hide the smile on his face at your moment of panic.Â
âYou saw no better way to wake me than with such a sharp piece of armor?â you hiss, rubbing your side
He grins, holding out a hand for you as he says through a cocky voice, âNo. You are a deep sleeper. Agnes could not wake you after countless attemptsâtherefore, I took it upon myself.â
âDo not lie to me,â you scold accusingly. âIâm positive you did not even give Agnes the opportunity. Surely, you saw your chance to get under my skin, and you took it.â
âI do not lie,â he hums. âNor do I need to. The evidence of your deep slumber is written clearly in the drool on your chin.â
You quickly wipe at your chin. There is nothing.Â
Before you can scowl and scold him further, he chuckles, yanking you by the wrist and tugging you to exit the carriage. You gasp, hardly managing to make sure your clothes are neat and orderly before you are dragged to come face to face with Styxian nobles.Â
The introductions are boring. Lord Mydeimos holds you delicately by the hand and leads you down an endless line of nobles, their names blurring together as he introduces each one. You smile, bow your head politely, and offer the right words at the right momentsâyears of royal training make your social skills effortlessly polished. At least this part is not complicated.
Itâs not long before your husband escorts you to your shared temporary chambers and murmurs, âI will be back before sunfall to collect you for dinner. The maids have packed your finest robes, and Agnes will know which one to prepare tonight for you to wear. Do not be shy to call for the maids of this palace should you need somethingâthey are accustomed to aiding us when we visit.â
âHow long will this dinner last?â you pout.Â
He fights the urge to roll his eyes, sighing before he murmurs, âLong enough that you should have no trouble making acquaintances with such a dazzling personality. Now, I shall be on my way, wife.â
With that, Lord Mydeimos leaves.Â
You are bored within the first hour. After sifting through the books and trinkets in your guest chambers, you have little to doâand Agnes, who came with the purpose of keeping you company, is too busy steaming and preparing your robes to pay you proper mind for the moment.Â
So you do the only thing you can think to do: wander the halls in search of something, anything to keep you entertained.Â
That was your first mistake. Your second was to wander to the gardens where no one would hear you at this hour if you were to scream.Â
âWhy hello, my lady,â comes a voice. You flinch in surprise, turning quickly to meet the gaze of a young man, clearly a noble of sortsâheâs too old to be a teenager but too young to be a proper man. You canât help but feel put off by the glint in his eyes.
âHello,â you blink, âW-who are you? I believe all the nobles are to discuss important matters at the current moment, yes?â
âAh,â he hums. âThat would be correct. But I am not here for such mattersâthe king of Styxia is my cousin, you see, and it seems I timed an impromptu visit rather poorly. My cousin has banned me from entering the chambers where they hold such important negotiations; thus, I am left bored with nothing to do.â
âI see,â you nod slowly, offering him a small smile. âI suppose we are in the same predicament. Lord Mydeimos has also abandoned me for the moment as he discusses away.â
âYou came here with the king of Kremnos?â the young man asks, lips curling into a wider grinâyou cannot help but feel unsettled by the way it curls happily at the news. A shiver runs down your spine as he walks closer. And closer. âYou must be exceedingly special to have caught his eye.â
âN-no, it is not like that,â you try to explainâ
He cuts you off, humming as he murmurs, âI have yet to see a lady who has earned the attention of the great Mydeimos for courting. Tell me, what is it he is fascinated by?â
âWe are not courting,â you try to correct. âHe is myââ
âAh, no need to be so shy.â This stranger, who begins to make the hairs stand at the back of your neck, seems hellbent on cutting you off at every sentence. By now, you have stepped backward from him enough times that a cold stone hits your back, and you are left nowhere to go, pinned in place by his body as it hovers over you.Â
Your hands sweat. Something is not right about him.Â
âI must go,â you smile shakily. âThe attendant who is meant to look after me must be worried, soââ
He cuts you off again.Â
âWhat is the rush? Surely, they are aware the palace walls are safe. Weâve only just begun to know each other.â A hand reaches over to trace your jaw, making you stiffen as he hums at the touch of your soft skin. âWell, youâre certainly a sight. I suppose that is what might have caught the attention of The Great Mydeimos,â he muses mockingly. âBut I wonderâŚperhaps there is somethingâŚdare I say, more tantalizing about you, My Lady?â
His hand trails from your jaw to your collarbone, wandering lower, lower, lowerâ
âEnough,â you hiss, shoving his hand away, but he is fast. He catches your wrist and pins it above your head. The glint in his eyes is no longer playfulâit is hungry, dangerous. Panic grips you. No one can hear you from here, not when they are all busy preparing the grand feast. Not even Agnes. âUnhand me this instant, or Lord Mydeimos will hear of this, you know!â
âAh, I wouldnât bother,â he hums. âYou wouldnât want to tell him you wandered to the gardens alone, would you? He might get the wrong impression of your intentions.â
The meaning is crystal clearâno one will believe you. Not even Lord Mydeimos.Â
And perhaps he is right. Why would Lord Mydeimos believe you? You, who have done nothing but push against your husbandâs will since the moment you arrived? Who forced him to bend the customs of his own kingdom? Who argues with him at every opportunity, simply to watch his lips curl into a frown? Surely, of all people, Lord Mydeimos would be the first to assume you had done this to humiliate himâflirting with the first man you could find, just to make a fool of him before royalty and nobility alike.
A sob breaks through your throat, and you wrestle to free your wrist from his grasp.Â
âUnhand me,â you spit. âI wonât say it again!â
âYou heard her.â The voice is low. Dangerous. âShe will not say it again. Unhand my wife.â
You stiffen. So does the wretched man pinning you. His face drains of color as realization dawns on him.
âWife,â he echoes weakly. Then again, as if he cannot believe it: âHisâŚwife?â
âThat would be correct, Albus,â Lord Mydeimos says, his voice eerily calm. âHave you not heard the news? Surely, you could not have been dwelling beneath a boulder for this longâI have wedded the princess of Janusopolis to form an alliance. You do recognize her, donât you?â
âP-princessâŚâ the manâAlbus, repeats, hands trembling as he pulls away from you quickly, recoiling from touching you as if your skin burns him.Â
âWell, a princess no more,â Lord Mydeimos corrects. âQueen is the title you should use now. Queen of Castrum Kremnos. And I trust you, of all people, understand the proper way to address a queen.â
âYes, yes, of course,â Albus chuckles nervously, turning to face Lord Mydeimos with tense shoulders.Â
You watch as your husband closes the distance in a single step, gripping Albus by the collar and yanking him close. Lord Mydeimos whispers somethingâsomething too low for you to hear. But you do hear the strangled whimper that escapes Albus before he stumbles back, tripping over his own feet in his haste to flee. He does not look at you again.
With that, your knees give out. You are certain you would fall if not for the steady arms that catch you, pulling you against a firm chest.
âAre you alright?â Lord Mydeimos asks quietly. You say nothing, only letting out a soft sniffle. A bare fingertipâone not covered by armor, you noteâgently captures a tear from your lash line before it can fall down your cheek. âAgnes nor the other attendants could find you, so they alerted me. I thought perhaps the gardens would capture your attention, so I came to look. Lucky I did, I suppose.â
âLucky me, indeed.â You give a forced, watery chuckle. âGood thing My Lord knows just where I might be causing trouble.â
He frowns, tightening his grip around your waist. âDo not say such absurd thingsâthe only trouble is that shallow vermin of a man. I shall see to it that he is properly dealt with.â
âNo need,â you sniffle, not meeting your husbandâs gaze. âHe was right about one thing: people might get the wrong impression by my wanderingââ
âIf my wife were to desire wandering the streets under the moonâs light, then she should be able to do so. I will tolerate none who take advantage of her moments of indulgence. Believe me,â he says fiercely.Â
You swallow, and somethingâan odd, warm, and fluttery thing, forms in the pit of your belly at his words. A small smile forms at the edges of your lips as you nod slowly. âI shall hold you to such a vow, My Lord,â you murmur.Â
âGood,â he nods, satisfied. âCome. I will escort you to Agnes. Do not leave her side until I return, understood? It would seem your stubbornness to bring her paid off in the end.â
By the end of your trip, Lord Mydeimos is able to negotiate an alliance generously in favor of Kremnosâa little too generously in favor, in fact, that you wonder if part of it is so that Styxia can escape the wrath of your husbandâs rage. You even run into Albus briefly before your departure, not a long run-in by any meansâhe hurries off as soon as your eyes meetâbut you are happy to find out that he is nursing a broken nose.Â
Oddly enough, the skin looks torn as though sharp metal dug into it upon impact. You eye Lord Mydeimosâs gauntlets as he carefully holds your hand and helps you into the carriage.Â
âReady to return home?â He asks.Â
You hum, smiling knowingly to yourself. âYes, Lord Mydeimos,â you say softly.
Agnes, to her surprise, is able to return home the entire journey alongside the both of you without the headache of witnessing a petty back and forth.Â
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
After four months of marriage, you believe it is safe to consider yourself and Lord Mydeimos as companions. You suppose, under the indifferent brutality of a warrior, that he can be quite good-natured. And when you are not feeling especially argumentative, he is easy to get along with. You fall into a comfortable routine of addressing your husband and sharing your life as good friends.Â
That is how you like to view it. He is a man who you share your life and duties (and perhaps bedâin a literal sense) with, and he is a companion whom you have put your trust in. Itâs an easy routine:
Good morning, wife. I am off to official mattersâI shall see you in the evening.
You have returned, Lord Mydeimos. The evening is still youngâshall I have the maids draw you a bath to ease your aches from training?
I have finished my bath, and the attendants will see to cleaning the bathhouse, wife. Have you eaten? Join me for dinner.Â
Lord Mydeimos, you must rise before the sun tomorrow. Shall I prepare our chambers for you to rest?Â
Wife. Lord Mydeimos. Itâs what you know each other as. You prefer it this wayâyou are just that: his wife, and he is just that: Lord Mydeimos of this nation of Castrum Kremnos. You are bound through marriage on parchment by duty and nothing else. For four months, that is the truth you cling to, and you find it comforting this way.Â
It takes all of four months before he decides otherwise.Â
âFrom now on, you are to call me Mydei,â he commands one day in your chambers. He sits in his chair, polishing his armor, while you sit nearby on the bed, practicing the stitching Agnes has recently taught you.Â
You pause, furrowing your brow in confusion. (And honestly, you are a little bit unhappy with his toneâhe should not get used to making his desires be known through such demanding manners. You will not stand for it.) âAnd why is that?â
âBecause I have asked it of you,â he replies plainly. And, as if sensing your irritation (which he has gotten very good at through practice), he adds an earnestly mumbled, âPlease.â
It surprises you sometimesâLord Mydeimos seems brutish by his exterior, but he is unpredictably perceptive at times. And, more importantly, he is shockingly gentle by nature. He is not above a please or a thank you. It is just that he happens to never need to use those phrases, you supposeâbut he tries. (For youâyour heart suggests. Only because he is cunning when he wants somethingâyour brain counters.)
âBut your name is Mydeimos,â you say stubbornly. (In truth, calling him by a nickname feels a touch too intimate than you are willing to admit. You are not yet prepared to accept that you are approaching intimacy in thisâŚwell, whatever your circumstance with Lord Mydeimos is considered.)
âAre you now attempting to teach me my own name?â His brow arches, a look of mild amusement flickering across his face.
At this, you crack, unable to resist a playful quip. âIf I must educate you on something as fundamental as that, perhaps you are not as suited for the role of king as everyone seems to think, Lord Mydeimos.â
âMydei,â he corrects gruffly. âDo not be so stubborn all the time.â
âBut I quite like Lord Mydeimos,â you insist. âYour title is important, is it not? And besides, it would be strange for me to address you with such familiarity while you continue to call me simply⌠wife.â
His expression shifts, darkening slightly, his lips pressing into something dangerously close to a sulk. He is pouting, you realize, amused by the notion. Or, at least, as much as someone with such sharp features can pout. He looks more childlike than usual like this, and there is something undeniably endearing about the way it softens his rough features. Oddly enough, you find him almost...charming.Â
The thought unsettles you deeply, but you bury it quickly.
âMydei,â he pushes once more. (There is an undeniable, almost spoiled edge to his tone, as though he is unaccustomed to hearing the word no. You find that somewhat ironic, considering he had teased you himself for being spoiled not too long ago.) âI shall call you dear wife.â
âYou do call me wife,â you point out blandly.
âYes, but now I shall call you dear wife,â he corrects. âThere is a difference between simply being a wife and being a dear one.â
âAnd what would that be?â
âYou are dear to me,â he says simply. As though it is obvious. (Perhaps it is.)Â
And you cave.Â
Not because the curve of his lips as he all but pouts is undeniably charming, not because being called dear causes a strange flutter in your heart, and certainly not because the sight of his frustration is in any way captivating. No, you only concede because you have no desire to deal with a grumpy husband who might make your life far more complicated than it needs to be, all over something trivial. That is the only reason.Â
âFine. I suppose Mydei is easier on the tongue,â you huff.Â
You ignore the way you feel oddly lightheaded when he smiles the tiniest, yet softest, of smiles at your agreement. He is undeniably handsome, you thinkâand that thought, too, scares you.
âââââ
It is only a few weeks later when you start to question if you and Mydei are two people who have married and become friends or if there is more beyond your carefully strategic union.
You and Mydei share a bathhouse. It is reserved strictly for the two of you, though Agnes has informed you that before your arrival, it had been Mydeiâs alone. (He is quite fond of baths, you come to realize, and is rather particular about them. Only a select few attendants are permitted to prepare the bathhouse before he bathes, solely because they are the few who meet his standards. Some part of you, if you are honest, feels just a bit flattered that he allows you to share a space he holds with such high importance.)
Sharing the quarters has always come with an unspoken routine: you bathe at separate times, preserving the polite distance you have managed to keep yourself from him.
âLord Mydeimos is finished with his bath,â one of the maids tells you, handing you a large, fresh towel as you smile. âI delivered him freshly laundered robes just a bit ago.â
âThank you,â you smile.Â
With that, you undress, wrapping yourself in nothing but the warm towel the maid has handed you before you make your way to the bathhouse. You knock once and wait, just to be sure he has left before you enter.
Silence. Perfect.Â
Humming to yourself, you step inside, the thick steam curling around you instantly, enveloping you like a warm blanket against your skin. The scent of the lavender and cedar Mydei uses lingers in the air, the water still gently rippling from recent movement. Mydeiâs fondness for this space is easy to understandâit is grand, carved from marble and stone, with towering pillars and vines that decorate the delicate interior. It is extravagant, built lavishly for comfort.
But before you can fully take it in, you notice a figure.
You barely manage to stifle a squeal as you snap your eyes shut and immediately turn away, your face burning. Mydei stands near the waterâs edge, a towel slung low around his waist that he is still in the process of tying in place, droplets clinging to his skin. His hair is damp, pushed back from his face, and when you dare to glance his way again, he is watching you with a knowing look.
âThe attendants had told me you were done,â you squeak, quickly turning away again as he finishes wrapping the towel around his waist.Â
He looks amused when you finally have the courage to turn and look at him properly, lips curled into the faintest yet most obvious smirk as he runs a hand through his wet hair and brushes it further away from his face.Â
âI am done,â he agrees. âJust that I did not leave.â
âI knocked! And no one had answered soâŚso I assumedâŚâ
âI did not hear,â he replies, entirely unbothered by the predicament.Â
âW-well, my apologies, My Lordââ
âMydei,â he corrects.Â
âMydei,â you huff in exasperation. âI did not mean to intrude on your private moment. I apologize.â
âIt is our shared bathhouse,â he points out. âYou are allowed to be here as you please.â
âBut you are using it,â you all but whine.Â
âThere is plenty of room,â he shrugs, looking at the large, very large bathhouse.Â
That much is true, but that is not why you are horrified. And he knows it. Mydei, you have learned, has a penchant for casually being a nuisance. He purposely evades the true meaning of your words often, and it is for no other reason than to tease you. You are aware, of course, but stillâyou cannot help but feel frustrated that he is missing the point.Â
He is nude, just as you are under the towel. And neither of you have so much as let your lips touch, let alone seen each other so bare and vulnerable. Sure, you pecked his jaw that one time to be teasing. And, of course, for appearances, he spares you a small kiss on your cheek or your knuckles, but neither of you shares affection for the sake of being affectionate.Â
Seeing him bare just feels like a sin when there is the absence of even the simplest forms of intimacy.Â
âYou are teasing me,â you frown, hugging your arms tighter around your chest as if the towel is slipping.Â
âI am not,â he says simply. He walks, and your gaze follows him as he makes his way to the neatly folded pile of clothing, freshly washed and dried for him to wear. Without warning, he turns his back to youâthen lets his towel drop.
You shriek, whipping around so fast you nearly trip over your own feet, one hand flying to cover your face. But not before you catch the briefest glimpse of his entire backsideâof bare, toned skin and the unmistakable curve of his ass. (It is a nice ass, you would think later when you are less horrified by the situation. Round and firm, sculpted in a way that is almost unfair. But for now, you are simply horrified.)
âMydei!â you hiss, refusing to turn around. He chuckles. You can hear it. And by the name of the Gods, do you want to kill him. âHonestly! Have you no sense of shame? Letting yourself be so immodest in front ofââ
âIn front of who? My wife?â he snorts, completing your sentence. âAh, yes, how improper of me.â The bastard, you thinkâhe knows exactly why this is not ideal, wife or not. âBut you were the one looking.â
âWh-what ever do you mean?â You sputter at his nonsensical accusation. You would not look on purpose. âI did not think that you wouldâŚ.that you wouldâŚ.â
âThat I would remove the towel and begin to dress myself before I exit the bathhouse? It would be immodest to leave that way, wouldnât you say?â
âDo not jest at my expense,â you huff, feeling the tips of your ears get hotter by the second. âYou could have warned me.â
âYou were the one looking,â he reminds you once more. And suddenly, heâs in front of you, leaning so close, you can feel his breath fanning across your lips as he bends eye level to you and stares directly into your face. Itâs maddening. You feel sick. You can feel him so close, and it takes all of your efforts not to turn your head and look at him. âBut I do not mind if my wife looks.â
âEnough,â you bite weakly, âAre you decent?â You donât dare to look for fear ofâŚ.of an entirely different view than just his ass.Â
And you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice when he speaks and says, âYes, you may turn now. I am decent.â
You hesitate, suspicious. âAre you certain?â
âI would not lie to you, dear wife.âÂ
You take a breath and lookâand just as he had said, he is decent. With a huff, you shove his chest and scold, âThen out! Out! Off you go,â you usher. âYou have matters to see to, and I have a bath to finish myself before the water cools. Out!â
He laughsânot his usual soft, low chuckle, but a boyish laugh straight from his belly. It is as charming as a small, young lion cub as it prances about. âAs you wish, my dear wife.â
He leaves. Not before he grabs one of your hands clutched to your chest, which makes you gasp and clutch the other tighter to keep the towel from slipping. He does not break his gaze as he brushes his lips against your knuckles before standing to his full height and walking past you.Â
You exhale shakily as soon as you hear the door close.Â
âI have married an absolute shameless buffoon,â you shake your head, âCompletely mad in the head, that man. Unreasonable beyond comprehension.â
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
In the seventh month of your marriage, you meet Mydeiâs childhood friend for the first time. It is by accident, of courseâhe comes to surprise Mydei in the gardens in a short visit while he passes the area, and you just so happen to enter the gardens to read under the sun for a bit at the same time. It is most unfortunate, you think, because had you known that you would meet him, you would dress a bit less comfortably and a bit more exquisitely and have the maids prepare tea and pastries.Â
But Lord Phainon is charmingly easy to get along withâhe insists there is no need for such formalities, and you find yourself happily conversing with him as you wait for Mydei to arrive.Â
âAh, such a beautiful garden, isnât it, My Lady?â Lord Phainon asks, lying on the grass with his arms behind his head. âVery few places in Kremnos are not just rock and soil. It comforts me that you can enjoy the feeling of grass between your toes, at least somewhere.â
âYes,â you snort. âThere is very little to see in Kremnos. Do not let Mydei hear you say that, howeverâhe is still in denial. Iâm afraid it puts him in a very sour mood whenââ you cut yourself off with a gasp.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â Lord Phainon asks in concern, âDo tell me, My Ladyâif Mydei were to know you are troubled in my presence, he would surely see to my death himself.â
He moves to sit up, but you quickly hiss, âNo! Do not moveâthere is a bee.â
âWhere?â he asks in panic, eyes flashing in alarm. âWhere? I do not see it! Where is it?â
âLord Phainon, you mustnât move,â you warn in panic, âOtherwise, you will startle the bee, and it will sting.â
âSting?!â he gasps, quickly sitting up to move away from the small threat as it buzzes nearby. âHow can you expect me to be still near such a beast?â
It happens all too quicklyâjust as you reach a hand forward and take a step toward him, he jerks away, and the startled bee, caught in the sudden movement, changes course. You barely register the sharp, sudden sting before you yelp, instinctively flinching as pain blooms across your palm.
Lord Phainon gasps. âMy Lady! Youâve been struck by the bee!â
And, as if perfectly timed, you hear a deep voice call: âAh, I see the two of you have already been introducedââ Mydeiâs voice is behind you in the distance, and before you know it, you turn to find him.Â
You stumble towards your husband, tripping on your feet, and before you can react, you find yourself falling directly into his arms. Mydei is quick to catch you, of course. He looks at you in confusion, entirely calm and unbothered by the proximity. You are so near hysteria that you hardly register the position youâve found yourself in: pressed flush against his chest, his strong, armored arm securing your waist with careful authority to keep you balanced.
âWhat happened?â he asks gruffly. Once upon a time, youâd mistake his tone for coldness. Now, you can hear the underlying concern.
Sniffling and utterly distraught, you lift your palm toward him with wide, teary eyes and a trembling lip. âI have been stung! By a bee,â you say, offering your hand closer in a pitiful attempt to prove your claim. âSee?â
He gently takes hold of your wrist, inspecting the large welt on your skin. After a moment of silence, he hums disapprovingly. âUnacceptable,â he mutters, his voice softer now, attempting to soothe you, âI cannot stand idly by while the bees of my own gardens turn their venom upon my dear wife.â
âAnd it hurts!â you wail miserably as a single delicate rivulet of misfortuneâa tearâslips down your cheek. He frowns at the sight. âMy dominant hand is stricken! I am useless now!â
âYou are not,â he fights back a smile at your borderline theatrical sorrow. Youâre past the point of holding onto your composure enough to even notice his amusement, so you say nothing. âI shall have the courtâs healers prepare a salve for this at once.â
âIt should have been Lord Phainon,â you continue to sniffle, ignoring the offended gasp in the distance, still not keen on moving past such a tragic turn of events, âNot me! Why must the Gods turn their back on me in such a cruel manner?â
This time, he chuckles softly. You pout at the gesture but say nothing else, too exhausted from the whole ordeal to put up a proper fight. He makes up for it, though, and raises the wrist in his hold, bringing your hand up before gently pressing a kiss to your swollen palm.Â
You blink in surprise.Â
âWere it possible, I would have every bee in the kingdom executed for such a treacherous offense,â he mumbles quietly.Â
âBut then weâd have no flowers,â you frown. âI favor the flowers, you know.â
âDo you?â he grins. And before you can register what is happening, Mydei has leaned down and pressed his lips under your eye, kissing away the offensive stain of your pain. Your tears on his lips feel like a terrible burden to bearâhe does not like the taste of your unhappiness. But you are his wife, and he is your husband. Kissing away your tears is but one of his many duties.Â
âI do,â you nod, looking away bashfully at his rare act of affection. âThe bees are the reason the flowers bloom. But the bees have been unjustly harsh to me today.â
âThey have,â he nods, agreeing.
Suddenly, the world is moving, and itâs moving fast. The ground is lower than you remember, and the gentle breeze of moving through the air kisses your face against your will. You let out a small squeal, unsure of why the world seems to be moving in such a sudden motion, and the only thing you can think to do is hold onto Mydeiâs shouldersâwhich are a lot closer than they usually tend to be, given your height difference now that you think about it.Â
It hits you when youâve finally stilled that it is because he has you hoisted in his arms, holding you easily as though you weigh nothing. You suppose for a man who trains as tirelessly as he does, very little is difficult for him physically.Â
âMydeimos,â you gasp his full name so that he is well aware that you are scolding him. You look around frantically for potential witnesses of such a sceneâit seems your husband lacks the sense of tact you tend to hold onto so dearly. âWhat in the Godsâ names are you doing?â
âI am bringing my dear wife to seek medical attention for her current ailment,â he says simply, âIt would be careless of me to allow you to walk under such circumstances.â
âIt is a bee sting, not a stab wound!â you scowl. He fights back a smirk at your remark.
âAh,â he nods slowly, âForgive me, my lady. Your tears persuaded me to believe it was more grievous than it perhaps truly is.â
âYou are amused by my misfortune,â you accuse, pouting once more. You give up on caring who sees you in his arms like this, deflating in his arms as he tightens them around you. You curl into his chestâif he is carrying you regardless, who is to say getting comfortable in the process is a crime?
âI am not,â he insists, âI am offering you care, am I not?â
âDo not think a kiss or two to my injury will distract me from your mischief,â you warn, though your tone holds little conviction. You settle into his arms more willingly, one arm wrapped around his neck while the other rests carefully against your chest to protect your wounded palm from further harm.
âThen, in that case, I shall offer you a kiss or five,â he declares with a devious grin. And with that, he leans and presses a peck to the tip of your nose before straightening and looking ahead once more. Only the slightest tilt to the edges of his lips hints that he heard your breath hitch in your throat. He turns over his shoulder and adds causally, âAnd I will deal with you later, Phainon.â
Lord Phainon sputters, calling out in a wail, âIt was not my fault, you know!âÂ
âââââ
Despite your horribly tragic injury, you are fond of Lord Phainon. (Just call me Phainon, he tells you sheepishly, gesturing to your hand before he adds, I have caused you as much trouble as I do for Mydei. I am sure we can be familiar enough with each other.)
You enjoy his company at dinner, giggling through wine glass after wine glass as he tells you tales from Mydeiâs childhood.Â
âDid you know Mydeiâs robes are only red because his father did not allow them to be pink when we were children?â Phainon chuckles, sipping more of his wine. âHe favors pink far more than yellowâhe simply wonât admit it. And he cried terribly after he was denied pink clothing, too.â
âWhat?â You turn to Mydei, raising a brow as you ask through a small giggle, âIs that true?â
âNo,â he grumbles. But his ears are turning pinker by the second, letting you know that it is, indeed, the truth.Â
âOh, how adorable,â you whine, reaching to pinch Mydeiâs cheek. He frowns deeply at the way both you and Phainon chuckle drunkenly at the gesture. âWho knew you could be so fragile, Mydei.â
âI am not fragile,â he clicks his teeth, unhappily nursing a glass of pomegranate juice. (He does not drink wine, which you suppose you understand. Even after placing such strict precautions after his motherâs death on all food and drinks that reach nobility in Kremnos, Mydei is still unable to bring himself to stomach a glass of wine.)
âHe is very fragile,â Phainon chuckles, rising as he downs the last bit of his beverage, âBe careful with his little heart. He is a delicate one, you know.â That earns him a glare from your husband, and Phainon skillfully dodges a cup thrown at his head before he laughs and stumbles his way toward the door of the dining hall. âGoodnight, My Lady, and goodnight, Mydei! Iâm afraid I am feeling the effects of such a long journey. It is well past the time for me to rest.â
âGoodnight, Phainon!â You wave cheerily, hiccuping through your laughs as you murmur, âDo tell me more stories of Mydei at breakfast, wonât you?â
âNo more stories,â Mydei groans. âNow come along. You should start preparing for bed as well.â
âNoooo,â you whine, slumping against his chest as he wraps an arm around you instinctively, keeping you in place as you lean your weight on him. âNo bed.â
âIt is getting lateââ
âMydei, you are very handsome when youâre shy, did you know?â You hum, leaning up to get a good look at his face. This, of course, makes him just a bit shy as blush dusts over his cheeks. You beam, poking his cheek with a finger as you murmur, âSuch precious cheeks that redden at small praise. I could eat you, you know.â
He clears his throat, clearly unused to your behavior being soâŚwell, forward. âYou are intoxicated,â he mumbles.Â
âAnd you are intoxicating,â you retort, giggling, âAnd so, so, so, so handsome! Have I ever told you that?â
âIâŚwell, yesâyou just have,â he stumbles over his words. (You are easier to deal with when you are stubborn and argumentative. This side of you is far too much of an uncharted territory for him to properly know how to handle.)
âMmh,â you hum, leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw, trailing your lips along his skin until you find his lipsâand you kiss him. His breath hitches in his throat at the move. Never, in your seven months of marriage, have you shared a kiss like this with Mydei. Sure, you have afforded him a peck here and there, just as he has with youâbut you have never kissed him plain and simple. Lip to lip, mouth on mouth.Â
He melts for a second, on instinct alone.Â
And then, as soon as realizing, he stiffens and quickly pulls away. âYou are inebriated,â he reminds you, gently pushing you away. âWe mustn'tââ
âNo,â you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck as you whisper huskily. âCome back. Kiss me, Lord MydeimosâI cannot believe I have wed the most handsome man in all of Amphoreus. What a waste it would be if I did not properly appreciate my husband!â Â
âYou are mad,â he croaks, tiredly eyeing you in alarm. âWhat has gotten into you?â
You press a litter of kisses everywhere you can reachâhis jaw, his neck, even down to his collarbone. Something stirs in him, something that Mydei is ashamed to admit and even more ashamed to even dare to act on.Â
âWonât you kiss me, Mydei? In fact, let us do more than kiss! Bring me to our chambers and take me, wonât you? I want you to fucââ
âEnough,â he says through a cracked voice, pressing a hand to your lips before you can finish being soâŚvulgar as he closes his eyes and breathes. (Mydei is unsure what is worse: the fact that your words actually have such aâŚphysical effect on him or the fact that he has no choice but to ignore his desires because yours are only built on intoxication.) âYou need sleep.â
âButââ
He kisses your pouty lips with a brief peck, silencing you before you can finish. âIf you awaken in the morning, and you remember what you wished for, then I will give it to you. Whichever way you want it. Fair?â
âFine,â you huff, slumping against him unhappily. âBeing a warrior has disciplined you too much, Mydei. It is such an unfortunate thing.â
He chuckles, easily lifting you into his arms, murmuring, âI am unsure if you would agree with yourself while sober, my dear wife.â
âââââ
In the end, you awaken with nothing more than a pounding headache, latched onto Mydeiâs figure with your cheek resting on his chest. (You insisted on sleeping this way, and no amount of compromising could sway you on the matter. He gives up soon enough and allows you to have your way when he notices the developing tears in your eyes at your emotionally heightened state.)
You meet his amused gaze, heat blooming on your face as you whisper, âIâI must have rolled over in my sleep. My apologies.â
âNo need to apologize,â he hums, pulling you in closer as soon as you try to put a gap between the two of you. âIf not your husband, who else will hold you while you sleep?â
âSuch a cheeky bastard, arenât you?â you huff, but you relax into his chest once more. âAre you sure holding me is all you did last night?â
âIt is,â he says quietly, rubbing the small of your back. He gives you a knowing look of sortsâyou donât quite understand it.Â
âWell, good,â you huff, âAt least you can be trusted to be quite the honest man.âÂ
(You do not remember your wishes from the previous night, and he does not remind you, keeping the events a close-kept secret in his heart. A small part of him is disappointed, but the larger part of him is more endeared than ever with you.)
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
It is ten months into your marriage when the first time you are intimate with Mydei comes, and you realize that he has fallen in love with you.Â
He does not tell you, but you know. And you are grateful for the fact that he does not utter the words because, in your heart, you wonder if you could truthfully whisper them back.Â
You care for Mydei. That much is as true as the sunâs promise to rise from the east and set in the west. When he rises from bed beside you with a low groan and moves tiredly to put on his armor, you know you care because tiredness in his face pulls a frown onto yours. And when he looks at you with a fond, exasperated look as he ushers you to fall back to sleep, you know you care simply because the stretch of a smile on his face is enough to soothe you back to slumber.
It has been ten long months since your marriage. You have not seen your father since the day he handed you over to your husband, but you would tell him now not to worry.Â
He is a good man, fatherâyou think you would sayâhe drives me mad and is as stubborn as a stone unmoved by the riverâs current, but he has never let me want for anything since the day the duty of caring for me became his. You need not worry.Â
Mydei is a soft man who was molded into the role of a warrior early on. Like the finest of silk, he is delicate to the touch but most durable for the wear and tear of everyday use. He is used to training every day, to putting his needs last and his duties first. He is good at wearing a face of indifference and masquerading through his day as though he cares little for the fact that he is still in his youth, shouldering the burdens of the previous generations and their mistakes. And, as a husband, he is the same. Soft and gentle as he holds you, but firm and unmoving in his principles. He indulges your whims and silly requests with patience and little bickering (apart from the kind that is simply meant to poke fun at you, of course), but he does not let you forget that you are the queen of this land and that your duties come first.Â
He is the perfect example of discipline and patienceâyou did not expect it, but he is. He is not the cold warrior you had believed for so longâand sometimes, you are reminded that he is very, very human. It is a rare reminder indeed, but every once in a while, the young boy in him breaks free and makes his emotions troublesomely apparent.Â
At least, they are troublesome for him. Not for you, however.
âMydei, do not sulk because I was friendly with other nobles,â you chuckle.Â
He sulks harder at that, curling a deeper frown on his lips before he stubbornly mutters, âI do not sulk.â
âBut you are sulking right now,â you poke at his cheek, earning a huff from him. âJealousy is unbecoming of a king as mighty as you.â
âNothing is bothering me,â he says. A lie. âI am perfectly fine.â Another lie. âI do not get upset by these petty matters you accuse me of.â By now, you would say he has mastered the art of fibbing better than wielding his lance.
âIt would be impolite of me not to treat our guests with friendliness, you know.âÂ
âFriendliness does not need to consist of laughing at such horrible jokes,â he bites, crossing his arms. âThose were terrible jokes.â
âThey were,â you nod along, stifling a giggle as he remains with crossed arms as you boldly seat yourself on his lap. âMy poor husband. He is pouting.â
âI am notââ
You kiss his (pouty) lips gently, cupping his cheeks. He stills, pausing before letting out a shuddered breath and letting his arms uncross to hold your hips.Â
âYou live just to drive me mad, donât you?â He breathes, rubbing up and down your hips as you move up, sitting closer to him as he grunts.Â
âYou do not seem to hate it,â you whisper, glancing down at the bulge in his pants. He does not even try to hide itâhas no shame and does not even try to hide the arousal between his legs that stands fully erect, hidden from your view by nothing else but cloth. (Why would I feel shame in finding my wife alluring? you can practically hear him ask. You are almost certain that is what he would say if you teased any further.)
Mydeiâs jaw tightens, his hand gripping your waist tighter as he tries to maintain control. âNo,â he finally grunts after a few deep, labored breaths. âI do not. I could never hate you.â
âReally?â You hum, pressing a hot, open-mouthed trail of kisses to his neck as he shivers. âPerhaps you should prove it.â
For a moment, his hands grip your hips tighterâalmost enough that you believe heâll give you what you want. But heâs quick to let go of them just as fast, sighing as he whispers, âNo. Intimacy simply to ease my bad temper is not what you deserve.â
âAnd if I want it?â You raise a brow in a challenge, making him study you closely. Mydei, as you have heard, has the eyes of his mother. They are the color of truth dipped in gold honeyâhis eyes cannot tell lies. They hide nothing, bearing everything to you with sun-soaked flecks that bore into your own gaze.Â
You tell him your own truth with your own gaze: I want this. I want you.Â
And he accepts. With a shaky breath, his body presses against yours as he traps you against the wall, filling any and all space that offensively keeps you away from his touch. The heat that radiates off of his skin is palpable even through the cold metal, and when he leans down, lips brushing just barely over yours, the warmth of his breath sets you ablazeâstarting from your lips, making its way down to your fingertips.Â
âAre you sure this is what you want?â he rasps, voice just barely above a whisper.Â
âYes. It occurred to me the other day that we have never completed our marriage, you know,â you breathe. âShall we be husband and wife tonight, Mydei?Â
Mydeiâs hands shake as they rub your hips slowly, his body trembling slightly at your words. In excitement, maybe. Or perhaps impatience. His control crumbles little by little, and when your lips brush against his with a teasing, phantom touch, he lets go of his resolve entirely and lets out a guttural soundâsomething crossed between a grunt and a moan. âYes,â he murmurs. âTonight you will be mine.â
âI have always been yours. So take me,â you goad, âTake your wife and mark me as yours.â
His control snaps at that. Cradling your cheeks in large, cold gauntlets, he angles your head up and kisses you deeply, hungrily, desperately. Itâs warm like his touch but burning like his desire. It does not take long before it turns into a needy, impatient kiss, the two of you pressing into the other harder as if trying to melt into each otherâs skin.Â
âTake off that wretched armor,â you huff, âTouch me.â
He groans, quickly slipping off the gauntlets and tossing them to the floor. âAs you wish,â he murmurs, and before you can stop him, he tears your robes open from your chest, pulling the fabric away as if unwrapping a present impatiently and catching a glimpse of your bare chest.Â
âMydei!â you shriek. âI liked those robes!â
âYou act as though I cannot have the seamstresses replicate it as many times as you want,â he snorts. He doesnât slow downânot in his persistent trail of kisses along your collarbone and not in his wandering hands that feel every inch of you and your curves. âThey were in the way. The only thing that suits your skin is my touch.â
You whimper as he quickly moves, tossing you onto the mattress and hovering over you, shedding himself off his own clothing as quickly as he canânothing left but his underwear, the thin cloth doing little to hide his thick, bulging erection. You eye it, half-lidded gaze falling hungrily over the trail of blonde hair at his navel and the thickness of his hidden cock.Â
âThey will question what happened when you present the torn ones to replicate,â you huff. âHave you no sense of shame?â
âWhy does a king need to find shame in desiring his wife?â Delicately, his finger traces along a breast, mapping along your skin until it circles your nipple, making you gasp as you arch into his touch. âWhy would I find shame in wanting to rid my wife of what separates her from me? Anyone who tries to shame me for it will come to find a rather undesirable fate.â
âYou are impossible,â you breathe, gasping when he leans down, latching his lips onto one breast and rolling his tongue around the pebbled nipple, the other traced by his thumb and pointer finger as he rolls and tugs at the skin. You mewl, grasping at his shoulders as you mewl, âM-Mydeiââ
âYes,â he hums, interrupting you. âThat is my name. Say it a few more times, just like that.âÂ
His lips move off of your breast. The string of saliva that connects him still to you is a scene that is utterly vulgar enough to make you shiver as he moves to the other breast, giving it just the same amount of attention. Except his fingersâŚwell, they wander further down your body, trailing over your belly and moving until they find the hem of your panties. You gasp as he tugs them down, exposing your wet, needy cunt to him before he teasingly moves to feel at your entrance, collecting your slick between his pointer and middle fingers.Â
He pulls away, bringing his hand up to stare at his fingers, separating them so a web of your wet arousal connects the two appendages.Â
âMydei,â you whine. âYou scoundrel!â
âWhat?â he chuckles. âCanât a man appreciate the wonders of his dear wifeâs beautiful body?â
âYou are filthy and obscene,â you hiss. âHardly a respectable trait for a king.â
âThen I will be an improper king,â he decides. âIf that is what I am considered for appreciating my dear wife.â
His fingers are back in an instant, plunging into your entrance and prodding at your walls as if to find somethingâ âFuck,â you wail, body spasming as he hits a particularly sensitive spot in your walls.Â
âAh,â he grins, âI found it. The place that makes you sing.â
âHorrible,â you sob, whining softly as he thrusts his fingers back and forth, back and forth inside of you over and over and overâuntil your nails leave crescent-shaped indents into his shoulder where you grasp onto him. âYou are horrible!â
âBut you do not feel horrible, do you?â he hums, and his thumb moves to roll over your clit, his eyes admiring the sight of the sensitive bundle of nerves as you quiver at the sensations.
You donâtâthat much is obvious when, in a sudden crash of waves, your orgasm washes over you, and you gush around his fingers, wet, messy slick coating them as your walls suck him in and spasm around him tightly. Tightâyouâre so tight around his fingers, he canât help but groan from that alone, envisioning the way youâll squeeze around his cock.Â
âGods,â you whimper, clinging to his shoulders as he helps you ride through the waves of pleasure. âFeelsâŚfeelsââ
âGood, doesnât it?â he finishes for you, grinning to himself at the way pleasure breaks over your face like light. âIt will feel betterâI had to prepare you. Cannot risk hurting my precious, delicate little flower, can I?â
You watch it in a trance as it happens: his fingers leave the warmth of your pussy and leave you unbearably empty, but you watch with wide, entranced eyes as he rids himself of the last remaining piece of cloth, bearing his painfully hard erection to you fully. You gasp at the sheer size of him, and he chuckles at your expression.Â
âWe will make it fit,â he hums, leaning to press a kiss to your lips. âNot to worry, my precious lady. Youâll take me, slowly, and soon, weâll carve this pretty cunt to fit around me like it was made to take me, hm?â
âYes,â you whisper, nodding like the idea is the only thing you care for. (And in the moment, it is.) âYes, yes, yes,â you say greedily, pulling him closer and closer until your chests brush and his forehead is against yours. âFuck me, Mydei. Take me and make me yoursânow, please.â
He groans at the words, eyes fluttering shut before he loses all little traces left of his self-control. Instantly, his mouth is on yours, teeth clashing against teeth as he kisses you harshly, hungry nips at your lips and starved tongue on yours, tasting you as much as he can savor. The tip of his cock presses against your entrance, slowly intruding past your folds and sinking into you inch by agonizingly slow inch.
Heâs patient. Even when he is on the brink of insanity, Mydei is patient about taking you.Â
âYou are mine,â he says possessively, and a part of you knows he is still speaking from jealousy. âYou feel it, donât you? The way you take me in? The way you squeeze around me? How your body responds and yearns for meâjust as I yearn for you. Youâll never yearn for another, will you?â
âNo,â you sob, shaking your head, tears of pleasure coating your lashes as you blink up at him. âNoâgive me more, Mydei. More. Harder.â
And he listens. Because you are spoiled. You came to him spoiled, and against every bone in his body initially, he could not help but indulge your sweet, needy whims. Every argument, every back and forth, every moment of bickering, you never let him winânot truly. And he spoiled you. He continues to spoil you. When you ask for more, he gives you everything.Â
âOkay,â he grunts, panting as he rolls his hips and slams into you as you suck him in further into your tight little pussy. âBut just be warned that you asked for this, dear wife.â
With that, one leg is hoisted over his shoulder, giving him better access to drill his thick girth into you, pistoning his hips as the tip of his cock kisses perfectly against the sweet, spongy spot in the back of your walls. He angles so perfectly inside of you, itâs like he carves himself into your hole and molds the shape of himself into your folds. So that only he fits. So that only he can take you. So that only he can be the one you take.Â
âYes,â you whine. âLike that M-Mydeiâplease. Please.â
âYou drive me insane,â he mutters, gritting his jaw as he groans lowly when your walls hug around him tightly, squeezing him as his arms quiver and barely hold him upright over you, âSince the day you came to my world and became half of my soul, you have driven me mad. You must take responsibility for that.â
âYou should take responsibility for driving me horribly mad first,â you say stubbornly, still so fierce even as you are split open on his cock. He chuckles, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth.Â
âYouâre right. Let me make up for all the trouble I caused you, hm?â
His thumb latches onto your clit, rolling harsh, quick circles as your body arches up into his touch, responding to every sensation he pulls so easily out of you. One thrust, and then a second and third, and by the fourth, you come undone once more, walls erratically squeezing around him.Â
âFuck, MydeiâyouâŚyou feel so good.â
âAnd so do you,â he murmurs, moaning softly as he turns his head and presses a kiss into the skin of your leg where itâs hooked over his shoulder, âSo, so goodâyou were made for me. Made to take me. Made to drive me wild enough so that only you can tame me. You wicked, beautiful thing.â
When you sob his name once more, he comes undone himself, spilling hot, thick ropes of his seed into your abused cunt and painting your sensitive walls white. They welcome him, sucking him in deeper, letting him succumb to his pleasure and fuck his load deep into you.Â
And when he collapses over you, youâre too numb from pleasure to protest at his weight, wrapping your arms around his sweaty body and holding him tightly. âIt only took ten months,â you whisper, âBut we are officially husband and wife, according to the customs.â
He chuckles, nipping at your shoulder as he buries his face. âI care little for the customs. You are my wife if I say you areâand you have been mine since the day you agreed to take my hand. It is as simple as that.â
âGo to sleep, you fool,â you groan, rolling your eyes as you fight back a smile.Â
Sleep comes easier than it ever hasâyou fall asleep against him, fitted where you most belong.
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
The night of your anniversary, Mydei is having a bad day.Â
You are unable to do much but watch from the sidelines as he enters one chamber after the other, meeting with advisors and council members left and right until even you grow weary of how burdensome his schedule is.Â
After a year of marriage, you are used to his daily matters not allowing him time until later into his day, and you have never been a stranger to the busy demands of political affairs. Your father is a king himself, after all. You were once a princess, and now you are a queen. Therefore, you know, without doubt, that your husbandâwho is no less consumed by responsibility than your fatherâwill return to you in a foul mood. And it will be yours to contend with.
âYou have returned,â you say quietly as soon as he enters your shared chambers. He drops his armor to the ground, one piece at a time, uncaring where they fall. Any other day, you might scold him for such untidiness (though, really, he is not untidy at all. You would not have to scold him on any other day). Today you choose to bite your tongue and focus on his face instead of the misplacement of his garments.Â
âI have,â he says plainly. Mydei stands. For a long, agonizing moment filled with deafening silence, he stands, and he does not say one word. It makes your skin pinprick with an uncomfortable feeling, making you want to crawl into yourself and hide. His gaze feels scrutinizing. Always. Something about the piercing, golden amber of his eyes staring into you makes you uncomfortably exposed.Â
Then, he walks.Â
As if a moment of clarity has struck him, he sets his shoulders back like heâs made up his mind, and he walks. To you. Before you can react, he collapses himself on top of you, draping his weight like a blanket over your unsuspecting body and pressing you down onto the silken sheets.Â
âM-mydei,â you gasp, glancing at him in confusion as you shift under him. âWhat are youââ
âNo more words,â he huffs, voice heavy with exhaustion. His arms curl around your waist to keep you still. âI have exchanged enough of them for one day. I request but one simple thingâsilence.â
âA most impossible request,â you scoff indignantly. âYou know well that you provoke argument from me unlike any other.â
âMmh,â he hums, whether in agreement or mere acknowledgment, you are unsure. Regardless, you frown petulantly at it and expect moreâhe is meant to persuade you otherwise. (No, my dear wife. You are as gentle as the breeze through the valley, ever soothing, ever constant. That is what he ought to say to you.) âYou say this as if I am to find displeasure in it.â
That only seems to irk you more.Â
âYou take pleasure in getting a rise out of me?â You narrow your eyes, glaring down at him as you watch the way he presses his lips to fight back the oncoming smile.Â
âYou put words in my mouth, dear wife,â he murmurs. âI merely meant your spirit is endearing. TheâŚcomplications that come about it are tolerable at best.â
âSo you find me only tolerable?!â you ask in disbelief.Â
Fondness, as clear as the warm light of the Kremnos sun, settles onto his face and softens the sharpness of his eyes a hue lighter, the amber now glazed in a honeyed glow. He lets out a low chuckle in amusement, and it is softer than anything you have ever heard. Not just from himâno, you have never heard a gentler sound through the entirety of your life. It is as though the Gods have decreed that the first time you listen to something so tender will come from the man they have handpicked to be bound to you.Â
âDo you willingly choose to hear only the unsavory parts of what I say? If so, then it is a talent I am most impressed by,â he murmurs. âYou do not challenge my tolerance. I am unable to find faults when it comes to you, even when you drive me mad.â
âSuch a romantic. Have you been spending time with poets recently? You speak as charmingly as one,â you chuckle teasingly as you shift under him, and your leg brushes accidentally against the innermost part between his legs. It brings him to shiver and let out a low grunt, but you do not realize. Not for a while as you try to get comfortable under his weight.Â
Not until he stops you with a nearly painfully tight grip on your hips as he grits, âBe still.â
âWhat?â You tilt your head. âWhy? If I am to lay under you like your personal mattress, then at the very least allow me toââ
âYou torture me,â he says, voice strained.Â
You blink in confusion. And thenâ
Ah. You realize soon enough that there is a hardness poking at you. You only now feel it, but itâs been there for some time. Throbbing against your thigh is his erection, separated from you by the fabric of your robes and pressed as tightly against you as possible, and you have been rubbing against it this whole time. The thought should horrify you, but all you can focus on is the way his cheeks take on a flushed hue.
Pretty, you think. Mydeimos is pretty. Just like his name, just like his throne, just like his nation, everything about Mydeimos is pretty. (Mydeiâyou can hear his grumpy voice correct you in your own mindâyou are to call me Mydei.)
âWhat is that?â you ask through a cheeky, whispered breath.
He exhales shakily, looking at you unamused. âIf I have to answer that, I am unsure if you are old enough to be wedded to me.â
You giggle, rubbing a hand along his back as you murmur, âIndulge me.â
âIf I must,â he grumbles tiredly. âIt is proof that you are what I desire. Does that satisfy you?â
âExceedingly,â you nod. âShall I now offer you the satisfaction of fulfilling your desires in return?â
âYou do not need to,â he mumbles quietly. Mydei is an honorable manâhe is kind to women and children, and he does not see himself above other men simply because he is king. He is a man of principles, if nothing else. Stripping him of his principles is not a simple task.
âAnd what if I want to?â you pout. âWill you indulge your dear wife?â
âDevious,â he hisses, stiffening when you flex your leg to press more pressure against his hardened cock. âYou are a devious, dangerous thing.â
Your hand slips between your bodies at the same time as his lifts up, held over you by two muscled arms that cage either side of your head. You stare up at him, watching the flickers of his expression as your hand carefully untucks his hot, lengthy erection from the confinements of his pants and gives a small squeeze to the shaft.Â
âToday is a rather special day,â you murmur, âWouldnât you say?â
âOf course,â he chuckles breathlessly, groaning as your thumb strokes along his slit, gathering pre cum and carefully smearing it along his tip. âI have survived the wicked schemes of my wife for an entire year.â
âAnd I have survived the brutal warrior that is my husband,â you grin. âMy father will be relieved to hear I am still alive.â
âYou mention him while you have me like this?â He grins wolfishly, shivering as you slowly stroke his cock. His eyes flutter shut, and for a moment, his arms waver as they hold him upright above you. âFuck,â he whispers, âDo not tease.â
âTease?â you gasp, stopping at the base of his cock and giving him a small squeeze. He grunts, cracking an eye open, displeased. âI would never.â
âThen donât,â he says roughly, his voice a gravelly sound that shoots an ache straight to your cunt.Â
âOnly because it is our anniversary,â you murmur, leaning up to kiss him gently between his furrowed brows.Â
Your hand drags along his thick girth, stroking it quickly as he lets out low groans, burying his face into your neck. You can feel himâpulsing in your hand, hot against your neck, heavy over your weight. His breath fans against your skin as he makes pleasured sounds into your ear, making wetness stain between your own legs. And he knows it, tooâyouâre certain because otherwise, the bite to your earlobe wouldnât be so tantalizingly slow.Â
âHappy Anniversary, my dear wife,â he murmurs. âIt has been a year of enduring your madness. Wonât you drive me just a little more insane?â
âHappy Anniversary, my darling husband,â you breathe, stroking him faster as he moans into your ear and shivers. âIf you are not already insane, I have yet to properly fulfill my duties.â
He makes a sound at thatâa cross between a chuckle and a low groan, and with just a few more careful strokes of his aching cock, he spills into your hand, painting your delicate fingers and the intricate stitching of your robes white with his seed. You feel every twitch of him, every rope he spills of thick, warm cum that spills from his reddened tip, and in a daze, you imagine it to fill you to the brim.Â
And youâre certain he will, too, by the hungry look in his eyes as soon as his blissed-out expression dies out. He opens them, eyeing you like you are the first meal presented to a starved manâand perhaps he is. He is always starved of you, no matter how often you let him get his fill.Â
âOne year since I have had such a beauty to call my dear wife,â he whispers. âHow unfortunate it is that you will never get to see the sight of yourself. But I am too selfish to allow anyone but myself to witness it.â
âYou talk most when you are feverish,â you tease, pressing a hand to his forehead. âAre you feeling well, Mydei?â
âNot until I have you,â he responds cheekily, grinning in amusement as he leans in to kiss you hungrily. You gasp against his mouth, hands instantly traveling to his hair. âWonât you look after your sickened husband?â
âIf I must,â you sigh playfully. (The slick wetness between your legs almost screams at you to quit your agonizing schemes and simply give yourself as quickly as he wants to take you.)
His fingers tease along your collarbone, trailing just between your cleavage as you shiver. Just as his hands reach for your robes, ready to expose your breasts, a knock disturbs you as you both stiffenâ
âLord Mydeimos,â calls a guard, âThere has been an ambush on our patrolling troops outside of the border. It is urgent.â
Mydei stills. You glance at him worriedly.Â
âOf all times,â he grunts, cursing under his breath.
âThere will be plenty of time later,â you soothe, tracing the angry creases in his forehead, âDuty calls.â
He glances at you miserably before sighing, rising from atop your body. But not before planting a soft, lingering kiss on your lips that he reluctantly pulls away from. âWait for me. I will take care of it quickly and return to you to finish where I have left off.â
You giggle, poking his cheek as you murmur, âI have no doubts.â
âââââââ
Mydei does, in fact, return to you.Â
Except, it is not in the condition that he left.Â
He comes back carried by four men at once, ushered quickly into the healerâs wing, and stripped of his armor quickly. You follow along, stumbling over your feet and heart beating in your throat.Â
âWhat hapââ You are carefully tugged to the side before you can even utter the words, moved away from the grotesque scene before you can properly get a look at the stab wound in his chest. The blade has missed his heart by just a hair, you hear one healer mumble. It is a miracle that he has lived long enough to be brought back, another whispers.Â
You hear him groan unconsciously as they clean at the torn flesh, and your knees buckle at the sound.Â
âMy lady,â murmurs an attendant. âPerhaps it is best if you do not witness such a sceneââ
âThat scene is my husband,â you cry hysterically. âWho else is to witness it? My husband needsââ
âHe needs the healers, and they cannot do their duty with your hovering.â Youâre cut off firmly. You blink, and even without the tears in your eyes, youâre certain you would look pitiful as you sniffle.Â
âHe promised he would return to spend the night with me,â you croak. âIf he does not live to see through to his promise, I will kill him myself.â
âI am certain he fears such a fate more than anything else,â whispers the attendant, gently tugging you along and supporting half your weight. âCome, I am positive My Lord will appreciate a properly tidied chamber to recover in, wouldnât you say?â
You let yourself be dragged away, turning to glance at Mydei one more timeâjust in time, in fact, to catch a glimpse of a bloodied rag tossed to the floor by a healer. More blood than you have ever witnessed spilled from Mydei beforeâif at all.Â
âââââââ
It takes hours before there is a knock on your chamberâs door, and before you can even rise from your bed, a handful of guards enter one by one, carefully carrying your husband on a stretcher as he unhappily lays with his arms crossed.Â
âI could have walked myself,â he grumbles bitterly.
âThe healers would have my head if I allowed your stitches to be torn, My Lord.â
âThe healers could not do anything if I had orderedââ
âMydei,â you sob, throwing yourself into his arms as soon as they lay him on your shared bed. Your arms wrap around his neck as he cuts himself off and lets out a low grunt of surprise.Â
And then, he beams. So smugly that even the guards eye each other warily. âDid you miss me, dear wife?â
One by one, they quickly file out of your chambers as your head shoots up, and you glare at him.Â
âYou leave me on our anniversary night to fight an ambush, promise to return to me only to come back bloodied and half alive, and your first words to me are to ask such an arrogantly tasteless question?âÂ
He chuckles, cupping your cheek as he murmurs, âI am fine. Itâs just a small cutââ
âThey missed your heart by a hair! I heard the healers myself!â
âYou know how they are,â he all but huffs petulantly, rolling his eyes as he complains. âI would have been fine to walk myself back, but they insisted that the guards escort me by stretcherââ
âAnd a good thing they did,â you spit. âIf your injury did not kill you, then your ego surely would have finished the job.â
You have never considered the possibility of losing Mydei. Not once in your marriage. Not when you felt no tug for him in your heart, and not even when your heart began to yearn for him more than anything else. A naive little thing you were, you think to yourselfâto think your husband is invincible just because he is as strong as he is. Your fatherâs words had made you think of your husband as nothing more than a warrior at timesâa godslayer, a man not even divinity could stand against.Â
But heâs painfully human. Painfully just a boy who grew into the body of a man and nothing more. Strength means little in the face of chanceâand it occurs to you now, as you eye the bandages wrapped tightly around his chest, that by chance alone did a blade pierce through his skin, and by chance alone did he survive and come back to you.
And you will never risk a chance to lose him again without telling him what your heart knows after a year of marriage.Â
âDo you not have any faith in mââ
âI love you,â you sniffle, the words wobbly and wet like your tear-stained lips. They cascade down your cheeks and collect pitifully at your chin, but you care little for your appearance as you let out an ugly sob and cradle his cheeks. âI love you, and it is the worst fate you have cursed me with. I despise you.â
âThat is a rather contradictory statement,â he says quietly as he processes your words. But the tips of his ears are red as his lips fight to stay still at the corners. âCould you repeat that first part without that latter one?â
âYou are insufferable,â you glare, still blinking through tears. He chuckles, pulling you closer as he carefully thumbs away the wetness of your cheeks.Â
âAnd I love you, as well,â he says gently, âEven though you have possessed me and changed everything as I know it, I love you.â
âDo not scare me like this again,â you command.Â
âI wonât,â he agrees. With enough conviction that you believe him. For now. For now, you believe him, and little else matters. You let him pull you against his side, curling an arm around you as you reach over and brush hair from his face.Â
âDid you know that my father called you a godslayer once?â you hum, tracing his cheek softly and wiping away the sweat that lingers on his skin. âI wonder what he would think now if he were to see you.â
âDid he, now?â he asks in amusement. âFar too high of praise, isnât it? Iâm afraid heâll only be disappointedâI do not know if I could slay a God.â
âWhat if my life depended on it?â you pout. âWouldnât you at least try?â
He chuckles, grabbing your hand from his face and pulling it to his lips, kissing your fingertips slowly, one by one, before he says thoughtfully, âI suppose your father was not wrong then. For my dear wife, I would slay even the divine.â
âIn that case, he will be most pleased to know Kremnos and its king are taking such great care of his daughter,â you finally, finally smile, giggling softly, much to Mydeiâs pleasure as you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. He hums, happily accepting your affection as he relaxes further into the bed.
âAfter a year spent on this land, what is your favorite part of Kremnos?â he asks. And you knowâbetter than anything, you know what he wants you to say.Â
âThe sun,â you murmur.Â
He frowns. You bite back a smile. âThe sun,â he repeats, dry and in disbelief. âThe unchanging sun that is the same no matter what nation you travel to? Why not your husband?â
Chuckling, you cup his cheeks once more, leaning to kiss over his eyelids one by one. He closes his eyes and lets you as he relaxes under your touch. When he opens them, you are reminded that the Kremnos sun is the warmest you have ever felt.Â
âThe sun does not shine the same in other nations, Mydei,â you whisper. âIn Kremnos, you can find its warmth in not just the sky.â
âAnd wherever else, pray tell, would you find the sunâs warmth in Kremnos?â he asks, his voice husky as he leans closer.Â
You smile, and for a moment, you consider giving in and telling him what he wishes to hear. But you decide to tease him for a bit longer, in retaliation for what he put you through, as you pat his cheek before pulling away. You walk to leave your chambers, but not before you say over your shoulder, âI believe I should fetch more supplies from the healers. Your bandages will need to be replaced soon.â
He gapes, watching your retreating figure in shock before he slumps back and chuckles, sighing before shaking his head as he mutters under his breath, âUtterly wicked. Such a wicked, beautiful thing I have married.â
WOW THIS FIC IS FINALLY DONEEEEE.
It was a 23 day wip to a lot of you guys bc a lot of you guys follow me and saw me posting about this fic during the writing process. So you probably know that royal auâs are very hard for me. I find the dialogue to be difficult to get right and I canât crack the same jokes I normally would through the characterâs lines and I also have no idea how royalty would go about filthy talk LOL. So thatâs rough. But also world building and handling the political atmosphere in these sort of settings is just. Complicated to me. But royal auâs are also some of my favorite to envision and think about, so these scenes in this fic have been a COLLECTION of scenes that Iâve had from many, MANY attempts at writing a royal au. Iâm talking years worth of attempts and compiled scenes that I abandoned and brought back to get added into this fic.
It may have been a 23 day wip to everyone who followed along with my writing updates on this blog, but this is technically a longgggg 5+ year journey that FINALLY saw the light of day, and went through soooo many characters.
First it was for Miya Atsumu from haikyuu.
Then it became a Bakugou Katsuki fic from bnha.
Then it became a Gojo, then Sukuna, then back to Gojo fic from jjk.
Then I was like no no trust me itâll make for the PERFECT Alhaitham fic from genshin.
Now, FINALLY, it has seen the light of day after maybe 5 ish years as a Mydei fic from hsr.
Would you believe me if I told you Iâm hardly an hsr player and Iâve met him for approximately 2 mins total in game? đ LOL. I am not really sure why he managed to make me finally really take all these half written scenes from over the years, polish them up, and finally finish this fic, but I did and I am proud of myself.
For my first proper attempt at a royal au fic, I donât think itâs the worst thing Iâve written. Are there some parts that I wish were executed better? Yes for sure lol Iâm just a failgirl writer who is honestly her own biggest hater. But that being said, I really think that I did not fail at my attempt and I think thatâs a really big step for me in my silly hobby that I take a little too seriously sometimes.
Anyway, if you read this note, and you read this fic, thank youuuuu for reading all my words lol I know sometimes I have a lot of them. And thank you to miss Carinaâif you donât know her, thatâs tumblr user @osarina and sheâs really talented and she probably is 70% of the reason why this fic exists. Thank you for hearing me whine about this, and for literally forcing me to finish it. And also for beta reading it and for helping me polish up my sophisticated royal dialogue. AND for helping me figure out scenes when I was stuck. Aka thanks for being my inspo and museeeee hehehe ily
#meowdei.writing#meowdei.longfics#mydei x reader#mydei x you#mydei fluff#mydei smut#mydeimos x reader#hsr x reader#hsr x you#hsr smut#hsr fluff#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail x you#mydei x y/n
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âguilty pleasureâ | 8.6k
worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. Heâs convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesnât seem so bad after all.
WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - theyâre basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kidâ.
A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that iâm LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love yâall.
** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didnât want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, iâve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i donât know when iâll be posting it, but iâm sure it wonât take me that long.
*** iâm also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i donât know if anyoneâs going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)
**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes donât hesitate to tell me :)
special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic đ the sweetest human ever
The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.
Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. Itâs what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.
Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. Youâre pretty sure that holding some strangerâs hair while they empty their insides wasnât on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesnât grow on trees, and university isnât going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you.Â
Perhaps this isnât the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. Youâd often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients youâd ever encountered. In the past, heâd even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, youâd be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: âYouâll be much better than me, doll. Iâm a mess, canât you see it? You donât wanna be like me,â his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. âI should be at my daughterâs birthday right now, but I didnât get an invitation this year. Believe me, you donât want to end up like this old man.âÂ
Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesnât receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. Youâre certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, youâd be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.
The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see whoâs arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, youâre compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the strangerâs features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend.Â
You:
cutie patootie alert
thereâs this really handsome guy at the bar
i donât think iâve ever seen him before
i think iâm in love with him
my night just got a 100% better
Allison:
age
what does he look like
is he bald?
You:
he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? itâs hard to tell UGH i wish you were here
brown hair, beard, 6â2 if iâm not wrongÂ
i didnât stare at him for too long
otherwise that wouldâve been very weird
and no heâs not fucking bald
that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentlemanâs lack of hairÂ
Allison:
so youâre dating retired now
get it grandma!
You:
oh fuck you allisonÂ
Allison:Â
itâs okay girl we all have our flaws
just make sure itâs nobodyâs father
wait itâs not mine right?
You:
nah your dadâs way hotter donât you worry about it
Allison:
bitchÂ
Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.
âDo I have somethinâ on my face?â you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit itâs pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.
The glow of a phoneâs flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. âEnough of that, yâhear me?â
Enter you now. âOkay, gentlemen, Iâm sorry. Iâm gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?â you mumble as you gently push them aside. âThank you, thank you. Yâall can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.â
Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss.Â
Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. âDoll, itâs the fucking Wolverine. Donât ask him for a picture, though. He doesnât seem to be in the mood for that.â
The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.
âGuys, what youâre doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought Iâd taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldnât have it.â
Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. âShe does have a point.âÂ
âThank you, peanut. Youâre still my favorite,â you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. âYou can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?â they all scoff, barking their disagreement. âOh, you donât like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,â you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. âChop chop. All this alcohol wonât be drinking itself.â
Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.
âThank you,â he utters, his eyes still trained on your features.Â
âNo need to. Itâs what Iâm here for,â you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. âCan I get you anything to drink? Itâs also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.â
(No. Itâs not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)
He doesnât seem too eager to hear you talk. âNot hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.â
âYou sure?â
âYeah, kid. Very sure.â Well, now he does look annoyed.
âGreat. Iâll be back in a minute,â you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you donât even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. âI see youâre thirsty.â
âCould you leave the bottle here?â those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although youâd be happy to oblige, rules are rules.Â
âActually, I canât. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,â your proposal doesnât appear to have the desired effect on him. âI wonât talk to you if thatâs what you want.â
âIâll take your word for it,â he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up.Â
You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.
âWhat a weirdo. Didnât you see it on TV? Heâs not even from this universe,â Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. âLet me tell yâall something: he shouldnât even be here. Heâs fucking dead on this earth.â
Yeah⌠that you knew.
It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone wouldâve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you wouldâve laughed in their face.
As if that werenât already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that thereâs a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you canât seem to be scared of him. Thereâs something magnetic about his personality and that donât-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.
âI can hear your thoughts,â a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.
âI thought you didnât want me to talk,â you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. âI can assure you your liver hates you.â
âAlcohol wonât kill me, so donât be afraid. Keep âem coming.â
For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. âYou canât smoke in here.â
âNo special treatment?â he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. Heâs so⌠dreamy. He has to know it.
âI saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.â
His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. âYou saved my what?â
âYour goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.â
âBlame the idiots you have for clients,â he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. âI was just mindinâ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.â
âLook, Wolvie. Iââ
âWolvie?â giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. âThatâs the worst nickname Iâve heard in a long time,â he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. âItâs Logan.â
âWow. Your name is very boybandish.â
You succeed in making him laugh once again. Itâs the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles youâve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that heâs a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.
Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesnât leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.
âSo this is where youâve been hiding, you preening slut. Canât even bother to answer my calls now?â
The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesnât dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. âWade, what the hell are you doinâ here?â
âIt hasnât been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I donât even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,â the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. âNo offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The nameâs Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.â
âYou dumb fuck. Are you flirtinâ with her?â
âNo shit, smartass. Youâre the future of this country.â
A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. âWell, arenât you two a beautiful couple?â
âYou should see our little munchkin. Heâs got my eyes and Loganâs hair. His first word was gubernatorial.â
âWould you like to have a drink while youâre here?â
âA beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. Youâre the cutest,â Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Loganâs direction, bumping his shoulder. âSheâs the cutest. Are you two together?â
Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. âHow did you find me?â
âIt's the power of love, baby. I had Itâs All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldnât stop thinking about you.â
Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Loganâs face. âI didnât know patience was your strongest suit.â
âMe neither.â
âEnough of that! I canât stand not being included in a conversation,â Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. âThere you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?â
You canât help but snort. âIâm 25.â
Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. âNow that I think about it, you could totally be Loganâs caretaker. Heâs been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you⌠know anything about adult diapers?â
But then Loganâs face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wadeâs arm. âThatâs it. Weâre leavinâ,â his eyes lock on you for a moment. âHow much do I owe you?â
âDonât worry about it. Itâs on the house.â
The things youâre willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.
(But you arenât.)
His mouth hangs open in disbelief. âKiddo, are youââ
âCompletely sure,â you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. âJust donât tell my boss.â
Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. âI usually donât mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.â
âIâm gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.â
âOh, come on! I was just making small talk,â the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. âIt was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. Iâm free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mineâs way more agile and young!â
As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.
What the fuck had just happened?
âPatrickâs normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,â you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. âHe can usually handle himself, but at some point, heâll try to call his ex-wife, and thatâs when you know you need to stop serving him.â
She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. âThis is⌠definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.â
You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. âYouâll get used to it, believe me. Iâll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.â
After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now sheâs your trainee.
Your savior complex strikes again!
It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail.Â
Touching your arm softly, Gwenâs face lights up. âAnother man came in. Is he a regular? I donât think you told me about him.â
Fuck, itâs him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.
âLeave this one to me,â you tell her as your feet take you to where Loganâs sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. âLong time no see.â
âHey, kid,â he grins. âWhatâs up?â
âNothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so thatâs a good thing,â you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. âWhiskey?â
âYou know me so well,â a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. âThough this time, I wonât be leavinâ without payinâ.â
âWeâll see about that,â you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. âIs that your boyfriend?â
You almost drop the whiskey bottle. âGod, no. Heâs not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.â
âItâs funny,â she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you donât. âHe hasnât stopped looking at you since he arrived.â
âItâs probably because of this,â you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as youâre about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. Sheâs wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if sheâs a model, because she certainly looks like one.
Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Loganâs expression is hard to read, he doesnât even flinch.
âYou know what? Hereâs his drinkâ You take care of it. Iâll stay here,â you donât give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients.Â
âDoll, are you okay?â Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. âThere you go.â
âThank you, Adam. Iâm fine, never been better. Why you ask?
âYou sure?â
âAffirmative.â
âYou mixed up our drinks,â he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. âThis never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and Iâve got his martini.â
âFuck! Iâm so sorry. I justâ I donât know whatâs wrong with me,â you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. âI feel stupid.â
âOh, please. Donât say that. Youâre far from being stupid,â he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. âIf you ask me, I think youâve got your mind on someone else,â he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: âRemember: I know when youâre lying. You didnât charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,â taking a tentative sip of the martini he didnât even ordered, Adam shrugs. âIâm a great observer. Thatâs all.â
Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.
âAs I said, your mindâs somewhere else,â Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. âGo get your man. Iâll survive.â
âNot my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.â
Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: âHi.â
Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.
âHey, claws,â you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. âDo you need anything?â
Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. âI also wanted to talk to you.â
âI thought you were busy over there,â you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. âDid you get her number?â
âWhat? No.â
âWhy not? Sheâs cute.â
Yeah, maybe you donât sound as collected as you think.
Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. âIâm not interested.â
âAnd what is it that interests you, champ?â your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.
After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. âWade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartmentâ well, our apartment. I live with him now. Itâs complicated,â he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. âAnyway, he asked me to tell you that youâre invited. I know we donât know each other that much, but⌠he said you seem like someone worth havinâ around,â he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. âI think the same as well.â
You could die at peace.
âYouâre a lucky fucker because I donât work on Sundays,â you quip, smiling. âIâd be more than happy to attend your feast.â
âGreat. I thought you would turn down the invitation.â
âNow why would you think that?â
ââCause you barely know meâ us,â he corrects himself rapidly. âPlus, Wadeâs annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. Youâll see.â
âMarital problems?â he actually in response. âIâll take that as a âyesâ. Oh, Iâll bring the dessert.â
âYou donât have to.â
âBut I do want to,â you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.
âJust want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,â Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. âThe tipâs included.â
âI donât know how things work in your universe, but youâre giving me way more money than youâre supposed to. I can't accept this.â
âOh, but you will,â his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and youâre glad he canât see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.
He writes down Wadeâs address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. âI should get goinâ. See you tomorrow then.â
Before he walks out the door, you stop him. âLogan? You didnât answer my other question.â
His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. âGood night, doll.â
This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though youâve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and thereâs a knot in your stomach thatâs becoming all too familiar.
âWould you mind telling me where you got him?â Gwenâs voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.
âHeâs not from around here. I think heâs Canadian.â
Youâve got this. Youâve got this. Youâve got this.
Knocking softly on Wadeâs door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It��s your first time trying out this recipe, so youâre expecting it to at least not taste like shit.
Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. âWell, look what the wind blew in: if it isnât my husbandâs lover. How dare you? Weâre still going to couples therapy.â
You show him the container, and he squints at it. âTiramisu. You want it or not?â
âI hate twenty-somethings,â he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment.Â
Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. Thereâs a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. âDonât get too excited. Heâs still showering,â Wadeâs voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. âYeah. I noticed. Youâre already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.â
âKeep quiet!â you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. âWade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?â
âCouldnât help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.â
Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. âI thought you were cominâ later.â
âMe too, but IâŚ,â you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, âI didnât know what else to do at my place.â
âItâs fine. Justâ let me put on some clothes.â
âPlease donât,â Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. âI was just being honest. Communication is key.â
When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. âThat was probably the hottest thing Iâve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.â
âThin walls, buddy!â Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you.Â
Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. âIs that your phone?â
âYeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!â he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. âHey, Ness! What´s up?â Wade covers the speaker before telling you: âItâs Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.â
From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. âHey, kid.â
âNo, Iâm not busy at all,â Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. âIâll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,â he spreads his arms wide and whistles. âSomeoneâs getting laid tonight!â
âYou made me come all the way here⌠and now youâre leaving?â
âWhat? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,â in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. âShave yourself, will you?â
âGo fuck yourself, will you?â
âLove you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!â
Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?
Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.
âSo... I, uh, bought pizza,â he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.
You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. âPizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.â
Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. âYeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didnât want to ruin it, yâknow?â
You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. âThank you. Iâm a big fan of pizza.â
He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?
âLoganâŚ,â you begin, your tone gentle but probing, âCan I ask you something?â
He glances up at you, eyes widening. Thereâs something in your eyes âan understanding, maybeâ that makes him feel like you could see right through him.Â
âSure,â he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. âAsk away.â
You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. âI was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.â
The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadnât talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasnât sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. âYeah, it's okay. Iâll answer what I can.â
âI just... I want to understand you better.â
âWell, first and foremost, Iâm no hero. You should know that by now.â
âI beg to differ.â
âKid, Iâm the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,â Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. Youâre wondering if doing this was a good idea. âI need a drink.â
He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. âI donât thinkââ
With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once heâs done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. âWhat?â he asks, exhaling slowly.
âThat was completely unnecessary,â you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. âBut, back to what you said beforeâ I donât think youâre the worst Logan.â
âYou didnât know me back then, darlinâ. I fucked it up,â he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. âLike the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beastâ All of them,â his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. âWanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldnât do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.â
The pizzaâs long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his.Â
Loganâs silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. âOne day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.â
Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. âI can guess the rest. You donât have toââ
But he cuts you off. âNo, let me say it. I need to say it,â he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. âBy the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.â
Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesnât pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. âMy suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were⌠dead. I started killing, and I couldnât stop. I didnât want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.â
You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing thereâs nothing you can do to change how he feels. âYouâre not a bad person, Logan,â he shakes his head, mumbling something you canât quite catch. âI mean it. What happened back then doesnât define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and Iâll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I canât. Thatâs not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,â gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. âYouâre my hero. Iâm your biggest fanâ after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.â
He grins, letting out a laugh. âEasy there, bub.â
âShould I give you some space?â
Thatâs the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. Thereâs no turning backâ The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. âFor a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldnât stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.â
âAnd what happened?â your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. âWhat changed?â
âI met a pretty girl at a pub, thatâs what happened,â he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. âIâm gonna kiss you now.â
âDo all your kisses come with a warning?â
âGod, do you ever shut up?â
You donât have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.
âSo this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?â he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat.Â
âKeep talking and you wonât get a single bite of my tiramisu,â you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. âI really like kissing you.â
âThe feelingâs mutual, but now that youâve mentioned that tiramisuâŚâ
âAm I that easily replaced?â
âNo. Youâre just a pain in the ass.â
Jokes aside, youâre as happy as a clam.
Since that night you and Logan kissed, youâve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.
He hasnât been to the bar in three days. Yes, youâre counting them. No, you havenât lost your mind. You want to see him, but thereâs something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?
Itâs been a long time since youâve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys youâve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasnât no your plans. Youâd be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didnât excite you.
Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two arenât even official yet. To be honest, you donât even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?
âNighty night, gentlemen,â you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so itâs just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.
âWhatâs up, doll? Youâve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,â Garyâs eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but youâve seen worse. âYâknow, Iâd love to take you out someday. I have a place youâd like.â
The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic.Â
âIâll let you know when Iâm free,â you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. âWhat are you having tonight?â
âYou always pull that shit, baby. I donât think youâre so busy that you canât accept a date.â
You hate the way heâs looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didnât know any better.
âYouâre reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.â
âOh, doll. That attitude of yours shows youâve never been with a real man like me, thatâs all,â he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. âItâs alright. I like you bratty.â
âIâll be back when you finally have something to order,â you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. âCome on, Gary. I donât want to have to kick you out.â
âItâs not that you don't like me, right? Youâve already got your mouth full.â
âCareful.â
âWhat? Donât tell me youâre not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like âem older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.â
You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. âIt was never about your age, Gary. Youâre right: I do like them older. Iâm just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.â
His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. âFucking bitch.â
âGet your hands off her.â
Loganâs voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that heâs just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on.Â
âYou joining us? Weâre just getting started here, big boy.â
âDid you not hear me?â Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Garyâs. âThe fuck is wrong with you?â
âEasy there, cowboy. Iâm just having a chat with your girl. Sheâs one of the good ones, Iâll give you that,â arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. âYou donât like sharing? We can even take turns.â
Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. âSay one more word, and Iâll fucking kill you.â
âIâll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?âÂ
The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Garyâs smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Loganâs fist swings forward, connecting with Garyâs jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. âYou fucker! You broke my nose!â
âWeâre just getting started here, big boy,â Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.
âStop!â you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But heâs beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Garyâs stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.
âThatâs enough, Logan! Heâs barely conscious,â you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what heâs done.
âHe deserved it,â he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. âHe was hurting you.â
âIf you keep that up, youâre going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,â your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. âI wonât let you do this.â
The room is quiet now, the only sound being Loganâs heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Garyâs friends, cold fury in your eyes. âGet him out of here,â you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. âEverybody out, right now! Go home. Weâre closing earlier tonight.â
Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. âBubââ
âDonât. Now is not the time.â
âI was protecting you.â
âI told you to stop, and you didnât. You just shook me off,â you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.
Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. âIâm sorry.â
You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. âWhy didnât you call me?â
âI donât have a phone.â
âButâ Jesus, Logan. You couldâve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,â you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. âThought you no longer wanted me.â
âNo, bub. Iâ I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,â he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. âI just⌠donât know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and Iâm trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.â
âPushing me away also hurts,â your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. âI canât read your mind. You need to tell me whatâs going on in that ancient skull of yours.â
His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. âIâm sorry, princess. I truly am.â
âYou canât just say âsorryâ with that voice and expect me toââ
Youâre cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days.Â
âI thought your kisses came with a warning,â you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.
âShut up and kiss me, will you?â
In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. Youâre becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldnât care less. Loganâs hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.
âYou said you wanted to know whatâs on my mind, right?â his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. âWell, Iâd love nothing more than to touch you right now.â
âRight here? On the counter?â
âYeah, on the fucking counter,â he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. âWill you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?â
âPlease. Iâm glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is tâtoo expensive these days.â
âDo you always talk this much?â he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.
âYes. Next question,â your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. âFuck, that feels good.â
Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. âYou have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,â his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. âBut itâs me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: Iâm the only one who touches you, ainât I right?â you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesnât go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. âNuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?â
âI wâwant your fingers inside me,â you donât even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isnât like them. This is just the beginning and youâre already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. âPlease, Logan. I want you so bad.â
âOh, I know, bub. Thereâs something about me I donât think you know,â he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. âThese claws I have⌠they didnât come on their own. Letâs just say my sense of smell is⌠pretty good,â Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. âAnd you⌠have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,â you feel like youâre being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. âBut youâre so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?â
âToo long, fâfuck. Too long,â youâre squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that youâre still wearing clothes. âShit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.â
His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. âNot here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. Youâre only getting my fingers now,â he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. âTell me who owns this pussy.â
âL-loganââ
âTell me and Iâll make you come,â his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. âCome on. Know you want it as much as I do.â
You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. âItâs you, Logan. You own my pussy. Itâs f-fucking yours.â
With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you.Â
âI said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck⌠I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.â
Heâs on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble.Â
âIâm close,â you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. âIâm so close.â
âThatâs it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.â
Who had given him a damn script for this?
The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesnât let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.
Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: âOpen.â
And you do, because youâre just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way youâve cleaned them off.
âI think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,â he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. âI meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if weâre going to fuck. My backâs hurting.â
You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. âWhy not go to yours?â
âWadeâs in there. I wouldnât be able to concentrate.â
You canât help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. âSo weâre going rodeo?â
Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. âOnly if you can handle it.â
part 2: âGIVE ME THE FIRST TASTEâ
dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)
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